10684/Path of Glory: All is One, and One is All

Path of Glory: All is One, and One is All
Date of Scene:	15 April 2022
Location:	The Gates of The Silver City
Synopsis:	The Archangel Michael is finaly defeated and dies. Chas is rescued from the Gate of Heaven and the JLD (and allies) manage to put the fate of the universe in the hands of those who live within it.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Demiurgos, Jonathan Sims, Hope Svelgate, Phoebe Beacon, Robbie Reyes, Cael Becker, Rien D'Arqueness, Asariel
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The Stairway to Heaven glows brightly in the Astral realm of Central Park on the evening of Good Friday. While not much merit has been given to the significance of the Christian holiday, there is some historical accuracy of a religious leader being crucified by the Romans on that particular day--or near enough to it for cosmic import.

    The JLD, along with a mixture of powerful allies, find themselves taking the stairs with relative ease. The first six steps are as solid as a normal staircase would be, with the added special effects addition of the staircase flashing brighter with each footfall upon it.

    After the sixth, things get strange. The members on the staircase find themselves moving even if they stand still. It seems the cosmic staircase is more a cosmic escalator at this point. Faster and faster it climbs to the reaches of the over-starred sky and then beyond.

    Time passes. How long is difficult to say. But evntually a light expands on the horizon. It grows brighter and brighter and then, as if brought to an abrupt stop they are there at the field before the Gates of the Silver City.

    The large metal and stone gates are massive and imposing beyond scope. Their pristine finish is a beacon for all souls who seek entrance into their midsts to return to the prime source of their creation: The Presence. There are two factors marring the perfection before the group. One, a spraying of black spraypaint near the opening of the gates in dark blocky letters is the message 'JOHN CONSTANTINE WAS HERE' A bitten thumb fromt the Laughing Magician himself has been immortalized into hopeful message for the souls who seek refuge. If he made it up here, anyone can make it up here.

    The second is a man--mostly human--merged into the gates by his hands and feet. Chas looks better than he has in the past. His hair is brushed and trimmed, his beard likewise. He's been cleaned and the clothes he wore before have been discarded for a silken white shirt and slacks. He hangs there in repose but his eyes show the defiance and determined belief he has in those he counts as friends, family, and allies.

    All along the top of the gates of the City are the gathered Hosts of Heaven. There, at the forefront of the gate stand the 12 others of the Supremacy of the Hosts: the other Archangels. Their expressions are impassive and resolute. They wear the armor of their station and bear their weapons. They will not participate in this conflict, but they will do as they do best.

    They will witness.

    Standing before the gate itself is Michael. He is resplendent as ever (save the jagged scar that cuts his face from brow into his hairline) and wearing armor that gleams in the eternal Light of Heaven. He is also armed in such a way as to take on an entire army. Weapons of every size and make are festooned on him and even if he looks overburdened by a glance, it's clear he is in his element despite the adornments. In one had is a spear of shimmering light. In another a longsword. Neither carry the terrifying obdurate power that his shard of the Presence did, but they look formidable enough to cause great harm to any who take a strike from them.

    As the members depart from the stair, Jonathan Sims simply vanishes and Michael speaks. "Be not afraid. My dialogue with Jonathan will not harm him. He is safe, but he and I require a discourse. The rest of you?" He sets his feet and readies his weapons. "Come and take your fill."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
---ELSEWHERE---

    Jon finds himself in a completely white room with a single table and two chairs. In one is Michael; dressed not for battle but in a simple white tunic trimmed with silver and gold. A pair of simple sandals wrap over his feet and a circlet of gold rests upon his slightly marred brow. He gestures to the other chair.

    "Come. Sit. There is much to discuss." He quickly adds, "You are worried about your friends?" A wave of his hand draws up a three dimensional display of the field of battle where the others of the group and Michael face off.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The last time Jon came to the Silver City, he was dead. This time, he's very much alive and ready for battle, though taking on the form he shares with Ma'at hides his tactical gear. But he has wings of teal, blue, and gold, the feather of Ma'at on his brow, a red tunic and gold trousers, and the khopesh he got in the Underworld already unsheathed and held in his left hand. In the right he holds the jewel he took from Michael weeks ago, a portion of the Archangel's power, as a bargaining chip or just to give it back. He doesn't really /want/ to fight, but if that's what needs to be done...

    Before they can do or say anything, Jon's transported elsewhere. For a moment they blink around in confusion, and then they glare at Michael. "Bloody hell. Give me a heart attack, why don't you?" A pause, for the glare to turn to a glower. "Not as worried as you may think. They're all more than capable of taking care of themselves. But if this is another attempt to get me to join your side..."

    He glances down at the tether on his left wrist, leading off toward the wall and then just disappearing. Proof he's still attached to Cael. He sighs, and puts the khopesh back in its case before sitting down, green palm closing around the gem. "What do you want, then, hmm?"

Hope Svelgate has posed:
    Following behind the members of the Justice League Dark as they ascend the stairs, another figure appears in the distance trailing behind them. A figure that for some has not been seen in some time and for others is wholly unfamiliar, the figure of Hope.

    Tall and blonde, with an almost regal air, the Scandinavian woman is clad in a flowing white dress and glows with a radiance not unlike that of Heaven's own as she climbs the staircase coming up to the field behind the others as Michael speaks.

    Bright blue eyes look left and then right, before fixing on Michael. "You know, I wanted to see this place at least once with Hope's eyes, I thought perhaps I might remember what she ever saw in it or you."

    Even as the words leave her lips, the woman's appearance twists and changes, growing taller, more muscular, skin of alabaster, stark white hair, glowing white pits for eyes and spiky red armor. <<But, I still can't see it.>> She holds up a hand and every swirls in the air before forming into an ancient looking scythe. <<It is time to end this,>> The butt of the scythe slams into the ground. <<And your sentence is Death.>>

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe was coming with only two things in mind: defeat St. Michael, whatever it takes -- and bring Chas home. Her arm had risen to guard her eyes from the brilliance of the light as she stepped out into the field of battle.

     She has grown in inumerable ways as she prepared for War. Her face less carefree and more world-worn over only the six months. Her hair in a fresh undercut, shaved to halfway past her ears as she steps into the field of battle, her light boots moving in a whisper. Metallic sharpie colored both sides of her head, circles carefully etched in the freshly shorn skin. Her hair has been bleached white, braided finely and pinned back to keep out of her way. Her hood was lowered, the mouth-cover raised. The sleeve that covered her burned and scarred left arm eschewed to show the burned and emptied branding in her skin. She had a small leather backpack slung over her shoulders, dark eyes resolute. It was not the first time she had come to the Silver City -- but it was the first time she's seen Chas since his disappearance.

    Her shoulders rise up, the scars on the left tightening her skin. Her hands tighten, and she tastes bile on her tongue as her eyes come to regard the angels who will bare witness to their battle.

    "We're getting you out of here, Dad." she hisses, barely above a whisper.

