10014/Path of Glory: Therefore Submit

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Path of Glory: Therefore Submit
Date of Scene: 05 February 2022
Location: Saint Patrick's Cathedral
Synopsis: Jon and Cael go to Saint Patrick's Cathedral. Jon turns himself over to Michael for the retribution of his damaged wing in exchange for the angels leaving Manhattan physically and letting the city return to normalcy.
Cast of Characters: Jonathan Sims, Cael Becker, Michael Demiurgos
Tinyplot: Path of Glory


Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The first thing that Jon does when he returns to Grand Central Station is call his husband. It's a brief call, just long enough to tell Martin what's going on, to say that they love each other, to say goodbye. Jon will be back, but who knows what condition he'll be in.

    He puts the finishing touches on a final report to Peggy that he'd mostly finished before the battle, then packs all of his things, sending them through portals to the Triskelion. He'd kind of figured they'd be pulling out soon, regardless of the outcome. The hardest thing to move is the map with the wellspring-sealing spell; the chatter between the archangels indicates that the last wellspring still needs to be sealed, one way or another. Finally he decides to just move the table wholesale into a room at the Trisk; he can deal with precisely where to put the setup when he gets back. Assuming he's in any condition to do so.

    That's the steady drip, drip, drip of his background thoughts, just now. 'When I get back' and 'if I even can, when I do.'

    Finally, with his own portion of the evacuation done, he goes to the center of the Main Concourse, where people are moving back and forth in a controlled rush to get out of Grand Central Station. Fallback plans had been made weeks ago, and so they all know where to go--SHIELD bases across the bridges, the Triskelion, other places for the civilians. One way or another, the resistance against the angelic invasion of Manhattan is over, and either the New York Transit Authority can take back control of Grand Central... or things are about to get a /lot/ worse.

    He stands there, wearing black fatigues and a heavy jacket, his staff and ICER and tac gear all returned to the Triskelion. He stares up at the ceiling of the Main Concourse for a long moment, tracing the constellations he's stared at more than once while ruminating over the past few weeks. Then he sighs and raises his arms, winces slightly in pain--they'd both been dislocated not long ago--and calls out in a ringing voice that echoes off the marble floors and walls:

    "Mother Gaea, Your Champion calls upon You! The battle is done, the Great Seal performed! Come and comfort Your children in their hour of need!"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael has not allowed herself to cry. If she starts to cry, she's fairly certain that she simply won't stop - not in time to do what needs to be done.
    Instead, she wears a stoic and determined mask on her features as she makes her own preparations for what's about to come. She starts by doing something she's been doing all too often of late - taking an extra half-dose of her anxiety medication to help her to cope with the hell that her life has become in recent weeks. She also retrieves her dog, who stays close to her side - physically leaning against her whenever he can. She ensures that all of Amit's belongings were bundled up and sent to her own quarters to deal with - and she spends some time with the boy's corpse, speaking to him softly.
    "It shouldn't have gone this way - I was supposed to keep you safe. You deserved to live, to leave your mark on the world. None of this is right. I'm so sorry, Amit..."
    By the time Cael joins Jon, she's gathered up everything they'll need - the spear she carries strapped to her back, under her wings, as she still hasn't retracted the armor the amulet gives her. Michael's blood is in a container she carries in a bag, hanging off one shoulder, and she carries a large, awkward bundle wrapped in cloth in both of her arms. Walking on her heels is Bear, as the pair stop in the Main Concourse to watch Jon, as she remains completely silent for the moment.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    A soft mist falls around the Main Concourse, despite it being indoors, and the smell of fresh blossoms wafts through the large building before standing next to Jon, is Mother Nature herself: Gaea.

    "Honestly, you needn't make such a show of it, Jon." Gaea says, her tone familiar, open, and entirely friendly. "I am as much a part of you as you are a part of me, to summon me you need but call my name and I will appear."

    Her very presence in the building sets a number of people at ease. That Mother of All Life exudes a calming aura that sooths broken hearts, troubled spirits, and physical aches all at the same time and even though she is shorter than Jon is at the moment, her sheer presence fills the building and tnen some.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon clears his throat. "Seems appropriate to be formal, just now," he says, cheeks flushing ever-so-slightly. "It's done. The... battle of Manhattan, at least. There's one wellspring left, at Castle Winterhaven, but that's in Hell. Lydia's Seal worked--Michael is trapped in the Astral Plane."

