Michael's world went far, far away...

...and took quite a while to come back.

The archangel drifted in confusion in this new, dark space, as he slowly rose to wakefulness again.

Where had the world gone?

How had this happened?

Never, in his many years of existence, had he once been taken to such a place.

Not once!

The demon - she'd stolen the world from him!

How?!

Broken moments of conversation reached him in the dark.

"...king... down! Kill him!"

The woman's voice was easy to distinguish in the multitude of cries that followed, laden as it was with exhaustion and pain.

"...off, or... all of you!"

With an embarrassing groan he did not intend to make, Michael surfaced fully, turning his head and finally opening his eyes.

And he found the blades of multiple crude weapons pointed at his throat.

Oh.

His body screamed at him of the mess of aches and terrible wounds he had suffered. Not the least vocal were his wings and limbs, which a crowd of Lilim were currently standing on.

No matter. Once he had freed himself - somehow - the wounds would close soon enough.

But the woman's would not. She stood spitting blood, her broken wrist cradled against her broken ribs, her other hand pointing a sword towards the demon at his head.

"Touch him and die," she growled, her broken cheekbone shifting oddly with her jaw's movement.

At that moment, Michael felt a respect for her greater than any other.

For this lowly, soulless demon, a peerless warrior who had somehow bested him while gravely wounded and grieving, was defending his kingly right before a crowd of her kin.

His respect was quite an honor, really, since he'd had such a very, very long life.

If she ever survived this, he would be sure to point that out.

"But he's down," the demon at his head cried, misshapen jaws flapping in excitement. "We kill him now, we're king! It's our realm! We claim it for the Lilim!"

"You're a fool, Kulzar," the woman growled. "Lilim can't take the throne. Leave him be, or die."

The beast's black lips pulled back from broken, yellow teeth. "No! We do this now!" He stabbed a clawed finger towards her. "And now, we kill you too!"

Shouts rose in support. A blade began to pierce the soft skin of Michael's throat as he wrestled to free himself.

Rather abruptly and viciously, a sword split Kulzar's sternum, driving deep. A dagger just as swiftly followed, lodging in the throat of another on Michael's wing.

The crowd jerked back with a collective gasp.

Not waiting for an invitation, Michael was up in an explosion of white, felling two nearby Lilim with penetrating strikes to their chests, then another with a blade his foolish attacker had wielded against him.

A song of battle rose inside his heart once more - grinning, he whirled and struck out at the masses swarming them both, a part of him wishing the tide would never end, even though his body shouted its pain.

This!

This is what he'd been promised at his appointment!

And it was glorious. The tide was immense, determined, and armed with everything at hand, including the bodies of the fallen... which was quite novel, really, and something he greatly appreciated.

The woman was there too, an admirable storm of destruction, fighting with blades and a flurry of deadly punches and kicks.

Until she stumbled, the exhaustion and the wounds she'd taken at his hands costing her balance.

And one demon, seeing his chance, attacked, thrusting a blade at her back.

Michael could not reach her in time - the sword was driven through her, the point jutting from beneath her collarbone with a gout of dark blood.

With a roar of rage, he cleaved his way towards her.

A coward's attack! Worm, you will suffer!

The woman spun with a cry, cutting the demon's head from his shoulders...

...just as another Lilim slid a barbed knife deep into her side and wrenched it free.

With a choked gasp, she fell.

Before her body touched the dirt, Michael caught her.

With powerful wingbeats he carried her up, out of the melee, as the hordes below them roared and fired what weapons they could. Most missed. One arrow pierced his side - he plucked it free with a scowl, and flew until the throne swung into view.

He hovered before it, unsure.

What was he to do now? No place existed in Hell to dress her wounds. Heaven would not take a demon, nor could he leave this post to take her to the backward hospitals of Earth?

"Can't heal... can you."

The woman stared up at him, her eyes narrowed and bloodshot.

A perceptive statement of truth.

Frowning down at the woman's battered face, Michael chose to finally use the language she preferred.

"I once could," he said softly in English, scanning the worst of her wounds. "But my talents lie in the realm of war now. I find I am truly much better at destruction, than I ever was at repair."

