SLASH M15: contains blood, gore & purposely incorrect biblical references.
ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE, Legion, [Sequel to 'Purity, Innocence, Patience']
Pairing: Michael & Gabriel
Caesura of Armageddon
1. Sanctuary
The last mercy God awarded humanity was the gift of slumber. Each body lay where they were in every abode, Death also slept for today only was his visitation postponed until the quarrel resolved between ruler and general. Earth trembled as storm clouds blotted out most traces of the sun, animals hid as yonder flashing nimbus revealed a gaping window to Heaven which showed a lone form, standing below a more personal holy plague.
'…Kill Michael…Kill Michael…Kill Michael…'
Low vocal utterings avowing the archangel's expulsion in turn, suppressed the gentle implorations echoing sweetly off Heaven's dark, angular architecture. For the first time since Michael's creation, the sun cast light on the ugliness shadowing the infantries' faces; eerily serene were most, predictably marred were the eon veterans. The general archangel was torn in every which way were his services required. Humanity needed another chance, Heaven needed if not forbearance, then proof of unwavering dedication, He demanded Michael's loyalty, but mankind necessitated his attention first. As quickly as the grace of God left his body vulnerable, did he realize all too suddenly: no army stood behind him whether he mishandle his own overwhelming situation, no such power of He sanctioned a guarantee that he'd live at all if he perished, and further worst, the loss of Gabriel's accepting kinship left him completely alone.
Gabriel's eyes met the pleading one's as they glanced up at him, right hand wielding the heavily blade-tipped scepter stilled. For a moment, between the thunderous battle cries, he heard, "Gabriel, please-!"
"-Where there dwells life, is hope!" Michael shouted amid the slowly progressing screams, the winged sanctions circled about between the two, one pleading, the other denying, "Gabriel, I cannot turn my back on them!"
"Thousands upon many years had they to change, of what use would another thousand be when granted? What then if all life is Corrupt, brother?" the second in command bellowed from above and behind the many surrounding, the expression on Michael's face cleaved him, rendering his own heart useless against his brother.
No matter, He willed the command and so Gabriel unquestioningly swung the great offensive verge, thunder crashed with the strikes he directed to the angels as if conducting the mighty storm at sheer will. Clouds broke, reformed, and darkened on earth also as the conflict ensued confidentially aside from those involved.
'…Kill Michael…Kill Michael…Kill Michael…'
All around the archangel came more divine soldiers, and many from his own division, the few blessed with their general's advice and tactical education on warfare. He, serving at a reverse pinnacle, grew uneasily wary of the infantries rising higher than the other uncalled thousands and dividing amongst themselves into fixed units of a dozen. Weapons gleamed like a black sea of broken glass when the moon came to pass upon the shards, the sleepy murmurs attained a deafening silence. The motioned orders passed as the divine infantries disbursed from single hundred units of five into smaller groups, then surrounded the single standing figure on the steps of Heaven's exit. Michael readied the sword at his side and dagger in striking position in his left hand, wings tucked contumaciously to his back, an action frowned upon by the second in command. Each aligned themselves one after the other and faced their bodies to the archangel who spun to briefly face each inexact unit poised in his direction.
Slowly, ever so disconcertingly, gentle whispers seeped through the clouds, many prayed even in their sleep, and so Heaven awaited Gabriel's decree, "Forthwith!"
'Heavenly Father, I beg of you- given the command thenceforth should the holy soldiers pummel me, the wont of my sword is to subdue with equal furor.' Michael blindly fended off blows, his right arm sweeping the various blades aside from his mid-section and legs, his left bouncing various weapons away from his neck and chest area. Standing directly over the portal, he fearfully didn't pass through. He glanced down and tapped his foot on the supposedly non-existent platform but was disenchanted that the area was completely solidified, which left the rooftops of surrounding structures as a last resort for a gateway to earth. 'Help thy fallen and dying if not I. Amen.'