    He sighs. "But... the Metatron took control of the angelic forces. I'm going to go surrender myself to Michael, along with his blood and the spear," he gestures to Cael. "I... think I need to hand back the power you gave me, now. To go in properly... unarmed, as it were." He sounds vaguely reluctant, but he knows it's probably what needs to be done.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael remains silent and still - watching Jon's exchange with Gaea with her impassive features, the heavy burden in her arms not seeming to trouble her in the least. If she feels any relief at the Goddess' presence, it's not reflected in any changes in her posture or expression. She seems to have nothing to offer to add to the exchange, as she simply waits for Jon to finish.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Gaea nods solemnly. "I saw the unfortunate exchange of power" she replies. "Restoring him to full strength will help him remember who he is among the Hosts and might give you the edge you need to stop the Voice from undoing all we have strove for."

    She takes a breath and then nods to Jon. "You are likely correct if you wish to appear completley unarmed in all ways. Very well, I will retake my power from you" she offers her hand to him palm up. "All you need do is give me your hand."

    As she waits her gaze shifts to Cael and her expression softens even further. "A very heavy burden you carry, daughter. May I ask what you intend to do with it?" It is true that she is a goddess of life; but Death is simply the other side of Life and thus she is familiar with them both.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon glances aside to Cael and furrows his brow. Then he sighs. "Cael..." He says it softly, and it's not reproachful so much as worried. He shakes his head, and turns away for a moment.

    He reaches into an inside pocket of his tac vest and pulls out a glass vial, slightly larger than the ones he's been using to hold the soil for the wellspring sealing spell. Inside the vial is a rolled-up ash leaf. He pulls it out and reaches out as if to put it in Gaea's hand.

Cael Becker has posed:
    There's a momentary silence as Cael's addressed; she honestly hadn't expected to be acknowledged at all, and she wasn't fully prepared to speak at all. When she does, it's relatively brief and simply, in an even voice.
    "He doesn't understand death, or life, or the suffering he puts us through. Something has to make him understand if we're to fix all this."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Gaea takes the rolled up ash leaf, looks at it and hands it back. "That I will not take from you" she says in a tone that doesn't allow much room for argument. "It's purpose is not yet fulfilled. When it is time, you will know what to do with it." Even so she takes hold of his hand and Jon will feel the warmth of her hand siphon the energy that they had built together in a rush that feels almost like being dunked into a cold spring.

    When she releases him she frowns at Cael. "While I underestand the sentiment and appreciate your attempt to foster understanding, I feel that your actions are in vain. Michael is incapable of understanding that which you want him to see in presenting the body of the child you carry to him. As long as the Demiurgic force is in him he cannot understand death in the way you want him to.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon shudders as the power passes out of him and into Gaea, and slumps a little. He's suddenly unsure. Can he do this, on his own? Can he really? But Gaea said that She chose him for a reason, and only gave him this power to balance Caitlin--who's been stripped of hers. So he must have a chance.

    He sighs, and takes the leaf, tucking it back into the vial and putting the vial back in his pocket. "Right, then," he says. He looks to Cael and frowns. "She's right," he adds softly. "Nothing you say about that is going to get through to him right now. He's liable to take the body away and send it straight to Heaven or something. But if you want to bring him..." He sighs again. Shakes his head.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Uncertainty flickers across Cael's features - and her grip tightens on the burden she carries in her arms, as she looks between the pair. "Something needs to make him understand what he's been doing to all of us." What he asks of Jon... As Jon speaks, there's even a brief flicker of fear on her features. "I have to return him to his family. He doesn't belong- they're not even Christian." The truth was, she knows so little of Amit's family, and his life - but she knew that. It sort of tends to come up when you're battling angels day after day.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "Then my advice to you is to leave him here where those who can track down his family will do so" Gaea replies in a tone of absolute care and reason mixed together. "Know that I am not disagreeing with your intent, only explaining that were it possible, it would already be done. Know that once the power is given up, the full weight of his actions will come down on him and I suspect he will reliquish all control of this universe to the beings that actually live within it at that very moment."

