9680/Path of Glory: Witness Against the Witch(blade)

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Path of Glory: Witness Against the Witch(blade)
Date of Scene: 03 February 2022
Location: United Nations
Synopsis: The confrontation at the Wellspring of Air at the Non-Violence Statue in front of UN headquarters ends in another victory for the Resistance. But one of the heavy hitters for the Resistance, Sara Pezinni, comes out of the battle in dire straits after suffering the wrath of Barachiel.
Cast of Characters: Michael Demiurgos, Jonathan Sims, Steve Rogers, Sara Pezzini, Johnny Blaze, Phoebe Beacon, Cael Becker, Caitlin Fairchild
Tinyplot: Path of Glory


Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    As the sun sets on the west horizon the shadows grow long over the headquarters of the United Nations. The Resistance forces have already set up shop around the plaza before the Non-Violence statue, giving the dias it rests upon a seven foot radius.

    It's eerily silent in the plaza and as the automated lights flash on one by one their glow is amplifed by a strange sense of import of this encounter.

    Both sides of the concourse surrounding the plaza are lit by an unnatural light as the angelic forces pour in from above. At the head of the force is a foursome of Archangels and their champion: Michael, ever resplendent (save the marred wing) in gold armor with silver trim in his hand is a sword of golden flame. Immediately at his side is The Champion of Heaven, Caitlin Fairchild, decked out in armor and weaponry forged by heaven, and modified to her own specifications. To his left is the gargantuan figure of Sandalphon, his bronze armor absorbing rather than reflecting the light about him a staff that of dull grey in his left hand. To his right is the entirely armor encased figure of Barachiel, his twin scimitars burning with scarlet light that matches the glow from the eye sockets of his helm. Behind them is the red haloed figure of Zadkiel, armor gleaming and black sword drawn. About his wrists and throat are what look to be the pieces of a set of manacles. There is also a odd burn-like scar at his brow. It seems he has paid penance for his premptive retreat from the field of Grand Central Station less than a week ago.

    The Gozer boxes do their job and an a larger swath of the forces are tranformed into the segmented bricks of various colors, even so there is a great number of forces for the milita to contend with and they open fire almost immediately on the rank and file lesser angels who quickly return fire with a rain of blue-plasma, energy, lightning, and fire.

    Michael calls his wrath forth and blazes toward Sims and the dias directly, a burning comet of white flame coalescing around him as he speeds forth, sword ready. "Jonathan is mine, the rest of you handle the others!" he commands, authority and violence in his posture and tone. The other three Archangels spread out, going for various other heroes.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon is set up in front of the Non-Violence statue, the knotted gun, laying down the final piece of the seal of that wellspring. He started working on the seal almost as soon as the resistance forces were in place, encasing the purple and gold strands of magic in shimmering columns of air. The shimmer is all the clue that non-magical folk have to what he's doing, as he lays down circle after circle above the sculpture. It goes faster without doing it directly in the middle of battle, and the difficult part when he's working on the fourth through sixth circles hardly gives him any trouble at all.

    By the time the angels are arriving, he's laying down the seventh circle, creating a hexafoil above the statue. He wears SHIELD tactical gear, his staff with hieroglyphs in Michael's blood held in one hand. He's already summoned his wings, gold and blue and teal-green, spread wide as he works. He's warned the resistance to be ready, and given orders to engage as soon as the angels arrive. They are no longer giving quarter, and Michael will have to be directly defeated before they leave the field of battle. Fortunately, he has a plan for dealing with the archangel's explosive reaction to being "killed."

    He pulls out a vial of soil, from Grand Central Station, and sprinkles it over the center of the hexafoil. Purple light shoots down E 43rd Street to Grand Central Station, linking the wellspring to the map where the spell is set up. Golden light shoots back down to reinforce the connection. As this is happening, he turns away from the statue, toward the incoming angels. He scans the sky and, just to reiterate, calls into the comms, <<Fire at will. And try to keep from knocking down any buildings, please.>> There's a wry twist to his mouth as he speaks. Noting Caitlin's presence with a sad frown, he adds, <<Fairchild's dangerous, but don't kill her. Hopefully we can show her Michael's true colors.>>

    He crouches slightly, then launches himself into the air to block the sword of golden light with his staff, wings flapping to pull him up higher. He's been practicing with Lydia and Phoebe. "Too late!" he says to Michael with a grin. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were /trying/ to lose."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Janet is going to kill him. Steve has been taking shifts out here, fighting the rank and file. Sometimes for days at a time. Augmented as he is, it hasn't killed him, but there's not much more he wants in this world right now than some hearty soup, thick crusty bread and to sleep for a whole day.

He has none of these things, so he's going to make do.

He's not adept at any wizardry except making field rations even more inedible, so he leaves the magic to Jonathan. <<I'll deal with Miss Fairchild. Maybe she'll listen to a good Catholic boy like me.>>

Steve doubts it, but he has to try. And he's not opposed to doing it the old fashioned way, either. Speaking of, Cap bursts around a corner, sprinting as fast as his legs can carry him. He whips his arm back and hurls his shield at Caitlin, hoping to blindside her and, well, pull aggro.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Whether or not Sara was truly ready was a question that played through her mind just one time as she got ready. Dressed in full SHIELD tactical gear, complete with body armor and the helmet, and she carries a spear given to her by Jon. In her life before Witchblade she had worn this same gear numerous times as part of the New York City police department, the addition of the spear was solely because she was versed in melee weapons and this was a battle against angels.

While the seal was being placed, she kept herself primed and ready, watching the streets and skies, aware that the attack was coming. Standing near Cael and Jon, she recited a personal mantra over and over to settle herself into complete readiness.

When the angels do make their appearance, her first attacks are with her guns at range, the spear waits on her back for when they get in close. Without using Witchblade, the archangels would be the domain of others to deal with, she planned to stick to the lesser angels. In spite of everything, at the moment of contact, the same battle calm she had felt a million times slid into place, the very thing she hoped would happen. It meant her mind was truly beginning to recover from the trauma and that she was still just as capable without The Witchblade, as she was with.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Game on.

Johnny was on his motorcycle, a crack of his neck as the enemy approaches. Among the Archangels, two people stand out. One of them is Caitlin Fairchild.

<<Traitor.>> Zarathos echoes. <<But innocent and misled. She must not lose her life in this conflict.>>

The other is the wrangler of the Sprits of Vengeance himself: Zadkiel. "I'm gonna kick his ass." And as soon as he finishes saying that, Johnny seems to burst in a pillar of hell flame, revealing the Ghost Rider as the flames die out. But the Rider notices the flaming sword.

<<Beware the sword!>>

The Rider's voice echoes into the very souls of the defenders. Then he's riding straight for Zadkiel. <<Zadkiel the Righteous, you are mine!>> and so the Rider goes right for him, brandishing a shotgun if hellfire and pulling the trigger, sending bullets of dark iron-infused hell flame straight for him!

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    <Well. Guess that's my cue.> comes Phoebe's tired-sounding voice over the local Our Peeps Coms, She'd also been out, fighting the rank and file, burning through her lack of sleep as she takes the field.

    She's wearing the recently-adopted sleeveless, midriff hoodie, the hood pulled over her eyes, her domino in place as she reaches into her pack and pulls out a pair of long knives. The eyes behind the mask light up in rose-gold as her fingertips glow, and as Cap shield-slings below, and Sara waits with Cael and Jon, Phoebe's going into active combat mode.

    She stands atop a nearby building, and she activates her own explosive circles. Fire lights up the area, echoing the Ghost Rider's arrival and taking out more of the rank and file.

