Caught in the Fire

Chapter XXIX: The Mess I Made

Michael opened his eyes and found himself lying down on what seemed to be a couch. The sight of an upside-down tree with lights greeted him, and he briefly wondered if he was in the Void he kicked his brother into.

He looked around in a daze and recognized his brother's penthouse. It was late at night, and it was raining heavily outside. He noticed that the penthouse balcony was in shambles, with broken furniture and glass everywhere, and there was a pool of blood on the living room floor. What happened? Where was everybody? The last thing he remembered was Mazikeen dragging him to the Gates of Hell as he was slowing bleeding to death after getting stabbed by a demon. Somehow, they'd made it to the penthouse, then he was in Heaven confronting his Father and finding out that the decree was his fault, and finally, he was here. He checked for the wound in his abdomen and found that it was completely healed. At least he was back on Earth, alive and well.

Michael got off the couch and walked toward his brother's bedroom, wanting to wash up and change into some clean clothes. There was blood all over him and he was covered in ash from being in Hell for hours on end. He went up the stairs and stopped at the Assyrian walls framing the bedroom. He saw his brother's body lying on the bed. He glanced down at his right shoulder, then at his brother, and then he moved on to the walk-in closet to change out of his blood-stained armor. Then he got in the shower and started cleaning himself up, thinking back to his Father's words when he died and somehow went to Heaven.

My Son, you and Samael have started on the path to redemption, and you must see it through to the end.

Once the shower was done, he walked back to the full-body mirror by his brother's bed and stood in front of it in the nude. He looked at his mangled wing and raised right shoulder in his reflection, and then he glared at the body lying on the bed.

How could you do this to me, Samael? I am your brother!

Once, he was revered among all angels, standing taller than the firstborn himself, Amenadiel. The Sword of God, the great Archangel Michael, and God's right hand. But then Samael rebelled and stabbed him through the shoulder, and all his dreams were torn asunder. Even with Samael condemned to his fate in Hell, long was the shadow that the Lightbringer cast on him.

When your twin is the Lightbringer -- it turns out you have no choice but to live in the shadows.

While he had not fallen from Heaven like Samael, he had fallen from grace. He didn't land in a lake of fire, but in the shattered remains of his life. And now, he was just the weaselly, cowardly Michael. The slopey-shouldered brother. The psycho twin brother. The recluse in Heaven who was all bark and no bite. The one who lied because he couldn't face the truth about himself or the things he had done.

What have you done, My Sword?

Michael gazed upon his reflection and all he could see was this twisted version of the angel he used to be—angry, jealous, petty, but above all, vengeful. He and Lucifer had been dealt the same hand, the same face, and even the same shoulders, but for the sake of a lost cause, his brother had taken everything from him. Samael had ruined his life during his ill-fated rebellion. Was it so wrong that he wanted to ruin his life in turn, regardless of the consequences?

Do not banish me from Earth. Grant me a chance to atone for my sins. I swear to You that I can redeem myself.

Michael saw his raised right shoulder, weakened arm, and mangled right wing—the result of Lucifer stabbing him during The Rebellion in a failed attempt to secure free will for all their siblings. He remembered the agonizing pain he felt when that fiery blade penetrated his shoulder, when he fell and broke his wing in three places, and when Samael pulled that blade out of his shoulder. He had lived with that pain for hundreds of thousands of years, while his brother blamed him for it. He turned to look at his brother's body, lying there in that bed, completely motionless, cold, and pale. He imagined him in Hell, suffering the consequences of his actions, and he couldn't help the glint in his eye.