    She moves forward and looks up at Cael--she's slightly shorter in this state, "Cael... you have a good heart. A strong heart, one that cares more than most in the world. But in this," she shakes her head. "Don't waste your energy on something that will serve no purpose... not because he won't, but because he -can't-."

    She turns back to Jon, leaving Cael to make the decision with the information presented. "I wish you luck and know that even without my power, you are still my Champion. My Chosen." She is suddenly a bit taller and goes up on her tip toes to give Jon a light kiss on the cheek before vanishing in a spray of mist that, despite its coolness, is refreshing.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smiles as Gaea disappears, though it's a bit sad. He zips up his jacket, letting out a long breath, and turns toward the doors.

    "If you feel the need to bring him, then do so. Bring him, and rage at Michael, and scream, and show what he's done." A pause. "But do not expect him to understand. He's not /human/, Cael. He's not /remotely/ mortal. You're trying to deal with him as though he's another human being... and he isn't."

    Then, gently, "...And even plenty of humans have done far worse than Saint Michael has. Their victims often begged them to stop, begged them to see what they are doing, to see the pain their actions caused, and those people /did not stop/. I understand if you need to yell at him, if you need to show him, for your own sake... but don't expect him to change his mind. Hearts and minds are not changed by debate and reason and logic. They are changed by emotion, and understanding, and Michael /cannot/ feel grief just now."

    He turns to her, and offers his arms. "I can take him, and get his statement so he will be remembered in the Archive, and then leave him here. Or you can take him, to show Michael. It's up to you."

Cael Becker has posed:
    The control Cael exerts over her emotions is thin, and with Gaea's soothing presence gone, even more tenuous. Slowly, and hesitantly she hands the boy's body over to Jon, her grief flashing briefly over her features. "Be careful with him," she cautions needlessly, as she transfers over the burden. "He- this isn't right, Jon." None of it is.
    But what choice does she have in any of it?

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The statement of Amit is short, after all sixteen years of life is barely enough to truly experience it. But in it is a firey passion and willingness to do what he feels is right: and that is fight. Even at the end, he understood what he as getting into and his first and only kill, one of the blindfolded lesser's was remembered as a shiny achievement that not even the agony of the seraph fire could outshine. He died with pride and honour in his heart.

    Once the boy was handed to the SHIELD medical staff to give back to his family, Cael and Jon set off. There's an eerie quiet on the way to Saint Patrick's Cathedral. The weight of the Seal of Lydia palpable in the air, blocking the will of the Commander of the Hosts from effecting anything on this plane. But the nervous tension in the air also says that the island knows that absolute destruction is lurking just beyond the edge.

    They are seen by a number of patrols, but none of them give them trouble. Instead the patrols fly off away from them, and on the final approach the reason for such is apparent. An honor guard line the street leading up to the Cathedral. The ranks and tiers are set in orders of seven until seven seraphs hover over the face of the Cathedral. It's as much a heroes welcome, as it is the parade given to the forces of battle, showcasing the capture of the most dangerous of foes.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Once everything is settled and situated, they head out from Grand Central Station. Jon tells Cael what he got from the statement, quietly. That Amit knew what he was getting into. That he died with pride and honor. Not helpful, maybe, but it's the truth, however much it hurts.

    Then they walk on up Park Avenue, turn left on E 51st, and he stops for a moment on seeing the honor guard. Shakes his head, and walks on up the street between them. He stops outside the Cathedral proper, and turns to Cael.

    "Alright," he says. "This is it." He reaches out to take her hands, and looks down into her eyes. "Whatever happens in there... presuming Michael agrees to what I'm going to suggest... I need you to go back and tell the others, okay? Take the tape that I gave you, and play it for them. Make sure nobody tries to come... rescue me, or exact vengeance." He frowns. "And... presumably, come get me in a few days, when Michael's... done."