    But Phoebs knows she's on the radar for the Big Guns.

    <Try not to kill Caitlin; I *really* don't want to explain that one to Troia or Diana.>

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael has stayed by Sara's side, sparing a few quick glances towards Jon as the man cast his spell - her own armor already covering her chest, forearms and shins in gleaming blueish silver metal. A matching double-headed axe rests in her hands as she waits, taking a few idle swings as she waits - and from her back spring a pair of wings in a dark metal that contrasts against the rest of the gleaming accoutrements. "I'll keep the big guys off you," she promises Sara quietly. "As best as I can anyways. You've got this," she encourages the woman - rising into the air just above her and pulling one of her favorite moves - trying to toss a grenade into the center of one of the approaching Thrones. Best to get those things down quickly before they can blast any of their forces into non-existance.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
*CLANG*

"Ow!" Caitlin announces, reflexively. The brawny redhead doesn't so much as stagger. She puts a gauntleted hand to the silver helmet she's wearing and looks left and right before spotting Steve charging forward and his shield arcing away on the rebound.

"Steve? Her mouth hangs open. "You can NOT be serious," she blurts out in disbelief. The sight of Cap charging right at her has the woman completely flatfooted, hesitating between retreat or counterattack and unwilling to commit to either. It seems she is at a loss for how to respond. Nevermind fighting one of the Avengers; she doesn't want to throw hands with a fellow summer camp counselor!

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The collison of Jon and Michael sends out its own shockwave of energy as sword of plasma meets Gaea's power. "Which only proves that you are mortal, Jonathan. The will of the Divine is not yours to understand or know" he says as he presses his force against the Champion of Gaea. Even as swipe after swipe is matched by Jon's defense he sees his own Champion's inaction and sends his thoughts to her. He is blinded by Jonathan's influence. You need not destroy him, simply incapacitate. We will bring him into the fold after this conflict if it is feasible. Now act!

    Barachiel moves in toward Sara, scarlet eyes aflame. "Bearer of Atum's shard, you fail to understand the purpose of your charge." comes a hollow sounding voice from within the armor of the Archangel of Guardians. There is a flash of scarlet light as more words come from him. "The Guardian of all rebukes you. Should you attempt to utilize the power you no longer deserve, it will turn on you. I shall dispose of you both..." With that he presses in, twin blood red swords glowing with power as he attempts to engage Sara and Cael both.

    Zadkiel jerks as the hellfire bullets pierce armor and tear against his angelic flesh, but he only growls in reply. "Zarathos. I should've sent you back to the pits of hell where you belong when I first encountered you." He continues forward, his wings flaring with scarlet light as well as he engages with the Ghost Rider, his own black blade tearing a shadow through reality as he deflects the next two shots before swinging at the burning skull of the Spirit of Vengeance.

    Sandalphon stops at the foot of the building where Phoebe watches and reaches a hand up, there is a jerking motion and a rather violent tug on the armor clad young woman threatening to pull her from her perch with its strength. His voice comes out, calm and steady. "I will be your opponent, Phoebe. And you would do well to heed my words from our previous encounters."

    The Resistance forces concentrate on one of the Thrones, the swirling eyes and beams of cosmic divinity tearing up barricades and shields set up to protect. Cael's grenade lands beneath one and the blast tears through the central eye sending its beam into the heavens, but not before tearing off the upper side of a nearby building in its death throes before it vanishes in a rush of air in the vaccuum of its defeat.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    <<I'd do the explaining, Phoebe. I swore to Troia and the Titans that Fairchild would survive this.>> That's all Jon can really manage as the shockwave from his staff meeting Michael's sword lifts him further into the air. He flaps his wings a little wildly but holds his ground. He's nowhere near as good with his staff as Michael is with the sword, but he taps into the knowledge of his ancestors to guide his movements, to at least defend himself. He knows he's going to have to go on the attack to win this, though, and that means rattling Michael.

    "You /say/ that," he replies, a little out of breath, "but I know for a fact you're irritated by the losses. Not so easy when you've got a proper opponent, is this?" He takes a moment, as Michael's attention moves away, to glance over the battlefield. Barachiel going after Sara and Cael, Sandalphon targeting Phoebe, all terrifying, but he has to trust they can handle themselves. "I see you've got Zadkiel with you today. The rest of your siblings keep sitting this out. Not as unified in Purpose as you claim, are you?"

    He gives ground a little, letting Michael press at him with the sword. "This place is about unity and cooperation. Harmony. Humans saw the most terrible war in history, staggering loss of life, genocide on a scale almost unimaginable, and the people here said 'no more.' They try to resolve their differences with diplomacy, cooperation. They try to lift up the least. To keep the peace. It doesn't always work, but they /try/."

    He fixes Michael with a direct look. "How is it that mortals are better at unity than /angels/?" Hoping he's rattled his opponent, at least a little, he pushes back against Michael's sword, trying to slip past the guard and hit him with the staff.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Cap catches his shield on the rebound, coming to a stop. He looks at Caitlin, utter disappointment across his face. The expression is probably enough to give Tony pause.

"You shouldn't be doing this. Whatever these things are? They don't serve the God I've known all my life," he says with a shake of his head, heedless of the violence raging around. He moves closer to Caitlin, his body language confident but non-threatening. "Did they drive everything you've learned, everything you've taught, from you? 'In the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, and through whom also he made the universe. The Son is the radiance of God?s glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word. After he had provided purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven. So he became as much superior to the angels as the name he has inherited is superior to theirs.' Hebrews."

That's right, Steve is quoting the Bible at Caitlin.

"I'm not sure about you, but that," he points at Michael with his burned wing. "Is not Jesus Christ. That is, at best, a demon trying to twist you and other believers to its side. At worst, it really is Saint Michael, and he's decided Lucifer had the right idea."

Steve takes another step forward, extending his non-shield hand towards Caitlin. "Come on, Caitlin. Walk away from this. Come with me."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
In part Barachiel was right, Sara didn't fully understand Witchblade because the shard of Atum, as he was being called, hadn't shared everything. That was his nature as well, to keep information to himself and only reveal what he believed to be enough. It had worked for so many wielders in the past, why would Sara be any different? The truth of that being, the world at this time is extremely different from the last time Witchblade had a wielder, the fact that angels were talking the mortal plane should have been a hint towards that.

It's instinct on the part of Witchblade. With an Archangel moving in on his wielder, the words Barachiel offered meant nothing. What could an angel really do? The cockiness, it was always a part of The Witchblade and this time, it backfired in ways he could never have imagined.

As Barachiel moved in toward Sara and Cael, and Sara reaches back for the spear on her back, the metal tendrils explode from the double silver bracelet to form the gauntlet that is Witchblade's true form. From there the tendrils tear through the straps of the tactical armor and destroy her clothing, even the helmet explodes out as the full suit of armor slides into place. It takes mere seconds for the armor to cover Sara's body, and those exact same seconds are all that are required to realize what Barachiel's words had meant.

When the armor has completed snapping into place, a desperate scream of agony and horror rips from Sara's lungs and instantly she drops to her knees. The spear is dropped as her hands reach to try and rip the armor off her own body, but Witchblade grasps in that same moment what happened and the armor unwraps itself. Those with the ability to hear beyond, the astral plane, ghosts, etc. would actually hear The Witchblade scream in anger and pain through their minds.

Naked in the snow, the burns across her entire body are obvious. Everywhere the armor touched, which is her entire body, is turning a pissed off red color. The cold helped, it allowed Sara one moment to grab the spear, and naked or not, pick herself up and prepare to fight.