A break in alignment and a flash of steely black signaled the archangel to move, he clutched the sword with both hands and carved an unfortunate angel's wings clean from the shoulder blades, warm blood spewing unto his cloak and arms. Michael stepped over the convulsing body and with his left hand, reached into the smothering chaos surrounding and grabbed a hold of another angel's robe. Sword in hand, he slashed in and ground steel against bone until the stubborn appendages dropped. Falchion colliding with his back, an instant discharge between wing and weapon drew his attention, the archangel swept his left arm back and wrapped around the neck as another's lance charged in his direction. Michael stepped upon the spear at the last possible moment while the angel was close, he whipped both legs around the disengaged body and swung the blade through the wings before him and again behind.
Both angels fell as if made of stone, their once invincible plumes twitching in deathly spasms and iron-forged halos falling from their necks in heavy clanks. Heeding no sign to stop, Michael spun and dodged the hands as they gripped his cloak and tore mercilessly at his clothing. The archangel slammed the commotion of weapons away as they came in contact with his sword, tangling briefly with several soldiers at a time before decollating them of their wings. Gabriel's eyebrows knitted in confusion and wonder as his brother whipped off the shredded uppermost layer of the torn cape and tossed one end around an angel, tied the ends together until only the infantryman's wings flapped violently and fall listlessly as it's host knelt in awe of the general. Incalcitrant blue eyes graced by crimson flecks and iron fragments gazed helplessly before they carried on their task of scouring out attackers, which crawled tens upon hundreds in abundance.
'That mien,' thought Gabriel, 'Michael asks for my assistance. He wishes me present at his side.' The moment passed as with an eye blinks obscures the instant before, his lips tightened as Michael looked away and tore another pair of consecrated plumes off a careless divine. Not an hour into their battle, and the second in command knew his brother's strategy; Michael was never known for ruthlessness, but a foreboding kindness - never striking in anger nor obstinacy, but a slow, certain build toward victory - and Never did he dare to knap a downed enemy twice. Bearing those noble values in mind meant but one thing to Gabriel: Single, Calculated, apterous seizures.
Michael charged head on when ways between aviation strikes and land infantries became clear for a breath, he lead several tens of soldiers behind as he sprinted forward to a deserted area and halted as two speeding angels -one flying at the archangel's shoulders, and the other gliding low at his knees- literally swept the general off his feet. He rode the air current between both sets of wings as they passed over his airborne frame, neither feeling a blade whiz under the joint of their wings and atop their shoulder blades until they crashed to the ground, bathed in their own blood and feathers. Aerial still, he grabbed an idle angel's wrists as they attempted to treat him a beheading, and forced the body into the ground, the rampantly dithering wings spurring flickers of fire as they sped forward. He crouched down, grabbed the shoulders and spun their bodies around causing his own dormant plumes to ignite the air as many a cruel divinity dove low from the spotted skies, and begin chopping at the trapped general's buckler at the dismay and revulsion of the eye which saw all.
'…Kill Michael…Kill Michael…Kill Michael…'
Dark liquid crimson splattered on Michael as he dashed his grievances out and pushed the body off. High above the uproar, lingered Gabriel, he watched calmly as the single form below, the most favored and most dearly costing celestial army general, intentionally put any and all resources to use. The terribly spaced infantries and eager combined forces worked in Michael's advantage as the second in command winced at every accidental blow from bumbling angels unto their own comrades, the archangel easily drew the wings off and dodged a missed vertical blow received by the blood-stained masonry whence the general occupied not seconds before, and nearly painlessly hacked off the exposed wings.
Gabriel, having had his fill of shoddy self-defense and offensive footwork, he shouted an order, "Back to formation! And keep vigilant of your wings!"