    Her powers unbound, her Light visible as it glitters around her, the brilliance in the dark of a storm compared to Lady Death's Darkness and Doom.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie's already starting to regret showing up here. It is, after all, possibly the most hostile, inhospitable place that exists for a Ghost Rider; particularly one of his.. ilk. The spear and the longsword in the angel's hands almost hurt him to *look* at. Never mind what they'd do to him, if he were to get himself on the wrong side of them.

The Sin Eater, though, is outfitted for war: the length of heavy steel chain coiled up and gripped in a gloved hand; his eyes rimmed in Hellfire. The demon in him must make him a stain on this place; but he's here. They couldn't stop him from coming. All that remains to be seen is whether he leaves here in one piece.

Cael Becker has posed:
    As they reach the top of the stairs, Cael is already armored in the blueish-silver brest plate, with greaves and bracers over her SHIELD issue tactical gear. Dark, metallic wings spring from her back, and a sword of black metal with a wavy form is strapped onto her back. Arriving at the Silver City - there's a lot for Cael to take in at once. Chas is someone she never knew well - and the last time she'd seen him, her trauma had been very fresh, and overwhelming, and he had played a key role in that. It was //his face// that her tormentor had worn. His voice that he had used.
    Michael is there - someone she loathes more than anything being in the universe, but someone whose presence she has challenged again and again.
    Oh. And Jon is suddenly gone.
    "Jon- JON?!" Michael can't lie - but his understanding of 'harm' was not the same as hers. She knew this already. Viscerally. She can feel panic rising in her, threatening to overwhelm her. Any thought of trying to manage this situation peacefully flees her mind in the face of such fear - as she channels it, unconsciously, into a much safer avenue.
    Rage.
    "Bring him back, you fuck!" she exclaims, pulling the sword from her back. It bursts into flames, the colors of the fire shifting through the spectrum quickly from reds and oranges, and towards the ultra violet, losing much of its brightness as the heat of the fire grows and grows. "NOW!" she adds as she impulsively leads the charge, running at Michael with a powerful sweep of the massive blade.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Perhaps one of the least imposing figures on the field, Rien is garbed in her armor, the sleek black bodysuit of a thicker, more durable weave, the thicker plating covering chest, right shoulder, hips, legs, and complimentary boots. Bone claws fully extended, that light blue glow everpresent on them as she small Frenchwoman approaches. Eyes flicking first to CHas on the gate, then back over to Michael.

She smiles in a very unkind fashion and offers, "Are we playing for keeps this time, Michael? You didn't seem to like it last time." Perhaps painting a target on herself to draw ire away from the others.

Asariel has posed:
Asariel's been to the Silver City once since she'd discovered what exactly she was. She didn't have time to look around, nor was she very sure if she could do it again, so she's taken to the back of the group that is heading up the stairs. Her moon silver gaze is guarded as she tries to figure out what exactly Michael has in store for them. She's dressed in jeans, t-shirt and boots for the moment. Armor would appear when needed.

Worn around her neck and tucked inside the shirt is the vial that Uncle Meta gave her so very long ago. She was hoping that it was the right time to use it.

Her eyes scan up when they get closer and that's when they land on the door and Chas. Anger rises, tightening her gaze and the muscles in her chest as she tries to keep calm. There's a split second before her wings sprout and her silver armor that mimics Michael's covers her form. Her hands come up, forming a ball of greyish white energy in her hands, "Just say when." she whispers.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Michael's response to Jon is as simple as it is complex. "I want what I said. A dialogue. A discourse. One where neither of us are truly angry or hurt--" he glances at the display of the field of battle, "significantly hurt. There has been much done and you and I have had our quarrel already enough times. We are both more and less because of it." He folds his hands on the table and waits for a moment. "I must admit that I was in error. From the start. I misinterpretted the pleading claim from a terrified man and used that for my own design." A pauses. "And that was wrong of me to do." It's a start.

    Michael doesn't seem too phased by the appearance of the Sycthe of Death itself though he does look at it more deliberately than the woman holding it. "I see that Jophiel's actions were more a boon than a bane for you, Hope. I presume you find your new station agreeab--"

    And then he is met with the charging force of Cael Becker with a burning bastardsword. The Spear of Light meets it in a cross check that saves the Archangel's (metaphorical) skin. An angry red light sparks at the point where the Hellforged blade meets Heavenly steel and whisps of smoke pour off both weapons -and- the Archangel as well. "He is safe... we are having a much needed... cordial discussion," he says, straining against the onslaught of Cael's wrath.

    His vivid blue eyes look on the rest of the assembled. "What are you waiting for?" he asks.

    Suddenly five more Michael's indentical to the first appear spread out behind the engaged Commander of the Hosts. In unison they speak and move into positions ready for combat. Consider this your invitiation!" before the launch themselves forward towards the gathered group, weapons ready to wreak havoc.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I'm not the only one you need apologize to." Jon sighs as he watches the display of the battle below. "If you weren't so wrapped up in being the General of the Armies of the Host, maybe you'd see that." He nods toward Cael charging forward. "That response was utterly predictable, given everything that's happened. You've proven yourself untrustworthy and dangerous."

    They tilt their head and regard Michael... surprisingly calmly, given everything that's happened. But, then, they've been merged with Ma'at for the whole trip up here, so she's starting to take over somewhat. "Do you even understand what was wrong to begin with? What we did to fix the imbalance in the universe? Why Gaea asked for this contest, set a mortal as Her Champion? Do you understand /any/ of it? Or are you so blinded by your need for a good fight that you've forgotten the original Purpose you were striving to fulfill?"

Hope Svelgate has posed:
    <<Station? I suppose you could call it that.>> Lady Death's burning white eyes bore into Michael, though unlike in previous encounters she seems to be holding the battle lust in check or at least it has not managed to overwhelm her yet. When Cael cuts him off with the Netheranium blade though, she does smile. <<Yes, seize control of your fate with your own hands. There is clear approval in her voice and she seems content to watch Cael's display, that is of course until Michael begins summoning more copies of himself.

    <<Still the same trick? I would have thought you less eager to meet your Death. Or do you just still not understand it, tangled as you are in the chains of your 'purpose'?>> The last word is practically spat with disgust and contempt.

    As the incarnations of the archangel charge, she lifts the Death Scythe into the air, and swings it once through the air sending an arc of 'Death' energy to meet the oncoming incarnations. <<It is time for you to end.>>

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe watches Cael's charge, and she looks up as Michael multiplies, and she shakes her head.

    "Nope. Nup. Nah-uh. I honestly, completely, *utterly* couldn't give two shits about you at right this minute, you can piss right the Hell off, you Wish-dot-Com Fabio Knockoff. I've got way more respect for your brother than I do for some immature attention hound." Phoebe states, and she goes to walk past the group of Michaels, warily, as if she were eyeballing an unpredictable dog.

    "Jon fixed the problem," she continues, "it's over, Michael; it's done. We won. I'm just here to close out my part of a promise and take back what belongs to my sister."