    He swallows. "I wish..." The he shakes his head. Whatever he was going to say, he doesn't bother. Instead, he just leans down to kiss her.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael walks in silence, a leaden, numb feeling settling over her. It's the only way she can survive the walk without balking, or screaming, or bursting in tears - none of which will help. She listens to Amit's story - knowing she needs to hear it. Knowing //she// needs to find and speak to his family herself - anything else wasn't showing the boy the respect he deserved.
    Stopping with Jon, she clings to his hands - her humor showing for just a moment. "You mean me, right?" she asks dryly - when he asks her to make sure no one comes after him.
    Because fuck, she'd like nothing more than to do exactly that.
    The humor doesn't last, though, as she asks, "Days? You think he'll keep you that long?" Oh, Jon...
    She returns the kiss, her eyes growing moist with tears she refuses to shed, and as the pair part she promises quietly, "I'll be here waiting for you, Jon. I promise. And I'll remind you that we can face down any horror - as long as we're together."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon doesn't seem to have any tears left to cry. Somewhere between Caitlin rewarding his attempt to save her by dislocating his shoulders, and seeing Amit's body, something broke inside him. He just smiles down at her, and says, "I don't know if I could have done this without you. I really don't. I love you."

    Then he sighs, and drops one hand, but keeps holding the other while he turns to the Cathedral. "Alright," he says. "Let's go save Manhattan."

    And he walks on up the steps to the doors.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael's hands tighten spasmodically on Jon's - the thought that without //her// - maybe Jon wouldn't have had to endure this. That maybe they could have found another way, maybe he would have taken another path.
    It hurts, but rather than voice it she simply echoes softly, "I love you, too."
    Still holding to his hand, a pair of tears streaking down her cheeks silently, she turns to makes her way into the building, Bear walking at her heel.
    Fuck, she hates this place.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The doors open and inside are more of the same, angels in all varieties sat in pews, lining the upper balcony and filling almost every conceivable space that could hold them. Oddly, (or perhaps not) missing are the Archangels--save two.

    Uriel, looking respectable in his armor, but obviously better suited without it stands at the bottom of the steps leading to the main altar. At the main alter hovers Michael. The Commander of the Host is still semi-tranluscent but is nonetheless replendent in his armor as always.

    He watches the pair as they make their way with eyes that hold both pain and success as he notes the lack of power surging through Jon. "And now... at the eve of my defeat... now, you come?" he asks. "Why?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I have come to negotiate terms of surrender," Jon replies as he strides up the nave, his voice resounding in the Cathedral. "Mine to you, personally, and yours to the resistance and the forces of mortality, on the physical plane." He looks around at the angels, then focuses back on Michael. "You have failed in every battle save the first. Every wellspring but one is sealed, and you cannot find it. You have withdrawn your Champion from the field. We have outmanuevered you, and performed the Great Seal that keeps you from affecting the material plane."

    He stops about fifteen feet from the main altar. "You are defeated, Saint Michael. You even admit it yourself, here and now. We both know this 'game' should move to another plane, but your lieutenant has decided to... flip over the table, metaphorically speaking."

    He frowns at Uriel for a moment, then leans over to whisper to Cael, "/He/ might listen to whatever you have to say. Saint Uriel, I mean. He's the one that planned for me to die, not Michael. If you have anything to say, now might just be the time."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael stays close to Jon as the pair walk up the center of the church, surrounded by a terrifying number of angels - enough to make anyone quell with fear, or weep with awe. Cael feels none of that - overwhelmed as she is with pain, largely numbed over.
    She remains silent as Jon speaks - then turns her gaze towards him directly as he murmurs to her quietl - confusion showing on her features, though she doesn't quite dare to allow herself to hope. "Why?" she asks. "Can he change ny of this - stop any of it from happening?"

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Uriel regards the pair blandly. "I can hear you, you know this right?" he says flatly. "And no... I cannot change what is to happen. Unless, you wish for me to strip of your free will. A move that you mave poured hours of energy into and numerous lives into stopping. To simply tell me to take it from you now seems rather out of character to be honest." He rolls his eyes and looks to Michael. "He has a point, brother" he says, still in that matter-of-fact tone.