His gaze darkened. Blood seeped steadily around the blade jutting from her chest. Her hand, clasped around the wound in her side, did little to stem the flow of dark blood.

The wounds were mortal.

The demon laughed, the sound wet.

"You suck."

He smiled at her.

"Laughing in the face of your own extinction. You continue to impress me, demon."

An unwelcome feeling rose inside him then, something he struggled to label and negotiate.

Sadness.

This had all been a very enjoyable distraction, but like everything else he'd ever experienced, it had proven just as ephemeral.

He would miss her.

Grimacing, the woman grunted, squirming in his arms. "Get... it out."

He finally realized what she was asking, and frowned down at her chest before catching her gaze.

"It will hasten your death."

She glared at him, one eye rolling in a rim of exposed bone. "Good. Tired of... your face."

Michael laughed.

Then nodding, he held her close and grasped the sword at her back.

"You are the greatest warrior I have ever fought," he whispered against her unmarred cheek. "I must have your name."

The woman shifted with an irritated grunt, closing her hand over his, and with an ugly wrench, she tore the sword from her own body.

And held his gaze defiantly until the very moment of death.

The sword slipped from her bloody fingers.

Michael drew her closer as her body grew still.

He frowned.

A symbolic act was needed to mark this moment.

If she would not give him her name, then he would give her a title fitting of her valor.

Gently, he lowered her onto the throne, resting her head back against the dark stone and draping her arms over the rests of the great chair.

Daughter of Lilith, he intoned solemnly, you defeated me in a battle I made far from fair. I, Michael, the most mighty and revered of the Celestial Host, recognize you as my successor. I recognize you as the true ruler of this realm

And he bowed his head in respect.

The ground far beneath his feet shuddered.

The base of the spire cracked with a sound that split the air like lightning.

What is this?

Eyes widening, he tracked the destruction as it swiftly scaled the spire towards him.

The throne finally shattered - too slow, he reached out to pull the woman's body back, but it was already falling.

WHAT IS HAPPENING?! he roared, pulling his wings in to drop with the remains of the throne and the woman's battered body.

A body that did not look quite so battered anymore?

Her descent slowed impossibly as they neared the ground, and by some mechanism he did not understand, the throne reformed beneath them both, the raw material of the spire melting and reforming into a grand circular space. A walkway rose from the ground within its center, flanked with fluidly shaped arches leading up to a massive new throne.

Gone were the angular, hexagonal extrusions - the form of the throne was sweeping, organic, yet jaggedly branched like the antlers of ancient Earth beasts, the tines curling back to face those who would stand before it, wickedly sharp.

Both beautiful and deadly.

Michael gazed about himself in wonder - the entirety of Hell was changing, reflecting the same deadly, yet graceful sweeping arches and sharpened branching tines.

His mouth parted softly with a sudden revelation.

Graceful and deadly.

Just as she had been.

This... was her Hell.

Father above...

For there she sat upon the throne, exactly as he had placed her before. He had not seen the last of her descent, and understood even less of her transformation than that of Hell itself.

Every wound on her body had vanished. Her face was whole, no longer marred by some ancient wound, and free of the bruises and cuts of their battle. Her chest and side no longer bled, her wrist and ribs were unbroken.

With a sudden, shuddering gasp, the woman arched in the seat, her eyes snapping open wide.

And screamed.


Hello! Sorry about the wait. Busy week (I work remotely), and I wanted to get a little ahead... I didn't manage to get too far, but there's a break coming up for me next week and I'm hoping to finish the entire story during that time. Next update will likely not be for a few days, at least, as I've got a very busy week again.

To the story however. I just want to point out one thing - I wrote this and the next chapter (which was originally all one chapter!) BEFORE I ever saw the photo of Mazikeen in that awesome getup from Season 5 that suggests something very interesting that I won't state definitively here. :D Suffice to say, I'm very excited :D If you have not seen the photo, or heard the rumors. Nevermind. ;)

Anyhoo - if you are enjoying the story, let me know with a comment or a review! I love hearing from folks and seeing what you thought. Here's one of mine - I think, despite his work above, that Michael is still a dick. %) Something tells me that will never, ever truly change.

I hope you're all staying safe and well. There's a light at the end of this road, I know it. All will, eventually, be well.