    "So you stand between me and my Dad, no matter what dark brought us together. So get wrecked, begone if you not deathless, etcetra -- you've hurt my family enough." her eyes narrow. "And I'm done putting up with your theatrics."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie's not here to settle a score; he has no skin in this game beyond what he's putting on the line out of some sort of.. what, loyalty?

Or maybe just an opportunity to spill the blood of one of those celestial fuckers.

He watches the clash of sword and spear with a slight curl to his lip, and then hones his attention on the archangel who's armed to the teeth.. and the duplicates that shimmer into being around him like a gauntlet. Is this how Michael wants to play things?

Robbie flicks his chain, letting it unspool from his gloved hand, the end skittering to the ground. Even as he does so, it begins to light up with Hellfire. Flames race up the length of the weapon like someone poured gasoline on it. Overtaken by the demon inside him -- the one who wants a piece of Michael and has decided it's going to get it -- the boy's eyes ignite. Whites and irises seared away; and then his cheek explodes, Hellfire pouring over his face, his skull, burning away every inch of skin as he screams in agony.

Until all that remains is that hellish metallic skull, and the conflagration that consumes but cannot destroy it.

He locks eyes with the closest of the replicant angels, headed right for him, and whips his chain around in a wide arc to try to take its head off.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Like fuck he is!" Cael counters fiercely, straining against the spear before abruptly pulling her sword free, pivoting as she attempts to attack him from the other side. "Like I can fucking trust a word you say! You didn't think you harmed //me//. You thought taking his- their arm was justified! You're fucking sick!" She punctuates her words with repeated sweeps of the blade, trying to overwhelm him with her speed and ferocity.
    "Bring Jon back! //Now!//"
    The heat of the blade, already wreathed in hellfire, blisters and cracks the skin of Cael's hands - not that she seems to notice in the least, nor is the pain reflected in her expression as she battles Michael - ignoring the copies of himself he's summoned to the field. She doesn't even seem aware of Robbie - going up in flames, as it were, in her periphery.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien was all for beating up the one Michael. Maybe even kicking cloud-sand in his face for good measure. But this? This is just ridiculous. Breath in, breath out.

Centering herself, knowing this is going to hurt like Hellfire, Rien draws on that negative energy that she called on in their last encounter. CHanting low under her breath, bracing for the pain, and then turning that pain right back into the channeling as she lets it build up before turning towards one of the Michael copies, "Two is a crowd, three's a party, but six is just plain unwelcome. Some of you need to go away." Directing all that negative energy towards one of the clones, trying to whittle down their numbers and even up the playing field a little more.

She may also be keeping an eye on Robbie and Lady Death, ready to jump in if the Holiness of it all starts getting a little out of control.

Asariel has posed:
Asariel gives a grimace when Michael summons more of him. Well, that was going to be fun. She dodges out of the way of the Michael sent her way, "I'm not fighting you, Uncle Michael." she tells him. "As much as I'd like to use new found power to put you on your ass, we've...." she looks around, "A few have came for Mister Chandler." she tells the copy as she tries to get turned around.

She was going to cover Phoebe so that they could get her father back and hopefully out of heaven in one piece. She is ready to bat dupe-Michael's that get close though, just to remind them they aren't wanted.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "I understand why I called for a conflict in the first place. That much has been discussed at length already" Michael replies just as calmly. "And I understand some of what has transpired since. You and those arrayed with you fixed things. The imbalance of the universe is solidified and the greater whole of the instability plauing the Presence has ceased." He sits back and regards the true question. "But no. How you managed to fix it and what made -you- and your allies so suited for the purpose of repair? That I do not know." He pauses. "I was hoping that you could explain that for me. It is one of several reasons for this meeting."

    Lady Death's scythe slash is effective to a point. The one charging the alabaster woman evades it well enough, arcing around and over the horizontal field of Expiration and rising high up the bring a flanged mace down at the Hell Lord turned Reaper of the Slain. Robbie's also manages to avoid absolute Demise simply phasing from one point to the next as the wave passes the point of its space. The chain is met with the spear of light and angry red sparks flare on both chain and spear and give plenty of illumination for the Ghost Rider to see the length of Heavenly steel that is his Micahel's blade coming for him.

    Three of the copies find out exactly what Death has granted its newest arbiter. Cael's Michael is the first to experience it. The wave comes for both of them and the Archangel's eyes widen before there is a surge of power and they've swapped places. Cael stands now with her back to the Gate and Michael has his back to the oncoming wave of Oblivion. It crashes upon him and there is a surge as reality warps around the Commander of the Hosts.

    Death is something that is absolutely alien to the angels. They don't exactly -live- in the same way as mortals do. So destruction does not come easily to them, even when faced with absolute Death incarnate.

    That does not mean that it doesn't cause them pain. The wave sears into Michael's back and blackness is left where it strikes. The slow burn of embers starts to eat away at the edges of the seared Heavenly flesh. Pain is evident on the Archangel's face as he stops his own attempts at offense and focuses solely on the defense of the sword armed woman before him. A particularly fierce swipe manages to overpower his own sword block and he earns a red hot cut along the bicep of one arm, the Hellfire infused sword cutting away at his armor with a shower of red sparks as it pierces the defensive material.

    Phoebe and Asariel's Michael both stop in their tracks and the wave strikes them and obliterates them as their own defenses were lowered in disbelief of the dismissal. Atop the gate two of the Archangels. One taller than the others the other glowing with its own light source stand side by side and nod. "Not all who are here seek a battle, brother" Sandalphon calls down. "Some are here to save that which they love" Metatron says, his eyes on the captive Chas.

    Chas for his part looks up as the two women approach him. "Hello, Lighthouse and the only angel I give a damn about" he says, looking to Phoebe and Asariel in turn. "I take it you've got a way to give me my hands and feet back?" he asks, his elbows and knees jerking slightly to highlight his plight. Up close it is clear that his extremities are literally fused into the metal and stone, there is no crease or seal to show where the material of his body ends and the material of the Gate begins. He simply is a part of it.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Rien's Michael attempts a divebomb after swinging up to avoid the Scythe's attack. It is met with the force of Entropic Decay flung by the clawed sorcerress. There is sound unlike anything heard in reality as the power of Nullspace is brought to force so close to the Presence. Everything in the area dims and there is a peal of thunder so cacophanous that entire planets could shatter under the force of it. The Michael that was coming for Rien is no more. But the disapproving gaze of -every- angel and something MUCH MUCH bigger (bigger than -anything and everything-) hits Rien like a tangible, physical thing. What she just did was -not- okay by the rules of the universe.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "We can die," Jon says simply. "The problem, as you knew, was with the flow of souls. The Old Ones had hijacked that, stealing souls that had been judged and should have been returned to the cycle. Gaea gave me a leaf from the World Tree that I carried to each Wellspring, imbuing it with Her energy. Then Caitlin Fairchild--now /there's/ someone you owe a damn apology to--carried it to the Underworld and her and Cael and Lady Death helped me shove it into Ammit's gullet. That... fixed the plumbing, as it were."

