Scene #9871: Path of Glory: For Our Struggle

Owner	Pose
Michael Demiurgos	As the sun sets over Grand Central Station the mass of angelic forces swells over the skyscrapers and buildings on the approach. There are holes in the formations, a testament to the destructive power of the Shi'ar pulse cannons encasing Murray Hill in a protective sheath of firepower. But even the alien technology cannot account for the massive numbers of the Heavenly Hosts. More pulse cannons fire on the final approach to the main center of the station. And a large number of the forces are turned into a myriad of colored bricks from the various Gozer cameras set up in preparation. Though even those only manage to take out a few large swaths before they are cut down by blasts from Thrones. The counter stroke force that manages to press on toward the station is still quite large. At their head is the Archangel Michael. His right wing is (unfortunately) restored but the armor over his torso seems heavier than his normal fare. Perhaps the spear with the composite of his blood did more damage than anything else had to him. A thing to note for future encounters. He flies up, high above the building, his holy lance in one hand his shield in the other, and surveys the Resistance forces pressing back his remaining forces. He smiles and then dives for the roof of the building. It seems he is intent on going through the wall directly to wreak havoc within. He's a blinding comet racing toward the roof before he impacts something hard. There is a thunderous crash as he collides with a solid barrier of magic. A ward. There is a shockwave of force from the point of his impact that ripples along the barrier. The archangel ricochets away from the impenatratble wall, his face a mask of irritation.
Jonathan Sims	There's laughter from nearby where Michael collided with the barrier, and then Jonathan Sims appears from where he'd been waiting, invisible, on the rooftop. He wears the black fatigues and SHIELD tactical gear that he's donned through the entire conflict, but he's manifested wings again, gold and blue and teal green, though he's moved them to his shoulders and back as he remembers Ma'at actually having them in his vision of her. They probably wouldn't work if he was dependent on physics for his flight, but he's holding himself aloft more as an effort of will and magic than actual aerodynamics. He's holding his staff in a guard position and grinning at Michael rather cheekily. "Did you /really/ think we wouldn't put up new wards?" He's still laughing as he speaks. "You telegraph all your moves days ahead of time, you know. You ought to work on that. 'Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.'" Of course he has Sun Tzu memorized; his husband is a fan, after all. He doesn't bother waiting for speeches about letting people surrender or finding other ways to solve the conflict. Michael's made his intent blatantly clear, and Grand Central is their base, not merely one of the wellsprings. Other people can and have moved things out, but he really /can't/ move the basis for the spell that's keeping the wellsprings sealed. And anyway, he's tired of New York landmarks being devastated by the angels. So he strikes, a crackling bolt of lighting flying from his staff at the leader of the angelic forces as he flies at the winged being. <<Attack!!>> he calls over comms, releasing the resistance forces to fire on the angels. <<Show no quarter!!>
Sarah Rainmaker	Sarah Rainmaker has had the time to rest, get her gauntlets fully back, and to train a little more with the spear. There's stil lthe far, far too fresh feeling of pain even if just a phantasm from having one of her lungs popped and having to hold her head to the side to avoid gagging over on it and asphyxiating herself with blood. So that trauma is still there, but pressed to the side. Now while they await the oncoming, Sarah is just still. She's thrown a dark, ragged blanket over her head and some mud on her body. They might not be going to attack immediately but that doesn't mean that she can't conceal herself. She's not making active use of her powers so far, though she has once again memorized where all the heavy metal pieces in the surrounding area are so she can e in a place to have them available if she needs to. But for now, there is silence from her and wtaching. Broken only by a hand going up to stroke at her neck where magically removed injuries had left their mental imprint. Then Michael has made his presence and Sarah Rainmaker goes to focus. She's spent her time in preparation now. With her gauntlets, and the spear.. She's going to lift her hands up and into the air, calling out along the comm <<Bringing the lighting over the entire area>> That's her warning. All of those conductive surfaces and bits of metal she has spent all of her time carefully mapping are now the focus of lightning strikes! Now using them to enhance her attacks, channeling lightning along her gauntlets, through the spea,r using both as a heavy focus, she's moving to put as much lightning as she can, hopefully controlled by both to make a -giant- circuit through as many of the attackers as possible! Intent on trying to string them all together like a series of Christmas lights put up on display as she would try to make a barrage through giant metal conductors, angels, and to flash up the entire area as best as she could without tiring herself out!
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia has been spending the last half hour scrambling to secure her and Phoebe's research. She's got Clarice and her brother, Theo, down to help out, with Theo 'pocketing' all their books and equipment. When he touches thing, they disappear with a purple flash into his extradimensional pocket where they'll be safely stowed as long as he's alive. And that's why Clarice is here, to make sure he stays alive. When she hears the sounds of pulse cannons firing she curses, "Shit. There's no more time. This'll have to do. Get him out of here, Clarice. I'll stay to defend the Station, but if things get bad, prepare for an emergency evac." Clarice nods, and in an instant she and her brother disappear to travel back to the Asteroid where they'll be safe. She runs out of the building and looks to the sky, where Michael's host is swarming the area. "Okay," she says to herself, "this time don't bite off more than you can chew, Lydia." The fireflies that constantly dance about her grow and merge until they form glowing golden armor around her, and a matching sword and shield appear in her hands. Great golden wings unfold from her back and lift her up into the sky and she readies herself for the incoming onslaught.
Kaida Connolly	Sitting on the roof, a single mouse girl simply and casually has her shield against her leg. She sits there without a thought and without care as she uses her sword to slice away at a block of cheese sitting on a piece of butcher's paper. She slices off a large slice and casually takes several bites to finish it before cutting another. "Splendid they march to combat, A Swift, distinguished, avenging host!" Kaida says in a clearly Irish accent. Her eyes going over to Michael and then to Jon as he speaks. She smirks a little as they hit the shield and she looks then to the enemies beyond as she continues to eat. "Have ya come once more to force the hands of your allies?" Kaida calls out agianst the din. She's fairly confident that one as powerful as Michael can hear even a tiny mouse amongst the roar. She could. She can pick out noises that most would miss and scents that others might. She's beginning to realize what all these strange twitchiness she has been sensing is now. She's didn't want to and she doesn't know the source but she can feel it. "A grand gesture of a man calling for unity when he has none himself to lend." She casually finishes one more bite of cheese before standing up and looking up at Michael with a wide grin and then looks to Jon before looking ahead, "Come on then, he of royal purple and supposed guardian of faith. Force all that unity and beg for ours." She swings her blade once and watches for where she might be best used.
