Fallen Angel

Chapter 40.2

The Lord Protector of the Vale was considered the strongest warrior amongst all the angels. Few matched his skill, his speed, or his agility. Once upon a time, only Lucifer could. Yet Michael found he had truly met his match in the Angel of Death. He fought with the same tenacity and ferocity as his father, and was just as proficient with a sword, perhaps even better. 
Every attempt Michael made to strike was in vain. Samael parried each of the Archangel's attacks, switching sword hands even to keep Michael on edge. The simple but deadly longsword Samael wielded flashed through the air and never failed to miss its target. A nick here, a cut there, and soon Michael's ivory battle gear and wings were steeped in blood.
The worst of it was Samael never went for the kill. He toyed with Michael, making him bleed, wearing him out rather than cutting to it like true soldiers in an honourable fight. The two-faced monster had no honour. Weary and dizzy from blood loss, Michael stumbled back when he felt the sting of Samael's blade slash through his skin again, causing a nasty gash over his already wounded shoulder. He grunted but stayed on his feet.

"Give up, Michael. You can't beat me." Samael grinned viciously. "I have watched you for years, studying your every move. I know what you'll do even before you do. Do yourself a favour and bend the knee. I'll grant you the mercy of a quick death."

"Like you gave Azrael, you mean?" countered Michael, bearing the pain down.

"Do not speak that name!"

"Only cowards shy away from their own actions, Samael. You killed Azrael, and you killed your mother. Kill me too if you like; it will not change that their blood will never wash from your hands."

Blinded and fuelled by unruly rage, Samael came at him, bringing his longsword up from the side with both hands. This time, though, Michael was ready for him. Instead of moving away from Samael, he stepped up to him. He grabbed hold of the blade, right underneath the hilt, stopping Samael's attack in mid-air. The Angel of Death's eyes widened in surprise at this sudden action, and Michael took his chance.
He hit Samael's left wrist with the pommel of his own sword. Samael's grip on the longsword loosened, and Michael snatched it out of his hand, throwing it to the other side of the cell. Then the Archangel spun on his heels, slashing his opponent across the chest with his double-edged broadsword. Samael cried out, and Michael swiftly changed the grip on his sword, spun back around and struck again. 
For Azrael. For Margaret. Samael's cross to bear, now carved into that perfect half, which only covered the canker underneath. But a wounded animal was the most dangerous kind. And the Angel of Death was more beast than man.

Before Michael could distance himself, Samael dived, his black wings folding in as he kicked Michael's legs out from under him. The Archangel landed hard on his back, his own blood-tainted wings sprawled in an unnatural and painful angle.
Samael flipped and hit Michael's chest with the heel of his boot. Michael gasped for air as his ribs cracked and his lungs collapsed. Then, Samael stood over him like the horrid giant David fought in a long-forgotten time and stomped on him, again and again. Michael could scarcely breathe anymore.

"You think you're so much better than me? That you're so perfect? God's favourite? You're nothing, Michael! You're less than an ant underneath my boot!" Samael kicked Michael's face. "How does it feel knowing you'll die at the hands of the thing you feared? Of the thing you tried to get rid of before it was even born? HOW DOES IT FEEL, MICHAEL?"

He went for Michael's face again, but in his fury, Samael failed to notice he hadn't lost his sword. Michael waited for the right moment, rolled swiftly to his side to get on one knee, then pierced straight through Samael's thigh. His cry was so intense and blood-curdling that it even stilled Michael for a moment. Just one moment.
He pushed him off his sword, and Samael fell into the pool of blood amassing on the floor. Michael groaned as he got up. Every breath he took was one too many. All the damage he had suffered at Samael's hand had Michael wheezing. It hurt so damned much. But he couldn't stop yet. He had to finish it. He promised.
Michael raised his sword with a trembling hand. He looked into Samael's eyes as the Angel of Death raised his head. Pain. Hatred. Darkness. It was all Michael saw. Any potential of being good had been eradicated by the Circles, by Lilith... and by him.