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036. Smell

The air smelled of burned flesh and unholy powers. Aziraphale had to fight against nausea so as not to throw up. Just when he had decided that nothing could possibly be more revolting than the smell, he actually saw the bodies, and changed his mind.

There were several angels there, somehow still within their bodies, although he could tell it wasn't by far. This, however, worried him more than if they had been separated from their body. Unholy powers were needed to relieve an angel of their body, true, but if there was too much of infernal energy, the consequences were much worse. The essence was trapped inside the body as it died. Although the essence could not cease existing any more than human souls could disappear, after enough exposure to unholy powers, it couldn't form a new body, possibly not ever again. The amount of unholy powers needed for that, however, was so enormous that it almost never happened.

To think of something that could trap so many to their bodies, coming as close to permanently killing an angel as possible…

Raphael and other healers hurried around, not even attempting to heal the bodies, concentrating simply on tearing the essences out of the bodies while they still could. It was extremely painful, yes, and required a long period of recovery afterwards, but it was a better fate than floating around endlessly as a bundle of light, not knowing whether you could ever again speak or touch or even move at your own will.

Uriel came in just then. He looked a bit shocked at the sight, well knowing what this meant, but no other reaction came from him, as was to be expected. "What happened?" he asked from the nearest warrior who, while badly wounded, was well enough to speak.

"We were… attacked," the angel replied wearily, every word obviously a pain to utter. "A group of demons… so much more of them… We stood no chance, sir, no chance at all. All we could hope was to get away from there as soon as possible…"

Uriel merely nodded, filing away the information in his once again well-organized mind. "And what about Michael?" he asked them, as if he hadn't even thought of the Warrior Prince until then.

"Gone," replied the warrior bitterly. "He is gone… We saw him being caught by Hellfire, from several sources at the same time, and then he wasn't there anymore. We tried to retrieve his essence, but couldn't get to him… Our Lord Above only knows what has happened to him."

For a moment Uriel just stood there, looking frozen. Then, faster than Aziraphale could even blink, he rushed out of the room. Raphael yelped in surprise, but Aziraphale was already hurrying after the dark-haired archangel, knowing better than to let him out of his sight.

Never before had Aziraphale seen somebody making their way from Heaven to Earth so fast. He was having a hard time keeping up with Uriel himself even though he was used to travelling the way somewhat regularly. Although Uriel hadn't been informed of where the battle had been fought, he seemed to have no problem finding the battlefield. Then again, such a concentration of demonic powers should certainly cause a disturbance in the Presence, guiding him better than any coordinates given by others could.

If the sight of the damaged angels had been bad, it was even worse there. The bodies of fallen demons and the angels who had been fortunate enough to get discorporated lay on the ground, mangled and slashed and mutilated in unimaginable ways. Here and there Aziraphale saw burned bodies reduced to charcoal – a proof that Hellfire had been involved. Constantly reminding himself not to breathe, he followed Uriel on his way towards the centre of the battlefield – Michael's most probable location.

Suddenly he realized somebody was moving nearby. Spinning around, he saw several demons he had thought dead rising to their feet. Their auras masked by the traces of demonic power around, they had lain in wait for anybody who might think of coming to retrieve the fallen angels.

Aziraphale froze, silently scolding himself for running into such an obvious trap. Uriel, however, merely stood there calmly. "Remove yourself from here," he said coolly, "or I will not hold myself responsible for the consequences."

"Consequences? What consequences?" taunted the most powerful of the demons. "You are both unarmed, I see. What would you do against us, Severer? We already took down your dear lover – and you shall be next."

"Point one: I am never unarmed," Uriel said, flicking a knife from his sleeve. "Point two... Michael, however great a soldier he is, is just that, a soldier. My sword has slain you all once – but I do not need to hurt you again."

Aziraphale didn't even realize what was happening before it was already over. A wave of Divine energy washed over him, colliding with the demons. And then, almost as quickly, it was gone. The demons, however, did not rise from where they had fallen next to their companions.

"Those idiots," muttered Uriel. He seemed a bit drawn – understandable after such an action -- but determinedly continued walking over the corpses. "They use Hellfire on us, yet they never expect pure Presence to have such power. And they never learn, either..."

Aziraphale's eyes caught the gleam of sun on blond hair among the corpses. Hurrying towards it, he found Uriel following himself now. Kneeling down beside Michael's body, he grimaced. The single lock of blond hair he'd seen was about all that was left of Michael. The rest of him had been burned unrecognizable, only his armour – partly melted due to the extreme heat it had been subjected to – and sword identifying him as the Marshall of Heaven. The body was very much dead – and the essence was still trapped inside. And it was far too late to remove it now.

Uriel knelt on Michael's other side. "That idiot," he muttered, his voice only showing the same annoyance it had when he had been talking about the demons just a moment earlier. "He just can't stay out of the worst places, can he?" His hand travelled to the scorched chest in a strange cross of a gentle caress and a curious touch on an unfamiliar texture.

Aziraphale bit his lip, wondering what would come of Michael now. He couldn't be removed from his body, so he would be trapped inside it until it wore off. And after that, there was no proof he would ever again have a body.

Who would fight for Heaven now? Who would rise their sword even when all the other warriors fell back? Whose name would they call when rushing into a battle once more?

Suddenly he realized that Uriel's aura was now visible. And so was, he noticed, a very faint aura around Michael, a thin thread connecting Uriel's palm to Michael's chest.

Aziraphale swallowed, all too well remembering the last time he had seen that thread. However, Uriel didn't seem to have any ill intent now. Raising his palm from the chest, he seemed to be trying to get something to follow...

And then, faster than Aziraphale could even blink, a sphere of light burst out of Michael's chest, pulled by the thread Uriel controlled. The light was so bright it hurt his eyes. This wasn't too surprising, though – after all, it was the aura of an archangel concentrated into a space small enough to fit onto Uriel's palm.

Somehow, Uriel had managed to draw Michael's essence from his dead body.

There was something taunting his angelic senses, previously masked by all the infernal influence around him but now impossible to ignore. It was love, he realized – pure, unsullied love stronger than anything he had felt before, mixed with an enormous amount of relief. And it was coming from Uriel.

For a moment Aziraphale was unable to move or speak, overwhelmed by the warmth of love radiating from the archangel. Then Uriel picked Michael's sword in the hand that was not carrying the Warrior himself and stood up, breaking the moment. The feeling of love disappeared, fading into the mild affection he was now used to sensing from Uriel. However, it had been there. Aziraphale had sensed it, for a moment – and he was sure that Michael, despite being reduced to mere light for the moment, had sensed it as well.

Uriel could no more feel normal emotions, Raphael had told them.

Apparently, however, extremely strong ones were still possible for him.

Next Prompt: Sound