Being inducted into the Powers was no easy task, not even for one that had trained under them through the war, one that had been taught under the Captain's personal tutelage, one who had single handedly brought him to his knees.

He had walked out to the training field, at the other Captain's side, and walked into a various crowd. Some looked confused, others looked put out, some looked irritated that a short messenger would gain such a place at the Captain's side when they had been training harder from day one.

"You can't, of course, just join the ranks."

"I'm not joining a beginners class."

The Power spared a concerned look over his shoulder, knowing that his archangel would be standing a few paces behind, and their eyes met for a brief moment. Something in the messenger had been broken, the Messenger leaving his flock again had created more damage then could quite possibly be fixed, the Council had to convene at the number of messengers who requested to be transferred to a new flock. The only ones who remained were the ones who had been raised as messengers, due to knowing that there had to be messengers to deliver what was needed delivered, but others had requested out. The quantity had been alarming, and there was no valid reason to deny such request, and the Messenger sat back and watched as the Council approved each and every transfer request, and his flock grew smaller and smaller.

The messengers could forgive him for leaving them the first time, it had been a time of war, and while it was no excuse, they all had done regretful things during the wartime. But for him to leave again, as they rebuilt and peace reigned, there was no excuse, and no further forgiveness. The Aerie had been broken, the messengers torn apart by the abandonment for the second time, and while they had known that it would not end well, they had never guessed the type of fallout it would have.

There had been one, quite memorable, a strong willed female with long midnight dark hair, that had glared at the Messenger at her own Council meeting for request of transfer who had spoken what the others were not brave enough to say 'You wanted to be alone, then be alone' and had been welcomed into the Healers flock with open arms.

Zaveriel had changed, with his flock, and had sought out the head of the council himself to request the transfer, and it had been granted just the night previous. The lightheartedness had deserted him, leaving behind only a hard shell, emptiness that did not belong in his eyes. He was sharp, harsh, and focused. The damage done by the Messenger had been lengthy.

The Power nodded slowly, turning back from his moment of silent conversation with his archangel, "No, but—"

"I'm not giving up my blades either. Don't even ask."

There was a certain way things were run here, and though he always had a spot among them, that still came with earning the title.

"There are wa—"

"I don't care what your ways are. I'm not doing it. End of the line, story completed, it's not happening."

"You have to earn your place among us." Nisroc felt worry warm in his chest at the darkened eyes that turned to glare up at him "Though it was reserved you cannot come in and surpass others who have worked for years—"

"I'll fight you if I have to." Others gasped at the challenge "But I'm not being demoted."

It was then that the archangel joined them, coming to stand at the Power's right shoulder, ignoring the captive audience they had "You were demoted the moment you transferred from the Messenger's flock to mine."

"I'm not going to a beginners class."

"Very well." There was only one who could allow one to exceed set guidelines, and that was the Commander who could only allow such things, and others exchanged looks as he allowed it in this moment for the messenger who had transferred to their flock "Puriel, Abraxos, come forward."

The Powers stepped up to his side at the request, and Michael gestured towards the messenger "If you wish to earn your place among us, you will face them."

"Together?"

He nodded "Together."

Zaveriel nodded once, his grip on his blades tightening, as he dropped into the position he favored when in battle. The two Powers fell in stance with him, and with the call from the commander, their battle began. It was a marvel to watch, the messenger was lithe and agile, as all messengers were. He slid under the swings of blades, rolled over one's back to get to the other, and had quickly neutralized Puriel, before turning to focus completely on Abraxos. They fought together for a long moment, dodging and hacking and swinging, dancing in the way that warriors do. And then the ex-messenger used his height to his advantage, jumping up from the Power's slightly bent knee, to perch himself on his shoulders, holding his blade off to the side as he curled his arm around the other's neck and squeezed.

Abraxos coughed, eyes going wide at the lack of oxygen, and after a few more minutes, his blade fell to the ground as he scrabbled at the ex-messenger's arm.

"Called, you've proven yourself, release him."

But he either didn't hear, or he blatantly ignored it, however the messenger didn't release his hold. His grip remained as strong as ever, his arm tight around the Power's throat, and Abraxos choked for a breath as he fell to his knees and bent over in an attempt to flip the compromised messenger from off his back.

"Zaveriel, release him."

The Power's face was turning purple in color, the choking becoming sluggish, when they finally stepped in. The Archangel pried the messengers arm from around the Power's neck, pulling him back with him a few paces, as the others converged on their fallen brother.

"I did everything." The messenger tore himself from the archangel's grasp, throwing his own blades to the ground, as he buried his fingers into his hair, the true pain from the simple action from the Messenger finally rearing it's head, and all eyes turned to watch him "Everything he said! I followed every stupid order! Protected that worthless seraph he's so fond of! I did everything! And it wasn't good enough!"

Abraxos had taken a couple of minutes, but he had since recovered, having sat up to watch the messenger slowly lose his composure. They all had, the Powers, the surrounding crowd, they all watched as he broke completely.

As he screamed and the grass under his feet began to wither and smoke.

As he pulled at his hair, eyes wide in disbelief "He left! Again! Why weren't we good enough? What had we done?"

"Zaves?"

He pointed a finger at the Captain in warning "You stay away from me."

"Zaves, it's okay."

The Archangel dismissed the others with a wave of his hand, and though they loath to leave the scene playing out before them, they didn't dare disobey an order from their archangel. Michael held a hand up for the Power to stop his advance, coming up behind the young messenger, it had surprised him when he chose to come here instead of back to the Healer (he had a weak stomach-which made no sense given to his escapades), but he vowed to speak to his brother on the matter later. Raphael was one of the few that the messenger still trusted after all of this, he had raised him, it was no surprise.

"I know it hurts."

He wrapped his arms around the shivering messenger from behind, he fought against him at first, and then clutched tightly to his arms as they fell slowly to the ground, the crack crumbling into an abyss of broken emotion.

"But it'll be okay."

Silently, he cursed his younger brother, he loved Gabriel dearly and he always would, but the Messenger had never stopped to think of the consequences that could be arisen from his actions and now he had a third of the flock he'd once proudly led.