    Jon folds their hands on the table, regarding Michael with a slightly furrowed brow. "The thing is that the only reason that happened in the first place is that you've been neglecting your duties. You're holding on to the Demiurgic Force so tightly, yours /and/ Lucifer's, that you're not paying attention to the fullness of your Purpose. Order does not mean sterile, brittle perfection. Order is a thing that arises from triumph over Chaos. It is a thing that requires constant effort and renewal."

    His brow furrows further. "You know that. I /know/ you know that. You are the /original/ Champion of Order. Today we speak of the fall of the rebel angels, but my ancestors would have seen you as Horus, overcoming the treachery of Set." He smirks, briefly. "As a /trickster/ in a way, in fact, given that Horus outsmarted Set rather than besting him at arms. But everything I did, down in the Underworld... most of those truths of the universe, you /must/ know them. You /made/ the universe."

    A pause, then, "So why don't we drop the bullshit, Saint Michael, and cut to the chase? You need to give up the Demiurgic Force. You know it, I know it. You've already admitted you were wrong, you've admitted your defeat at our hands in the battle for Manhattan, we've fixed the universe, we created a path to Heaven and arrived in a fashion no mortals ever should have been able to. It's over. We both know that. So why won't you just give up the power, let us take Chas, and be on our way?"

    Jon opens their green palm to hold out the glowing gem. "Is it this? Because you can have it back if that's the only problem."

Hope Svelgate has posed:
    The flanged mace meets the haft of the Death Scythe as the Reaper's weapon is twirled like a staff following its swing and brought up defensively to meet the blow of the oncoming mace. <<All things must end, so that they can begin again, you are no exception.>> There is something different about the Lady of Death, she is not so consumed by rage as previous encounters, not quite so hellbent on vengeance. <<By experiencing Death, perhaps you too will come to understand the significance of life.>> Lady Death talking about Life? That's new.

    Sparks fly from the clash of the weapons even as Lady Death steps to the side bringing the scythe around the mace in a circular motion as the attack is parried, while bringing the deathly blade proper of her weapon around to strike at Michael.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe is thankful that Asariel is following behind, because it makes the next part definitely less awkward than Phoebe, broken, burnt, feeling-monstrous-and-awful Phoebe, looks to Chas with the utmost hurt in her eyes, and she wants to hug him. Desperately wants to be hugged by one of the few people she trusted with touching her -- but in the middle of a battle, probably not going to happen.

    She can't even choke out any sort of greeting, and raises a hand, but looks afraid to even touch him with how dirty and awful she is. She looks up to the two angels who speak -- Sandalphon (who is her second favorite feathered friend, right after her dad's girlfriend) and Metatron, who weirdly does not remind her at all of Snape. Instead, she turns, her breath coming out thick. "I'm here to make sure Cael doesn't get pissed off enough to lob hellfire swords in our general direction. You -- do... you have any ideas on how to get him out, Asariel?" she asks, and then quietly:

    "/Please/ tell me we can get him out." she whispers, but then she brings her hands up, ready to raise shields.

    "I'll take the whole door if I have to."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Seeing the heavenly weapon arcing toward him, the Rider attempts to catch and snare the attack with his chain. Though not imbued with magic like many of his compatriots, he *is* enhanced with blinding speed. It's not enough to prevent the blade from slicing through the arm of his leather jacket, summoning a banshee's scream from the demon. But taking the hit will allow him, hopefully, to maneuver in close and grapple the angel; and attempt to simply torch it with Hellfire as his body comes in contact with the celestial being.

The thunderclap makes him whip his head around in Rien's direction immediately after, regarding her with those flaming, hollowed-out eyes, and black blood-smoke curling out of his arm.. like he doesn't even recognise her.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "What the fuck," Cael breathes, falling back a step. "What the fucking hell?" Confusion, mistrust, uncertainty mingle on her features - as she didn't miss what just happened.
    Michael saved her.
    "What the hell?!" she shouts at him, her words lost in the explosive sound of Rien's attack. "I- I don't owe you! I don't owe you anything! You- you- After everything you've done...!" The sword she holds brightens, as the hellfire cools by several degrees. She feels sick. She's going to hurl. She's going to spew chunks all over the gate to heaven.
    "Bring Jon back," she insists. "I don't trust you. I can't trust you. You can't take him - you can't have him. I don't trust you!" Tears spring to her eyes, as she tries desperately to blink them away, still holding the sword in front of her warily, ready for some sort of attack from the injured Archangel.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien lets out a scream she can't hear as her hands come up to her ears at the impossibly loud Thunderclap of Disapproval from beyond the pearly gates. That hurt. Even earplugs wouldn't have helped with that one. Her hands come away bloody and she winces, "Okay, okay! Lesson learned, no negative energy in Heaven!" She might be extra loud just now, that instictive urge to get louder so she can hear her own voice kicking in.

Pushing past it, the claws come back out and she's running towards the Michael that the Ghost Rider is on. It's not Robbie right now, she knows that. But.. it still is his body, and presumably he'd like to come back to it being in one piece!

Asariel has posed:
Asariel almost relaxes when two of the Michael's cease to exist. She was still watching after them though, her gaze glowing as she did. They were so close, they couldn't falter now. She hears Chas' voice and there's a sad smile to the man, "I am going to save all the walking on water jokes for home turf." she tells him. There's a voice that she hears and she looks up to Metatron, her smile a bit crooked at her other Uncle, "Thank you." she tells him.

Then her hand reaches up, yanking the leather cord hard enough that it snaps and the essence filled vessel falls into her hand. "I think this is what we need." she states to Phoebe with a nod. She looks to her hand, then to Phoebe, "I need your help with this." she tells her. "Can you lace your fingers with mine and then on the count of three we're going to smash this against the door." she states.

"We can leave that door here." she tells her. She's hoping that Phoebe helps giving her time to link fingers if she'll take that chance, but she starts the count, "One...two..." she trails off, waiting to smash the vial on three with Phoebe.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Micahel listens to Jon with the barest of distractions in his expression. While Jon may not be -everywhere- at once, Michael is and the actions happening on the battle field are a buzzing in his ears. Still he seems to understand as Jon explains the plight at the heart of this situation. At Jon's question he frowns, but his eyes focus on the gem of his power he pushed upon Jon. A wave of his hands brings the gem before him and two others like it appear before the trio clash together in a shower of irridescent sparks. The gem before them glows with opalescent sheen as hovers in the air.

    In a way it is" he explains, looking at the gem. "Aubade is gone. This is the only piece of His power left in the universe. If something more were to happen and this were not here... how would it be fixed? He would not intervene if a part of Him is not threatened." The pain in Michael's voice is another part of the matter. The pain of a child abandoned by their parent. One who raised themselves against the odds arrayed against them. One who had ultimate power foisted upon them and told to work wonders without direction or vision.