Cael Becker	As Jon is revealed - so is Cael, in flight beside him, wearing her own gleaming armor of blue-hued silver over her chest, with matching greaves and bracers. A two-headed axe of the same material is held in her hands, both of them gripping the low haft. It's decorated with celtic knotwork running around the outer edges of each blade, with decorated protrusions like two crossed wings coming from where the blades meet, and running part way down the haft. From her back spring a pair of darkly colored metallic wings that beat slowly, keeping her aloft. She let out her own snort as Michael impacts the wards, and she regards the angel with a cold, determined expression on her features. "You're wasting your time and your forces here," she informs Michael coldly - hoping that she at least //appears// to be fully healed - though her body still aches from the impacts she took the day before, despite the magical healing she'd been granted. As Jon flies directly at Michael, Cael is keeping pace beside him, swinging with her, all her weight and strength behind her initial attack, aimed for his arm. "Should I take his wing off again, Sims, or would you rather?" she asks.
Michael Hannigan	Well, not part of the regulars... Nick Drago does have reason to be at Grand Central Station tonight. Not this night in particular but that's how things work out. With a bit of time since Lydia's visit where he gave her the means to get a copy of the Raphael's Flask spell song and later sent her a specially requested song of 'Carry Us (St. Christopher)'. He figured he should swing by to see if either of the two songs were of any use or if there were any other requests. Finding the place wasn't hard. His home is in the neighborhood after all. And it didn't hurt that Lydia said that's where he should go if he wanted to help any further. Nick didn't have to do the awkward bit of asking who the Sims guy she mentioned was because he found Lydia relatively quickly. And so he left HER with the task of making introductions. That was hours ago. Now Nick has a gun. He HATES guns. But considering they got warning of an incoming attack from a bunch of homicidal angels. Maybe he'll make an exception this time. As the visual of what they're encountering comes to view, Nick has a momentary sense of doubt. Would it be better for him to be in the phantasm form instead of the one that can cast spells? Considering the brief discussion prior, he does have some limitations with what he can use. A glance to either side of him gives him visuals of similarly armed persons. Well- If the guns work against them and these people don't mind using them... Any more moments for internal debate are quelled as the order is given and the guns around him start up. Nick blinks, taking a few moments before joining in.
Meggan Constantine	Michael hasn't let up. Why would he or his Host? The archangel making yet another strike on New York shall receive another riposte brimming from the edge of the void. 'When you move, fall like a thunderbolt' is actually possible where Meggan is involved. However in this moment, she conjures shadows and keeps to darkness to maintain a stealthy presence inside the star-speckled station. In one or two places, she traces a symbol on a pillar or mural with a fingertip. Always the same, always the age-old sigil for hope. The armoured men and women taking up their winged fight couldn't be much different from the Tuath girl slipping through the crackling, ionized metal plates into the cool winter air. When clad as champions, she walks first at ground-level to gather aid and make her presence known to the elements. Her star-crowned hair trails behind her when she moves, haloed in gold and radiant motes across her brow. <<Come, sisters, brothers, the hour to give your aid is nigh. The angels are not your friends. Their leader would unmake you.>> A soft murmur calls to the wind, a beckoning to the bedrock of Manhattan under their feet. <<Awaken, night, to cloud their vision. Dark earth, remember all who take shelter upon you, and seek your help even now. Light, give favour, and remember how we spread your presence to the furthest reaches of the city.>> She whispers to the darkness coiling in nooks and crannies, making a case, and on to the lamps holding out against the siege. Small promises in passing, a gathering of forces. Another comment by Lao Tzu might prove true: Energy may be likened to the bending of a crossbow; decision, to the releasing of the trigger. What she spindles as her birthright awaits its moment, seeded, dappled to aid those who risk their lives and necks facing off against the infinite.
Michael Demiurgos	Michael raises his lance to meet Jon's bolt of lightning. The bolt corruscates up the length of holy metal and the archangel's grip on it spasms for a moment. He transfers it to his other hand and shakes the still twitching hand out. "Wasting time?" he says softly. With a gesture from the General of the Hosts four other unique individuals appear on the field: the fully armor clad form of Barachiel, the decidely feminine form of Jophiel, the almost statuesque form of the Metatron, and the scarlet clad visage of Zadkiel. Five of the most powerful beings in existence appear over the headquarters for the resistance. "Do I still waste my time, Jonathan?" he asks as they all move forward to engage. Michael opens his own volley by sending a beam of pure angelic flame at Cael, looking to take the woman who so harmed him out of the fight early. The heat from the flame is akin to that of the sun and while he might not be able to enter the station, the forces outside are not beyond his reach. The circuit of Sarah moves through a number of the hosts taking out scores before it is intercepted by a familiar hand. The Metatron regards the lighting, and turns its glowing white eyes on the Rainmaker, conceal as she may be. "You have grown stronger since our last encounter. That is good. You will need it" He holds the circuit in his palm for a moment and the blue-white lighting starts to flicker as silver and gold arcs mingle in with her power. "Let us see how you fair against the storm of God on High," he says as he releases the orb of concentrated electricity and angelic lightning moving at fastball speeds toward the Apache woman. Jophiel moves in on Lydia, golden armor almost a match of the vampire's own. The most beautiful archangel regards Lydia with a smile. Cute. But you got the sword wrong" she says as she draws her own blade of scarlet flame and swings it at the glowing mystic. Zadkiel moves forward and his eyes light on something small among the struggle. "Jegudiel's little friend... I wanted to test my strength against you. Instead of disorienting you further, let me come to you." He moves at a blur and before Kaida, his dark bladed sword already in hand, is an Archangel of similar height to herself. "Let us see if you truly earned that blade that seems so made for you" he says as he rushes to engage her with his own weapon. Barachiel moves forward, the bullets of the Resistance making small strikes of impact on his armored form. He cuts through them with relative ease, his twin scimitars batting armed forces aside before he approaches Nick. "You are different from the others. Your soul lies in two planes... and yet you use those pitiful weapons still?" he says, his voice echoing within the chamber of his armor. He moves to strike down the music star but his blade impacts earth as it rises between them to intercept the blow. "But you have assistance I see. Where this Fae child that calls the earth to fight?" he asks, looking around for what he supposes is his other opponent.