    Michael regards Jon heavily, his eyes searching for some trick or ruse to this act. "You come to me to negotiate -terms-?" he says, and even from the astral his words shake the walls of the Cathedral. Regaining a measure of his composure he takes a deep breath, a gesture more than anything real. "Very well, state these -terms- of yours. I will see if they are even worth my consideration."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Uriel's response is more or less what Cael expects, and her expression says so. And Michael- well. He's as exasperating as ever.
    "No words can accurately explain how much I want to hit you with a chair right now," she states simply without bothering to raise her voice.
    He'll hear her, regardless.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon glowers at Uriel. "Maybe I thought seeing what your /plans/ will wreak would make you hesitate. Or maybe I just hope you could explain it to /someone/, since you won't explain it to /me/." He stares at the archangel for a long moment, like he's trying to communicate something. Maybe if Cael understands, she'll be better able to help. Maybe talking to her would change Uriel's mind. Or maybe not. It was worth a try.

    He can't help the flicker of a smile as he turns back to Michael, and squeezes Cael's hand. "Yes, Saint Michael. Terms. You are defeated, on this field of battle. It seems only proper."

    He gestures with his free hand to Cael. "I have here the major portion of the blood I took when I damaged your wing. The spear that was forged from it, and what was left over after--along with what I took from the battle at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. I offer you this blood, so that it may no longer be used against you. In addition, I offer my personal surrender to you, as negotiated at the Laughing Magician."

    A pause, and then he says, "In return, the Armies of the Host leave Manhattan, on the physical plane. Let the people return, let them clean up the streets and come back to their homes. Let them grieve. Let them rebuild." He frowns. "If your ultimate victory is so inevitable, what does it hurt to grant them mercy? To let them go /home/ while they wait for the end?"

    Then he smiles. "Besides... if you let the Metatron retain control of your forces, then /he/ wins this whole business, and not you. Saint Michael the Archangel, Commander of the Armies of Heaven, is defeated... and the /Voice/, whose Purpose is not even war, gains the glory of victory. You cannot /possibly/ want /that/."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Uriel snorts softly at Cael and then withers a bit under a sharp gaze from Michael. "Sorry..." he begs the Commander, "But, you have to admire their consistency" he adds. He looks to Jon. "And their ingenuity. Utilizing yourself as a part of the cessation of the material plan of this world. Very clever indeed. Either he takes your terms, and gets what he arranged with you... or he dismisses them and you are free of this torment." He nods and then turns to Michael once more. "Well?" he asks the Spark of Creation.

    Michael is silent for a long while, the minutes stretcch on as he considers what was suggested. "Returning me to nearly full capacity, which would allow me to wrest control from that... opportunist who seeks to ruin everything in a way that is so... -him- that it grates on me." He pauses. "I get you for our preordained meeting where this..." he gestures to the marred and bloody wing, "can be settled." Another pause. "And all you ask is that we leave Manhattan and move our entire force to the plane of imagination? A move we were planning to do anyway given my..." he sneers and looks down at himself, condition. Am I understanding you correctly?" he asks.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smirks at Uriel. "I'm glad you approve," he says. "I hope I've been learning my lessons well."

    That Michael /still/ doesn't realize Uriel is the spy is... kind of amusing to Jon, really.

    He frowns thoughtfully for a moment, and then says, "One last thing." He glances to Cael, then back to Michael. "There are many in this fight who cannot reach the Astral Plane on their own. You wish a fair fight, yes? The strength of those who will work in concert with me, arrayed against your forces?"

    He straightens his shoulders. "Give us a way into the Astral Plane. A way to open a gate whenever and wherever we wish, for the duration of the 'game.' That way, we can take all those who are in harmony with our purpose alongside us into the battle."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I still fail to see the point in torturing Jon," Cael answers Michael in a cold voice. "You get injured for the first time - and you can't fucking handle it. Something mortals have to endure regularly - I thought you were supposed to be //better// than us?" Her words are pointless, she knows - Michael will never hear and //understand// them - but how can she simply hold her tongue?
    She looks at Jon standing beside her, and squeezes his hand tightly. How can he stand up to this - stare Michael down without breaking? How?

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Uriel nods with Cael. "I admit to giving the same argument with him on a number of occasions. The worst of it is he could heal it at a thought by this time, instead he has kept it in that state as a 'reminder.'" Uriel gives Micahel a disapproving glare before sighing at the Commander of the Legion of Heaven returns the stare with the impassiveness of the artic shelf.