"You son of a bitch!" She bellows, for herself and The Witchblade. "You have no right!" For the past several weeks she had questioned her place as the wielder, whether she was worthy or not, but it was her and Witchblade's discussion to have, not the place of any outside force to decide for? her. The anger that filled her, the rage, it matched what the state that Witchblade normally held for all things unbalanced in this world.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Ghost Rider roars at Zadkiel, the souls of thousands screaming forth with it. <<You will burn with the damned! Our reckoning has arrived!>> The sound that leaves the Rider's mouth is akin to a loud screech, the kind that rend souls in Twain. The shadow blade swings at Ghost Rider, ducking under the weapon just barely, the Rider leaps from the bike itself as if to tackle Zadkiel with his hands going for the throat, the other for the hilt of that dark blade.

"A reckoning an eon in the making!" Johnny's voice declares then, spurred on my Zarathos's memories, the Rider tries to wrestle Zadkiel in the air, moving its skull in an attempt to head butt the Archangel.

Thd efforts of others are unnoticed, but the shockwaves of power are not.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    <Can't explain if you're dead, Jon!>

    She was afraid as soon as she saw Sandalphon that that's who she'd be facing, but she'd made peace with the fact long ago, so when Sandalphon pulls her to him, Phoebe goes, willingly, to do battle with her 'guardian angel'.

    She breathes out, and with brilliance that matched the dull gray of his staff, her own appears as she falls from the sky, and focuses.

    She had the stolen power of the Celestials behind her, and she was willing to use it against them. So She falls, and then her wings spread out. Rose-gold about the edges of the feathers, with the sparkling blood copper of the orichulum shards that helped make up the marking on her back that gave her wings, she uses them -- and her beleif that they would work -- to slow her decent down to Sandalphon, and she bares her staff, at the ready.

    "I suppose to ask for a fair fight would be too big a favor today?" she quips, and she holds her staff out, the circles on the back of her hands lighting up with brilliant light of their own as the color rose-gold floods off them, her wings splayed out as she begins to channel more of The Light, attempting to knock Sandalphon back a step with her own push of will -- experimentally.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "No," Cael answers Barachiel simply, as he attempts to move in towards Sara. She folds her wings - dropping abruptly and flaring them out again at the last second to stop her descent, putting herself between the approaching archangel and her friend. "You're fighting me," she commands in a firm voice - which is about when she hears her friend's scream of pain behind her. What the hell just-?
    She shifts position, getting a few of Sara's naked form crouched on the frozen ground - her jaw tightening as she sees how vulnerable she really is. Fuck.
    Well. As if SHIELD tactical armor would really have stopped anything an archangel would have brought to bear.
    Still, given her position crouched on the floor, staggered and in pain, she's in no position to defend herself - so Cael will have to do it. She goes on the offensive, swinging her axe and putting her whole body and the sweep of her wings behind the blow. "Pezzini - you need to get up!" she calls to her friend. Because even if she can keep this guy off of her, like she hopes - there are countless other angels on the field that might take advantage of such an unprepared target.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Steve's skills at oration are second to none. The consummate leader, the inspiring figure. And as he closes with Caitlin he can see his words hitting home, chiseling away at the weariness that is clearly sapping her resolve. The uncertainty of so many of her friends coming at her, urging her to abandon her cause.

She even looks back over her shoulder at Michael, flying through the air, with an expression full of guilty misgivings.

Then the redhead looks down at Steve and haltingly, shakes her head. The expression gains resolve and her lips thin.

"Steve, you're on the side that's arguing with literal angels," she reminds him with a very gentle tone. "Remember Enoch? 'Behold, the Lord comes with ten thousands of his holy ones, to execute judgement on all and to convict all the ungodly,'" she recites. "I mean here we are. It's the Judgement. You think Michael is playing with Lucifer's deck?" She shakes her head, and points at Jon and Michael's clash in the air. "That's who was hanging with Lucifer. Talking with him. Lucifer even gave him weapons and intel. His side is filled with... monsters. Demons." She nods at the Ghost Rider dueling Zadkiel.

Caitlin's neven been much of an orator herself. Not the leader. In Donna's shadow mostly, always considerately stepping back before putting her looming presence forward. But now there is something in her eyes and voice that shines through her, an aura of calm certitude that has happily embraced some deep and unalterable Truth. And when she speaks, that Truth shines through to reaches right out to touch the heart. "Steve, you don't need to do this," she reminds him gently, and takes his offered hand to give it a squeeze. "But I know you can't see that right now. I'm really sorry that I have to do this."

Long streamers unfold from her shoulders, ribbons of radiant blue light that spread in her wake like wings. "But I won't let you get hurt just because you don't understand it yet." Her hand closes on Steve's, a grip that is gentle but unbreakable as steel. Caitlin takes flight with Steve dangling from her hand, rising up in the air about sixty feet. "You good? Don't fall, it'd be really embarassing if I made you break an ankle," she bids him.

Caitlin looks around the battlefield and gets herself more or less centered on it, and raises her voice with a stentorian volume: "YELLOW AND GREY!"

Angels flying overhead pluck canisters from their belts and hurl them downwards with great force, peppering the area like a hailstorm. When the canisters crack open, great gouts of yellow and grey smoke start pouring forth and crawl rapidly to blanket the area. "Don't worry, it's just tear gas and smoke bombs," she reassures Steve. "I can set you back down," she begins. "But only if you -promise- me that you're gonna take them and retreat." She nods at the small clusters of irregulars in the militia, scattered around them. "No one needs to get hurt."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Maybe Jon's words get to him, or maybe Michael is just too determined to finish off the Champion of Gaea but his attacks increase in fervent frenzy, his eyes blazing with terrible fury. "Enough of your prattling. I have heard enough preaching from you, one who doesn't understand the truth that stands plainly. This universe if flawed and I am the key to seeing it remade into perfection!" Jon's staff moves in and strikes against his pauldron, the magically enhanced blow drawing a grunt of discomfort from the Commander of the Hosts, even as he swings in for Jon's side with his blazing saber.

    Barachiel's sneer is evident in its tone even if its face was hidden by the helmet. "I govern all guardians. I have -every- right" the Archangel replies before he intercepts Cael's axe blow. The blood red blades he wields flare as starmetal meets angelic material imbued in the blades and he smiles. "You possess the knowledge of ages whereas we possess the knowledge of time beyond. You truly think you are a match for me?" he says as he begins to press his own force against her. He is incredibly skilled, using speed instead of sheer power against the axe wielding woman. He starts to circle around Sara, keeping Cael focused on staying between them.

    Zadkiel screams in frustration as the Ghost Rider collides with him. He grips the Spirit of Vengeneance's hand keeping it from throttling him. The headbutt connects and sends the Archangel to ground, the pair of them creating a small crater where they land. "I bound you before and only my inattentiveness allowed you freedom. You think I cannot take you on the field of battle?" he growls out, getting his legs underneath and between the pair of them and shoving off with mountain-moving force. Even as the press forces a disengagement he swings out with that sword once more, intent of felling the Rider with a single strike if he can manage.

    Sandalphon smiles serenely at Phoebe as she drops to face him. "I am nothing if not fair..." he begins and then her own will strikes against him. He takes a half step back. "That is the tool you wish to impliment in this encounter? Very well, I accept." He focuses on Phoebe, his golden gaze flaring brightly. The weight of the Archangel's focus is immense. Entire galaxies have been moved at such thought and now the full force of it bears down on a 17 year old girl imbued with primoridial forces and enhanced by the power of mid-tiered divinity.