Jonathan Sims	"I'll let you have the other one, Becker. Keep trying until it sticks, eh?" Jon banters, covering his own fear and dislike of the battle. Sparring he enjoys, competition he enjoys, and this flying thing is /great/. Battle, where people may die? Battle, he hates, but they've been forced to fight, so fight they will. And he finally remembered the second half of the thing Donna Troy keeps telling him, about Amazons aiming not to kill: they train to be good enough to not /have/ to kill. Sun Tzu had much to say on winning without fighting at all--but the only way to do any of that properly is to actually study and practice the whole business. The most consistent motif in ancient Egyptian art--perhaps one of the most consistent motifs in human art since the days of Atlantis--is that of the Pharoah vanquishing his foes. It's a motif that remained consistent across three thousand years, through over thirty dynasties, through three clear periods of art and culture, multiple invasions, and even rule by foreigners. A key clue to Egyptian thought: the Pharoah vanquishes his enemies, unites the land, restores order from inevitable chaos. It's what Michael should be doing, but Michael has focused only on the 'vanquishing his foes' part, and forgotten to do the rest. So it falls to mortals to restore order, and balance. Maybe actually fighting will help Jon gain the spot on Ra's barge that he needs for his plans about dealing with his upcoming death to work. He's aware of the others moving, attacking, of Sarah's lightning and of the Tuath girl calling on the elements to aid them. The fear of those new to battle, the more tempered fear of those who've faced battle before. The mouse girl nearby, taunting Michael. But his focus is, as it has to be, on the archangel before him. He does call out advice as the archangels engage the others. <<They explode when you defeat them. If you can't push them off the field, call out so we can barrier against them or push them away.>> Michael sends a gout of flame at Cael and Jon twists his right hand so that a barrier of woven green energy forms around the woman, imbued with Gaea's power, hopefully strong enough to protect her from the fire. He shifts his staff in his hands and gets right up in Michael's face, aiming to jab him with the staff in the area that Cael stabbed him yesterday.
Sarah Rainmaker	Any sort of plans Sarah Rainmaker might have made in advance are to be aborted as one of the ARchangels goes towards her. Still, she can't help but quip along the comm line <<They do rather like hearing themselves speak. Let's see if they give us anything useful from it>> Metatron is narrating towards her and Sarah is going on the defensive. She's going to fall back rapidly, then launch herself up and over into the air. "I honestly expected you to stand quite different." What she does is go to take up her spear, moving to swing it rapidly like a bat. She deflects some of it to th side.. Enough at least to let her dive out of the way through teh air, yanking herself through the winds to avoid the worst of it, even as ionized particles would disrupt existence from the angelic wrath! Then she's going to take up the spear, and is smoving to aim it at the Metatron. The staff would start to glow over a she would feed her own lightning through the weapon like she had tried to practice iwth. Using it moreso like a tesla coil to charge up now than a blade, trying to keep her flight distance and going to unleash a potent blast towards the Metatron, hopefully with energy enhanced by the weapon to strike true! She's not aiming tightly; it's a quick and low powered strike moreso to see how effetive it is. And she's aking a point of letting those on the ground see the chargeup. At Jonathan's words she goes to try and add to them on the comms <<Or throw them into their brethren. How nice of them to give us something more to work with>>
Lydia Dietrich	"I do what I can," Lydia says, blocking the sword with her shield. The flame sizzles at the ectoplasm, burning it away, but Lydia is able to regenerate the shield just as quickly as it burns. She pushes back at the angel, sending herself backwards a few paces, and then starts concentrating, pouring her magical energy to reinforce her mutant power. The color of it changes from a bright golden hue to a more rich amber color. "Be glad that I got my magic back," she says, lunging forward at impossible speeds to strike at Jophiel, aiming to cripple an arm, and not to kill. "The alternative would have been to summon the void, and that would have taken it's toll on the both of us. I hope that I do not get desperate enough to use it."
Kaida Connolly	"Oooo! Fancy!" And Kaida's shield whips up to catch his sword but she does more than that. She is skilled in the art of facing larger and more powerful opponents. Her blocks aren't hard blocks like one might expect. Normally one with a shield would cease the momentum of an attack but Kaida does something far different. She moves with her shield like both she and the shield were made of water. The blade connects and she parts to let it pass. "You must be among the most powerful to dare face me in direct combat!" She laughs and she's fast. Agile and with reflexes designed to take action at the speed of sound. She watches the initial attack slide by and her blade is hidden behind her shield, tilting it up to try to slide the blade out from behind the shield and downward into her opponent's leg and feet. "So, are you acting on your own or is Michael here, too, dancing you along on strings?"
Cael Becker	There's little time to react as the fire flys towards her - and her wings beat once, hard, trying to propel her out of the way of Michael's strike - before wrapping around her as a shield, as they had when she was falling. There's relief in her expression when the green energy of Jon's shield surrounds her as well. Even with it, though, she can feel the heat tightening her skin uncomfortably, the skin of her left arm blistering, from taking the most direct part of the blast. "I thought we were past the part of our relationship where you //set me on fire,//" Cael counters coldly, her wings coming out again to beat, helping her regain the momentary height she'd lost. She maneuvers around - trying to come at Michael from behind, so they're flanking the archangel as she wings out with her axe - but rather than trying to strike Michael directly, she attempts to hook the bottom of her axe around the haft of Michael's lance, and pull it in tight and useless against his body, opening him up for Jon's attack.
Michael Hannigan	Amongst the blasting from where Nick is situated there is a mix of results. Part of Nick may hope that one of the successes in the last volley were his but the other part suspects otherwise. Projectile are not his forte. But so long as he's aiming in the right direction... And then that asshole Barachiel had to show up. As the weapons that are supposed to take down angels don't work on this guy. Nick lowers his gun (Like he was hitting anything with it anyways. ) and takes a step back as he realizes he's being addressed. Shit! Well so much for taking orders. He backsteps a bit more hoping to buy some time as his features mirror over. As the earth intercepts the blow he gives a mutter of thanks for the added time as he finishes. Other than the reversal in features he doesn't seem that much different. But it is curious to where the gun went. It's not in his hands and yet, he definitely didn't pass it off to anyone. "I was trying to be sportsmanlike. A team player and all that..." Nick responds, expression darkening like the imagery that tends to go with the surname he was born with. "My mistake." As Barachiel turns his head looking for Meggan, he doesn't wait and instead darts forward to make a flying leap over Barachiel to move to the other side. Eyes open, he assesses what he can of the armor for any notable weak points to it. Alright. Phantasm form it is. This is going to be interesting.