Heaven quaked on it's foundations, towers which housed the divine hoard collapsed, majestic dark gray scaffolds buckled first, then the hundreds of abandoned worship cells ruptured up to the sloping garrets. A mighty racket that of an infant's laughter rang in place of crumbling structure, Michael dashed for the tallest, most imposing edifice of all, the endless library belonging to heavenly saints, seeing as those opposing his refusal levitated stunned. He scrambled on his hands and knees upon the library's stairway beneath a vast flying buttress, but paused a moment to instantaneously examine his surroundings; shelves transcending higher than earth's tallest building crowded with endless sections of levels, and on those levels were benches, chairs, and more ladders. The library was a structure of three seemingly vast rooms sectioned off and entwined together like a cord, as if anchoring Heaven to Earth, and the top half was a single conduit column with a great crystal lighting ornament dangling down a chain. Besides freedom stood guarding above the stained glass ceiling where the diamond-like chandelier hung, and so he leapt from the rundle and alit on the first of a thousand landings leading to the uppermost altitude.
Michael began his tiring ascension which delayed when a sword stuck the iron band encircling his neck, he swung his sword behind horizontally and heard a muffled scream and the thud of three objects, one heavy, two lighter than the previous sound. Michael breathed not a moment for the course of battle literally changed tides. A flurry of wings and bodies eclipsed the temple of the all-seeing, He turned His eyes away, He withdrew His formerly omnipresent protection from Michael. Yet the spark, the invisible but ever-present warmth thudding calmly in his chest, coursing through his veins, and giving him the strength to fend off a sword grazing his left arm, was a sign that the reason for his creation and favor was never extinguished. For that, he silently prayed thanks. Blood ran down his arm, warmth spilled out of his wound but quickly dissipated into flowing blue grains dissolving as bright stardust.
The long scrape from wrist to elbow quickly threaded over by displaced muscle and skin, Michael flexed his newly healed arm and flipped the sword until the edge pointed down as he brought up the smaller blade in his left palm. The general archangel sensed fueled panic through the raging furor, screams and volleys unleashed as wing feathers whistled about, heavily concentrated around him. Without notice, a silent swish traced the air currents and ended by wounded grunts, he glanced up into the kaleidoscope-like rafters high. An angel clothed in simple cataphract and robes glided down, her bow drawn and aimed as she surrendered a storm of silver barbs upon the drove pestering her mentor. The archangel nodded his thanks, she dipped her chin and tossed her long, heavy braid behind as she leant her archery skills to his cause. For the few who escaped the skilled cover-shooter, they suffered less but surely.
'…Kill Michael…Kill Michael…Kill Michael…'
The defamed archangel continued his rapid meteoric onslaught as moaning bodies piled beneath his feet and wings oozed unto the black masonry. A rain of blood and hail of feathers stained the general's robes a shade darker than pitch ebony, his blade and arms crusted with a thin cake of dried, and frequently still fresh ruby bodily liquids sprayed unto the aforementioned areas. Before any divine soldier could blink or defend themselves, they caught a sudden flash of Michael's sword and dagger before laying powerless at his boot. He rushed forward, exposed the angels' weaknesses with his dagger and exploited that very blessed fragility with his sword. The ground crowded quicker with wounded than of the faint azure illuminations revealing every felled angels' demise, and physically closer to Gabriel he came until they were merely an few immense leaps and bounds away beyond the library walls.
A hand shot down before him, which connected to another apprentice soldier, the younger angel shouted, offering his hand, "General!"
Michael latched himself unto his acolyte's outstretched limb and readied himself to be carried into the tempest concentrated above and below inside the winding structure. He looked back to the angelic huntress as she laid waste to the many thronging into the crowded archive chamber, and higher the two rose from her unnaturally calm wrath. With the female angel's bow having been split, she drew her sword and defended herself against the angels flocking down and pushing their blades wherever her defenses left her exposed.
The general archangel said to the one carrying him, "Oserel, help Izael."
Loyally, the angel known as Oserel took both the archangel's arms and pulled with all his strength which bourn Michael in the air. Soldiers dove from their clockwise alignment to the archangel, blades in hand and ready to swing limbs off, he sheathed his sword but kept the dagger in his left hand. A deadly blow dealt, but with unmatched speed, Michael flung the blade-gripping arms offside, took hold of armor-strapped shoulder, cleaved off the still wings, and propelled himself off from atop the currently unaware body. Straight ahead lay a group of three dozen infantry circling the libraries as if mimicking the many gears ticking within a clock, as if imitating a cataclysmic whirlpool which all were inevitably drawn, they each swept down one by one upon his reaching the jewel suspended from the rafters. The archangel knelt down and carved out a golden ring encircling the colossal chain and locked his left arm within the decorative hoop, right hand clutching a dagger trained on the group.
