Readers of my other fics may be disappointed at my seeming inability to continue providing updates, and then see this come out. However, life has been busy, and I'm working on other projects. However, the idea for this story had been bouncing around in my head for a while, and I had been eagerly waiting for Michael to make his appearance. I liked what they did in the show; Michael was not an ass, and they easily could have made him so, which would have been a disappointment. Instead, he was certain in his beliefs in destiny and God's plan. Okay, it's a different point of view, and I could work with it. But I still thought Michael would see this Apocalypse as mankind's struggle, not Heaven's, and I needed to get this out of my system.
I may make this a two-shot, adding a second chapter with Michael's perspective from his appearance within John Winchester. It would tie in the Michael of this story with the Michael of that episode. I think I can make it work, but it will depend on what people think of this.
And now… thank you, and enjoy.
Jo's screams pierced the air as flesh was ripped away from her stomach and blood poured down her shirt and pants. She lay weak and in pain against the counter in the hardware shop. Ellen was saying she wouldn't leave her daughter. The homemade bomb shredded the store, the hell hounds, Ellen… and Jo.
Dean couldn't make himself lift his head to look at the bartender. Instead he slugged back another shot of Jack.
Sammy, in the future. Standing there in that white suit, casually killing Dean. Sammy, who said yes to Lucifer. Sammy, who listened to a demon bitch who was able to play him like a violin. Sammy, who walked out on his own brother in favor of said demon bitch.
Detroit… six months from now.
All of Heaven was of the opinion that Dean and Sam would both say yes to the angels who wanted their skins. Hell, that pain in the ass Gabriel had wanted them both to say yes.
I just want this to be over, Gabriel had told them.
Dean tossed back another shot. Two weeks ago he'd failed to gank Lucifer. Sam had told him that Lucifer had known the Colt wouldn't work. One of four that the Colt wouldn't work against, he'd said. Dean had a pretty good idea who the other three were; Michael, Death, and God.
Dammit Sammy, thought Dean, I raised you better than this. How the hell could you even think of saying yes to the damned Devil?!
"You're either gonna find oblivion pretty soon or you're gonna need your stomach pumped, buddy," came a voice.
Dean turned to look to his side. Another guy was sitting a couple seats down, looking at him. He was probably a few inches taller than Dean, with maybe twenty pounds of muscle over Dean. Almost black hair, short and spiked, and brown eyes that were more piercing than any Dean had ever seen. He wore jeans and a brown sports jacket.
The newcomer turned to the bartender. "Hey Jim. Another round for me and my friend."
Dean waited for a moment while the glass was refilled, then turned back to the stranger. "Dude, I'm not gay."
The man glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye, and the corner of his mouth curled into a grin.
"I'm thrilled to death to know that, believe me," he replied with a sarcastic grin, "neither am I."
Dean nodded and turned back to the fresh shot, then hesitated. He didn't want oblivion, and certainly didn't want a hospital. Dean didn't know what he wanted anymore. The world was going to hell, and Dean knew he was going down right along with it.
"Here's to little brothers," Dean heard the man next to him saying, "we love them, help bring them up, and treasure them. But God, please smack the hell out them for the idiot shit they pull."
The man drained his glass and Dean found himself nodding.
"I'll drink to that," he agreed, and threw back his own shot.
The man glanced at him. "Little brother's antics the reason?" he asked, nodding his head to Dean's empty glasses.
"Mostly," said Dean with a nod.
The man grimaced and nodded, then stuck out a hand. "Mike."
"Dean," replied the young, shaking hands with the man. The handshake was firm and solid. A soldier's grip, Dean thought.
"Little brothers suck ass," said Mike, "I mean, my little brother, Lou. Lovable little brat when he was a kid. Always asking why we did things, why this, why that. Dad's got a heart of gold for not smacking that kid around every once in a while. Then he decides Dad's wrong, wasting his time, and tries to get the rest of us to jump ship."
Dean snorted in agreement. Mike's brother sounded a lot like Sammy.
"Then of course," said Dean, picking up the thread, "the pain in the ass little brother takes it a step too far. Pisses off Dad, and in typical oblivious-Dad fashion, kicks the kid out instead of figuring out what's wrong."
"Then both jerks leave it to us to clean up their mess," finished Mike.
"I need another drink," declared Dean.
Mike signaled the bartender, who refilled the glasses of both men.
"To Dads and little brothers," toasted Mike, "may they suffer an eternity of headaches for what they've done to us in this life."