Meggan Constantine	The ephemeral form of shadow and starlight catches the threads of power flitting under the island and singing through the air. Meggan floats on bare feet through the station's broad shadow, beckoning to the great grid of water oriented by human hands to flow between two glacial rivers and sea. Calling softly to steel and concrete, the bones and skin of the urban spirit. Feeling the flames of friends wrapped in the nacreous patina of their powers helps her to navigate when bathed in the bright, dazzling weight of humanity. When Barachiel engages with Nick, his presence ripples over her awareness somehow. He dips to dance, out of the way, seeking weakness. She flits, a shadow spilled over the pavement, weaving spaces and imaginations and feelings and memories across four centuries of occupation in New York. Another forty centuries further imprint their presence on the borough across different eras, existential rivulets twirled around her spirit and measured out by her heart. Those avenues immediately around her embody themselves on her psyche in sensory majesty, skimmed with the electric wonders and timeless, placeless marvel. Her dialogue is constant and primordial, interweaved into the physical and the symbolic: her mana laced by the emotive force of over four thousand years of human occupation. Wonder and struggle, fortitude and innovation and marvel that the core of Manhattan has witnessed in a thousand faces, a hundred lives. She unleashes that in a nebulous burst, a cloak to wrap around the angel, a sonnet to be sung in the air he occupies and the ground he moves across. He's the visitor of this place, this realm, and she throws her magic acrackle with intellectual energy of the genius loci. Hit and run, she doesn't stay in one place any more than the archangel does, weaving ever onward. Manhattan, sing.
Michael Demiurgos	Michael is pushed back with the staff, letting out a grunt of discomfort at the strike from Jon. There is definitely more armor there than anywhere else on him. He swings his shield at the man, hoping to push him back and away. "There is no further relationship between you and I, Cael." he says releasing the lance in her grip and firing another beam of holy flame at her, hoping to force her to keep her distance from him with her axe. The bolt strikes the Metaron's arms, posed in a defensive cross and pushes the alabaster angel back several feet. "Effective. My turn," it says as its eyes glow and white hot lasers of energy lance out at the Rainmaker. Jophiel smirks and parries the vampire's attack. "I dunno, might be fun to see you try" Jophiel replies as she clashes with Lydia. "Honestly, I'm glad some of you have enough spirit to turn to energies that can destroy. It had almost given up on your ability to be creative." Her own flaming sword swings in a low arc, hoping to redirect her opponent's stance. Zadkiel leaps over the low swipe from Kaida. "We are far from puppetted, creature" he says his own moves are not the brute force attacks of a heavy swordsman. His blade, slightly curved is built for speed as much as strength. And he uses it with both. "We act independent of one another. Commands are to be followed, but it is by our own will. The only one who can compel us He who created us." He presses forward, point of the blade coming in toward Kaida's center of mass. Barachiel turns with Nick's leap, he was about to intercept the man but then that magic of sheer emotion splashes against him, disorienting him and he is forced to cut at the threads of the spell or else be consumed by the intellect of the attack. "Very nice, Fae child. But I have pitted myself against those you consider peers. You will need to do more than draw on the emotion of a infantile land to counter me." Even as he gloats, he shifts in place, his posture going more defensive--waiting for the next strike from magic or material.
Jonathan Sims	<<They destroy /whole city blocks/ and more when they explode, Rainmaker, and they revive the other angels, too. Treat them like a loaded grenade and get them AWAY from the fight. The point is to /defend/ the Terminal, not to let them blow it up.>> Jon's voice manages to sound terse and irritated even in subvocals, though that's probably mostly because he can feel Cael's pain from the blast of fire and he's having to devote a portion of his concentration to shutting that out. That, and much of the rest of his awareness of the people around. Worrying about them too much is going to get people killed. "You really don't understand mortals, do you?" Jon says to Michael. "You're coming after me, specifically, and that means she's going to fight you, because she loves me. You hurt her, and that made me angry, and so I hurt you--because I love her. That doesn't make it /right/. But if your quarrel is with me, then bloody well focus on /me/." He twists away as Michael swings his shield, using the larger being's momentum against him, and swinging his staff around to hit Michael's head and shoulder. There's a flash of light along the staff, red hieroglyphs flickering for a moment as the staff makes contact with Michael. Michael's own blood, used to temporarily imbue the staff with more power to harm the archangel.
Sarah Rainmaker	This is going to hurt. Sarah Rainmaker can only dodge so much and deflect so much on the spear, which is out of position. The angel's laser blasts hit her, and only diving at more than her max speed prevents her from being bisected. This has her hissing, and pulling up even as she's trying to avoid the worst of it. STill having nasty third degree burns down her torso and skin almost melted to bone. She would snap her hand over to the skin, rapidly freezing it to avoid being killed by the pain. Then over with her opponent she's' moving to evaluate positioning.. And diving hard to then suddenly pull -up- and ito the air, looping about and stopping her inertia falling to catch herself in winds, lash up again.. And moving to hurl her spear over at the Metatron. Then yanking it with the air as it's a few meters away from him and he's hopefully braced for it or dodging to blast at his wings over with ice. The light solidification of them if it would work would hopefully go to slow him just a bit from the extra weight.. Then another windgust would go to try and slam him from behind to keep him off balance.. As the spear would then be yoinked up to try and hit him with the flat of it. She just wants him disoriented and off blaance, to give herself time to recover from the agony and get some time to defend herself as the spear would be hopefully winding it's way back to her hand. At Jon's words she would grunt <<Crystal>> While trying t mostly focus ong etting some fighting room for herself!
Lydia Dietrich	"I'd rather not chance accidentally destroying you," Lydia says, as she attempts to dodge the attack. It strikes her in the calf, and only the magic fueled armor is enough to keep her from getting her foot cut off. She hisses in pain, her golden eyes turning red and her fangs descending. "Or me for that matter. Please do not push me to such lengths." She jukes off to the right, and aims a swing at Jophiel's sword arm, but this nothing but a distraction. Another sword of magic fueled ectoplasm materializes behind the angel and swiftly attempts to plunge itself in her back.
