Prologue
"Michael, please don't do this." The words came out pleading, begging. She had always told herself she would never beg for anything. She had been raised to never let her weaknesses be shown. But now, in this moment, with hot tears leaking down her cheeks, she let them show bright as a lighthouse over a stormy ocean, hoping it would guide him back to his harbor. Back to her. Now that she thought about it, she had been showing her hand more and more with him over the last few years. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Something akin to hesitation, a moment of indecision. There was a shine, and she realized it was tears when one of them gathered at the corner of his eye. He blinked, and it slipped out, falling down in a quick line before settling on his cheek. With a shaking hand, she reached forward to touch his face, fingertips brushing against the hard line of his cheekbone. "Please."
The two of them stared at one another, searching each other's faces for any sign of give. She watched as his Adam's apple bobbed with the strain of trying to ease a lump in his throat. Placing his hand over hers on his face, he leaned forward slowly, pressing his lips to hers gently. It was a chaste kiss compared to some of the others they had shared, nothing more than a soft pressure. A small sob escaped her, somewhat of a laugh of relief. She could feel him pull her closer, one hand on her lower back, the other holding her in place. Breaking the kiss, he placed his forehead to hers, the two of them breathing in each other's scent.
"I'm sorry." He whispered.
Pain bloomed in her belly, the sudden pressure of it forcing a harsh whoosh of breath from her. Confused, she looked down. Red was spreading, staining her blouse. In the center of the stain, sticking just left of and slightly above of her belly button, was a knife, still held in Michael's hand. She could feel the buzz of power around the weapon. Meeting his gaze again, eyes wide, she saw that there was a sort of shock on his face, like he couldn't quite believe what he'd done. He backed away, yanking the knife out when he did. The hooked end caught on her skin on the way out and tore some away. With a whimper, her knees gave out. Michael managed to grab her as she fell forward, lowering her to the ground while she grabbed hold of her belly to try to stem the blood that was now flowing freely down the front of her pants as he rested her in his lap.
"M-M-Mi..."
"Oh, god! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Michael's hands went to his hair. "What have I done?" he murmured in disbelief.
"Michael..." her voice was strained. A groan passed her lips and she curled into herself, trying to ease the pain of the wound.
"No, no, no, no, no." With one arm under her head and shoulders, he pressed his free hand on top of hers, as if trying to force the life-giving liquid back into her body. In fact, that ws exactly what he was doing. Muttering in Latin, he wove a spell to seal the wound. Nothing happened. He moved his hand long enough to see that it still bled freely. She watched his shoulders slump and his face become a mask of sorrow. A spark lit up his face. "Father," he murmured, tears welling in his eyes. A little louder, he said, "Father, please, do something!"
There was no answer. No sound at all except for the crackling of flames around them.
Michael growled, teeth bared as he fought back the tears that were causing him to choke on his breath. Her breath was coming out in quick, harsh gasps. "Michael."
"Shh," he breathed against her hair, where he pressed his lips. "Don't talk. Cordelia! Mallory!" In his desperation, he reached out to his enemies, hoping one of them could help. One of them had to be strong enough to save her.
"There's nothing we can do, Michael." Cordelia told him as gently as possible. "Didn't you feel it? When you stabbed her?" There was a bite to her tone. "Whether you meant to or not, you made it so that wound will never heal. You used your abominable powers to make sure that no one could save her...not even you." The last part was said softly, almost sadly.
A sob wracked his body as he curled around her, pulling her closer to his body, cheek going to rest on her forehead as tears surged down his face in rivers. When she felt the drips of them on her face, her eyes fluttered closed. "I always thought I'd meet an untimely end..." she whispered to him. Taking a shuttering breath, she sniffled and moved her head so that she could see his face. "At least if it had to happen, I'm glad it was by your hand and not a stranger."
"Don't say that!" he bit out. "After all I've done for him, my father will give me anything I ask. I...I just need time."
"Time is something you don't have, Michael." Cordelia warned him. "Belly wounds may be one of the longest ways to die, but she's losing too much blood to last much longer."
"Shut up!" he hissed at her. "I will not let her die!"
"It's too late. You should have thought about that before you stabbed her."
"Michael..." a hand raised to his cheek, uncaring or unaware of the blood that covered it. She wiped at the tears that were still running down his perfect skin like a dam that had broken. "It's ok." He grabbed her hand, pressing it tighter to his face as he shook his head.
"No. No, I won't accept that. There has to be something we can do!"
"No, there doesn't. And there isn't. You know it. In your heart, you knew this had to happen." A shiver ran through her. "I'm so cold."
Knowing what that statement meant, he gathered her to himself again, weeping. "I can't do this. I can't live without you in the world."
A wry smile quirked the edges of her lips as she panted with the effort of speaking. "Before a week ago, you didn't even know I was still alive."
"I had hope," his voice was strained in such a way she hadn't heard from him in a very long time. "I always had hope that you had survived. That's what you do, isn't it? Survive. You told me that yourself. So, please, survive. Fight! Do this for me."
Shaking her head, she said, "No. I'm so tired, Michael. I've been fighting for so long. I just want to rest now. I'm nothing compared to you. Just a stepping stone for you on the way to great things."
"No," he murmured to her. "You are everything. You are the light to my dark. My equal. I will not allow this to happen."
"You don't have a choice, sweetheart." Her thumb brushed his cheekbone. A wave of pain made her face contort. When she opened her eyes, she looked over his shoulder and sighed. "It must be time. They're here."
"Who is?" he asked, sniffling.
"The angels." Her eyes were glassy, and he didn't know if she was actually seeing anything, or just hallucinating from loss of blood, because he couldn't feel anything besides the people standing in the room. "Swing low, sweet chariot..." she sung quietly, a huff of a laugh escaping her lips. "Coming for to carry me home." Her glazed eye turned to him. "Michael...I...lo-" a sudden gurgle cut her off, her lungs seizing as there was no more blood in them to keep them functioning. He watched the light slowly fade, her body relaxing in his arms, hand slipping down his cheek, coming to rest against his chest. Her last breath fanned over his face, sweet and metallic with the taste of blood. A small smile rested on her lips.
"No." His long hair moved in waves as he shook his head, refusing to believe that she was well and truly gone. "No, no, no, no, no, no." He repeated the word like a mantra as he gently shook her body, trying to wake her. When the reality of the situation finally hit him, he felt what was left of his heart shatter. "NOOO!" All around them, with his scream of pain, every flame in the room, every fireplace, every candle, surged upwards, growing exponentially. The air in the room quickly became far too warm and the women covered their faces with their sleeves and cloaks to try to protect themselves. Michael screamed until he had no breath left, and he slumped forward over her. The flames returned to normal, some going out completely, have spent the last vestiges of their fuel source.
"Michael?" Mallory dared to try to get his attention, taking a step forward. For a moment, it seemed that he would not answer her. All she could see was the back of him, his shoulders shaking with his grief. "Mich-"
Another scream ripped itself from his throat as he spun around, the woman's body slipping from his lap as all the others were blown back from the force of his power. As he continued to scream, the building around them began to shake, dust and chunks of rubble falling from the ceiling. The last bits of humanity left in him had died with the woman who lay behind him, and he looked every part the Antichrist in that moment. Covered in blood and face screwed up in anger and hatred, golden hair flying all around his head from the wind that was now swirling around him. His heart was gone.
