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Michael supernovas in Lucifer’s arms and for an infinite, undefinable second, he is nothing.
And then, he is everything: he every nucleus of every molecule in every star of every meteor of every…
Finally, it shrinks, and he is Michael once more.
When he forms once more, there is a galaxy of nothing and untapped potential, waiting to be formed. He knows nothing and all about it at the same time.
How disorienting.
“What exactly is this?” He asks, more for the sake of it, and takes a second more to stabilise. He is owed that, he thinks, after a delay of eighty thousand years. Nothing, comparatively, to his lifetime and birth before the start of time itself.
He comes back and–
“--escaped from providence, Michael,” Lucifer is saying, “I’ve gone into the God business.” He says, eyes glowing as Michael’s does.
‘He always had been fond of his jokes.’’ Michael thinks, almost despite himself. And then he balances the thought of such God Business. The last time he had lived was eighty thousand years ago, when he had… But that was long ago. It was no one’s matter now.
Which might be why, when Lucifer offers, as casual as could be–
“You could join me,” he says, throwing Michael the sword he had been impaled with, imbued with his essence. “If you wanted to. You’d be welcome.” The other doesn’t smile, but his eyes soften at the tips, even though he knows Michael’s answer before he says it. Such are the trivialities of near-omnipresence.
“I will think about it,” Michael says, almost regretful, and a gateway forms behind him at a thought. “But I think not.”
Lucifer, only stands there, arms by his side, as he watches Michael pass through the gate.
(how little he has changed.)
“Go well brother.” Michael says finally, and he means it. Of course he does.
Michael is spit out into the human realm, and there he properly meets his child, Elaine Belloc.
She admires Lucifer– Samael.
She thinks of him as her saviour, someone who will protect her.
Michael hopes to his own father, her grandfather, that his brother does protect and look out for his daughter, at least, for her faith in him.
But Michael cannot help but warn against his brother, how little his progeny will heed his words. But they are there, and she will remember them, if nothing else.
(Lucifer is not someone to ultimately rely on, he knows from the scars that are not on his body.)
Another ‘gift’ he gives her is the anomaly of the Sandalphon’s pathetic realm. Such a bastard he is. Elaine Belloc will find more use for it than anyone else, he is sure. His daughter is a noble one.
“It was your grandmothers,” he tells her gravely. She will not remember the way his face pinched and the way his voice grew darker, but she will always remember his words. He knows this.
“Take care… my daughter.” He says when he leaves, the hesitation is as clear as anything. Michael Demiurgos has a daughter, undeniably, in Elaine Belloc.
And she too, will stay behind for a while, but Michael is all the better for it. He needs more family anyways.
SEVEN DAYS HENCE:
Michael is sitting, watching the birds in the park roost around their nests.
Although he had not at all visited the 'pathetic' Earth before his… fall. Capture? He thinks it is nice how the birds that had come before them had done the same thing even eighty thousand years ago, with such consistency.
He has not been waiting by any means. Especially not for Lucifer, his brother, who deplores following any sort of predictable script. Unless there’s a big joke in it all, but Earth is… fascinating, for lack of a better word.
In the time he had been stuck, they had gone from stone and huts to buildings that reached the skies. (Not quite the heavens, never the heavens.)
And angel kind had… stayed the same. The only real shiny thing had been the Silver City in which they lived, and even that had not been created by them, only for them by demons who would have a rightful claim to it. He had surely known this, and relished in it during his time away.
Now, in a new body, a new life with a child of whom he was remaining on Earth to keep an eye on, the thought of staying the same, as if no time had passed…
“Michael.” Lucifer amicably says in greeting, sitting beside him on the bench. He was dressed in a usual suit, though his hair was tousled in a way that he used to allow after a good fight. Or a good day.
(Michael hates himself for how he cannot help but know such things. His other half knows him the same, he knows.)
He wondered what Lucifer had done to their his world, and then disregarded the thought.
Such things out of Yaweh’s creation were not his to worry about.
(Michael has a monolith of emotions of things he both did and did not create.)
