The Powers and The Principalities often, more times then not, fought side by side. It was a strange sight indeed, one being a well-trained team of warriors, under the hand of Michael himself, and the other being a legion of well-trained messengers, trained under the hand of Gabriel himself. Despite their difference in title, they were both still fierce opponents in their own right, able to hold their own individually in the most grievous circumstances.
Their Captains fought well side by side, using their strengths to cover the others weakness, Zaves fought from below the knee, being as small as he was, and aimed to decapitate his opponent while Nisroc stood nearly as tall as his Archangel did, and as such, took aim for the head. They twirled and danced to a song of their own creation, backing each other when they were distracted, a friendship as deep as blood making them nearly an unbeatable team.
The elder of the two treated the messenger as one would a younger brother, having been the first one to treat him with kindness after the messengers had been divided at the onset of the war, and thus the kindness was returned with surprising aptitude, something that was no seen during that time and had been a welcomed sight to witness. The messenger had already been on their level when it came to battle, strategic and quick-witted, he had easily kept his own with the Captain of the Powers when it came to placing the messengers sorted into their flock.
Zaveriel had been one of the few who had managed to knock the tall, fierce, Captain from his feet, managed to lay him on his back during the initial sparring match. He had fought a tad dirty, but he was resourceful in ways that they had not initially attributed to the messengers, and the Power had taken an immediate liking to the snappy, fearless little messenger. After that initial fight, from where he lay under the point of the messengers sword, he knew that underestimation was not a mistake he would willing make again.
It had also been the first time he had met an opponent who refused to let him up until he himself admitted defeat. It had stunned the other Powers, who had changed, just as they all had, in the heat of wartime, when their Captain begrudgingly admitted defeat to the runty little messenger. Zaves had taken his defeat in stride, but not egotistically, and stepped back to allow him to get back to his feet.
From then on, he had kept the messenger close.
The seed of their friendship had been planted during the devastating throws of war and had slowly but surely bloomed into something that weather many storms and had never truly broken.
It had been to the Power that the messenger had gone when his master had returned for the first time, after the end of the war and his attempt at making up for his abandoning them, he admitted to his older friend how he had punched the Messenger in the face, inevitably broke his fingers from the pressure of the impact, and it had been his room that the messenger had stayed in for the first week of the Messenger's being there.
Gabriel had thanked the Power of course, one of the few he truly trusted with the heart of his own Captain; Zaveriel was a spitfire without a single doubt, but he loved truly and deeply, and had gotten his heart broken more times then should have ever come to pass. Of course, Nisroc had turned down the platitude, instead forging a promise with the Messenger to never break his young friend's heart again.
Outside of the Healer, and the Messenger of course, the only other one who could honestly keep the whirlwind in line was the Power. He had a heavy hand, a strong belt, and knew when the time came to pull the messenger back onto the right path.
Every warrior knew that the Captain did not tolerate disruptions in his command, if you were given an order, you were to follow it immediately and without question.
So, when the messenger was ordered to step up with a unit of three, he had taken one look at the unit, and protested. His protest was silenced only at the look he gained from his fellow Captain, and he instead grumbled his agreement to the order and fell out to do as was told.
The unit of four, the three warriors and the Captain of the Principalities, were to take lead, and that they did. Fighting viciously and without mercy, against the hordes of demons that had dared attempt to attack a village of foragers. None of them had the fortune of missing it, the action was so deliberate that they all saw it happen without mistake, as a swing of an unholy blade was made and the messenger side stepped it, no motion to block it, no attempt to parlay, he side stepped the attack with intent, and the blade slid cleanly through one of his assigned unit's shoulder. The warrior in question yelled in pain, coming to his knees at the agony of the coated blade slicing through his skin, through muscle and nerve, until it came out cleanly on the other side.
They all witnessed the deliberate disregard for blocking.
Nisroc came up behind the lone demon and made quick work of decapitating it, with a single upwards jerk of his own sword, cleanly through the demons lower back and up through his upper neck. It gagged and spewed blood from its lips, and when the Power yanked his sword back, it fell forwards in bloody silence.
Abraxos and Puriel rushed forward from either side to tend to the wounded warrior, as the Captain stalked forward for the messenger, Zaveriel didn't look even the slightest bit ashamed for the action he had deliberately taken.
"What was that?"
He got a dismissive wave from the youngers hand "It was too fast for me."
"You are a messenger!" his anger was visible in his mere tone "Fast is what you do. No, you deliberately side stepped that attack. You allowed it to get through."
"So, what if I did?" the messenger matched his tone "That asshole had it coming!"
"I've told you, time and time again, if there is a problem with one under my command, bring the complaint to me so that it may be handled."
"And I've told you that you're not my Captain to be giving me orders."
The others watched them go back and forth, like a game of ball, looking from one to the other as words were thrown back and forth at each other. The Power was angry, he was furious, that someone he trusted had allowed someone under his command to become injured in what was such an avoidable event.
"That I may not be. But I am charged over you by your own commander when he is not present, so when I give you an order, that order is to be followed by the greatest of your ability."
The messenger stepped forward, having to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact with the tall Captain, and poked him harshly in the chest "I refuse to follow any order that puts myself on the line for scum like him." His tone took on a harder edge, something that was so unnatural for the lighthearted Principality, "Elder, Charged, or anything else be damned."
They knew that they should turn away, from what was quickly becoming a private moment between the two, but it was addicting to watch and they found they couldn't, not as the Power took hold of the small finger poking him in the chest and lifted the appendage away from him, "I will not be disrespected like this."
"And I won't be given idiotic orders to carry out."
"I am your Elder and you will show me the respect that I deserve." His own gaze went as hard as the messengers had as he stared straight back into those crystal-like eyes "And if you even think I won't turn you over in front of all of these witnesses then you keep on trying my patience."
The messenger knew, of course, that the Captain of the Power's did not make empty threats, but his emotion outweighed his common sense in that moment, as his eyes narrowed in challenge.
"I call your bluff."
Titus flinched from his place behind the messenger, exchanging a hasty look with the grim Haniel at his side, the messenger was issuing a challenge he would never be victor of, their Captain did not issue empty threats, and the messenger was too clouded by his anger to realize the trap he was leading himself into.
Nisroc narrowed his own eyes at the issuing of the challenge, bending low to meet his gaze on a more level playing field "One more. That's it. One more ounce of disrespect. You are already in it deep for disobeying orders. Do not make it worse for yourself."
"Well, maybe, if you didn't give asinine orders then they would be better followed." The young messenger raised his chin defiantly "You wouldn't dare."
He did, dare that is, and had ended their childish argument with a single motion. Singlehandedly, he took the messenger by the collar of his tunic in one hand and undid the buckle of his belt with the other, making good on his promise. Holding the messenger by the scruff of his tunic, like a mother cat does a kitten, and gave him a heavy-handed thrashing with his belt in front of everybody just as he had threatened to do.
The other Powers winced in sympathy for the Principality, Nisroc was not merciful when he was angered by the misdeed of the other, and there was no one who managed to push his limits exactly like the Captain of the Principalities did. Despite him having been sent back to his rightful flock at the ending of the war and the Messengers return, their Captain had maintained his position in the younger's life, having kept him underwing, a younger brother in need of guiding, a statue of order in his wild chaotic nature.