    The SHIELD forces were not expecting such mundance methods of deterence to come into play when facing the literal forces of heaven. So while they -have- gas masks and rebreathers they aren't wearing them. A number of them fall back, coughing and struggling to not tear up at the gas. Others scramble to get the rebreathers on, even as the gas already affects them. The substances gives enough pause in the wall of firepower that the remaining ranks press forward, gaining ground.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Witchblade's scream tears through Jon's mind, and for a moment he's disoriented. His eyes widen and he risks a glance toward Sara, seeing her naked and burned, Cael facing Barachiel in front of her. "Oh, gods," he whispers, and he takes a moment, even as Michael's coming at him, to let down his guard enough to fling out a hand and point at Sara. "/Ikem/!" he shouts, and a glimmering silver-blue shield appears around the woman's body. Not enough to hold off Barachiel forever, but maybe enough to give her a chance.

    It's definitely enough to give Michael his chance. Jon's own barrier of woven green light flares as the sword slips in while he's distracted, slices along his side. He hisses in pain, and abandons the thought of sending a gust of wind to try to clear the smoke and tear gas. <<Masks on, clear the zone! Someone clear that smoke, I can't--Shit!!>>

    He twists away from another swipe from Michael's sword, coming in at his other side. His wings tuck in and he drops about ten feet before they flare out again, bearing him up away from the plumes of smoke. "I know what's wrong with the universe, Saint Michael. It's the Old Gods. They've done something to the flow of souls, redirected it somehow, while you were busy focusing on Lucifer. We can fix it. We are /going/ to fix it. Please, give us a chance. Stop this /stupid/ war, and let us actually fix the universe."

    His expression is almost sad as he twirls his staff and prepares to attack Michael again. "We didn't have to do this. Give up the Demiurgic Force and you can probably even /help/ me." He knows it's futile, but maybe the words will get through in time. The only real way to end this, today, is to defeat Michael. So with a great flap of his wings, he launches himself at Michael, aiming to go /past/ him to the side and hit his bad wing with the staff along the way.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve lets this happen. Is he fast enough to have slipped from Caitlin's grasp? Probably. Empowered as she is, he's definitely not strong enough to escape her grip now. He dangles as they ascend, and he looks down at the chaos. At his friends and allies fighting the the Hosts.

He's still not sold on that.

"Old Testament, Caitlin. The Law and the Prophets have been fulfilled. This isn't the Apocalypse of Saint John. The stars are still here. The waters aren't blood. The sun still shines, and I don't remember an earthquake."

Cap sighs, watching the tear gas flood the area. "From everything I've seen of this, God is not the one judging us. He is." Steve points at Michael again. "Last I checked, Angels, even the ones with names, don't have that authority. Last I heard, God doesn't outsource this level of it."

He looks up at her, still looking sad and disappointed rather than angry. "You can guess how many times I've asked that guy over there to intercede for me. This doesn't feel right. You know it doesn't. Don't let your faith overtake your rational mind. God gives us both to work in concert, to keep us balanced and on the right path. Too much faith is blind and hides the path, just the same as too much reliance on things being able to be explained."

He looks down again. "I know that some of the people down there dabble with things, with entities, that shouldn't be dabbled with." He looks back up at her. "They do it because they love our world. Love the people in it. They want everyone to be able to live the way they wish. 'And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.' God gave us all free will, and all of us who are fighting down there have chosen the love of our brothers and sisters over faith. I have, and I know God will forgive me if this is His design, because I do it out of love." He takes another breath. Orating while dangling is kind of weird.

"I know you love them too, Caitlin. Just walk away."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
There are far too few options for Sara. She may be on her feet and have the spear in hand, but as she watches Barachiel circling, she takes note of his abilities and realizes there is no way she can affect him. Even if she was fully clothed, wearing the SHIELD armor, all the gifts that came from Witchblade are gone, no superior strength, no endurance, no agility, no armor... she is a single mortal woman standing on the field of battle against an Archangel with a void spear in her hand and no hope.

That didn't change her resolve. If she died today, she would get in at least one strike with this spear for The Witchblade. And then Jon's barrier surrounds her and a glimmer of hope returned, sparkling through her eyes.

<"If I fall," she says into the SHIELD comm so Cael and Jon can hear her, the others who hear likely won't understand. "I need one of you to collect the bracelet. Do not let some random fool put it on, he will choose his next wielder himself when the time is right.">

And then she is charging forward with the spear. Cael's keeping Barachiel's attention gave her the time to learn his tactics and abilities. She could see a what was possibly a weak spot or two while he was fending off Cael's axe, so she would attempt to stab that spear into his body with all of her human strength behind it, using the charge to offer more impact to the blow.

In a fight against angels for the whole of humanity and the universe, what was the value of one life?

Johnny Blaze has posed:
The Ghost Rider and Zadkiel clash in a grudge match that has existed since angels and demons themselves. Who will win? The Archangel or the ancient demon? Instead of Johnny's voice, Zarathos takes over. The demon roars at Zadkiel. <<You imprisoned me! Used me as a tool for that which was not my purpose, vengeance directed at whomever you chose! Now, I am bound to Blaze, a mere human who is twice as you are, worm!>>

Johnny feels touched. But they have always been at odds. Tet in this moment they are one. Yet, pushed off by the night Angel, the Ghost Rider sails backwards out of the crater into a wall. That black blade strikes Ghost Rider just barely, and the gestalt seems to phase in and out between the Rider and Johnny as Johnny howls in pain, but the Rider restores itself before it's disrupted completely. With a growl, the Rider leaps forward, ripping the chain off of his body, the chain glowing with Hellfire as The Rider roars, this chain could slice through the building, the mountain, even as it intends to bisect Zadkiel!

<<BURN BEFORE ME!>>

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe got a half step. That's good. That's very good, she can tick that off, that she can affect them through the stolen will.

    What she can affect, she might be able to steal.

     -- not when all the will that has moved galaxies at a thought, though. Phoebe gives a cry as she's sent backwards and into the smoke, sailing into tangled troops and the lower angels.

    She chokes. She tears up, but she reaches up with her hands. Ventos ab Oceano, viam nostram patefacies, et pulmones increbresco! (Winds off the ocean, make clear our way and freshen our lungs!) she calls out in her stained Latin, summoning the wind off the sea to try and clear the way, using her distance between herself and Sandalphon to try and make breathing a LITTLE easier!!

    This makes her open to attack, but in the long run... she pushes Will into it, to try and bring as much air through the city as she can

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I fight for my friends, and my world," Cael answers simply. "You can get fucked." She has no time to look towards Jon and see how he's faring - no chance to pay attention to anything except the fight in front of her, and her immediate surroundings. She can't get much higher than ground level - not if she wants to protect Sara, as the pair keep circling around the woman, Cael catching Barachiel's sword on the top of her axe, and redirecting it as she swipes towards him.
    But the tear gas starts creeping in, causing her eyes to water, and blurring her vision. "Fuck. FUCK." She has a mask - safely in a pouch on her bandolier, but there's no chance of accessing it while struggling against the speed of the archangel's blows. She tries to use her wings to draw in cleaner air - but between her split concentration and blurred vision, Barachiel's blade slides in past her guard, scoring a bloody gash down her left arm. She hisses in pain, but remains otherwise unmoved - determined to continue defending her friend, even as Sara's words ring in her ears.
    <<"That shit's not fucking happening. We have each other's backs, Pezzini!">> she insists.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin just keeps shaking her head, and the fingers around Cap's wrist clench a little in frustration. Not enough to break bones, but definitely enough to convey the frustration wracking her conscience.