    The blade of Death's scythe catches on Michael's armor and bites into it, moving past the metal and into the flesh of the Archangel's side. Blood spills over the blade, hot and sizzling against the dark metal. "I'm glad to see that even you are not eternally immutable, Hope" he says with a grin. "If I could not get to you... I was hoping someone would... She is a good a candidate as any..." He holds fast agaist the shaft of the scythe and swings his sword down against the shoulder of the pale skinned Nordic woman.

    Robbie's speed is enough to match his opponent and he wraps the Archangel in a tight grip. Light and smoke curl from the pair of them as their opposing forces of make war with each other's presence. The strength of the Archangel is something immense and all consuming, but the ferocity of the Demon in Robbie is created for exacting such forces stride for stride. "You are not as foolish as your brethren, Devourer of Sin. Perhaps there is hope for your ilk after all." Robbie can feel the flex of the wings on the angel's back beginning to exert their strength as well to break his hold even as flesh and blood and leather and metal sizzle and hiss in an angry buzz around them both, even as reinforcements draw ever closer with claws bared.

    A burned and damaged Michael looks at Cael with sad, sympathetic eyes. "You own me nothing, Cael. But I owe you and your beloved. In this..." he gestures to his marred and damaged form. "I pay back a portion of what I owe. Even if all cannot be returned, I will pay what I can for the damage caused you."

    The light inside the vial around Asariel's neck glows with the same light as the Gate itself and there is a pulsing power from whatever is inside. Chas looks at it and then at the pair of women. "Oh... I imagine this will hurt..." he says. "Worst muscle ache ever if not more..." He lets out a breath and nods reading whatever may come fromt he release of the vial.

    At the moment it's smashed the light within flares and ripples along the wall; the central point focusing around the man. His hands and feet reappear from the stone as he topples forward with a groan. He's limp and weak and hopefully the pair can support his size--despite the difference for them both. "Can't leave yet... but it's step one. Step two..." He looks up at the clouds billowing overheard and the battle raging on. "Well... it's in motion..." He smiles and looks at them both. "Thanks."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns for a moment, glancing over at the display, watching the battle as they listen to Michael's words. For a moment they're distracted by Michael's words to Cael, and then they blink. Once, but in that blink their whole perception shifts.

    "Oh," they say softly. "You're /scared/. Oh, Michael..." They look back to the archangel and reach out to cover one of his hands with their own, expression suddenly sympathetic. "Don't you know? Or is that... is /that/ why it had to be mortals? Is that why someone had to die...?"

    And then they /laugh/, as if suddenly relieved. "Oh, Uriel /owes/ me for this." Their eyes sparkle, but their expression is still sympathetic. "Down in the Underowlrd, I learned something. A secret no one is supposed to really /know/ until they're dead, although plenty of people have guessed at it through the ages. But you /can't/ die, so how could you know?" They squeeze Michael's hand. "We are /all/ part of the Presence, Michael. Every soul is a piece of God, and every universe a cell in Their body. You were the /first/ of those, remember? You are God, Michael. I am God. We are all just pieces of the universe, trying to understand itself. Reaching out desperately for connection, for belonging. For love."

    They shake their head. "You're not alone. And if you give up the Demiurgic Force, you /still/ won't be alone. Less so, even. You might die--they're certainly trying their best to kill you--but you'll come back. We all do. And then you can go home to your /family/." They gesture with their emerald hand, toward the watching archangels. "Don't you know they've been doing this for you? Uriel at least, and Suriel too, and maybe others. Trying to get through to you. Trying to make you see what they know. Trying to get you to stop this silly war and go /home/."

Hope Svelgate has posed:
    Michael's words cause Lady Death to bristle. <<We may have come to an accord, but make no mistake my Will and my actions remain my own.>>

    The Archangel's ancient skill is very much the real deal though and with the blade of her scythe occupied cutting into Michael's side, Lady Death is caught out by his second weapon. The sword slices into the alabaster flesh of her shoulder with a spray of dark ichorous blood somewhere between dark red and pitch black. <<Ughh.>> It is not the most eloquent noise that she makes through clenched teeth.

    Taking the scythe in one hand her other draws a second weapon of her own, a rune-forged uru metal short sword. A metal booted foot is raised to kick Michael square in the balls, even as the blade a glow with Energy Arcane is thrust at his chest. The scythe is wrenched back and held aloft as she begins to channel her own power into it, mixing with the power of Death that resides within as the weapon begins to positively crackle with power. She's up to something, but the question is what?

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Good, I didn't want to carry the door. I don't think I could swing it."

    Phoebe pauses at that "... oh good, all my emotions are back including the nervous punning. That should be handy." she adds, reaching for Asariel's hand, her dark, calloused fingers laced with Asariel's as they smash the vial against the door.

    And Phoebe -- all one hundred thirty-four pounds of her, drops down to a knee, reaching and trying to grasp Chas's form so he doesn't hit the ground. Poor, unclean Phoebe, with those burns and scars and stinking of failure and disappointment, grasping onto Chas.

    "I've got you." she whispers quietly, and looks up to the sky above the city.

    "... what's coming next?" she asks, in apprehension, looking to try and help Chas to a stand, looking up at the clouds before she turns to Asariel.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Holy and unholy locked in immortal combat, and can either of them truly kill the other? The demon in Robbie is here for one thing, and one thing alone: destruction. It's no Spirit of Vengeance, no seeker of Justice. It wants blood, and will have it at any cost.

"SILENCE," bellows the Rider, voice distorted and warped; overlaid with a low, metallic groan. He struggles even with his inhuman strength to maintain his grip on the angelic creature as its wings unfold. The both of them wreathed in hellfire and smoke, and streaming with light, like a single, terrible entity as they wrestle with one another.

"I will know your sins," hisses the demonic voice in his celestial counterpart's ear, barely aware of Rien on a collision course for them, or the rest of the fight playing out nearby. "I will make you suffer for them." Do angels have sin? He's about to find out.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "...fuck you," Cael answers - the point of the sword she holds in her hand wavering uncertainly as she backs up further - putting her back to the wall of the Silver City. "Fuck you. I didn't deserve- I never deservered- I //help// people now!" she asserts - before that roiling feeling in the pit of her stomach finally wins out - and she loses her lunch at the base of the wall.
    She straightens almost immediately, clearly still not trusting Michael, as she spits some of the bile out of her mouth.
    "Where's Jon?" she asks. "Bring them back," she insists. "Bring them back or I'll shove this fucking sword down your throat - or up your ass." Her eyes flickers off the side for a moment, finally catching sight of the flame-wreathed skull amongst them. Was that... Robbie?
    ...huh.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien can see what's playing out even as she's moving towards them, this is going to be dicey and risky but hey! She's already pissed off God today, let's go for round two! Leaping up, she goes... for Michaels shoulders. She's trying to get up on his shoulders like he's going to give her a ride around the park. Only in this case, she's trying to get up onto his shoulders, squeezing her thighs tight around his head.