Kaida Connolly	"Ah, a dog on a leash." She winces as she sees the incoming attack and she is only just able to get to the side as it slices through her cloth top and into her side. Kaida winces as she feels warmth run down her side and then she eyes the angel, "Well, alright." And then she leaps back and uses her impressive speed to put some quick distance between them, running across the roof at just around fifty miles per hour. She knows the angel can keep up but that's not the point, the point is to create just enough space for her to suddenly turn around and hit a speed of sound shield bash. "Come on then! You know you can just blow up so this isn't a fair fight."
Cael Becker	"Mikey, I'm hurt. Deeply hurt. And I thought we wer-" Shit! She pulls back hard on her axe - attempt to slice him with a back-sweep of the weapon over his shoulder, even as she tries to twist away from the second blast of fire sent towards her. Jon's green shields flare about her for a second time - and one of her wings comes up to block the heat of the fire, as it continues to scorch the top layers of her skin. Ow. "-re really getting to know one another. Fuck."
Michael Hannigan	As Nick lands, foot moving back to plant itself, he takes notice of Barachiel starting to turn only to instead focus on Meggan's attack. He frowns as he's momentarily uncertain of what to do. Ok so no gaps in the armor. Not necessarily a good thing. But he's been in situations that seemed hopeless before. So this is not unfamiliar territory. And then a possibly stupid idea comes into mind as the angel gets into a defensive stance. Seemingly waiting for someone to attack. "Humility is not your strong suit." The Phantasm comments, calmly walking a semi circle around the awaiting angel as he draws up a piece of rebar laying on the ground, It's not big. But- okay. If Barachiel had issue with guns for being weak. How does he feel about a metal stick? He waves the stick around. It appearing a bit lighter in his hands as he feeds some of his energy into it. Making a bit of a show of it. Hopefully distracting. "What's your name anyways? Artists are kind of inconsistent with the depictions. So unless you wear a nametag it gets confusing for the new folks. I normally get called by another name but to eliminate confusion I'm going by a Nick name right now. Do you have problems with names? I'm sure you got a lot more to deal with than I do." As he goes ON and ON and ON about questions, Nick does something that's even more annoying. That asshole faded from view, rebar and all. A big grin being the last thing seen. If he lives, he's going to tell Terry about this.
Meggan Constantine	Raw magical energy discharged in another sparkling blast winds primordial tendrils around Barachiel. Physical laws cease to matter in how Meggan rapidly conceives the shape the magic takes. Spears and arcane glimmers plunging at the armour become a volley of drizzling beads that might seep in with prolonged contact. This is all guesswork and study Cold glittering strands wreak a molten trail. What falls upon him reverses its trail abruptly should it not penetrate those angelic defenses. She keeps reworking the eldritch building blocks. The cloud surrounding him is no spell but the liquified stuff of possibility and dreams, distilled ingenuity, God's breath or the afterechoes of the Logos. <<Embrace him,>> she plunges the sensation into the ground, trusting the Earth to know its prodigal daughter's intent, folding the charged mana round the angel in a hug. Because this is Meggan, and Nick, forgive Gaea's youngest daughter but her problem-solving balances on something other than sheer wrath. "Why do you have a quarrel with those who follow our father?" That our has a weight to it, and the question is utterly honest.
Michael Demiurgos	The strike hits Michael with enough forces the make him reel. "So even you subject yourself to using such tactics against me. Noted..." He waves a hand and a sword of silver flame comes into being in his hand. "You want my focus, Champion. Then you shall have it!" He raises a hand to intercept the blow from Cael, his armor taking the hit and giving only a bit from the force of it, before his unblemished wing bashes against her form. The tactic of Sarah works, to a point. The Metatron does brace for an attack with the thrown spear and the ice and wind gusts do put him off balance. But he corrects enough to only take a glancing blow from the spear, even so the glancing blow staggers him some. It seems the power of the spear itself is something to be reckoned with for the angels--even the greatest of them. "A vile weapon forged without respect for its source" he says as he flexes his wings, shattering the ice raising a hand to send a shaft of invisible force at the Rainmaker. The sword going for Jophiel's arm is deflected. The one in her back, is not. It pierces angelic flesh and archangel blood flows from the wound. Jophiel arches her back and tears the ectoplasmic sword from her body. "Exquisite" she hisses and tosses the immaterial blade aside. She does seem to mind the blood running down her back as she lauches another assault with her flaming blade on the vampire. "So nice to have a worthy opponent for once. Please, keep it up." Zadkiel follows but seems to realize the danger as Kaida turns and rushes at him. It's not quick enough and he only barely manages to bring his blade up as Kaida's shield slams into him. There is a thudnerous pulse of sound and a shockwave of force and the angel is flung back across the roof to where they first started. He is on one knee with the dust clears and obviously hurt, one of his arms twisted and bent at an obscene angle. Even as he rises, the arm twists and pops back into place. "You truly are in your element at this height, aren't you?" he asks, rolling the arm a bit to see that everything is connected right. "Then I shall not hold back either" he says and sends the blade slicing at air at speeds that make it all but impossible to follow. There is a sound that Kaida can pick up, it's just this side of human audible levels a whine as if the very air is being burnt away before something travelling along directly at Kaida. Barachiel is distracted, Nick's words and Meggan's feints all serve their purpose as the archangel tries to fight light and liquid made manifest. "I am Barachiel, The Guardian." His eyes narrow as Nick fades from view, which is the opening the Earth needs to swallow the archangel up to the knee in it's own mass. The force of the Earth is a tremendous thing and something that requires the full will of the Archangel to overcome, something he is unwilling to give to it just now and so he struggles against the solidified mass that has trapped him.
