Prologue: The Archangel

Disclaimer: I don't own everything, and everything I create is half assed at best.

July 31th, 1998

Paradise is in the eye of the beholder. There seems to be a general consensus around the world that Heaven is a place where you'd find golden gates, cotton clouds, and naked winged babies playing harps. However, in reality, Heaven held no such thing so long as you did wish for such. Heaven was whatever you wished it to be, as freewill intended it.

There was an Archangel in Heaven, and this specific Archangel had been ruling over the Golden City ever since the disappearance of the father of creation. The Prince of The Archangels, the Host of Heaven, The right hand of God himself, watched with tired eyes as he stood guard over his father's final creation.

He, much like his younger brother, could never understood why his father wished for them to bow to humanity. In the eyes of the Archangel, humanity was flawed to a teeth. They were a species free to do whatever they wish, innovate however they pleased, but who always seemed to choose the worst option every step of the way.

They choose to rape instead of love, and to kill each other out of spite instead of peacefully talk. Humanity was only a few thousand years old and yet they had done more terrible acts than any other creature in all of creation. They had burned their own kind in chambers, brought illnesses to other nations in attempts at complete genocide, and created weapons capable of destroying their entire civilization. Humans were flawed in many different ways, and yet they still lived without a care in the world.

This maddened the Archangel to no end.

The Archangel stood tired, after years of ruling Heaven, eons since he had last seen his father, the Archangel was tired of waiting. With a flick of his wrist the image before him changed. From the image of the Golden City to the site of a dark throne room filled with masked humans bowing to a pale serpent-like man. With another flick of his wrist The Archangel stood before an image in the Middle East, watching images of men, women and children being slaughtered in drone targeted explosions meant for any hidden terrorists.

Screams haunted his senses, the faces of dying children too young to even walk painted a terrible picture of humanity in his mind. Unbelievable horrors in a matter of minutes, enough blood to create another sea of blood in a matter of hours.

Witches who had made deals with demons for power, dark wizards burning down homes of the innocent, and madmen threatening to destroy the world with simple orders to their military. The Archangel was appalled with what he saw, but he could do nothing to stop it. All the Archangel could do was watch, watch and serve humanity as that was what his father ordered him to do. After all, Michael was a good son after all, and that was what a good son would do.

…oOo…

July 13th, 2010

Zachariah was worried.

Everything was going as planned, the cage had opened as it was expected to, the Winchesters had been notified of the statuses as vessels, and three of the four horsemen had been notified as the status of the apocalypse. However, there was one problem that no one could have accounted for, the prospect that one of the prized fighters in the apocalypses going AWOL.

It had been 12 years since Michael had disappeared. At first, Zachariah had thought nothing of it. Back then he was under the belief that The Archangel has simple gone for a walk, or to possibly prepare himself for his fight with the Devil himself. But the longer he waited, the longer Zachariah start to worry that Michael might be coming back to Heaven at all.

For 12 years the Seraph kept the disappearance of Heaven's leader under lock and key. For those years he had faked orders from Michael in preparations of the Apocalypse, set everything in place in hopes that Michael would return to take up arms.

However, as the fated date started to come closer and closer by the moment, Zachariah soon started to realize the folly in his hopes. Maybe it was time that he went looking for Michael after all.

…oOo…

Harry Potter was not a happy camper. It had been a few weeks since Hogwarts had ended, and the events with Professor Quirrell was still fresh in his mind.

It happened so suddenly, the spirit of Voldemort had possessed the man's mind and was about to attack Harry until there was a sudden flash of light. Afterwards all that Harry could remember was the sight of his Defense Against the Dark Arts with his eyes burned out, and his mouth fuming with smoke.

It was terrifying sight that deeply disturbed Harry for nights to come. After getting patched up in the Hospital Wing, Headmaster Dumbledore had explained to him that what had happened to Professor Quirrell was the result of his mother's lingering love. Harry from the entire explanation extremely asinine.

Harry didn't believe that Love could have caused something so horrific. Love was something sacred and powerful in its own right, but it wasn't something that could burn a man's eyes out, now that would just be silly. No, it wasn't love that caused the death of his late DADA professor, it had to be something else.

"FREAK! Hurry up and get here this instance!"

Cringing at the sound of his aunt's angered voice, Harry quietly wonder what he had done this time. Unknown to him however, a set of events that had just started that would set off the end of every truth that he had ever known.

The apocalypse was coming, and it waited for no man, not even The Archangel himself.

Hopefully this story seems good enough to read. The writing is pretty bad, but I'm just testing the water right now. Till next time I suppose.