Quickly shutting her own eyes and turning her head to the side, she uses both hands to try and grip at Michael's forehead and force him to look into the eyes of the Ghost Rider. Does the Archangel have regrets for what he's done? Stay tuned!

Asariel has posed:
"There's nothing wrong with a good pun." she tells her quietly. When the door lets go of Chas there's a moment that Asariel feels like there might be something more, but nothing jumps out at them as it gives up its occupant. One wing goes out, protective in trying to shield the taller man and his daughter as she reaches for the other arm, hefting him up without much effort. Someone had been working out! It's really just her calling on her angelic strength.

"What's in motion?" she asks Chas. Then there's a look to Phoebe, "I guess we're going to find out." she whispers to her as she loops Chas' arm over her shoulder.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Michael's look to Jon is one of confusion. "You're... not lying. And there is no... trickery in your words. No hidden meaning." He seems alarmed that the solution is at both times so easy and so very hard. "I am not sure how to do that..." he says hesitantly. "If I die... I mean... my will. My power. All of it... gone... there are so many doors that I guard. Will they simply be left for the things that would unmake reality to open and destroy it all regardless?" Even if he was masking the fear before, now it shows openly on his face. He doesn't want the universe to end, even if he was going to do something akin to that himself in order to save it. He stares at the opalescent spinning gem of incredible power. "How?" he asks looking at Ma'at's avatar. "How does something that does not live... die?" he asks, glancing at the battle raging on the display.

    The Michael engaged with Lady Death's strikes on the Archangel are true and while he doesn't have reproductive organs to speak of, the force of the kick is still enough to hurt him. The empowered short blade is worse thought and it screams against the Heaven forged armor covering his chest before slaming into a joint point at his collar. More blood hisses and splashes against the ground beneath the two as he falls off the scythe, the wound in his side streaming boiling blood and more coming from his neck and mouth. Whatever Death's arbiter has in mind, it's likely to hit true as the Archangel looks well and truly defeated before her.

    Cael's opponent smiles at her. "If that will satisfy you... I will take it." He drops to a knee, giving himself up for Cael's strike. "Jon will be here soon enough. His actions are already moving to change reality in a fundamental way." He looks at the others on the field and a wry smile plays over his lips. "Just as you all are doing here."

    The twist of Michael's neck would've killed a normal being, but Archangel's are about as far from normal as one can get and the wrenching twist forces him to stare into the Eyes of Judgement in the Ghost Rider's face. His own eyes light up, golden and molten against the firey red orbs of the Rider.

    There is another peal of thunder (not as cacophanous as the first) and blinding light consumes the trio.

    Chas gives Asariel a look at her ability to hold him upright. "Should I be worried" he asks with a smirk before he looks out at the felled Archangels. "The death and rebirth of an Archangel, if I'm not mistaken..." he says wincing at the blinding light that consumes Rien, Robbie, and one of the Michaels.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Give up the Demiurgic Force. Let it go back to the Presence." Jon nods over to the display, to Lady Death and her Scythe. "And then /she/ will take care of it, if nobody else can. Or maybe one of the others will. The Ghost Rider seems intent on judging you. Thank the gods that's not /my/ job."

    They stand and walk around the table. "But first..." They look down at the archangel, quite seriously. "I don't know that anyone else will do this. And you /do/ need to apologize, to... so many people. But for my part? I forgive you. It doesn't make anything that you've done right, or fair, or just. But... it means I can let it go, and we can move on." They lean in and give Michael a hug, brief but firm.

    When they pull back it is Ma'at that speaks. "It is time, Michael. You have fought well and valiantly, but all things end." She regards him with a sympathetic gaze. "Many are nervous when they face death, but my avatar speaks Truth, as you will soon know. There is no need to fear what comes in the moment you die. Others have been preparing for this ever since the third player sat down at the table. The ideologues will hold the universe in place while you are remade."

    She smiles, and holds out the glowing emerald hand to the archangel. "All is one, and one is all. This is Truth. Come, and you can learn it for yourself."

Hope Svelgate has posed:
    Raised high in the air, the Death Scythe crackles with the power of its namesake, the fundamental cosmic force whose power it channels, but it also shines with brilliant white light of Energy Arcane in its purest form, the pure light of souls. In this case they are souls gathered by the psychopomp, souls of those who were killed in Michael's war upon Manhattan, souls yearning for justice and revenge upon their killer.

    <<If you cannot understand Death, then you cannot understand Life. That is something She helped me realize. I still hate you for leaving me to die on that stake, and for that I will strike you dead. But Death is not forever, not a true end, it is the end of you as you are now. Perhaps in Death you can figure out how to Live next time.>>

    And with that the empowered Death Scythe is brought down upon Michael.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "No such thing as a good pun, Mum." Phoebe replies to Asariel offhandedly and she holds Chas's other side, raising her arm to bring her won shield up, and she wrinkles her nose. "Don't mind that, I'm tired, it's been a very weird year."

    "Great. Is he going to be equally as insufferable?" she asks, mostly to herself in a rhetorical manner that only grumpy teens can manage, and she concentrates on her shielding a moment, ready to stop the rain, the flotsam and jetsam of the Heavens or -- forbid -- Michael tidbits from flinging in their direction.

    "Should we make a run for the stairwell?" she asks, looking first to the younger angel, and then up to Sandalphon and Metatron. Her eyes linger on Sandalphon for a moment longer though.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The trio briefly go up in a flare of blinding light, and it isn't clear for a few moments whether any of them survive it. But once the light fades, the Ghost Rider is gone, and so is the archangel he'd been fighting. The horrific burns and welts covering his face will heal within moments; but the gash he took to his arm continues to bleed and bleed.

The kid's curled up in the fetal position, eyes wide as his whole body shakes like a leaf in a storm. He's still conscious, but by the look on his face? He probably wishes he wasn't.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "...what?" is Cael's immediate response as Michael kneels down in front of her, willing. "No. I- Just bring him- them back." The sword wavers, and lowers, little by little, the flames cooling until they flicker brightly in reds and oranges and yellows.
    "I can't trust you," she insists. "I can't. You don't- you don't understand things the way we do. You don't see things the way we do. You didn't think you were doing //me// harm - so how can I know you're not harming Jon right now? You need to bring them back!"
    She can't get to Jon. Can't protect them. Can't watch their back... She can't keep her promise. "Bring them back." One hand drops from the sword, and balls into a fist at her side, as she remains heedless of the burns, her gaze never wavering from the kneeling archangel.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
This... was not what she'd expected. Not even close. But this is what she's getting.

All of creation. All 14 billion years of it, flooding her head, all at once, in brilliant color, and her hearing has repaired just in time for the Jurassic period!

Rien lets out an ear-piercing scream releasing the Michael-dupe head as her palsm clap over her eyes, unable to stop the instantaneous flood of so many visuals, sounds, scents. So much information filling her head all at once until something else happens to make it.. worse? better? We will find out soon!