    When Michael speaks his tone has shifted. Much of the heat is gone out of it, returning to the standard cadence of haughty superiority. "I would not expect either of you to understand the concept of honor among gladiators of our caliber." He move forward, passing through the altar rather than go around it. "Very well, Jonathan. I accept your terms." He looks to Uriel. "Give them the key in exchange for the lance and my blood."

    Uriel starts at the mention of this 'key.' "You're... giving them that?" he asks, sounding genuinely surprised. "Okay... then." He moves toward Cael and offers her his hand, in his palm is a small black key that shimmers and pulses with violet and blue mist around it. "How it works. Any lock on any door, use this key. It will fit regardless of the size of the keyhole. When you open that door, it will lead into the astral. The same applies in the astral. Use to key on a door in the realm of dreams... and to the waking world, you go. To shut the gates, simply use it on the other side and the way will be sealed."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods as Michael agrees to the terms, and gestures to Cael. "Put the blood and the spear on the altar," he says softly. He squeezes her hand, once, and then drops it and steps forward, focusing all his attention on Michael.

    "I have one last offer to make, Saint Michael, entirely aside from negotiations." He spread his hands. "I offer my apology, for what I did to you. I should not have hurt you so badly, and I certainly should not have left the wound unhealed once I did." He conjures a globe of water above his left palm. "I offer healing. I've considered it more than once since. I should have offered long ago."

    He stares up at the archangel, and speaks loudly. He's not just saying this for Michael. He's saying it for the audience of the angels. "I am truly, deeply sorry for what I did to you. I struck out in anger--for what you did to Chas, and to Cael, and to the victims of the Papal Killings. I should not have."

    He swallows. "Striking me in anger will not help heal the wound. Torturing me will not remove the memory of the pain. What you plan to do to me is not justice." He lifts the globe of water. "/This/ is justice. It is what is right, and fair. I hurt you--I heal you, and offer apology, and comfort for your pain."

    He takes a deep breath. "What you intend to do to me is vengeance--and vengeance is a cycle of violence that, unless stopped, has no end." He squares his shoulders again. "There will be no vengeance for what you do to me--none that I will condone. The cycle of pain and revenge that started with those gangs in Arizona and ran through Cael to you... it stops with me. It ends here. Whatever you do--this is the last of it."

Cael Becker has posed:
    As the deal is struck, Cael slides the bag off her shoulder, and tries to free the spear from her back one handed - while her other still holds to Jon's. As he releases her and goes to step forward, she holds tightly for another moment, before forcing herself to release him.
    She doesn't want to let go. She doesn't want to let him go.
    As he steps forward, she watches him with an ache of pride, and love, and fear in her heart. Would Jon finally get through to Michael, where she failed? Could they be so lucky?
    "There's no honor in this. I can't imagine anything much more //dis//honorable than torturing your opponent in the middle of a game - especially one with stakes like these. Please don't cause anymore pain - all we ask is compassion. If there's anything I can do, to- If there's any other penance you'd accept."
    Seated by Cael's side, Bear has been watching the proceedings in silence - climbing to his feet briefly as Jon starts to walk forward, only to sit back down once more when Cael doesn't follow him.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Michael shakes his head and waves a hand in dismissal of the offer from Jon. "I require no assistance from you in such endeavors. Apology and comfort are no true balm to my agony. No. Even though it be an act of anger, retribution--or vengeance, as you name it--must be served."

    He looks to Cael, his voice sharp and direct. "I have spoken to you about what was done and how it was his hand that lashed out in anger first! His love for you, who was chosen as a victim of Francis' ignorance!" He points to Jon, anger lacing out in each syllable. He chose to employ the touch of my Fallen brother against me in his own ire! That was torture! This will set the matter between he and I straight."

    His blue eyes narrow at Cael, the weight of them intense for a moment before they fade and he turns to one side. Place the offerings where indicated and take your prize in return. There is nothing -you- can give me, Cael."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Enough!" Jon's voice rings out like a crack in the room, frustrated and angry. "/Enough/. From both of you. The deal is struck. I offered healing, and apology. You will not take it--and that is your right. I hurt you; you do not owe me forgiveness. Nor will I owe that to you, when this is done."

    He sighs. "If only pain will satisfy you--so be it. I'm tired of arguing and hand-wringing about this whole damn business." He shakes his head. "Some day, you will understand how wrong you are, Saint Michael. I only hope it doesn't cause you more pain."