Fingers crossed she doesn't sneeze, though.

"They're not dabbling Steve, they're /consorting/. They're willfully working with monsters." She looks down at him, lips pressed thin and her brows furrowed in consternation. "You've told us yourself, what happens when we tolerate evil among us. You -lived- that history of what happens when people 'consort' with evil. Rationalizing it. They--" she shakes her head, looking at the fighting. The violence unfolding all around her.

"You are -distracting- me," she breathes, and gives Cap a wounded, hurt look. "All this, you're just-- this--"

She grimaces, and a pent up burst of anger and hurt shakes loose from her throat in a groan of anguish. Caitlin grabs Cap by his belt and the back of his armor, spins in the air, and hurls him laterally a solid fifty feet towards a low rooftop nearby. It's a hell of a throw, trajectory flat so there's no long ungainly arc for him to endure. Just a rough landing. The redhead pivots in the air and shoots towards Sara, Cael, and Barachiel's melee, leaving a blue-hued trail of cosmic energy in her wake.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Michael shakes his head. "You spit fuel upon the sparks of my resolution even as you speak, Jonathan" Michael replies. "The corpses of the First Ones interfere with this world? Even more reason for me to take it under control and let my Father remove it from their influence." Jon's press and strike clips him and he winces and spins as agony erupts from the wing. The wounds of his marred wing are still as fresh as they were when they were made by the water infused with Lucifer's destructive force it would seem. He swings wildly after Jon, the power behind the swing arcing further than the blade as a coronal mass ejection toward his opposition's Champion.

    The Chief of the Guardian Angels' eyes flash as Sara charges him, spear in hand. "A fool charges forth with no armor. Even more reason you are not fit for the position you have been given." The spear pierces the armor, a gout of boiling blood from the hole poked by the Void and Archangel blood fused weapon. A gurgling growl raises up from the armor clad figure as blood spills from the helmet's mouthguard and he jumps away from the spear, slashing an X with his blades at Sara.

    The blades make contact with the shield conjured by Jon and it's likely the only thing that keeps her alive. Scarlet light flashes over her body, the truth of Barachiel's power clear in the efferct. Each slash of his bloody blades equates to twenty cuts in rapid speed over the victim's form. The first twenty cuts weaken the barrier enough to expose her flesh to the second blade's onslaught. A number of deep cuts erupt over her burned flesh and her blood covers the snow beneath her. Even as he scores his mark Cael's axe crashes against his side sending him into a long arc and into a postal box, the force of Cael's blow in addition to his own weight turning the steel box into a crumpled mass of metal as he rises from the destruction his movements slower than they once were as the hole in his torso oozes with boiling red liquid.

    Zadkiel smiles as he watches his own damage pass over the Ghost Rider. "I did and that is where you should have stayed demon." He hisses and his eyes widen as the soul-forged chain whips at him. His sword is the only thing that keeps him from being torn in two. Even as he intercepts the most of the force with his sword the chain still recoils and flashes against his chest, tearing through the armor as if it were tissue and sending the Archangel of Freedom reeling back. "Vile creature" he spits out with a mass of boiling blood. "I should've melted down your very essence into a more suitable tool when I bound you." He raises a hand and a ball of scarlet holy light forms before it fires out toward Johnny with cosmic speed, destruction boiling off of it.

    Sandalphon steps forward, his movement slow. The winds summoned by Phoebe make his bronzed surcoat and tunic flutter in the breeze. "You have strength, child. That much I have said to you enough times. But you do not have the experience to properly use it." He towers over her his nearly eight feet of height putting him above all the combatants on the ground and with a move of almost brutish efficiency he swings his staff at her, testing her defenses as she concentrates on clearing the field of the toxic fumes.

    The winds of Phoebe's spell do a lot to give the SHIELD forces time to put on rebreathers and get their footing once more pressing back against the lesser angels' attack, stalling the ground given once again. Another Throne dies in an vaccuum blast as an RPG strikes the center eye of its form. The sparkles of St. Elmos' fire littering the street is a testament to just how many lesser angels and cherubs have fallen to the Resistance's firewall.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The flaring wake of Michael's sword catches Jon with the shockwave and heat, searing his wings and sending him tumbling to the ground. He lands away from the fight, wincing, and grumbles, "One of these days I'm going to manage a proper bloody landing."

    'If I fall,' Sara says. 'If I fall.' Jon can /feel/ the barrier around Sara drop. He grinds his teeth as he picks himself up off the ground, and glares up at Michael, still up there in the sky. <<Nobody else is dying, Pezzini! Not if I can help it!>> Nobody else. Are any of the SHIELD agents or militia down? He prays not. He can't help that, now. But he can end this swiftly. Michael has a weak spot, and it's high time he stopped playing nice.

    Jon's never been much of an athelete, but prior Archivists have been. The Archivists existed during the heyday of ancient Greece, served the Greek rulers of Egypt during the reign of Ptolemy, and at least one ancestor trained with the javelin. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to call on his ancestors, praying that the Archive will actually provide what he needs, even if only for a fleeting moment.

    For once, the Archive provides.

    Jon opens his eyes and they glow citrine yellow as he hoists the spear up next to his head, holds it paralell to the ground. He dismisses his wings and then starts to run, turning his body slightly as he approaches Michael. He takes aim, pulling his arm back and pulling the staff back at an angle, feet crossing behind each other as he moves. Then a hop, and he turns and throws the staff at Michael with all the force he can muster, nearly falling over, hands touching the ground before he rights himself to look up and see if he hit his target.

    He's aiming for the bad wing.

Steve Rogers has posed:
He's starting to get through to her. He knows he is, Cap can feel it. In her grip, in her pained expression. His is equally hurt, but for different reasons. He just shakes his head sadly. Is she right? Sort of. Is it his job to judge them? No. That belongs to someone else. It's his job to love and lead by example.

As Caitlin alters her grip, Steve looks at her one more time, looking wounded at her comparing what his allies are doing to what he fought for all those years ago.

She releases him, and he hits the roof hard, plowing through a ventilation pipe and into a brick wall. Luckily it stops him. Unluckily, it buries him.

His last thought before unconsciousness takes him is that she has it backwards. She's fighting for fascists. She just won't realize it willingly.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
The spear strikes true and that really is all that Sara wanted. One shot, to draw blood against the angel who felt it his place to take what wasn't his to take. In her head she can hear the screaming of the Witchblade, he is as helpless as she is and that is not something he has ever been. To armor his wielder is to damage her, to not armor her is to watch her take damage.

Barachiel didn't understand humans any more than Michael, or so it seemed. A protector, a guardian, needs to be ready to sacrifice everything for the purpose they guard or protect. There was a price to be paid for a mortal choosing to fight impossible odds, but any mortal willing to do so knows it. Sara had known she would only get one strike. As the blades ripped through the barrier she yanks the spear free, it would be needed in future fights. As the next barrage of strikes rip through her flesh, the pain reminds her of the thousands, millions even that might get a second chance when humanity won this battle.

With Cael blowing the Archangel into a mailbox, Sara staggers back to the middle point she had been at, spear held firmly in both hands. The blood was warmer than her skin, the snow making her cold. If this was the end, she would go down fighting to the last.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
The soul-forged chain finds purchase against Zadkiel! May his soul burn with the flames of the Pit, though the chain itself cuts through Zadkiel's defenses as if they were nothing but paper,, the mass of boiling blood in Zadkiel's insult, and the beam of holy light coming towards him makes Ghost Rider's mouth open as it breathes out Hellfire to meet this holy beam!