Michael disappears in smoke and sparkles, but Rien doesn't see it, falling the six feet from his shoulders to hit the ground on her back. Staring up into the turbulent sky, unable to do anything as her healing factor works overtime to repair blown synapses as soon as they occur. She won't get even the peace of unconsciousness, forced to live out all of creation in a blindingly fast infodump that tests the limits of her healing factor. It's a painful, painful process that drags out as her mind keeps trying to make sense of everything and her mutant ability hustles to keep up with the trauma inflicted from the attempt. Rien isn't passed out, but she's certainly catatonic, responding to no external stimuli just now, there's literally no brainspace left for it.

Asariel has posed:
Asariel looks up to Chas, "Maybe a little worried. But nothing too bad." she whispers to him. "Just a lot has changed since you were gone and we'll get you caught up. Or well, I can catch you up with what I know." she admits. She goes quiet though when Phoebe calls her Mum and there are tears that well up in her eyes. "It'll be alright, Phoebe." she tells her. She lets her wing extend to where it wraps about Chas and Phoebe as they start to walk.

"We could make a run for the stairway or I can see if I can travel through the Astral with you. Those seem like the best two outs." she tells Phoebe and Chas.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Michael accepts the hug but does not return it. He instead regards the Demiurgic force a moment and then nods. "Very well... let what will be... be." There is the sound of a delicate chain snapping and the opalescent gem before them both simply fades from view. The Archangel seems slightly less now than he was a moment before. He is still perfect. Still a repository of power, but it is clear that a laarge portion of that power is no longer in his grasp.

    He looks at the hand offered by the Avatar of Ma'at and takes it in a firm shake. "It was a long existence... but one that I think this universe no longer requires. Good bye, Jonathan." And then, like the gem before him, Michael fades from view.

    The Michael before Lady death was close to its own demise that the scythe coming down on it is as much a mercy as a curse. There is no great explosion this time. Not peal of thunder. Nothing to suggest that the Archangel died, except for his form fading in a small pool of golden sparkles. But Lady Death can feel the echo of his power passing from one plane of reality into another as the essence of his soul travels the passages of the Cycle.

    The Michael kneeling before Cael gives her a sympathetic look. "I cannot. The power is his to come back now. Good-bye, Cael. I hope that life for you will be peaceful." The burning embers of the beam of Death had been slowly consuming Michael's form. And they finally crawl over the last vestiges of his face in a burst of flame before he too, fades in a shower of sparkles.

    Sandalphon stares down at Phoebe and shakes his head, holding up a hand in a gesture of patience. They weren't out of the clear just yet.

    Chas shakes his head. "If it were so easy I'm sure you could've taken me while Michael was distracted." He looks at Phoebe. "Mum, huh?" he says with a small grin. Moving on he says, "I don't think the new one will be the same as the last one. Angels... I mean, from what I can tell they are all but human. They have their own personalities and thoughts. But... the deal I have with him is still intact. I'm off the wall, but my... metaphorical chain... is still attached. I think--" There is a low rumble of thunder and a burst of lightning falls from the turbulent sky to the ground before the Gate not far from Pheobe, Arariel, and Chas.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Ma'at sighs, and nods. "Done, then." she murmurs. "Finally done, and the cycle can begin anew." Then she waves the emerald hand and focuses on one of the walls of the space where she stands, and a door appears there. She reaches out, opens the door, and steps through.

    Jon steps out through a door that appears in the wall of the Silver City, near to where Asariel and Phoebe are supporting Chas. He blinks for a moment, like he's readjusting, shakes his head, then smiles on seeing Chas. "Chas! Told you we'd come for you. You're looking terrible as ever, mate," he offers in a chipper tone.

    He looks around the battlefield, such as it is. "Michael's given up the Demiurgic Force," he informs them, lifting his voice to be sure everyone can hear. "So that part's done." He looks toward Lady Death, quirking a brow. "Did it take this time?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Her gaze up to Sandalphon is acknowledged, and she gives just a small nod before she turns to the younger Angel.

    "IF you start crying I'm going to cry, and Chas'll cry, and /man/ does he *ugly* cry." Phoebe states to Asariel, giving a wry smile before she looks to Chas "It's been a weird ye--" she was going to repeat when the lightning struck, and she looks up at the stormy sky and shouts out "YOU PISS OFF TOO!" while flipping a rude gesture. Yes, ladies and gents, she is at least a little bit John Constantine, and Street Gotham -- especially when tired. Go ahead and ask her how she figured out a backup plan for Jon's death. It cost her a bottle of whiskey and a favor. She was going to take another couple of steps forward, bristling a little bit at Jon's sudden appearance through a door.

    "Good. Great. Demiurgic force returned to the Presence, St. Michael's back on the table for exorcists to invoke, we square?" she asks, her shoulders sagging a little bit. And then she looks back at Chas.

    "... actually I think this is the best sorted I've ever seen him. Did you cut your hair?"

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie remains where he is, untouched by all other goings-on around him. Anyone close to him can hear him the occasional whimper from him, the uneven breathing. Hard to say how much of it is the damage to his arm that he can't heal by his usual demonic means, and how much is the psychological mindfuck of being subjected to billions of years' worth of existence in the blink of an eye.

He gets to his hands and knees after what seems an age. Then pushes slowly to his feet, still looking completely disconnected from everything else. Lesson learned: don't try to torture an angel with their sins.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Peaceful. Fat fucking chance. Cael watches the angel disappear in a shower of golden sparkles, her gaze locked onto the spot, her jaw tight.
    Michael was... gone? And Jon still wasn't back. And there was nothing she could do about that.
    Relief floods her the moment she hears Jon's voice, and the sword slips from her fingers, the flames going out immediately. She takes a couple steps towards Jon - before her gaze settles on the man just beyond them - being supported by two woman.
    Her pace picks up, as she closes the distance between herseld and Chas and - unless someone makes a concerted effort to stop her - swings a balled, badly burned fist at Chas's cheek.
    "Fuck you," she adds, following this up with a spit aimed in his direction. After all, she's still trying to get the taste of bile out of her mouth.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien's not so easily past it. The curse of healing kicks in with this and it forces her to process the images and sounds and smells, not matter how badly it breaks her brain. The healing keeps it chugging along, working on breaking everything down into something that can be handled and set aside to process the next bit. She IS likely going to have to be carried out, because this is going to take awhile!

Asariel has posed:
Asariel does jump a bit at the flash of lightning, then she turns to look back to the others that are watching them from above, "What other business do we have?" she asks them. Then Asariel sniffles a little and chuckles, "Okay, no crying till we're on Earth." she tells Phoebe. "I promise not to get all ugly crying, I'll leave it to Chas." she teases him gently.