"Here here," agreed Dean, and both drained their drinks.
"Jim," said Mike, "two beers. We're gonna kill ourselves if we keep drinking Jack. So, what'd your little brother do to get you drinking like this?"
Dean snorted. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. And trust me, you don't even want to know."
"So tell me what I would believe," countered Mike.
Dean nodded. "My little brother, Sam. I basically brought that kid up, know him better than anyone else alive. We got in some trouble a while back, and I… I sacrificed myself for him because I couldn't live without him, ya know? When I got back, I found he'd fallen in with this de… with this bitch who got him hooked on drugs. I thought I could drag him away from drugs and the bitch, but he ended up going right back to her and the drugs. Made him feel strong, thought he could take revenge on the people who'd taken me."
"Let me guess," said Mike, as the two of them sat down at a table in one of the far corners, "the little punk didn't listen to you. He felt strong and powerful. For the first time in his life he was better than you. Stronger and tougher than you. He thought he'd finally make his own way and get out from under your shadow."
Dean nodded and took a drink of the beer. It was good stuff, he realized. He hadn't even been paying attention to what the bartender had put down in front of him.
"Dumbass," muttered Mike, taking a long pull of his beer. "I always tried to teach Lou that he'd have to make decisions between what was easy… and what was right. Tried to teach the kid to do the right thing. Then the little know-it-all takes the easy route and splits the family into tiny bite-sized morsels."
Dean muttered his agreement.
"And now that Dad's gone, it's on our shoulders to make everything right again," Dean said quietly.
Mike nodded with a grimace. "Sucks to be the responsible one," he commented.
"Yeah, sucks ass," agreed Dean with another drink. He signaled the bartender for another pair of beers.
"So, what do you plan to do about it all?" asked Mike.
Dean shook his head as one of the pretty waitresses delivered the beers. She smiled at both of them, and Mike watched her walk away with an appreciative smile. Dean hardly noticed, he was staring into the beer.
"I don't know," admitted Dean, "it's too big, too much. People are getting hurt, getting killed all over the place. I can't stop it, I don't know how."
"Stop what?" asked Mike.
"You don't want to know, and you wouldn't believe me if you did," Dean replied, repeating his words of less than ten minutes earlier.
"Then call me an idiot for wanting to know, and I'll try and suspend reality," Mike retorted.
Dean took one look at Mike's face, then it all came pouring out. His parents, hunting, his mother being killed by the Yellow-Eyed Demon, Azazel. Being brought up in the life of hunting the supernatural, his dad's and Sam's constant fighting. The year spent looking for Dad, his death, the Colt, Sam's visions and the Devil's Gate. Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Pastor Jim and Caleb. The deal, the year spent trying to figure a way out of it, and Lilith's hell hounds dragging him down to hell. His forty years in Hell, Castiel bringing him back, Sam's addiction to demon blood. The freeing of Lucifer and finding out that he and Sam were the damn vessels (condoms!) for damned Michael and Lucifer. The fact that the Colt wouldn't work, the Four Horsemen were loose, and the Apocalypse was on.
Dean would never know why he told Mike all of this. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe he was just overwhelmed by Jo and Ellen's deaths. Maybe he just needed a friend who wasn't involved in all this bullshit.
Three hours and six beers for each of them later, Dean finally stopped talking. Dean glanced at his watch. Almost one in the morning. Sammy was probably going to start climbing the walls pretty soon.
Dean looked over at Mike, who was sitting there quietly, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"See?" said Dean, "Told you that you wouldn't believe me."
Mike nodded and leaned forward. "For the moment, let's assume you're not crazy. The way I see it you have three options. Option one, lay down, spread your legs and get fucked over by both Heaven and Hell. You don't strike me as the type. Option two, you say yes to Michael and beat the snot outta Lucifer, probably sacrificing half the planet to save the rest. Which you've already told me is unacceptable. Or…"
Mike leaned forward with an intense look in his eyes. "Or you come up with something else! You're a smart man Dean, tough and resourceful from what you've told me. You say this is our world? Make them take their fight somewhere else! Tell them they can go screw each other and figure something out. This is your fight Dean. For better or for worse they've made it yours! Make them regret it. Make them regret bring such a stubborn pain-in-the-ass into their fight. Make them understand that mankind isn't just going lay down and die when Heaven says so. Show them that you have your own brand of faith, maybe not in God, but in yourself, and in people."
