Him over Me

By moonlight ray

Disclaimer: I don't own Makai Ouji. But then again, the story's gotten so out of control by this point that I don't think anyone does, not even the actual mangaka.

[A/N: So I noticed that the Makai Ouji fandom is a rather small one, and I thought I'd contribute this little piece here to make it slightly bigger. I hope you enjoy it, and reviews are always greatly appreciated!]

Michael stood alone in the vast white space of Heaven's official conference room, his lone figure a small existence amongst the emptiness of the circular enclosure. His wings, usually flared out to increase his presence, were drawn against his back, making him appear all the smaller. His head was angled downwards, his silvery bangs obscuring his face, and his fists were balled tightly at his sides.

The desolate, helpless feeling dancing through the pit of his stomach should have been nothing new. He'd been experiencing it all throughout his life. But it was just one hit too many, even if he was used to it.

Why…? Why does this keep happening to me…?

One by one, they had all turned against him. One by one, they'd all sided with that person. First it had been God. Then he'd stolen Samael's favour. Then Giglamesh. Then Solomon. Now, even Uriel—

Uriel. Michael's nails dug sharply into the flesh of his palms. Just minutes ago, he thought that he still had a comrade in the half-fallen angel, if only barely. But when Uriel delivered his report, it turned out that he'd disappointed yet again. Michael had lost his patience and threatened to rip off Uriel's last wing, but he never could've imagined the response that he got.

"I understand." Instead of the usual resigned tones, Uriel's voice had been steady and resolute. "Cast me out if you so wish. But just you're aware, Michael, Samael has offered to support me as the final candidate for Lucifer's throne if I should ever fall."

"What did you say—!" Upon hearing those words, Michael had reeled back, a fiery ball of energy gathering in his palms.

Uriel held his hot gaze, slowly rising from his kneeling position. "I will not betray the young master."

"Why you—" Michael sneered, firing the magic at the other angel.

Uriel deflected it with ease. He said nothing, his face remaining blank.

"…Get out." Michael growled lowly, turning away.

He heard Uriel retreat swiftly to the door and pull it open. He turned just in time to see it close, and the glimpse he caught of Uriel's face beyond it was one of cold, hard stone.

"So even you will choose him over me, huh, Uriel…" Michael muttered to himself. "A one-winged filth like you…!"

His rage suddenly piquing, Michael blasted a hole through one of the nearby conference chairs. It toppled side to side on its legs, almost like a strange creature with an unsteady gait, before settling back down, still upright.

Michael strided over and, with a blade of light, swiped it aside. The top half slid off and clattered away, but the bottom part remained intact. "Tch." Michael held out a hand, preparing to blast the damned thing to pieces—

Instead, the magic slid right out from his grasp. Scowling, he tried again. The energy barely gathered this time, before immediately dispersing again. Refusing to give up, Michael attempted it once more…

He was hit head on with a staggering migraine, one so forceful that it caused him to stumble and collapse into one of the other chairs that he hadn't yet destroyed. A few seconds passed before he could think clearly again.

Dammit, when did I become so weak? A hot blend of anger, annoyance, and frustration surged throughout Michael's veins. He glared at the stubborn chair, hating himself for the unfinished job.

Hadn't I finished it that day I defeated him and cast him down to Hell? Hadn't I proved myself to be the stronger one? Hadn't I led Heaven to victory over him? Shouldn't that be the end?

Everyone always chose him over me. Even though we were twins, even though we were supposed to be equals… It's always him over me.

Michael's spirit immediately lost its vigour as he recalled the last encounter he'd had with his brother. They'd been facing off as the leaders of two opposing sides, fighting with everything they had against one another, and somehow their heated duel had led them away from the others, into a more secluded area of the battlefield.

Michael had eventually managed to gain the upper hand, cornering his brother and about to deliver the final strike, a victorious gleam lighting his crimson eyes as he brought down his golden sword, The Unsheathed Sword.

"Do you want to know why they always turn to me?" Lucifer's voice had been no more than a whisper, but those words could have been a direct order from God for all the power they held over Michael.

"…!" The Unsheathed Sword froze a mere breath from piercing Lucifer's flesh. Michael held it there in silence, his knuckles white around the blade.

Seeing this reaction, Lucifer smiled. "My dear brother… They come to me because I've never once fought for anyone but them."

"Don't you dare call me that anymore!" Michael growled, inching the sword closer and pressing it against Lucifer's collarbone. "And what makes you think that I don't fight for them too? Everything I've ever done was for the sake of this Heaven!"

Lucifer's expression turned wistful. "Is that so? Because there's a difference between wanting for someone and wanting from them."

"Keh—" Michael mercilessly plunged the divine sword deep into his brother's windpipe. And even as Lucifer's form began to fade away, banished to Hell where they'll never see each other again, the look that he gave Michael was one of complacency and pity.

Lucifer had lost God's favour after that, and Michael had thought that he'd finally overtaken his brother. However, even after the fall, Lucifer had continued to steal people from his side. He'd taken the loyal, level-headed Samael down with him. He'd influenced Giglamesh into betraying the angels during that one crucial time in battle. He'd stolen Solomon from Heaven's ecstacy. And even Uriel, who was an angel in the truest sense, was willing to relinquish Michael for him.

Just what was he doing wrong? Just what part of him wasn't good enough? Just what was it that kept making others choose Lucifer over him?

Michael stared blankly at his hand, coming up with no answers. That's when he noticed that the center of his palm was almost transparent, fading in and out of existence. Closing it into a tight fist, Michael stood and proceeded to leave the room.

I will not lose. Even if it's the last thing I do, I will surpass him. I swear it on my life.