Jonathan Sims	One of the benefits of being Archivist is five thousand years and more of ancestral memory--and not ancestors that actually sat in archives tending paper, oh no. The Archive is practically a living thing, full of experience, and Archivists have been warriors and soldiers as often as scholars or priests. Often, all of those things at once. It can be hard to access when he's looking for something specific, but in moments of crisis, Jon will get flashes of ideas, and he's starting not to care whether they're his own or someone else's. After all, what is quoting Sun Tzu but quoting an ideological ancestor? He is the latest ripple in a stream of mortal life that goes back four billion years on Earth, and "Becker, go help Rainmaker," Jon orders, sharply. "She's going to get herself killed if we're not careful. I've got this." He's not going to die today. Somehow, he's certain of that. And if he's wrong, he doesn't want Cael right next to him when it happens. Then he beats his wings and starts pulling himself backward, up away from the Terminal building. <<Try to hold them off without destroying them if you can. If I can kill Michael, they'll leave the field of battle.>> He certainly sounds certain. <<Obviously if you've got an opening, go for it, but get them away before they blow.>> He twirls the staff in his hands and shoots a bolt of energy at Michael, more to keep his attention than to really hurt him. "I subject myself to these tactics because you brought four /billion/ angels to a city that normally holds about nine million. Bit overkill, don't you think?" A pause. "And yet, with /all/ of that, you've only really won one battle. Getting rusty in your old age?" He quirks a brow, affecting unconcern for the fact that he's probably getting chased into the air by the archangel. Trying to taunt him, to goad him into making mistakes.
Sarah Rainmaker	Sarah Rainmaker has taken the mettle of the Metatron as far as how he's doing and attacking her. And she's had a precious few seconds to breathe and to focus as the pain would not be as bad as adrenaline would flood her as she would smile. "Well, then let us go ahead and respect one another." Sarah goes to lash out her weapon in front of her and goes to dive to the side, feeling the shift in power currents and going to charge out of the way. "I'm going to teach you a short, sharp lesson. This will be in battle. I will be your instructor. The penalty for failure will be your death." Remembering the game of bait. She's going to charge at the Metatron, lashing at him wtih rapid, rapid but weak strike sof the spear. Using her flight to dart around fast. "What is the greatest asset a warrior has, student?" She would taunt, going to evade and fly around quickly, batting in quik strikes, using the spear more like a quarterstaff rather than it's normal way to preserve her agility. Going for quick attacks and disengagements, trying to fly rapidly over her opponent and around to attempt to hit him from am yriad of angles and not be ina positionw here he could get a solid blow on her with luck. "Not strength. There will always be someone stronger. Not speed. There will always be someone faster." She's going to move faster and faster, lashing around and moving to will herself quicker. "Shall we go on then, my failure to be of a pupil?"
Lydia Dietrich	"You honor me," Lydia says, letting the sword that was embedded in Jophiel's back dissipate into nothingness. She quickly raises her shield to block the first of many strikes that are aimed at her. She barely manages to block and parry all the blows she can before she breaks off whisking herself a good distance away to catch her metaphorical breath. "I wish I could meet you on equal footing, but I'm afraid you outclass me on every level." With a bit of concentration, she fully encases herself head to toe in armor, and then seems to split into three. It's a gamble that the archangel won't be able to sense her presence between her and her doubles, and they all quickly advance, shuffling positions like an angelic three card monte. Their attacks are clumsier than normal, after all making two ectoplasmic clones of yourself detailed enough to fool the eye takes quite a bit of concentration. Still, she hopes that the sheer number of attacks will offset her lack of finesse.
Kaida Connolly	Kaida is more aware of her surroundings than most. She can see the fight between Michael, Cael and Jon out of the corner of her eye. She notes the movements of the air around Sarah's fight. She can feel the movements of the Earth around Nick and Meggan's fight. Only Lydia's fight escapes her in its subtleness. She's a hero. She wants to help and can't do that if she's busy with this one. 'Remember, best block, no be there.' -Mr Miyagi Kaida can hear the movement of the air and she suddenly blurs off to the left and skids to a stop, the hilt of her blade going behind her shield a she does. "If I'm too much for you, feel free to go back to your normal size." She laughs and then she blurs to the side again and then, well, she tries the same tactic. At least it seems like it. Few people know just how far Kaida can jump and fewer realize just how underhanded. She vanishes in a burst of speed, racing at Zadkiel like she were going to shield slam him but at the very last moment, her sword slams into the rooftop with her shield attached to the hilt, Kaida pole vaulting up and into the air. The sheer speed of her original movement has her flying through the air toward the retaining wall of the roof which she hits with both legs and the wall cracks under the pressure of the tiny mouse bursting off from it, her feet aimed right at Zadkiel to plant a drop kick that will put him directly between a foot and a shield place. That'd be bad enough though, but if she succeeds, she vanishes again back the way she came before bursting forward once more to put his head back into the shield. He might be able to heal but she imagines drain bamage takes longer.
Cael Becker	The wing knocks her back, but Cael's already starting to dive in towards Michael once more when Jon's words reach here. There's about a half second pause - just long enough for her to consider telling Jon where he can shove it - before she responds with, "Yes sir." She doesn't curtail her dive towards Michael, however, as she tries to take a passing swipe at his wing - trying to hit the back of his head with her elbow as well. "Have fun, boys!" Her wings tuck in then, letting her fall into a dive, as she heads at Metatron, hoping to approach the archangel from above and behind. Can such tactics work on such powerful beings? She still isn't sure - but she makes little attempt to stop herself as she swings for the angels right shoulder - flaring out her wings to slow her momentum only a moment or so before she makes impact.
Michael Hannigan	Oh the power of teamwork. Nick's disappearance is quite annoying. The earth risen up to encase Barachiel is likely moreso. Using the natural silence that comes with being a phantasm he makes a quiet approach with his piece of rebar. It is a trait that might not really be necessary with the amount of volume Barachiel is using when sharing his job title. With the height of the earth surrounding him the potential targets are limited but he steps in slow. Phantasmed rebar is shoved forward with the intent of bypassing the armor to go to what is guarded underneath. The twin Scimitars is a problem. But. Perhaps if he were to eliminate the usage of an arm that would help greatly. At the very least, if it turns out that myth is right, maaaaybe he'd think twice about using lightning. "There's more than one." The Phantasm replies, letting go of the bar to let it go solid again. "Perhaps you should lose 'The' in the title, buddy."