    He looks back at Cael. "Take the key and go back. Tell the others what happened, and what we need to do going forward. Do whatever you need to do--scream, cry, hide in the toilet--and then be /strong/ for me. Please. I'm going to need you, love."

    Then he turns back to Michael, expression set and determined. "Let's get this over with."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael's grits her jaw, glaring Michael down with her grip on the spear, and the bag containing the blood growing tighter. She would like nothing more than to shove that spear into him - but it would achieve nothing good, leaving her to fume impotently.
    When Jon shouts, she winces, closing her eyes and staying that way for a while, before finally looking back towards him. "You're kinder than I am. I think he should suffer for causing this much pain."
    Moving towards the alter, she finally deposits the spear and blood, then moves back towards Jon, her hand reaching out to touch his briefly, before she looks to Michael. "When do I return for him? When will you give him back to me?"

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Michael inhales sharply as the spear and blood were deposited on the alter. He looks to Uriel. "You will have to facilitate this... in my absence, I hope that won't be too difficult" Michael says, turning to Uriel, his expression icy and hard.

    "Of course" Uriel replies and waves a hand over Jon and the alter. The items on the alter simply vanish and Michael's form swells considerably as what was lost instantly returns to him. He is still ghostly, but its as if an illness was relieved from him. Jon turns ghostly, his own form matching with Michael for visibility. A moment passes and then everything in the church winks out save Uriel.

    There was no sound of departure, no rush of wind, nothing. They were there and then they were gone. Uriel lets out a breath. "And it's done..." he mutters solemnly. He turns his attention to Cael. "Tuesday morning. Central Park. There's a big tree in the middle of the Great Lawn... it was birthed when Lydia's seal went off. He'll be at the foot of it."

Cael Becker has posed:
    As Jon, Michael, and the Heavenly Host simply vanish, Cael can feel her legs buckle under her, as she sinks to the floor of the church on her knees, leaning forward onto her hands. Bear is abruptly there, tail wagging desperately as he shoves himself under her chest, craning his head around to lick her face, and lap away her silently falling tears. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't stop it. Oh, God... Jon...
    "Tuesday?" she repeats in a whisper. That long? What will be left of him? How can he recover from that much pain, and torment? And how will they stand any chance of saving reality? "How dare he tell me I can't get vengeance for this..." This is wrong. All of this is wrong. She wraps her arms tightly around Bear, hugging the dog and taking several deep breaths before forcing herself back to her feet.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "There are a selection of numbers that are sacred. Forty, seven, thirteen, and three to list a few of them. In this case three is the operative number. Three days. For those on this plane." He pauses and nods. "He will survive. He will be... wounded. But he will survive. Michael can't kill him. Not in this situation. To do so would be to erradicate himself and everything. Something he is not willing to or capable of doing, if I'm honest."

    He steps forward, standing near her. "He will -live-. And he will -return to you-. Do as he asked and continue to help your people in this next phase. You have something that gives your side a great advantage in the coming week. I suggest you contact the Resistance--or rather what they were, their purpose is likely served; give them Jon's testimony, and allow me to help facilitate answers for those who are likely quite confused about this entire matter."

    He extends a hand to her, an offer to lead her from this place back to Grand Central. "Take some measure of comfort that he is not going to -die- here, and this is one step on the path to this entire ordeal being -done- and your realtiy being given over to those who -deserve- it. But humans have an adage: 'No pain, no gain.' This is part of the pain. And the gain... is all of reality, eventually. So stand up."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "But he //is// going to die," Cael counters angrily. "Not now. Not in the next three days - but he's going to die. He's suffering- he's suffering right now," and she can't rescue him. She can't come for him, like he came for her. The offered hand is ignored as she begins storming back towards the doors of the church. "And he's still going to die. How can you expect this of anyone? It's- it's bullshit. It's fuckin'-" She spots a Hymnal, left abandoned on a pew, and she scoops it up, turning towards the nearest stained glass window so she can hurl it through the priceless piece of art. "It's all bullshit!"
    She glares at the Archangel for a moment, then starts once more for the exit. "I'll call the fucking meeting," she promises simply without looking back, as Bear trots hastily at her heels.