Dean nodded. He wasn't about to roll over for those feathered fucks. Not now, not ever.
"This is our fight," agreed Dean, his face set. "Our world, our fight. Let Heaven kiss our collective asses. Thanks man."
"My pleasure," replied Mike. "However, you are certifiable, you know that right?"
"Story of my life," Dean tossed back with a grin. He stood up, steadier than he thought he would have. He tossed fifty bucks on the table, then stretched out a hand. Mike shook it warmly. "Thanks, man. You take it easy, and be careful out there. The Apocalypse sucks."
"I'll keep my eyes open," replied Mike, matching Dean's grin. "Good luck."
Dean nodded his thanks and strode out of the bar with his head high and shoulders straight.
Mike remained in his seat in the bar, sipping at the last of his beer. Suddenly, everything froze, every person stopped what they were doing and stayed as they were like mannequins. Mike glanced around and nodded.
"You always did use your powers like a bull in a china shop, Raphael," he said, then looked up to see his brother in the vessel of dark-skinned human. "Just like the way you butcher your vessels."
Raphael waved a hand dismissively. Michael's propensity to store his essence within the same golem that he'd created four thousand years seemed to be as strong as ever. Of course, vessels had trouble containing Michael's power for more than a day or two. That was the whole reason for building the golem that sat in this bar. "That's what they're here for, Michael. They're here to serve us for this purpose."
"Really?" replied Michael, "I'm sure that's why our Father gave them life and put them on this world. No one would have a different opinion. Your certainty of the superiority of angels over all other beings has always been more arrogance than any other being could pull off. I can see why Uriel was your favorite pupil."
Raphael smirked, but it was far less confident this time. The reminder of his right hand's betrayal of Heaven and murder of his brothers and sisters was a bitter reminder that Raphael's faith and confidence in Uriel had been misplaced.
"What are you doing here?" asked Michael.
"You called for a meeting of the archangels," Raphael responded easily.
Michael nodded. "For those who still have faith in our Father and haven't abandoned his teachings. For those of us who stand by our Covenant."
"God is dead, Michael," snarled Raphael. "When will you accept that?"
"Probably never," said another voice, and the two archangels turned to regard the two newcomers.
"David. Eli," said Michael in greeting. The other archangels bowed their heads in acknowledgement.
Raphael snorted. It figured that the two of them would have remained in Michael's camp. David had been a staunch follower of Michael from the beginning; nothing had ever made him waver or given him reason to doubt. His assurance that Michael would lead Heaven correctly was as solid as granite.
Eli was something of a different manner. Some said he was the most absent-minded of the all angels, paying far too much attention to mankind for him to have any influence in Heaven. Eli almost seemed to take pleasure in the pitiful accomplishments of mankind, whether mundane or mystical. He was probably so oblivious that he didn't realize half of what was going on right now. Eli probably thought Michael was still in command of the Host, despite God having removed all archangels from command prior to His disappearance.
And death, Raphael insisted in his mind.
"Is this it?" asked Michael, as though in surprise.
David nodded. "Most of the others have firmly attached themselves to the plans and goals of the Choir. Zachariah is having a field day ordering archangels around. One would think our Father had left him in charge of the Bastion."
"Zachariah always enjoyed the limelight," commented Eli, "now that he has it, there is little to be surprised by his actions so far."
"They believe, at best, that our Father has abandoned us," added David, who then speared Raphael with a glare. "At worst, they believe He is dead."
"Not all have broken the Covenant, brother," Eli said, "Novalis and Tyrael have their reasons. Novalis only wants peace between us all, and thus will not take sides in this dispute. Tyrael's loyalties have always lain with keeping us in harmony. He does not believe God is gone from us, but he stays with the Choir to try and re-unite us."
Raphael nearly choked. It was one of the longest coherent speeches he'd ever heard from Eli. And his brother's insight was shocking.
Absent-minded?! Oblivious?! I am a fool, thought Raphael.
"What about Gabriel?" Raphael heard himself saying.
"Still no word on our brother since the Retribution," answered David, whose glare hadn't lessened.
"If he stops hiding at the bartender's feet then he'd be welcome to join us," said Michael.
Their brother rose from behind the bar, and Michael stood as well. Gabriel came around and stood before his elder brother.
"Michael," he said in greeting. There was the slightest quiver of nervousness in his voice.