...only the beam meets the hellfire and the clash is the stuff of legends. Flame and light, heavens gates and hells flames combine into a potent mixture of red and orange, as if to make the flame that has lit the stars. But Zadkiel's holy energies were strong, and the Rider's feet were digging into the concrete. Eventually, the Rider sees an opportunity. The beam strikes the Rider directly in the chest, sending it straight into the ground as if slides across dirt and concrete, eventually stopping at the foot of a building.

With a groan, the demon gestalt rises to it's feet, a tilt of his head makes the near-indestructible neck crack. Then Johnny's voice speaks.

"You had a chance, Zadkiel. The chance to do the right thing. But then I remembered, angels don't have free will. Like Zarathos was to you, you're a pawn of a madman. You imprisoned him for longer than mankind has existed." Johnny's voice warps, grows darker. "And now you will suffer the consequences.>>

Then, in a unison of both voices.

"Mine is the power of HELL UNLEASHED!"

Ghost Rider then charges forth, the impact of his feet leaving the ground shattering the glass and leaving cracks in the concrete of the building's foundation. He might get stabbed by that sword, but Ghost Rider's fists clench around that chain. He whips it up and slams it directly down, as if to try and strike Zadkiel from above. Similarly, the Rider keeps charging, his fist reeled back. The attack two-fold.

His left hand thrusts forward open-handed, as if to drive his fingertips through the Archangel's chin and through his skull. "Meet the fate you fear!"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe was a little 'winded' (geddit? Winded? Wind magic? Nyuck nyuck!), keeping her casting going as much as she can, the ragged edges of her hood catching with the wind and Presence as Sandalphon approaches her, and her dark eyes look up at him as she braces. She shifts herself aroundand then she pushes out with her power again. Above her, her wings curl, the translucent feathers showing her form guarded beneath her, and her shield rises up, its weight-pointed star and Egyptian glyphs spinning lazily.

    She stops casting for wind, and she holds her hands up, channeling that shield as Sandalphon brings his staff down.

    She could withstand a couple hits from Michale, semi-powered, before it broke, and Constantine had to save her -- she should be able to take one blow...

    ... right?

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Barachiel raises his blades. Wounded, yes, but no less dangerous for it. The blood dripping from his mask is sanguine only in color; a physical description of a mystical wound. Angels no more need blood than they need air. That eldritch spear wounds Barachiel grievously, on a truly spiritual level.

The Archangel's implacable mask turns from the wounded, bleeding Sara to Cael. The blades lift, settle, and Barachiel settles himself with all the grace of a snake winding itself up to deliver a fatal strike. He needs only one opening, after all. When the angel moves, it is with a single fluid motion marked by streaks of ugly red light like sparklers in the heat of a July night.

He is intercepted by a blue blur. A great clatter of armor and steel raises up and he's smashed sideways into a pile of bricks that collapse around him.

The rubble surges and rises, Caitlin standing over Barachiel with her face clenched in a grimace of near rage and her fingers gripping his breastplate. Perhaps its her borrowed Grace, or the fury that does it, but his armor crumples and groans in mighty protest under her grip.

"I SAID. NO. FATALITIES!" Caitlin screeches.

Barachiel struggles to get his feet under him, so he's not helpless in Caitlin's mighty grasp. "You *dare-!*" His remonstration is cut off by a fast left jab straight at the gap of his gorget, under his armor. The Archangel chokes and staggers. The implacable mask almost looks shocked at the betrayal. This borrows for Caitlin a moment to line up her feet, get her balance settled, and throw a textbook-perfect right cross right for the armored point of that chin.

When it connects, the force of the impact is like a bomb going off. Windows shatter, dust and debris goes flying, and the smoke lingering in the air curls and twists as the shockwave travels through it.

Cael Becker has posed:
    The fight is chaos - and with the tear gas still blurring her vision, it's impossible for Cael to track things not in her immediate vacinity. Barachiel is momentarily down and injured - that's good. Sara's injured too - that's bad. The tear gas seems to be letting up a little? Or maybe that's just her wishful thinking.
    Cael once again positions herself between Sara and the archangel, waiting for him to return to the fight - still determined to stand between him and her roommate. Her friend. <<"We're going to get you through this, Sara. How bad is it?">> she asks without looking over her shoulder at the woman. Her gaze remains fixed on Barachiel as he rises, and approaches with his twin blades. She idly swings her axe as she waits for him to strike - and just as she starts to raise it for a blow at the angel...!
    There's an unexpected streak of blue, and the angel is no longer there. Cael blinks in surprise, falling back a step. This... this was the last thing she expected. "Fairchild..." she says in surprise, then adds a quiet, "Thanks."
    Into the coms she adds, <<"Fairchild has our back, Sims. Pezzini and I are good.">> For the moment.
    She finally hazards a look back at her roommate trying to assess her condition.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Michael rights himself just as Jon throws. "Mortality is a struggle against an end that is a mere blink in our eye. All will fall in time. You cannot stop the inevitable, Jonathan." The speed of the staff may be a surprise to him. It speeds through the air with far more force than simply Jon could give it and slams with full force into the center of Michael's marred wing.

    There is a flash of light and a scream of absolute agony as the arbiter of the Spark of Creation falls, spiraling in a wild arc through the air before he slams into the ground with thunderous force a small crater erupting from his impact. The plasma blade, a sword forged from the very fires of a sun, tumbles through the air and lands in the asphalt of the concourse around UN HQ square not too far from Jon's current position.

    Zadkiel raises the sword to intercept the chain once more, leaving his face open to the second hand that grips him by the throat. It doesn't go through, but the Archangel of freedom is sent back by the impact, his head hitting the concrete with tremendous force and tearing up entire swaths of the concourse as the Ghost Rider's momentum forces it back. What's left when the dust settles is a bloody mess of an angel beneath the Ghost Rider. "Foolish creature... I'll have you yet..." he croaks out and places his free hand to Johnny's stomach before a bar of white hot light passes -through- the Ghost Rider's body and the Archangel of Freedom vanishes in a burst of crimson light.

    The force of Sandalphon is a magnitude above and beyond what Michael's had been in Chas' body. Phoebe can feel her whole body shift as the Guardian of Unborn Children's strength reverberates past the physical and into the level of atoms as his staff catches her on the side. "A holding action is beneath you, child. I would expect you to deflect my blow. I give you a test of strength and you disregard it? Puzzling." He spins the staff, his skill with the tool besting even those who are masters and moves to strike her once more with another body blow.

    Barachiel was going to dispose of two of the combatants; he truly was and then their ally, Michael's Champion, is there, turning on him. He doesn't have much a chance to react before he is sent into the rubble. He retort was on his lips before the Amazon strikes him with enough force to destroy architecture and he is sent reeling once more into, and -through-, a tourist shop the internal structure of the outlet suite crumbling in on him.

    There is silence for a moment and then the rubble shifts and the armor clad figure rises. There is rebar and pipes sticking through his body and the armor where Cait struck him in dented into near uselessness. "Mortals are ever flawed." He says scarlet eyes falling on Caitlin. "Now you reveal the truth of your dubious faith. Betrayal. Worthlessness. Our general can find another to fuel his interests here... I will be rid of you." He presses the twin scimitars together and they merge into a single scarlet blade of immense size as he trudges through the debris of the outlet building, his movements stiff and sluggish; clear evidence of the damage he has sustained.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon watches Michael fall from the sky, ignoring the buffeting winds near him and the chaos of the battle. Sara is alive, and Cael is (mostly) unhurt, and it's because of Caitlin. Their enemy, supposedly. The opposite Champion, who's been doing everything she can to try to take him out, most of the time.