One by one, the archangel demobilized the divine soldiers as they swept down for blood. Cleaning a fraction of their wings, the rest flew out too small windows in defeat. He ducked a sword as an angel landed, Michael threw the belt-like hoop around the stuck blade and effectively locked the iron in place. The foot soldier pried and yanked in vain as the general shook his head in disapproval when their gazes met, he lifted his left hand, pointed down and motioned clockwise for the angel to turn around, which the other begrudgingly relented, and faced away for his decapitation. But was instead met with a boot to the spine, and was shoved off to retreat like the rest who followed their logic before reckless orders. Gabriel saw through his brother's eyes as did he also, he rewarded the withdrawn infantry an decoration worthy of their surrender: to regroup alongside the ground forces filing into the library.
"What are your orders, Gabriel?" a soldier asked archangel ranked higher, he looked to the holder of Michael's one-time personally trained faction of well over a thousand weapon-wielding head, and thought a moment.
"Archers," came his simple answer, unbothered by the crack and flash of lighting slicing the atmosphere in uneven sections, "Never have I seen an archangel outrun an arrow."
"But our forces-" the other angel protested.
"-Will be resurrected," Gabriel answered, "On with the siege."
Many a winged archer broke from the black stratus which they were a part of at the second in command's beck, the one heading Gabriel's aerial charge led the few close to the archive repository tower, upon reaching the stained glass roof, they easily plunged through the crystal ceiling. They came, casting ominous shadows. Michael's eyes followed the abrupt sound, witnessing the overhead faction assemble around each study perch one level under the broken ceiling. From the space between their wings slung a quiver, and in each right hand stood a bow, their eyes roved and raked the immense commotion layering more than a third of the towers' lower levels. Effortlessly picked from the uproar, bows drew and arrows pointed at Michael, a smaller amount pointed to the two steadfast angels opposing the capture of their mentor below. The archangel took the flat of his sword and hammered the azure jewel he stood upon.
Thuds equaling the sound of immense sea waves crashing obtained the attention of the two angels, their general poked his head over the massive diamond-like sphere and warned, "Oserel! Izael! Take refuge!"
The first wave filled the entwined towers of pained screams as the arrows struck flesh. Unabated, the archers each fitted their grooved barbs and pulled the string back, a breath later signaled their release. Another eruption of wails shook the hearts of awaiting soldiers stationed beyond the library's walls. The third caused Michael to enclose his ears with his arms for the pitiful shrieks were too great to bear. The fourth brought all earthly creatures to their knees, even as they snoozed surely but fitfully. The fifth created an awe and thick stillness rippling to whomever heard the agonized roars emanating wistfully. Soon, the reverberations of thoroughly distressed howls blended with the cold swish of arrows and thrum of emptied bowstrings.
"Michael is too powerful for such a maneuver," the angel objected, his voice holding truth.
"No matter, he's as human as he wishes to be," Gabriel said, he winced at the coldness in his own voice, but hardened so as not to be distrusted, "The conclusion reached demands few, but very specific orders, beginning with extinguishing this minor flaw."
"The days of darkness hath come at the price of angelic bloodshed," the other soldier murmured, and turned to the archangel at his side, "Will our Father, our Lord, have mercy on us all? I do not know."
"Forgiveness comes to those who unquestioningly follow His word; damnation to those unwilling," Gabriel declared heartlessly, his own words eliding at the thought of his brother's ever presently prominent thwarting weakness, "And a curse it is, for Michael loves both as much as he pities them."
The archangel then whispered to no person other than the voice denying what he knew irrefutable, "Compassion with a great price is his downfall."
