"Redemption, n. Deliverance of sinners from the penalty of their sin through their murder of the deity against whom they sinned. The doctrine of Redemption is the fundamental mystery of our holy religions, and whoso believeth in it shall not perish, but have everlasting life in which to try to understand it."

― Ambrose Bierce, The Unabridged Devil's Dictionary

Chapter One: Sin

Note: The Story has had a major overhaul.

I own neither Supernatural or Percy Jackson and Co. Only the plot and any OC'S.

High above the skies of man, a rebellion was brewing.

Another, in fact.

Contrary to popular belief, there simply existed no singular "heaven" as defined by man. Heaven was and still is a relative term, for one man's heaven is another's hell.

And for Michael, Archangel of The Lord Almighty, he idly mused, this heaven wasn't even his own. The heaven he was in was not the one he grew up in; full of the radiance of his Father's guiding love and light. Nor was it the one he was used to servicing; attempting to guide his wayward brothers from the temptation of sin that fell even Samael.

No, the heaven he was in currently was vastly different. The eternal Tuesday at a park of an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub in 1953. The serenity of this specific soul vault did nothing to ease the sheer irony of the turmoil and pain Michael was experiencing.

Wincing, the Archangel attempted to lift himself from his prone position. He took a moment to look at the deep gash against his chest, and the various cuts and bruises on his vessel. It had taken three days and three nights to escape from heaven's deepest prison, only to sense his captors flutter in behind him.

"Michael," The obnoxious voice of an uppity seraph sneered.

Michael exhaled gruffly and stood to face his trio of betrayers with some dignity. Yahweh be damned, he bowed to only One. And his former brothers and sisters in arms were definitely not Him.

Standing in a triangle formation, flanking the strongest on both sides, were two seraphs and their leader. One, recently promoted to leading his own garrison for "ass-kissing" as Gabriel had so eloquently put it, was a white, balding, middle-aged vessel with an ego to match his paunch. Zachariah was a big enough problem alone, with his hatred against humanity leading younglings astray. But with the others, he threatened treason against the Throne. And he was just the enforcer.

Standing to the left of center was the chief interrogator of heaven's jails, brown eyes cold, face impassive, and vessel still as ever. Naomi was quiet even as a fledgling, and only recently, a quite frankly, too late, he thought bitterly, did he realize that this hinted to her overall sociopathy to all creatures of her Father. This aspect was discovered by the main reason for his struggle and exploited fully.

"Raphael. Naomi. Zachariah."

Zachariah snorted in amusement before jabbing a quick right hook to Michael's jaw, downing the weakened Archangel quickly. Without his true vessel, he possessed a only a fraction of his true power. And after the tender care of Raphael and Naomi, he could barely hold his own against Raphael, let alone two high-level seraphs as well. He was mighty, but with only the strength of his family at his side.

Raphael gazed impassively as Naomi slowly approached Michael like a hunter would a wounded deer.

"You need to come back Michael," she said softly, withdrawing her blade from the space between places. "We're not done yet, you need to get better."

Michael scoffed at the audacity of her statement. She attempted to smile, but her eyes belied the truth. They shone with a warmth rivaling glaciers.

"Like Balthasar," he said softly. "Or Jamandriel, Anaiel, or how about Castiel!" With each name his voice rung louder, with a roar of power backing the statement. Even wounded, the power behind his voice began to distort the heaven they resided in.

Zachariah shuffled anxiously while withdrawing his own angel blade. He looked to Raphael for guidance before grinning smugly.

"They were fools," Zachariah barked. "Traitors to heaven, attempting to stop the…"

Michael cut him off mid-stride.

"They were your brothers!" Michael shouted. "You dared to consort with demons, Knights of Hell against humanity and they stood against you! You stripped them of their free will and for what?! Daring to defend the mud monkeys!" He spat the last word like it was horse shit in his mouth.

"Enough, that is enough." Raphael's tone was whispered from his true vessel like hoarfrost across mother Russia. "Do not dare to assume Michael. We are doing our duty, exterminating the blight on Father's creation. I expected better than this from you."

Michael's bewilderment was palpable enough to be noticed by the others, who took the opportunity to seize his arms and force him prostrate at Raphael's feet. Michael attempted to struggle, only to receive a swift butt to the back of his head by Naomi's blade, sending his head spinning.

Raphael knelt to Michael's level, seizing him roughly by the jaw.

Michael, desperate, attempted to sway him one last time.

"Father wouldn't have wanted this Raph, we're supposed to…"

Another blow to the face stopped this train of thought, swelling his left eye greatly.

"You naive little fool." Raphael crooned. "Father's dead!" He quipped. "Soon will you be , after we get every drop of power out of your pathetic little vessel. Then the mud monkeys will be next."

Michael raised his battered face and spat a fat glob of blood in his eye. Raphael roared in anger and humiliation.

Now was his chance.

Michael lunged at Zachariah, twisting the blade at the base of his neck. Now armed, he proceeded to swiftly and efficiently eviscerate the fat fuck's left testicle.

Zachariah shrieked in agony, dropping to his knees in horror. Even to celestial beings, an injury to one's manhood was debilitating. In microseconds, Michael headbutted Raphael's thick skull, breaking his nose in two places, retrieved both his angel blade and the remnants of Zachariah's scrotal sack, and proceeded to ram both blade and scrotum down Naomi's throat.

With Naomi now both choking and lighting up like a christmas tree, and Zachariah having a pain induced seizure on ground, Michael allowed himself a moment of reprieve. Slowly a grin spread across his face.

Let it be said, Michael was the general of heaven's forces for a reason. He was vicious when provoked. Michael straightened his back only to go numb.

An angel blade was protruding from his chest.

An angry, no, scratch that, an extremely pissed Raphael withdrew the blade with a sickening squelch.

Michael looked at his chest in horror, wide eyes turning to Raphael's bloodied face.

Raphael shook his head ruefully before plunging again, and again, and again.

"Such a waste," he muttered. "Such a waste."

Hello!

The story is back!

I've always wondered since first watching season five of Supernatural why Michael would betray humanity. I thought as head honcho, even with God gone, things would be different. The story again is having a major overhaul. Hopefully, you'll still like it!

Also, I am looking for proofreaders. Message me if you want to help me check for grammar and stuff. Any help is appreciated!

Thanks,

C.S. Wiggins III