In response, Michael grabbed Gabriel and pulled him into a tight embrace. Gabriel closed his eyes and hugged his brother back. It had been so long… too long.
Michael grabbed his brother's shoulders and held Gabriel at arm's length. "It's good to see you again, little brother."
Then, without warning, Michael's hand came up and slapped the back of Gabriel's head.
"Oww! What was that for?!"
Michael gave him a stern look. "What? You never hear of phones? Would it have killed you to stop by once every couple of centuries and let your big brother know you're still alive and doing okay? E.T. phone home ringin' any bells?"
"I did enjoy that movie," commented Eli absently.
"Sorry," said Gabriel, chastened.
Michael looked at his younger brother. "So? Are you with us? Or are you going to go back to hiding with your fun and your jokes?"
Gabriel calmly returned the look. "I just want this over. One way or another. I miss the Bastion, but I won't return until this mess is sorted. I can't. I still remember…"
"I know," said Michael, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder, "so do I."
Raphael frowned and nodded sadly, while the other two looked on, uncomprehending.
Michael turned to regard Raphael.
"If you truly believe our Father is dead, then why have you come?" he asked in the stern tone that all of Heaven recognized as an order to speak, and not even try skirting around the issue.
"Because I… I want to have faith," stammered Raphael, "I know that I have lost my belief. Our father has abandoned us, I believe he is dead. But if there is even the slightest chance…"
"Keeping your options open?" David shot.
Raphael returned his brother's glare.
"Enough," said Michael calmly, "there is no need for that. There is nothing in our Father's laws that says one who has lost faith has lost it forever. Regaining faith does not happen overnight. Sometimes faith is not regained until proof is given. But wanting to have faith is a good first step."
"I can't stay in your camp," said Raphael, who turned his eyes on David, but his glare had lost its heat, "I don't have the faith that you do, brother. But I will be your eyes and ears. I will give you what I can from the Choir."
Gabriel looked confused, and turned to Michael. "But you are in charge of the Choir brother, and in command of the Host."
"There were changes before our Father's disappearance, Gabriel," explained Eli, "all archangels were removed from command. Even Michael. No one knows why. Our younger brothers were appointed to command within the Host and the Choir."
Gabriel sent a questioning look towards Michael, who responded with a signal for him to be patient. It went by unseen by the others. Gabriel nodded his understanding.
"What of us, brother?" asked David, "What would you have us do?"
"For now, only to be patient," replied Michael, "the mortal agents in this new tribulation are not ready. We must continue to urge them towards their true destiny. They will be ready, but they are not yet. Do not oppose the Choir, even if they should seek some kind of chastisement for what I have yet to do. I will let you know what I need when the time comes."
David and Eli both nodded, and vanished. Michael turned to Raphael. "Can I count on you, my brother? Can I count on you not to choose the Choir over me?"
Raphael managed to look almost insulted. "You are my brother, Michael. We may not agree, we may grate on each other's nerves with our respective beliefs, but you are my brother. I may have lost faith in our Father, but I have yet to lose faith in you."
With a weak smile, Raphael vanished, leaving Michael and Gabriel alone.
"Can you trust him?" asked Gabriel, hating himself for having to ask the question.
"Only as far as I can throw him, Gabe," replied Michael, smirking, "fortunately, that will be far enough for my purposes. It's good to see you again."
Gabriel sighed in contentment and nodded, then the two of them sat down. Gabriel grabbed a bottle of beer from the table next to them.
"Why did He do it?" asked Gabriel, "Why remove you from command? Everyone knows you're the badass of badasses."
Michael smiled. "For that reason exactly. How can our younger brothers be given room to make their own choices if I'm there with the power and authority to smack them down?"
Realization began to slowly dawn on Gabriel.
"He wanted this to happen?" he gasped.
"I can neither confirm nor deny anything going on in our Father's mind," replied Michael with a wide smirk.
"But they're making a mess of things," protested Gabriel, "if He wasn't dead, or if anyone knew where He was, Father would get back to the Bastion and smack the idiots around. He'd be furious with them."
"Why?" asked Michael.
"They're tearing the Covenant to shreds!" cried Gabriel, "Everything that you worked so hard on with Him. Everything that makes us who we are, and what makes Him our Father! They're thinking they know they can handle this Apocalypse better than…"
"Better than?" encouraged Michael, his grin wide.
"Better than Father," whispered Gabriel.
Michael nodded, his grin widening, if that was at all possible. "You think humans are the only ones who can be confronted with a test of faith?"