She looks to Cael as she comes closer, her eyes glowing the same as Michael's did, "Miss Becker...there will be another time for violence if you wish to seek it. Not here." she shakes her head as she starts to chant in Enochian, wrapping her wing more protectively around the two with her.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "No, Cael!" Phoebe calls out, and as Asariel breaks out the Enochian (it's so sing-songy!), Phoebe's Egyptian text shield pops up in front of them.

    " -- trust me. I know a thing or two about people sharing faces. But right now, let's just all catch a breath, and get everyone back to Earth."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Chas smiles at Jon. "Nice to see you too, mate." He sighs a bit. At Phoebe's comment he nods. "I do cry pretty ugly. And then he rolls his eyes. "I didn't... Blame the Zoomer among them" he nods up to the top of the gates and the Archangels up there. Suriel, purple hair and a bright smile on their face waves excitedly at the group below.

    Cael's approach is met with a wince as her hand slams into a golden shield of light from Pheobe. He shakes his head at Asariel, even as his expression is slightly confused for a moment. "No... let her. I derseve it. Or... well... maybe let her after we're done here." He winces as more thunder breaks the sky. "I expect it's the first of many that are deserved. Just... let's get out of here first."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs and steps between Cael and the other three, wings flaring a bit. "Later," he says firmly. "Whatever Chas has coming for his part in this, we can do it later, when we're not standing outside the Gates of Heaven. I am /fine/. And I need /you/ to remember we're on a /mission/, Becker." There's a gentle rebuke in his tone.

    Over his shoulder, he adds, "Let's not fight amongst ourselves. Not now. We /won/. We're taking Chas home. Let's remember that we're a /team/, and learn to trust each other. Gods, we need some team-building exercises or something."

    They sigh and then reach out to wrap Cael up in a hug. "I'm /fine/," they repeat, in a murmur this time. "Michael and I talked, that's all. I gave him his gem back, I convinced him to give up his power, Ma'at told him it's time to die. And... well..." They glance over toward Lady Death again.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe cautiously drops her shield. She then looks to Asariel and Chas, and gives a nod, and turning her gaze girmly to the road ahead, she helps Chas towards the way out.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie finishes climbing to his feet, and -- still breathing heavily after his little altercation -- gets a good look at the damage to his arm. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath. Being injured isn't something he's been accustomed to, since bonding with the Rider. He can be hurt, yes. Feel pain. But the damage never sticks around.

Deciding to stay well out of the way of whatever fracas is going on with Chas, Phoebe and Cael, he steps over to where Rien's lying nearby, dazed and apparently insensate. And bends to try to scoop her up in his arms, with a wince from his damaged one. But with his enhanced strength, she weighs functionally almost nothing to him.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
    Lady Death stands there for a long time watching the form of Michael fade away after the Death Scythe comes down. One would think she might look happier after how many times she has gleefully cut him down in the past even at the cost of unleashing magical mass destruction. Now though, her face is an emotionless mask, there doesn't seem to be any glee in this vengeance anymore.

    << He is Dead.>> She says, finally turning at the sound of Jon's voice. <<Perhaps he will learn as much from Her as I did.>> Apparently Death is a girl that is not her, or at least that is what it sounds like from the way she's talking anyway.

    Lady Death takes a few steps towards the spot where the discarded sword once wielded by Cael rests upon the ground. Rather than bend down, the blade is made to rise to her hand summoned by the glow of Energy Arcane. << I do not think you will be needing this anymore. Creamator will be wanting it back.>> Her eyes travel over the others present. The War is over, but it isn't even the same War as when it began. Everything has changed. Victory has been claimed, but somehow it feels hollow to her compared to what she sought or what she thought she was seeking.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael starts to wheel on Phoebe - her blood running hot, and the look of Asariel's glowing eyes pushing her even more perilously close to her breaking point when Jon steps between the woman, and her targets. It's when she's called 'Becker' that she stops trying to brush past Jon, and takes a step back instead, her form trembling. "He deserves his fucking teeth knocked in. I //deserve// that chance. He //started// this," she asserts, her tone brittle, and angry.
    And then Jon wraps their arms around her - one of flesh and blood, and one of emerald green arcane force. She's tense, and trembling, as she struggles for control of her emotions - only to have heavy tears start streaking down her cheeks.
    No attention seems to be paid to Lady Death reclaiming the weapon she'd let fall - even as she clenches her burned hands tightly, feeling the pain of the way the skins pulls taut, and what remains of her fingernails dig into damaged flesh.

Asariel has posed:
Asariel didn't think anyone was fighting amongst themselves, just didn't want to get it started. She stops blatthering in Enochian. Her eyes looking from Cael and then to Jon, "I know you have your reasons, just not right now." she tells her. She then lets her moon silver gaze go to Chas and then Phoebe with a little nod of her head, "We'll handle getting this one. Do we need to help with anything else?" she asks as they push forward, trying to get back towards the steps they'd trekked up not so long ago.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Another bolt of lightning comes down from the sky. A being stands there as the lightning fades and looks at the gathered members fo the JLD. It doesn't look like Michael, not really. Dark hair flows in a straight sheet around the androgynous face. Sharp angeled features are attractive but are a far cry from the hyper masculinity of the original creature. It's eyes sparkle with inhuman emerald light. It's as tall as Michael but the musculature is more lithe and athletic, rather than built for power.

    He raises a hand and looks at it for a moment before smiling softly to Chas. "I release you from your contract" he says. The voice is even different; a smooth and delicate tenor instead of the throaty baritone. "What is done is done. The past is the past. Your world and all others are for those who live within them. We will do what we are meant to do." He looks up at the gathering of Archangels above and rises to join them.

    Sandalphon steps forward on the parapet and raises a hand. The tether and light around Jon and Cael's wrists shatters like a fragile cord of glass. Michael--the new Michael--addresses the JLD and allies once more. "I do not think you will need it, but if you call on us for assistance, we will answer. But we cannot raise a hand against threats from within. Only those from without. Now... go." He gestures toward the shimmering stair that waits for their departure back to Earth.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon pulls Cael as close as she'll let him. He looks up and over at the voice, and frowns slightly. Only some sense of magical resonance really tells him this is Michael; the being both looks and sounds... different. He sighs. It's odd to think that the being that created their universe is... gone, even if it's still here, in some form. But everything dies eventually.

    "Thank you," he says to Lady Death. "For... everything. Even if you didn't do it for us, thank you."

    Then he looks around at the others. "Let's get home. We could all use a vacation, I think."

Hope Svelgate has posed:
    Lady Death glances at the new Michael, that didn't take long, perhaps wondering if he even had time to learn anything. At the very least he seems less annoying now. All the same she extends her middle finger in his direction before turning to depart, <<If I call, it'll be for Jophiel. ...after I get a chance to stab her.>> She calls back as she walks down the stairs because some things never change.

    At Jon's words however, she pauses on the second step turning her head to look back at him. "We all had our roles to play, you're the one who opened the way. Be proud of this Victory." A faint ghost of a smile, perhaps even approval, crosses her face before she turns again and continues descending. Perhaps some things do change after all.