The angels descended with care when even the divine corpses gaped silent, they drew their spears and began poking around crimson-stained bodies. None suspected their new leader to shout so apprehensively, "He's alive! Michael is alive!"
A suspicious creak and rattle since missing their attention, gained their notice too late, they trained their eyes on the currently flinging centerpiece which since hung harmlessly was now alive with movement. Michael stood atop the crystal sphere, both arms looped into the ring as he pushed with all his weight on whichever direction the orb careened. They stood transfixed to the unusual scene occupying the space before them, upon reaching an uncontrollable velocity and momentum, the archangel let go of the ring and forced the only two weapons he carried into a single chain loophole, and pried with all his might before the mammoth object could lose motion. The angels charged to their former general, spears in hand and vying to strike, except the archangel proved successful and shattered the iron chain.
He took hold of the gigantic shackle and observed the bowling orb, watching the object rove over the shelves and swallow all in it's destructive path. Books fell by the thousands when vibrated by the rolling decorative instrument, the archers were less luckier after they took flight too late. Each had their blood painted on scrolls and bound tome spines, as if a brush painted spiral trails down the library. Michael wheezed against the chain he held to, his chest having a tight sensation and arms shaking in gradually realized lethargy. Sweat, blood and dust wound down his brow and dripped into his heavy robes, but the siege had yet to come to a conclusion he believed, and so he stretched his right arm up and grabbed a hold of the first rung, then his left to pull himself up the next expanse. He understood that by the fourth volley of arrows, Izael and Oserel were not to be present for the conclusion of his journey, still, he had a duty to fulfill.
Long had night fallen and cast the world in colors of day's eve on the very cheerless midnight, he felt as if his arms were carved of lead as he flung himself over the threshold onto the roof. The archangel wandered the area appearing alone but vigilant of a presence hidden somewhere, and he found where the feeling was coming from; ahead guarding the portal floated his visibly contemplative brother Gabriel. The levitating archangel ply his battle scepter, round and round it went, along with the iron leashed a beguilingly wicked group only known as the 'pawns'. Each had two pairs of wings: a set used for flight and the second that splayed longer functioned as a long-ranged weapon, mid-section shield and armor. Michael caught only a glimpse before an upper wing of the pawn caught him off guard in the shoulder, and the lower, much longer wing fixed to the pawn's half-lower spine connected firmly to his chest and sent him trailing marble to a haphazard stop. The former general spat a mouthful of blood and peeked under his fatigue-contorted eyebrows to his peripheral left, slowly surveying until his grimed shoulders obscured his inspection. Lucifer's chuckle could be heard and mistaken for the note of apocalypse's horn when he first failed to rise from the surrounding rubble.
"Safe passage to earth is out of the question I see," the archangel said to himself, finally standing shakily upon one knee and straining to be left in stance on his own two feet.
Sweat of noon past trickled lazily as he eyed the pawns lined several paces ahead, their unblinking eyes set behind deep iron helmets, their breastplates in renewed sheen upon broad chests, their stocky weaponless arms threaded with thick marble-like cataphract, their tasseled belts swung to and fro as they marched to the near-maimed archangel. Michael sensed his downfall near as the surrounding surviving divine held their breaths, awaiting his next ill prophesized move.
'…Kill Michael…Kill Michael…Kill Michael…'
These 'pawn' always were a puzzle to the archangel; the beings were merely spiritless mediums of the damned serving out their sentence in Heaven's armies. As he understood: they had no psychological response, no physical weakness, and a hunger equaled to Gabriel's to please their Lord. Michael palmed the phantom bruises on his chest and astonishingly felt pain. Heaven was a place where physical agony never disturbed as did the substantial arrival of night under no circumstances was seen in full blackness. Apprehension knocked coldly on the archangel's new discomforting somatesthesia blossoming like crimson fire below the skin as freezing barbs clenched his inflicted muscles. Yes, the grace of He had been fully withdrawn from the most favored of His celestial soldiers.