Gabriel nodded in understanding. "We're being tested. We all are. Not just humans, but Heaven as well. Me. I was being tested. I failed."
He nearly dropped his head into his hands and started crying. Five thousand years he'd been gone from Heaven. Five thousand years since he'd been forced to choose between two of his brothers. To stand for something that one of his younger brothers believed in so fiercely, or to stand alongside his older brother. It had torn Gabriel apart when he'd seen Michael holding Lucifer limply before their Father, waiting calmly for Father to pronounce the Retribution.
Gabriel had never wanted anything like that to happen ever again. At least, not with him there. He'd taken his vessel and lived his life trying to forget. There were times Gabriel knew he'd almost succeeded; where he'd almost believed that he was merely a trickster and not an archangel.
But it had been a test. It had always been a test. Who could stand to know that everything they'd cared about had been ripped to shreds? Who could continue to stand for what was right after something like that? Michael had always told them there would come a day when they would have to make a choice between what was easy… and what was right.
Lucifer had chosen what was easy.
Now Gabriel realized, so had he.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
His brother's strong hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed in reassurance. "I'm not upset, brother. Neither is Father. I think he knew that when the time came, you'd do what you needed to. You would choose to do what was right."
Gabriel's eyes rose to meet his brother's. "You know exactly where Father is, don't you?"
Michael's features instantly became guarded. "What makes you say that?"
"He'd never," began Gabriel, who paused, gathering his thoughts, "he'd never remove you from command, not unless it was to test us all, like you said. But he'd need to be kept informed, need to have someone who could still do his will. You've always been his favorite, his right hand. He would've told you what his plans were; for Heaven, for the world, and for Himself. You've always been the one he's turned to."
Michael nodded slowly. "He's waiting."
"Waiting for what? For Lucifer to unleash the power that he has available? Lucifer is far more powerful now than he ever was before, and if he gets himself in Sam Winchester there will be no stopping him. Not here in this world. Sam and Dean have got to say yes and get this over with. But Dean's too damn stubborn, he'll never say yes!"
Michael smirked a bit at that.
"And you're not helping!" continued Gabriel, "I was listening, Mike! What was all that crap about figuring something out?! It's almost like you're encouraging him to say no to you. If he does, this world ends! I thought you cared about this place!"
Michael was suddenly looming over Gabriel without warning. For an instant his face was so completely concealed by a shadow as to make it look like a black mask. Gabriel nearly fell over, trying to escape from the power that Michael was suddenly gathering.
"Do not dare to question my feelings for this world," declared Michael. "I have lived in this world, I have been mortal. I have felt mankind's hopes and dreams and fears. I would happily give my life for mankind if that's what I had to do!"
The power withdrew, and suddenly Michael once again seemed no more than a mortal man.
"Thankfully, Father's plan does not involve me sacrificing myself," said Michael quietly. "This is not my challenge, this time."
It is mankind's, he didn't say. His Father had been very clear on that fact. This was the time for mortal man to prove themselves. The righteous man would start it through his love and the frailties of mankind, and would be reborn to find strength and save the world through his own sacrifice.
Dean Winchester was the righteous man. His sacrifice would save mankind. Michael wondered what the sacrifice would be. Father liked to get creative sometimes. The sacrifice could be physical; it could be Dean's life. Or it could be a spiritual sacrifice. Maybe Dean would have sacrifice something he loved. Something he dreamed about. Father could sometimes be as cruel as he was creative or forgiving.
Michael took a deep breath. It wasn't for him to question his Father. Plans had been lain, whether anyone but God knew them or not. Michael could only encourage Dean to do what he did best; think for himself.
"No, my challenge lies elsewhere right now," he continued, and felt Gabriel's questioning gaze. "Lucifer has freed Death. He plans to ride tonight. I must stop him. Gabe, I want you to stay here, in this world. Be my eyes and ears. Keep track of the Winchesters, and of Castiel. Our brother's faith is… convoluted."
"Death?" echoed Gabriel, "He's going to ride? Michael, you can't fight Death. He follows the Balance, if it's his time to ride then no one can stop him! Don't forget; Death can kill you! If you die, then we lose! Think about that!"
"Calm down, brother," said Michael, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I appreciate your concern, but have faith. Everything we do is part of our Father's plan. If my destiny is to die at Death's hands, then so be it. I give myself to my faith in our Father. I will face Death, and I will let myself live, or let myself die. That is the greatest truth of all my power. I have no fear, because I do not doubt God."
