The Legend of the Pervy Archangel
The red energy came screaming toward Alice, whose frightened shout could just barely be heard over the angry screech of demonic energy as it ripped the ozone to gas particles, destroying the very air around it with its insidious nature. Her eyes were wide, her vision consumed by the sight of her death rushing towards her. She would have closed her eyes, wanted to even, but her own terror at the situation she was in forced them to remain open. Like a train wreck, she found herself unable to look away.
The sphere closed in.
And was then sliced in half.
The two halves the sphere split apart, moving on either side of Alice. They struck the wall, blowing right through it and sending white-hot shards of sharp, deadly steel in all directions. Alice would have found herself perforated with a hundred fragments of shrapnel were it not for something bright and benevolent wrapping around her like a cocoon.
She couldn't see what it was, because her vision had become filled with nothing but white. In truth, she didn't really care. Whatever protected her made her feel safe and warm and secure in ways she had not felt since her childhood. Those feelings remained, even as the thing that sheltered her body moved away.
Alice blinked as a familiar face stared at her.
She saw Michael, but he looked different. The change he underwent was not monumental. There was no astronomical difference between what he looked like now compared to a few seconds ago. The difference lay not in appearance, but in the feeling he gave off, the sensation that covered her skin like a thermal blanket. He just didn't feel human anymore.
“Alice.” Bright eyes like burnished steel now carried within them a molten glow as they stared at her in concern. “Are you alright? You're not injured, are you?” Alice shook her head, unable to respond. Michael sighed in relief. “That is good. Here, let me get you down from there.”
Before Alice could even regain her voice, the prongs holding her arms against the wall were cut in half by something incandescent and yellow. Alice barely saw it as more than a flash of light, before she fell into Michael's arms, who cradled her body against his as they both descended to the ground. When they landed, he moved back, but kept his hands on her waist.
“Are you sure you're okay?”
Alice took a shuddering breath and tried to ignore the not-so-random heat that sprang to her cheeks. “Y-Yes, I'm fine.” She smiled at him. “Thank you for saving me.”
Michael returned the smile. “Of course. I could not do anything less than come to your aid.” The smile left, replaced by a frown. “Especially when it is my fault that we are in this situation to begin with.”
Alice became confused. His fault? How could any of this be his fault? He hadn't asked Dustin to kidnap her, hadn't wished for it to happen. Why would he possibly think the blame lied with him?
Before she could question Michael on this, a large explosion detonated against his back, causing him to stumble forward.
“I'm alright,” he grunted, straightening. “I'm sorry. I got ahead of myself. I was so relieved that you were safe, I nearly forgot about Lucifer.”
Michael ignored her questioning look. A hand, soft and warm and large, cupped her cheek. Alice felt like melting.
“Wait for me here, okay?” Michael asked softly. “Things are about to get dangerous, so I need you to remain here. I'll be right back.”
He removed his hand from her face and turned around. Alice wanted to shout at him, to tell him that he needed to stay with her, but she couldn't speak, she could barely think, even breathing became a challenge. All she could do was stare, her mind coming to a screeching halt as it overloaded with shock.
Because situated on Michael's back, jutting out and expanding to cover everything except his head from her gaze, were fourteen brilliant and beautiful white angel wings.
~The Archangel Michael~
Michael felt calm as he stopped several meters from the glaring Lucifer. The once powerful angel still used Dustin's body as his vessel. The look of absolute rage on the face of a human that could not express such an inhuman amount of hatred disturbed Michael greatly.
“I see you're powers have returned.” Lucifer clicked his tongue. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
“Yes. You should have,” Michael agreed. “Because now things will not be so easy.” He held out the sword in his left hand, a glowing broadsword made of brilliant golden energy. “And my powers never left me. They were simply misplaced.”
“Tch! Like that matters. This works just fine for me.” Lucifer grinned. “In fact, I'm glad that you got your powers back. Killing you when you were helpless would not been nearly as satisfying.”
“You cannot hope to kill me in that shell,” Michael stated. “You know that as well as I.”
“Hmm. You're right,” Lucifer said, glancing down at the frail human body. “I guess this Devil-in-human’s-clothing act has served its purpose and is no longer needed anyway.”
Soon after the words were spoken, Dustin's eyes rolled up into the back of his head, his body crumpled to the ground, and presiding over his unconscious form was none other than Lucifer.
Lucifer, once considered the most beautiful and powerful angel in all of Heaven, now looked every bit the devil he had become. His body was the color of ash, lithe and thin, but packed with layers of compressed, hardened muscle. The clothing he wore, a simple loincloth, revealed powerful legs and an equally strong-looking torso. And protruding from his back were two black, devilish wings, leathery appendages that unfurled with methodical slowness, an action that somehow seemed menacing even in its simplicity.
Lucifer cracked his neck once, his long, spiky red hair jerking with the violent motion.
A sword almost identical in shape to Michael's, but dark vermilion in color, appeared in his hand.
“Well,” Lucifer said, his lips peeling back in a smile that revealed sharp, fang-like teeth. “Shall we get this party started?”