Meggan Constantine	Barachiel's non-answer to her question doesn't endear him to Meggan, and she gives him a disappointed shake of her head rife with its own judgment. "Hardly putting God's children under your care and protection, mate." She rapidly moves backwards, gliding away from the archangel. Her hands work the mana around her, fingers curled and straightening more out of agitation than any direct need to shape the outcome of the transforming magic that keeps seeking entry through the armour. "Weren't you supposed to present to God our supplications, innit? Hear our petitions, put to God the Father," she singsongs, her accent definitively New Yorker instead of hard-up English from her little niche where the Lake District meets the sea, and old Britain of the Celts dissolves into the Roman, Saxon, and Norman marches. "That we beseech Him to see what His second archangel wreaks on those made in His likeness." Chattering still points the arrow of prayer straight Above, her gaze lifting briefly and the smirk. "Suppose it's time we deliver it direct." Her fingertips spread out wide and she winks, probably at Nick. "Shall we dance?"
Michael Demiurgos	Michael flicks the bolt of energy aside with his sword, focusing on the Archivist. "Or perhaps," Michael replies as he rises with the Champion of Gaea, "We simply want a true struggle and if we were to unleash our full might it would make such a thing laughable." He swipes at the Archivist once again with the blade of hypercosmic plasma. The Metatron takes the strikes with the spear with soundless jerks of pain. One thousand papercuts is still agony in the end. As she taunts the archangel it tilts its head. "You truly do not understand." It says and takes hold of the spear, ignoring the blood that slowly trickles from where it grabs the blade. "You wish to dispense wisdom on a creature that has existed since the dawn of time. Enging in such an endeavor is folly." Energy coalesces in the Archangels left hand, a blast that would surely erradicate the Rainmaker. Just as he he moves to release it the axe of Cael comes down on his shoulder. The blast goes wide destroying a building down the block from Grand Central and both Rainmaker and Cael are treated to the bloodspatter of the archangel, its blood sizzling on their skin with its superheated nature. Jophiel doesn't move to attack the triplicate instead, she redirects her focus to defense blocking and parrying all the attacks that come at her. "We diminish ourselves simply to give you a chance vampire. Tactics such as the one you employ are your true advantage. We are static. Unable to find the ingenuity that you are graced with." Even as she speaks her armored arm and blade intercept and turn away every blow. Zadkiel isn't one for subtlety and he was expecting the mouse girl to do the same thing twice, after all it worked the first time. As she changes the game he watches, his eyes trying to guess what would come next. At the first kick, he falls to a knee again, putting him directly in place for the second kick to crush his head between super-strong legs and the shield. He still doesn't fall. "Impressive" he says, spitting out a gout of blood from his mouth. "They were wrong to foist such height on you. You truly are better at this size." He raises a hand and the air around the mouse constricts. "But still not good enough." He clenches his fist, and it's as if a vice were closing on Kaida under his will. One of Barachiel's arms goes limp as the rebar is reinstituted into the Archangel's flesh and blood splashes from the wound. Even so, the Archangel doesn't seem to pay it heed. "There are many guardian angels. I am their progenitor. The one that came before all others." He stares at Meggan and struggles against her bonds. "Very odd that the Fae pay heed to the words of men. What you claim, is a facet of my Purpose. But in this endeavor, I am a soldier on the field." As he speaks her transformative magic seeps into him. "You have me at a disadvantage, child of Gaea. It seems I am at your and the Dream spirit's disposal."
Jonathan Sims	Jon can apologize to Cael for the sharp order later. He makes a mental note to be /certain/ he doesn't die here, because if he does, he's sure Cael will be /pissed/ at him. He focuses his efforts, instead, on pulling enough air up with him to make sure he's still got oxygen as he pulls Michael up high enough to be even with the top of the Hyatt Grand Central New York, 295 feet in the air. They've evacuated the civilians and they know the building's unoccupied, and it's slated for demolition anyway, so it wouldn't be /terrible/ if it fell. But a building that tall being destroyed would affect the surrounding city, so higher they go. "Mmmhmm. I mean, you /say/ that, but you've been an /awfully/ sore loser every time. Anyway, what kind of 'challenge' is this, huh? You brought four billion angels and the only reason most of us can hurt you is a spell done with magic you say you despise." The blade of plasma meets the staff, and Jon feints, counters, lets himself be pushed back. It might look like he's giving ground with every blow, though he never quite lets the blade touch him as he banters. "You know what I think? I think you expected to just roll on up in here and have a bit of a lark. Oh, sure, you're /glad/ of the challenge, but you didn't want /too much/ challenge. Enough to get your blood pumping, and then wham, bam, find the points of the star, re-make the universe by Lent. You were so beatifically /magnanimous/ after that first battle. Ahh, yes, a good fight finally, but you /won/, clearly and decisively. The last real win you've had." Jon glowers at him. "Forty-eight people died that day. Forty-eight souls that will not return to us. And I'm certain you'd just shrug and say that's but a drop in the ocean." A beat. "Or maybe you'd say you weep for every one. But do you? I took their statements, Saint Michael. I called their families. I weep for them, each of them, individually. Do you? Or is that just what you tell yourself to make you feel better? What's wrong with you that you even /need/ to feel better? That you're so /angry/ with me that you're holding onto the damage on that wing?" The sword finally slips through Jon's guard as they get high enough that the thinness of the air is making him dizzy. He hisses as it slices along his side. "First blood," he gasps. "Alright, then. Guess it's time." He disengages, twisting away from Michael with a thrust of force meant to push the archangel ever-higher. Raises his staff and points it toward the southeast. "I call on Osiris, Lord of the Dead! Aid me in avenging the lives destroyed in this cruel crusade!" When he points the staff back at Michael, the energy that pours from it at the archangel's form is dark and heavy, black with green tendrils rippling through it, the energy of death and decay. Not Nullspace energy, no--quite literally the power of /death/, the death of the body, death as part of the natural cycle of life. Still nothing an archangel ever has to face, and he's channeling it through a staff imbued with Michael's own blood.
Lydia Dietrich	"I have more tactics than this at my employ," Lydia says sounding calm, as if this situation is going according to plan. "The thing about my power is that it's only limited by my imagination." She waits for Jophiel to parry one of her clones, which seems to bend and wobble like jello before deforming and attempting to wrap itself around her arm. She does the same with the other arm hoping to bind the angel and leave her open for another strike. "And I have /quite/ the imagination." And with that... she strikes.
