A/N: This story was originally a oneshot, but I got some requests to continue with the "full story," so here we are. I hope not to offend any particular denominations. Please be open-minded!

Chapter 2

The path gradually became steeper, and the procession of soldiers and condemned men slowed. Michael moved quickly among his brothers and sisters, giving out orders in preparation for facing the demons on top of the hill. He kept a close watch on Samuel, and the younger angel began to wonder if he had lost his captain's trust.

"Lucifer's demons will do anything to stop the Plan from being carried out," Michael said, addressing the ranks. "Keep them away from the soldiers, and do not let them approach the cross. Destroy as many of them as you can."

"Do not leave your backs unguarded. Their most prized war trophies are the wings of angels," Raphael instructed the younger ones. "If you are hurt, call to me or Ariel right away."

The demons attacked as soon as the procession reached the top of the hill. They set their sights on the man bearing the cross and on the Roman soldiers. Their orders were clear: Do not allow the Son to be crucified. Swords were drawn, and angels were pulled away from their grief to do battle.

Chaos reigned as demons and angels fell upon each other, but neither the soldiers nor the crowd could perceive the battle. Only the Son was aware of what was going on, and even He was too focused on His humanity, and the pain associated with it, to pay any attention to the commotion.

Samuel watched as a demon attacked the soldier who carried the hammer and nails, the creature wrapping its spindly arms around the man. Though the soldier could not feel the demon's touch, he was suddenly aware of foreign thoughts and emotions entering his heart. "You should not be here. You should be anywhere but here. Better at the bottom of a cliff than here," his thoughts told him. The soldier found himself dropping the tools and sprinting to the edge of the steep hill that he had just climbed. Samuel broke from Michael's side to run after the demon-possessed man.

"Release him!" Samuel cried when he caught up, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. The demon broke its grip on the soldier and instantly turned its attack on the young angel. Samuel gasped in pain and terror when the demon's claws met his side, tearing into him. Yet, as soon as Samuel raised his own sword to attack, the demon disappeared, too cowardly to finish what it had started. The soldier blinked several times, wondering how long he had been dreaming, before shrugging and turning back toward the gathered crowd.

Sighing with relief, Samuel reached for his bleeding side only to find another hand already there, healing his torn flesh. His eyes met Raphael's, and he smiled in gratitude. The healer did not return the gesture.

"You need to be more careful, Little Brother."

Seconds later, the wound was gone, and so was Raphael.

Michael was too distracted to notice that Samuel had left him. Lucifer was approaching, just as he had expected.

"Give up, Lucifer. Your ranks are weak in number and resolve," Michael said. "Do you really want a repeat of what happened last time?"

"It would be worth it for a chance to cleave your flesh again as you clove mine," Lucifer responded with bitterness, but then continued, "I do not doubt the strength of your army, and I admit that my own followers have no chance of defeating you. But at least I can find consolation in what I have already won."

"You have won nothing," Michael said, surprised by his own rage. He could not stand Lucifer's unending arrogance, the sick, withered reflection of his former beauty and glory.

"Only the thing that matters most to Father. There is more of me in their hearts than there ever will be of Him. They may be His children, but they are and always will be my prize."

With that final statement, Lucifer disappeared, his ranks following soon after.

The battle was over, but the angels saw no reason to rejoice. Lucifer's parting declaration hung heavy in the air, the scene before them offering evidence of the somber truth in his words. The cross was already laid down, and they watched in despair as the Son was unceremoniously positioned onto it. Their grief, momentarily swept aside by the excitement of battle, now returned tenfold.

The soldier, still trembling from his momentary demonic possession, knelt down to fulfill his part of the Plan. At the pounding of the first nail and the Son's sharp intake of breath that accompanied it, a woman's scream rose up from the crowd.

"My son! My son!" Mary cried, echoing the grief of David. There was no knowledge of resurrection and salvation in her mind, only the unspeakable pain of a mother made to watch her child be murdered. She tried to run to His side, to comfort Him, to kiss away His pain as she had done when He was only a child. It was John who held her back, protecting her from the wrath of the soldiers who stood with their swords drawn in warning. The soldier with the hammer and nails continued his work, unaware of the tears that streamed down his face.

A final nail was driven into the cross, attaching a sign written in several languages. The cross was raised up, and angels and men alike read the words: THE KING OF THE JEWS. Many people in the crowd began shouting insults, calling for the Son to free himself. One of the thieves on the cross beside him even found the strength to jeer along with the crowd. The soldiers, their own labors complete for the moment, began gambling over the Son's bloodstained clothing.

