“This is not a contest of strength,” Michael seethed, struggling to contain his irritation for the sake of a civil conversation. “At this point, it’s about undoing the damage you’ve caused and keeping the world intact!”
“We live in two very different worlds,” Luce rebuffed. “What makes you so certain I care about maintainingyourstatus quo?”
“Because Mary Magdalene is precious to both of us, and to people we care for.”
Luce kept silent, but the rigidity of his spine and shoulders telegraphed his barely contained rage. Michael had turned this conversation into dangerous waters, and now he dove headfirst.
“Jehovah sent me with instructions to collect her, or to not bother returning.”
Luce was so still, he seemed to not even be breathing. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then his hand twitched, fingers clutching the empty air at his side, and Michael was flying backwards through the air before he had time to brace.
He impacted the far wall at the exact moment his glamour faded, wings unfurling just in time to be slammed and pinned to the wall. White hot pain raced along their arch, telling him therewere fractures in the hollow bones there, and he knew Luce had timed this strike intentionally to ground him and even the stakes for the fight he was about to pick.
The gale force winds that had flung him back continued to rage, holding him captive and simultaneously ransacking the room they were in. Books, papers, bottles of ink and various knickknacks, even a second, smaller chair—nothing was safe.
Several of the newly weightless items would abruptly change course midair to fly at Michael, striking him hard on the shoulders, the broad plane of his chest, even his face, which brought white sparks popping in his vision.
“I thought I had made myself clear, Michael, that Mags makes her own decisions?” Was that a flicker of… guilt? The storm raged harder. “I thought you realized you arenot welcome here.”
He couldn’t catch his breath to speak, and he knew it was rhetorical, but he managed to force a nod. The pressure of the winds relaxed, then halted completely.
“Thenwhy?” Luce practically screamed as Michael dropped to the stone flooring, jarring his knees and catching himself on his palms in a stinging slap. He noted with some astonishment that at close range, you could see a pattern offeathersembossed on the tiles.
“Why are you here? Why do you keep invading myhome?As if I haven’t suffered; haven’t been dealt enough hardship by your hands? You come to rip apart my sanctuary and take the few things I have left away from me?”
His foot came down hard on Michael’s back, pinning him to the floor and re-breaking the slowly mending fractures in his wings. The angel half-whimpered, half growled as sparks popped under his skin like hot kernels. And yet, he had endured much worse. He could take his hits and bear this pain, because he could hear the naked grief in Lucifer’s voice. This was a manon the verge of a breakdown, and the last thing he wanted was to push him over that edge.
Slowly, excruciatingly, stubbornly, Michael shifted his weight. He dug deep inside himself, braced for the rush of hot agony he was about to receive, and shoved backwards with his full weight. His breath caught at the pain that seemed to wrap his chest in a bear hug and squeeze, as expected, but it also worked. Luce was knocked enough off balance that Michael was able to get to his knees and get his bearings.
He scrambled to his feet, trying to cobble together some kind of plan. He wasn’t enough of a fool to think he could take Lucifer in a fight. They were equally matched in swordplay, even if his weapons hadn’t been taken while he was knocked out, and on top of that, Michael’s powers were definitively non-offensive. All the skills that made him a superior tracker did little to assist him in battle, but if there was one thing he could do, it was strategize.
Luce eyed him coldly, circling in slow, fluid steps that kept him squarely facing the angel. “You never knew when to quit.”
“One of my redeeming qualities.”
“Debatable.”
A smile tugged at Michael’s lips. This was almost like old times, bantering and sparring with Lucifer. It was more fulfilling than sparring with Uriel or Jophiel, even if it had always earned him more bruises. As if reading his mind, Luce scowled.
“Don’t you fucking smile at me, like we’re friends. This isn’t fun for me; this is about you violating my sanctum and putting my people at risk. It’s not ajoke!”
He lashed out on the last word, jerking his hand upwards as if tossing a drink in Michael’s face, and a hard slash of wind came rushing. Michael dodged, falling back and twisting to the side, but Luce was ready, sliding up beside him and striking out with another slice. This one caught his drooping wing, the fractures interfering with his attempt to draw them in. The smilevanished, replaced with grim focus. This wasnota joke or a game, and if he forgot that, he could very possibly die.
He continued to evade, outpacing the King of Hell by barely half a step, keeping his eyes peeled for anything that could possibly be a weapon. But Lucifer, of course, knew all his strengths and would have prepared this room to keep any potential advantage from Michael.Think, he chastised himself.What’s here that I can use?
He was in what must be Lucifer’s study. There were no weapons, he had never been able to generate portals at will, and his wings were too damaged for flight.That’s it!He might not have use of his wings, but he was faster than Lucifer, more agile. If he could just gain the high ground...
He leapt backwards without warning, breaking their cyclical dance and landing atop the heavy wooden desk, quickly stepping backwards to put distance between them.
“Really? What is it with you people and climbing on my desk?” Luce grumbled.
He stepped forward and Michael seized his moment, lunging forward and flinging himself through the space between them. He folded his wings in as best he could, leaned back, and brought both feet up into a tuck position, slamming them squarely into Luce’s gut.
The King grunted and went down hard on his tailbone, cursing and shoving at him even as Michael spread his knees to cage Lucifer between them. The angel didn’t hesitate to rear his fist back and slam Luce across the face, his jaw making a harsh clacking sound.
He managed to get one more hit in before a deceptively strong hand shot up between them and gripped his wrist hard enough that his bones ground within. Black lacquered fingernails elongated into sharp claws as Luce glared up, bleeding profusely from his lower lip.
“This is my second split lip this week, and I find I don’t enjoy it any more the second time around. That was a mistake you just made,Michael,” he snarled the name and tightened his grip, bones snapping like popsicle sticks.