    He's really not remotely surprised.

    "Nobody else is /dying/ in this!" he shouts, loud enough to echo across the plaza, even over the fighting. "Nobody but me, since that's evidently /necessary/! No. /More/!"

    He picks up the sword that's fallen nearby, and manifests his wings again. They flare out as he crouches and springs into the air, flying across the plaza with the plasma sword leaving a streak of heat in his wake. He drives the sword into Michael's chest with all the power that the pent-up fury and pain can give him, glaring at the archangel.

    "I don't want to call any more families," he says. "I don't want to face any more spouses or parents or children. I'm done. I gave you a chance, and now I'm /done/."

    He leaves the sword in Michael's chest and takes a step back, then pulls his staff out of the archangel's wing and slams the butt of it into the ground. A barrier of woven green light appears in a bubble around Michael, prepared for the explosion.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Witchblade was helpless to do anything more than weep, a sound that was able to felt by those in the area, rather than heard. In the heat of battle, when a wielder is lost, it is rare to think of the entity within the bracelet. An intelligence capable of the same emotions as any mortal being might have. He had mourned the lost of each Wielder, and remembered them so that each subsequent wielder would know them, learn from their lives. With the others their deaths had been unexpected, or they had removed the bracelet and walked away from their duty. Sara may have been struggling, seeking her place, but she had never taken the bracelet off, she had never fully turned her back on her duty.

There should have been more pain, she knew shouldn't have been able to move back and away, but she was actually numb. Anyone who looked at the extent of the damage done from Barachiel's scimitars would see the sliced bones across her body, muscles that have been completely severed, ripped and sliced burned flesh, and the blood, so much blood flowing freely down her body and into the snow at her feet. No fatalities... was it too late?

A strange euphoria swims through Sara's head as she drops hard onto both knees, still clutching the spear against her chest. The battle still raged around her but she could no longer hear it, the clashing of weapons, the gun fire, the thundering of powers between Jon and Michael, the blows of the Ghost Rider against Zadkiel, it all faded away into a sweet melody. Was it Witchblade?.

<"I hear music, Cael... it's pretty," she mutters, the sound picked up by the comms. If her blue eyes could actually see anything as they looked toward Cael it wasn't entirely clear, but a smile touches her lips only moments before she pitches forward and crumples into the snow on the concrete, becoming motionless.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "You may think to hold is beneath me, but when I can hear those calling out for me, why should I expend my power when I should have nothing to prove?" is Phoebe's reply, and by the time Sandalphon raises his staff she says: "Let me tend my wounded friends; it's not their place to die in this game." she whispers, and then -- even turning her back on the challenge of power, she spreads her wings and leaps up, her light cascaded. There are no ribons or aura of glory as with Caitlin, only the sparkle of light on the fragility of rose-colored glass tinged witht he rose-gold of Phoebe's magic. THere was a cry for help.

    She would see to the wounded, even if Sophiel chose to strike her from the sky. She'll see he has her test of strength.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
*THOOOM*

The impact of the Rider's strike to Zadkiel sends the Archangel flying, and the Ghost Rider with it. When the dust settles, the demon stands tall. Underneath the Ghost Rider, Zarathos's former warden lies in a bloodied mess.

<<Maybe. But it won't be today.>>
"Maybe. But it won't be today."

The Rider speaks in two voices, yet, as the Archangel brings a hand to Ghost Rider's stomach and white hot light passes through the Ghost Rider's body. The Rider drops to a knee, bringing a hand to it's chest, a sound that almost sounds like a gasp leaving the being's throat. r
"What the hell was that?" Johnny questions to Zarathos, the shadow beside him in his subconscious. <<I...do not know for certain.>> The demon utters. <<But Zadkiel is vanquished, for now.>> Though that white hot light that passed through him? That was...weird. It went -through- him.

The Rider chokes out an exhale, and it rises to it's feet. Zadkiel was a tough son of a bitch. But something catches its eye. Sara was down.

In a startle, Ghost Rider is urged by Johnny to approach her.

Cael Becker has posed:
    <<"//Shit.// Medical, //now!//"> Please. Oh, God, please. <<"Pezzini needs evac - stat.">> Cael could try to tend to her. Try to save her - but the extent of Sara's injuries, and with no medical supplies...
    She's never once said. Never once admitted to caring for Sara as anything more than a friend - a roommate. To protect her - to save her from- ...from the same fate that struck her mother, and Alis. That was coming for Jon. "Sara, I-"
    She can't. She still can't say it. The tears stinging her eyes are not just from the teargas anymore, as she steps up beside Caitlin, the axe held in her hands. "Mortals aren't the only flawed beings I see her. Fairchild - if you can heal... please. Help her. I'll deal with him." Blood was still dripping from the gash on Cael's left arm - but it had slowed considerably. Hopefully she could hold him off lone enough for others to help finish this fight and come back her up.
    Without waiting for Caitlin's response, she closes on Barachiel, swinging hard with her axe at the injured archangel.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
A hand reaches up and catches the axe by the haft. Caitlin rips the blade from Cael's hands and bodily hauls her back over to Sara's prone form. "She is going to -die- without your help," Caitlin growls at Cael. "So stop fighting and -help her-."

Caitlin turns to the battlefield. "ENOUGH!" she bellows. "SIMS! Get your people under control!" she shouts at the magus. "Everyone-- Angels too-- everyone, STAND DOWN."

Once she's mostly got everyone's attention Caitlin moves to Sara's side again. There's no threat in her body language, and she pulls forward a small slingpack tucked against her hip. A medical emergency autoinjector is extracted, put in Cael's hand, and she assists the other woman in ensuring it's accurately driven into Sara's carotid. "Hold that a ten-count. It will slow the bleeding."

Caitlin looks at Jon. "We're done," she says, bluntly. "I can stabilize and save her. But only if we're done. You take your people, I take my team, we go our separate ways. Either that, or I leave right now and you take your chances with someone haemhorraging to death."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Michael feels the blade pierce him and he starts to glow even as the barrier surrounds him. "No launching me to the heavens, Jonathan?" he asks a slow smile appearing over his features. The shield expands only a little as he starts to crack and break and the smile falters. "What is... what is this?" he asks, sudden confusion slicing through his tone. "I cannot be contained by..." he says and reaches a hand to pound against the barrier. "No!" he shouts even as his form breaks apart and a ball of flame looking like a contained neutron star appears in the barrier. It pulses and there is a wave of heat, like a soothing warm summer breeze before the ball vanishes in a puff of golden light, leaving no damage in its wake.

    Sandalphon's strike stops as Phoebe turns away from him. It was a fair fight after all. He was not one to break that pact. His eyes turn as Michael is contained in his 'death' and he hangs his head. "Another step passed, another day gone. What will be will be, my brother. Even the power granted to you is not enough to ensure the future without action." He sets his staff to the concrete and his form pulses before turning into a myriad of fireflies that scatter across the concourse, seemingly oblivious to the continued fire fight between the lesser and the SHIED forces that continue to rage on despite the battle seeminging coming to its end.

    Barachiel was going to continue to fight but then he stops and watches as the rest of the Archangels depart, willingly or unwillingly. "There will be a reckoning for this Caitlin, of that you can be certain." Then he vanishes as well, a thunderclap echoing his departure.