Raphael could not keep his silence any longer, and he cried out in his grief and rage, "He is not a king of Jews, but the King of both Heaven and Earth! How dare you mock the One who comes to save you?"

"Peace, Raphael," Michael said, but vengeance was in his heart as well. He looked up at the cross and addressed his Master directly, "Lord, You only have to say the word, and we shall strike them down where they stand. At Your command they shall feel the sting of retribution!"

But even as the archangel's words fell on the deaf ears of the soldiers casting lots at the foot of the cross, the Son spoke in their defense.

"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do."

The soldiers stopped, momentarily stunned by the words of pardon no victim of theirs had ever uttered. They looked up at the cross, and then to each other. They shared a nervous laugh as the initial shock wore off. Surely this man was more senseless than they had originally thought!

Michael shook his head in wonder.

"What manner of love is this?" he said to no one. He turned to the other angels who all looked to him for guidance, and spoke in a voice broken with sorrow.

"Lucifer was right," he said hoarsely, shocking his brothers and sisters. "They are not worth saving. Not as they are now."

"That is why this sacrifice is necessary. It is Father's love that makes them worthy," Gabriel spoke with conviction, his own love for humanity stirring in his heart. "Does a mother not cherish her child unconditionally?" he asked, his gaze falling upon the weeping Mary.

The other thief crucified to the right of the Son offered no insults, only a confession of his guilt and a request for salvation. The Son offered him words of assurance in return.

"Today you will be with me in paradise."

Hours passed, and the Son remained awake and alert, but silent, unlike the thieves who moaned in agony on either side of Him. His mother was still weeping, and He took pity on her.

"Behold your son," He said, glancing from Mary to John. "Behold your mother."

"Let it be as You say," John answered, holding Mary's hand in his.

"Thank you, Lord," Gabriel whispered, his worries melting away. Mary had become very dear to him, and he was relieved to see that she would be taken care of.

Soon after, the sky suddenly became dark, though it was only midday. Another hour passed, and the Son's suffering increased as it became harder for Him to breathe.

The angels were looking more and more like lost sheep, and Michael tried his best to reassure them. "It is almost over," he said, praying that he was right.

The Son shifted on the cross, struggling for air. "Listen," several onlookers murmured, "He's going to say something."

The Son suddenly spoke in a loud voice that no longer carried calm acceptance, but fear and abandonment.

"My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?"

The crowd became disquieted again, many of them wondering aloud what His words meant. The angels were confused as well, and they looked to Michael for explanation.

It was Raphael who spoke out immediately, "His human side cries for help. Let me heal Him, Michael, I beg of you!"

Michael remained strong. "If we interfere now it will undo everything that has been accomplished up until this day. This is our final test of obedience. Father's will be done."

"And what of the Son's will?" Raphael countered, his instinct to heal getting the best of him. He approached the cross, reaching out toward the feet of the Son.

Michael put himself between them, his sword instantly drawn. He spoke slowly and deliberately.

"Your hands have healed countless wounds, including my own, and it sickens me to even think of hurting you. But the salvation of mankind is at stake. If you come any closer, I will not hesitate to raise my sword against you."

The rest of the angels watched in terrified silence as their leader threatened their healer. Raphael looked at his brother with a mixture of hurt and disbelief. He took one step forward, then another.

Michael couldn't believe what was happening. His vision clouded with tears as he raised his sword to strike. Samuel, now back at his captain's side, took Michael's arm in both his hands, begging for him to stop. The archangel easily shook him off.

Raphael reached out, but it was toward his brother, not the Son. Michael froze mid-swing just as Raphael fell to his knees, his head bowed.

"Why is Father doing this to us?" the healer whispered.

The sword fell to the ground with a loud clang, and Michael's arms were around Raphael long before the sound had died.

"This has nothing to do with us," Michael responded. He looked up at the lost faces surrounding him. "It is almost over," he repeated to them as he held his brother tightly. "We must be patient. When He triumphs, our mourning will be dancing."

"I am thirsty."

The two archangels stood and looked back up at the One who had spoken. A soldier offered up a sponge that had been dipped in sour wine, and the Son accepted a few sips before speaking again.

"It is finished."

The Son had to gasp several times before He had enough breath to speak again, but there was strength in His voice as He said His final words:

"Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit."

There was a great thunderous noise, and the earth shook as the Son breathed His last.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you will forgive the added drama with Raphael…He's always independent and stubborn when I write him.

Please take a moment to let me know what you thought, and to share any helpful ideas you might have!

-Samuel