"Yet again have you rose against He," Gabriel stated honestly, he motioned for two pawns to restrain his brother as he reached solid ground and paced toward Michael, "And further still have you refused His command."
"Your loyal faction has fallen, Michael," he said, placing his left palm on a shoulder. He broke inside as eyes mirroring his own gazed confusedly upon him, their dismayed clarity troubled him deeply as if asking 'Why? You, of all people who should understand, why?', "There is nothing left to fight for."
Knowingly, Gabriel couldn't force his own hands to lay in aggression upon his brother, his own tongue and lips wouldn't obey if told to speak against his said sibling, his own eyes refused to rest apace his brother when not in spirits other than true. As opposed to if being ordered to do so by their Father, then did he deny his own senses having been told to do so.
"He may not kindly justify your actions, but I do," he said, placing his right hand above his brother's still active halo, he nodded, "I will, brother."
"I forgive you, Michael," Gabriel whispered, his eyes roving the unsure iris' gleaming with a hesitant shine, "What more can their leader do?"
Michael shook his hands away from the pawns and traced the arms to wrists, in his gentle grip, encased the larger palms within his own. The comforting warmth, which always calmed others, suddenly felt inoffensively obscene to have perfect lips kiss every fingertip, brush softly atop every knuckle and innocently rest a dream's worth on each hot inner palm.
The face so loved and appropriately commended beautiful, mollified as he approached, mouth moving very much so delicately, spoke low, "Follow."
Michael disappeared in the swirl of mysterious light before Gabriel could object, he turned from the place where his brother once stood and answered to a sea of 'Michael escaped', "Any more such tidings?"
"We've captured those attached to the treasonist general," an angel informed.
"And they are-?" asked the new leader.
"Izael the cherub, Aeleon the pawn-" the same soldier answered as several infantries dropped the mentioned persons before Gabriel, "-Oserel, Iraphel, and Ephoel; all seraph and soldiers."
The lovely Izael knelt quietly, her long robes bloodied and once long hair cut to her shoulders, Aeleon knelt beside the female angel, his own armor and robes a mess; Oserel, Iraphel and Ephoel lay motionless and stuck through with many weapons, "We, the loyalists of our mentor, Michael, will hinder your progress and further aggravate your objective."
"Speak plainly, Izael," an angel said to the kneeling cherub.
"Rescind them," Gabriel ordered, his eyes studying the single break within the clouds leading to earth.
"Lower their ranking?" the soldier asked.
"Spare the rod, spoil the child," the archangel answered, he turned back to those still standing, "Muster those able to fight and call upon the meek, the easily tempted to do our bidding."
"The divine?" another soldier inquired.
"Humans," the new leader spoke.
"Humans?" the soldier queried.
"So should they eradicate themselves with their own hands, their own children, brothers, mothers, their own neighbors, the sin of their existences matched by their own evil: the debauchery of the child to come," Gabriel made it known to all who followed, "The day which we dreaded, and equally longed for, is upon us."
Thank you, saichick, for the help & review! 'Purity, Innocence, Patience' was one shitty cliffhanger for lots, i'm guessing & i'm glad that it stayed a One shot since i can't keep up a continuous poem. Imagine that! i nearly killed my fingers typing out this whole action/drama piece without too much dialogue. yep, i get convinced at the drop of a hat, but wouldn't you like if an odd amount of writers could hop back on their laptop because of ONE review? well, don't mind me if i am that way. o(*u*)0 my shmushy shmooshi-ness makes me unique, LmAo!
*i made up the other angels, too, here's a cast listing since i'm too much invested in the pairing as it is to make up some goddamn OCs/mary sues: Olivia Wilde as Izael, Eric Dane as Aeleon, Alexander Skarsgard as Ephoel, Jared Leto as Iraphel & Taylor Kitsch as Oserel. i coulda added Bradley Cooper, but there seems to be too much blonde/blue eyes on my part, so I added cute Jared & summ hott Kitsch to even the odds. whatever, OCs piss me off 'cause i forget them too easily. namely my own.
~Reviews, words of wisdom, Welcome~!