    The lesser angelic forces halt their advance. Michael's Champion's words are his voice to their near-mindless nature. The SHIELD forces, after a moment's hesitation at the ceasefire also stop pressing back. A fragile tension hangs in the air at the tenuous armistice.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon only waits long enough to be certain Michael's actually properly exploded before he turns and speeds back across the plaza toward Sara, wings flapping as fast as he can move them. Whether or not he /needs/ to do that, he /feels/ like he needs to. <<It's done,>> he calls into the comm. <<Stand down, and find Rogers. I lost sight of him when Fairchild threw him.>> His voice is clipped and terse. He sends up a prayer, that Sara will survive long enough for help to come to her. He's already conjuring a globe of water, intent on using it to try to help stabilize his friend.

    He skids to a stop next to Sara and looks to Caitlin. "Thank you," he says, fervently. He tosses the globe of water into the air and spreads his fingers. The water begins to fall as rain, that heals as it touches, soothing the pain from the tear gas and closing the wounds of the defenders. It doesn't touch Sara's wounds at all, though. Other people visibly heal--and Sara is still injured, even as the rain falls on her.

    He kneels down next to Sara, looks to Cael. "We need to evac her straight to the Triskelion, we can't handle this at Grand Central. Where are the /bloody/ portalers?!" What did Barachiel do, that his magic can't even begin to touch the wounds?

    A glance up to Caitlin. "Your boss is the one that insists we have to fight these duels to a standstill, Fairchild. Over a hundred of my people have been killed in these skirmishes, and far more civilians that did nothing more than step out into the street. Barachiel /alone/ killed ten defenders of Grand Central Station last Sunday. I suggest you have a long talk with Saint Michael if you have so much of a problem with people dying."

    Then he glowers at her. "But if you're going to predicate your help on whether or not we leave the field of battle, you're not the woman Troia says you are. I would heal you, or any of your mortal helpers, if they were dying. Help Sara because it's the right fucking thing to do, not as /leverage/. You're /better/ than that." A pause. "We're done here regardless. So again--thank you. I'll take the help in the spirit it's meant, and not the words you speak."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "What the-" Cael exclaims as Caitlin disarms her, and hauls her back. She looks torn between the desire to continue the fight and protect her friend - and to //help// her. It's only once Barachiel finally disappears that she drops to her knees beside Sara, taking the autoinjector and following Caitlin's instructions. "Sara... Sara, com'on, please, don't do this. Don't this. You're not supposed to- I never-" Why is this happening?
    "Jon, help her!" Cael says with a desperate edge to her voice. "I can't lose everyone. I can't-"
    She'll be alone again. What if they can't bring Jon back? What if Lydia is wrong? What if he isn't //meant// to cheat death after all?

Johnny Blaze has posed:
There comes a call for a ceasefire, and Ghost Rider's flame ceases. Instead, the Rider turns back into Johnny Blaze, his leathers now revealed to have some cuts and holes in it from his fight with Zadkiel. He looks at Jon as he manages to cover Michael before his explosion, neutralizing the star he converted into. "Good job."

But his full attention is then on Sara. With Cael and Jon on her, and with Caitlin doing potentially the healing, he looks at her. "Thank you. Any help you can give her, -any-, and we'd be grateful. I know we have differences, but really...thank you." He says genuinely. Though Jon's words make him point sharply at the commander. "Cut that shit out." He says tensely. "That we have -any- left is miraculous in itself. The fight's done. No more words, we have wounded. You guys are better healers than me, so please take care of her. I'll try and find Cap."

Johnny looks over to Sara one more time. One last time. "Make sure she makes it." Johnny practically orders. "Or I'll find a way drag her back from the afterlife." Johnny declares, then he's looking for Cap.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin kneels down and puts her hand on Sara's bloodied forehead. There is a pause and then a nimbus of blue light flows from her fingertips. Her hand passes over Sara, down to her knees, then back up. When the light fades, Sara's wounds don't seem quite as greivous. The unnatural obstruction of her bleeding passes. "Get her to your aid station. Keep track of her BP and respiration. Prep an IV of Ringer's Lactate, dress and clean the wounds. She'll need plasma and a slow drip of acetic acid to break down the glycol in her bloodstream. Don't let the wounds get infected."

Caitlin looks up at Johnny, her expression neutral, and tilts her head towards the building nearby. "He's on the roof. I didn't throw him too hard. Just took him out of the fight."

Before she stands, Caitlin leans over Sara's battered form and stares Jon right in the face. Her expression is worn, haggard; lips pressed thin, eyes hooded. There is an explosion of violent catharsis hovering just under her skin and Jon is *perilously* within arm's reach of someone who knocked an archangel ass over teakettle moments before.

"I /really/ don't like it when people swear at me," she advises him-- and it is, in every way, a dire warning.

Implied warning delivered, Caitlin stands and her trailing wings extend to lift her into the air, taking up a rearguard as the Host withdraws from the field.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    As the Hosts depart a voice comes from above the statue that served as the anchor point for Gaea's wellspring. "It appears that you have learned some new... tricks, Jonathan" he says, his tone disgusted. "Two more remain. I look forward to seeing you fail in them." His unnatural blue eyes fall on Caitlin and there is a dangerous glint to them as he turns and starts after his Champion and what is left of his forces.

    There is sure to be a reckoning at hand for the woman he claimed as his mortal hand in this endeavour but he would see to that back at their headquarters, any sign of dissent among the ranks was not for the Resistance forces to see. To any others, the angelic hosts were a unified as ever, even if Caitlin had turned her hand upon one of the archangels.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon rather blatantly ignores Johnny--it is /obvious/ how much he's ignoring Johnny, he actively looks away from the man as he starts to lecture. He cannot afford to be frustrated or angry about that right now, so he blocks it out. Instead, he merely nods tersely at Caitlin. "Thank you," he repeats. "I'll make note of that, in future."

    He conjures a stretcher beneath the woman. "Phoebe, Agent Singh, take them back to Grand Central. I'll be back there once Pezzini's settled at the Trisk." He takes a long, deep breath, and considers, as one of the portalers opens a portal directly to the Triskelion nearby.

    He looks across Sara's still form to Cael. His voice turns gentle. "I'm going to lift the stretcher, and I need you to help me keep her steady." A pause. "She's going to live. Okay, Cael? Caitlin helped stabilize her, and we're taking her to some of the best doctors in the world, at the Triskelion. She's going to be fine. Help me keep her steady and get her through this portal. Alright?"

Johnny Blaze has posed:
"Thank you." Johnny tells Caitlin when she gives him the location of Captain America. But it's extended to that Sara is in critical - or was. The attentions given to her, she'll probably (hopefully) pull through. He has to believe that. He needs to.

He starts working his way up to the roof in question. No doubt after some time he may come across the rubble the Captain was buried under. He'll start throwing off the larger pieces of rock, trying to dig out the symbol of freedom...and honestly? Johnny's childhood hero.

"Come on, Cap, Nap times over." He grunts out. This would be easier if he was Ghost Rider, but he's rather not burn alive again if he doesn't have to.

Cael Becker has posed:
    The relieved look Cael shoots towards Caitlin is palpable as Sara's injuries begin to partially knit back together. She's- she will survive this. Won't she?
    It's entirely possible that Cael hears nothing Jon says - right up until the point where he says her name. That's when her gaze finds his - her expression momentarily uncomprehending. "I- yeah. Sure. I- I'll help." With her attention dropping back down to Sara again, she musters her own soothing voice to add, "We've got you, Sara. We've got you," as she moves in unison with Jon to get the injured agent to needed medical care.