Gabriel was silent, but nodded jerkily. Michael knew that he was trying to keep his emotions under control. His time among mankind was rubbing off on him, Michael thought with a smile. He started making his way to the door.
"Mike!" called his brother.
"Yes, Gabe?" asked Michael without turning around.
"God be with you."
Michael smiled, and then was gone.
"Hello, old friend," said Michael in greeting.
Death turned to face him, leaving a hand on his mount. The animal was more symbolic than anything else, and was, if anything, a simple extension of Death's own power. The pale creature seemed to fade in and out of existence, and Death himself seemed to be nothing more than shadows that had managed to coalesce together. But Michael knew that Death's power was great.
"Michael," returned Death in his raspy, whispering voice, "I have seen nothing for four thousand years, and then in less than one cycle of the moon I see two archangels."
"I know that my brother has freed you, old friend," commented Michael, "I would ask of you what it was my brother bade you to do."
"Nothing," replied Death, turning back to his mount, "nothing save to do what I have always done and should have been doing since my imprisonment. I am to ride."
Michael nodded. Lucifer was nothing if not an adept manipulator. He always made sure that he never demanded anything other than what his mark wanted to do anyway. It made him appear very accommodating and much less heavy-handed than the rest of Heaven's representatives.
"I need for you to hold off for a while before you ride," said Michael.
Death turned to face him fully, and his power turned dark and angry. Michael could feel the rage bubbling beneath Death's icy exterior.
"Your Father," spat Death, "ordered me imprisoned within the earth. With neither knowledge of the world nor the passage of time, but only with awareness of my fate. For refusing to obey Him. I have never obeyed Him. I am a part of the Balance, a part of the fate of mankind. My brothers are mankind's woes, and I am their ultimate fate. One way or another, all things die, Michael. Even friendship with the one who locked me away."
"I was wrong to do so. I'm sorry," replied Michael.
Death's head tilted in curiosity. "You say that your Father was wrong to punish me thus?"
Michael hesitated. "I say that I would not have done so. But whether my Father was right or wrong… I do not know."
Death turned back to his pale horse. "I ride once for Lucifer," he said over his shoulder, "once to repay the debt of my freedom. Then I ride to my brothers and as I see fit."
Michael closed his eyes, nodding sadly. "My friend, do not do this. As you said, you are a part of the balance. You are the ultimate end of mankind. You are the essence of their mortality. You are no murderer."
Death paused just as he prepared to mount up. He glanced at Michael.
"Lucifer wants vengeance against this world, again my Father, and most of all, against me," continued Michael, "he is willing to use you to that end. Listen to me my friend; if you ride even once for Lucifer, you will have broken your vows. You will have slain people whose time to pass has not yet come. Everything you ever claim to have been will have been pushed aside, and you shall only be known as Lucifer's hired murderer."
"I have no choice, old friend," replied Death, "our bond of friendship has long since passed. I owe you no debts. Lucifer has given me freedom. I shall give him Death. I will ride."
Michael sighed. He'd really hoped to avoid this. Gabriel had been right. Death could kill him, and in truth, Michael had no desire to die. But Dean was not yet ready for this challenge. He was not ready to face the final Horseman.
What must be done, will be done, thought Michael, I give myself to you, Father.
"Then I invoke the ancient laws and challenge you to single combat," announced Michael, "winner chooses when you ride, and who you ride for."
Death looked down at Michael from atop his pale mount. He slowly descended until he stood face-to-face with the mightiest of the archangels; one of the three strongest beings in existence.
"Your power fades, old friend," said Death, "your power comes from God, and his comes from faith. The faith of mankind is weak, Michael. You have weakened over the millennia. Lucifer has grown stronger. I am the same as I have always been and will always be. Enough of our friendship remains that I would regret taking your life, for you know I can destroy you utterly. I will not show mercy; I am Death. You have weakened too much, Michael."
Michael nodded without hesitation. "Yes, I have. I am weaker than I used to be. I am still strong enough to defeat you. Come, old friend. Come at me. Do not hold back, for I will not. Destroy me, and ride as you choose. Fail to overcome me, and you will not ride for Lucifer, but wait to ride until I say. Do you accept?"
Death nodded once. "I accept."
The titans clashed.
Death was right about one thing; Michael was weaker than ever.
Michael was right about one thing; he was still strong enough to conquer Death.