(He does not care for the corpses of the children, monsters created by the angel Sandalphon that are a bastardisation of his power. Nor does he care for the half boy, who melted the second he left Michael’s forced grip.)
(There is no care to be found to be worried for Lucifer’s and his creation, only that it is one of such a larger list in the things that he and Samael had created together.)
Elaine Belloc may be the only thing in all of both creations he can really love. Despite the faults of her creations, there is a love fostered and pre-born. Ready and ever-leaping.
She is his daughter.
One such who is more perfect than any other being could ever be.
Although, it might be all for shame for her bemusing adoration of—
“Are you enjoying the human realm?” Lucifer asks, chuffing as he clearly recognises Michael snapping out of his rambling thoughts (his Will, and the other’s Power.)
“It is ever-changing.” Michael rumbles, “I have not found such delight since when you set Uriel on fire.”
He can feel Lucifer’s smirk from the recalled memory, and observes the father of the nest he was watching before flying away.
“Ah yes,” Lucifer says lightly, “one of my better exploits.”
“You are not here to talk about memories and catch-up.” Michael points out. It had been a bad habit of Samael’s, to dare around and use distracting words instead of betting to the point.
Lucifer rolls his eyes, and finally gets to it. “Are you certain you want no part in our realm?”
“No, I do not.” Michael answers immediately. Unlike the Adversary, he does not fancy himself playing God, worshipped or not.
“How disappointing,” Lucifer ponders. And he tilts his head in such an exaggerated manner that Michael might have bursted out into laughter if he did not have any better self-control.
Annoyingly, Lucifer can read him as well as he can read him, if the smirk reappearing has anything to say about it.
“You would like me to anyway?” Michael intones, turning to face his brother and away from the peaceful ducks of the pond.
Naturally, his twin, his equal, cannot stand such peace and produces a loaf of bread out of thin air again and starts picking off large pieces to throw at the aquatic residents.
The angel previously known as the Demon Lord, and still is, in some circles, ducks his head at his brother's disapproving frown.
“The realm is… somewhat imbalanced without your touch.”
Michael wants to laugh and cry at such a blatant half-truth. Samael, he thinks, oh, my Samael. (There is, of course, the option of his daughter, Elaine Belloc.)
Instead, he says: “At the core of your creation is the ability to manipulate my Power to your Will. Have you forgotten how to in my absence?”
He had grimly resolved to stop pulling his punches with all of his brothers. Even the ones who count the most. He had waited eighty thousand years.
While the Morningstar has his justified reasons (he knows, oh does he know.) The others, angels and archangels, his professed kin, did not.
He led them into battle, the high-esteemed Power of God himself. And when he disappeared on the battlefield? Nothing. For eighty thousand years.
“No.” Lucifer snaps back, stubborn annoyance bleeding into his tone. “The matter, the Power expelled, is you. No matter what you may call it, it will not be as permanent without your Power to seal in the gaps.”
Oh, Michael thinks, somewhat disappointingly, but rethinks it. If Elaine Belloc had been of use to the matter, Lucifer surely would have asked her for such a favour.
“So I will have to go to the realm on this occasion, to fill in the gaps.” Michael stares pensively at Lucifer.
“You are still welcome to stay there, if you would wish,” Lucifer reminds lightly. But they both know the answer to that before he is even done with the sentence.
“No,” Michael says anyway, because some things must be said, even with near-omnipotence. “But thank you, brother.” My brother. “How would I get there anyway? I am not subject to the drawing urge to pull through the gates.”
“There is one in Lux,” Lucifer answers, saying nothing of Michael’s words before.
“Is that the human establishment you opened?” Michael asks with amusement, getting up and brushing down the green cloak hanging from him. Such a pagan thing, a fellow had sneered at him once, but it was nice, and he liked it. (Humans had such sensibilities to what was appropriate.)
“Lux,” Lucifer says, getting up, “is a bar. Where humanity and otherwise go to dance, parley. Have drinks and distract their minds from the tedious lives they have constructed for themselves.”
“Is that not much like you, brother?”
“E tu, brute?”
Michael slides his eyes to eye him from the side. Mouth pressed together.
“Would you not just lead the way in silence?”
“Do you not yet know me at all?”