Sarah Rainmaker	Cael's attacking The Metatron from one side, even as Sarah Rainmaker is engaging in rapid hit and run tactics. Metatron goes to catch the spear.. Which has his hand charging up and ready to blast Rainmaker with full power. But this lets Cael goes to charge in from the side and embed her axe in him. And Rainmaker is smirking. "Skill.. Definitely not skill. There's always a better fighter out there." The taunting is going on. "And folly? No, failed pupil of mine, you are the one that is not grasping the lesson. Courage.. Well, we cannot say if you have any or not, for nothing lasts for you itwould seem. So.. So then student, who will get a failing grade and the eternal -disappointment-.." Sarah is pulling away with the spear, going to hold her hand to it and fire a blast of lightning from it. The lightning is aimed over at the eyes of Metatron, conducting along the spear to his face, followed by another blast of ice given to head, trying to encase it in a giant cube. Another lightning blast then hopefully given to the head of it if she could while yanking the spear away, going to try and take it for a criss-cross of a slash down the body away from the opposite ended wing, trying to jab it into the Metatron's arm to try and tear through. "It is not power. There will always someone be stronger. It is not smarts.. For you definitely, not so dear student, have need of them." Blasting iwth her hand a thin sheet of ice over herself and Cael to smooth over the worst of the superheated blooda s it would splatter, trying to send the worst of it away with the wind even as her outfit would melt to her body, burnign and sizzling. Going ot then try and hook the spear up and rip the shaft away and twirl and stab it, hopefully finishing up the combo of attacks with a near literal if she was particularly skilled in coordination with her comanions.. Disarming of him to hopefully leave the limb and maybe evne the limb flailing loose, but not killing him. Those were the orders. "The most important thing, dear student.. Dear poor, wretched thing.. Is focus." Yanking the spear back to snap it to her side, possibly covered with more blood. "Lesson over."
Kaida Connolly	A grin as she gets him to spit up blood, she prepares to go for another smashing attack when suddenly Zadkiel becomes a clearly sore loser and uses telekinesis. Kaida, who is far tougher than most people realize, isn't immediatley crushed but she goes wide eyed and her squirming is slowly stopping. "Could...n't bea-beat me fair?" She gasps out, "Cheat...er." And her eyes begin to roll back into her head as she slowly loses the ability to breathe and starts to pass out.
Cael Becker	Cael pulls her axe free of the angel's shoulder - hissing from the pain of the hot blood searing into her skin, only to have ice over her wounds instead - which is a different sort of pain. She ached, from the dull ringing in her head, from her healing concussion the day before - to the soreness in her side, from where she'd been knocked into stonework the day before. She hasn't fully recovered yet, and she's starting to flag already in this fight. But the Station has to be defended. Pulling her axe back, she brings her full weight into a second swing, intent on literally disarming the angel - though she remains unsure how much that will really do to impede its ability to fight. But if she can't kill it...
Michael Hannigan	There is a pause from the unseen person as Barachiel explains his title. "Hmm. My mistake. Apologies on that. Although, I'm not apologizing for the arm yet. You were killing people with it. And you were trying to kill me with it too so I'll need a bit more time for that one." His voice grows a bit distant as another piece of rebar drags along the ground and soon fades from view. "I mean really. What is it with high level beings automatically going for the final method instead of the better one? The last time bullshit like this happened, I had to ask someone from doing the kill first approach. And you know what? He agreed to let us try the healing approach first. And it WORKED. No killing needed." Nick steps over, holding the rebar through Barachiel's other side but not letting go. Should Barachiel move, sure. He'll let the bar go solid again. But maybe it's not necessary. "I'd rather not do this again. But I will if I have to. My intent is that you will not be attacking anymore people tonight. The way in which I do that- Well, that decision is on you."
Meggan Constantine	"You use that excuse to deny responsibility?" Meggan asks Barachiel, almost disbelieving. Her left arm bars her midsection as she doubles forward, a sound ringing forth from her lips soft and pained. No one likes a cheater. Least of all when the cheater turns bands of force to stifle the smallest and bravest of them. Unconsciousness descending on Kaida snuffs the defiant sparkle bobbing at the back of the faerie goddess' mind. "In this endeavour..." The others carry their own unique signature distinct from one another, a bundle of feelings painted by an Old Master onto a priceless canvas. To treat any of those sacred works of art badly offends her on a fathomless level. "I will guard them where you will not." It comes down, in the end, to raw anger being hurled at Zadkiel to blast him up off the building. She doesn't care how. With what, she need only pull on twin effects. A wealth of memory bequeathed by her own time in agonized captivity entwined with Hell when Heaven would not answer and the oath binding her to another's suffering and pain in that same wrenching place catalyzes quick, too quick, and she moves at nightmarish speed into the air to Kaida's stifled mental signature. The distance doesn't need to close far; the stark, pure white energy looks like a burning feather overtaken by liquid fire down the plume. A whirlwind of Hellfire plumes spin toward Zadkiel in a volley prepared to converge with a blink. "Made your point hurting her, haven't you? Get the fuck away from her, mate," snaps the Hellblazer's wife, "or you get good enough."
Michael Demiurgos	Michael engages with Jon as they fight higher and higher in the air. "It has been a good struggle hasn't it?" Michael replies. "One for the history books. Or religious, if our intel on the vampire is correct." At the mention of the deaths, he narrows his eyes. "They returned to the Presence in mercy. None who die here are condemned to punishment. Their deaths are penance enough. I know the names of them all, and made certain they were recorded as honored guests of the City when they arrived." He continues on, meeting Jon's own attacks with blocks of his own. "What is pain to one who has never felt it before? It is the worst feeling imaginable. I was given insight to something I was not meant to, Jonathan. By you. And that is why I hold on to the damage done to me. Even in containment you managed to -harm- one who has never been harmed. Not truly. Even here the defeates I've endured do not measure to the pain inflicted upon my person that evening at the bar." As he draws a cut along Jon's side he nods. "Indeed it is." But then the black and green energy is coming for him, energy he doesn't understand. Death is not Michael's Purpose and so he doesn't quite understand what it is he feels, confusion mars his beauty as the tendrils ripple forward. The attacks of the Rainmaker and Cael tear into the Metatron. He bleeds and looks broken and yet, he does not relent. "I am the voice of the Presence. Destroying this form does little to truly inconvenience me." His arms are useless at the moment, but his eyes flare just as the triple strike of Sarah blasts, freezes, and blasts again at him. At the same time Cael's axe takes his arm off at the shoulder. As the smoke a dust around his face fades away, even the serene, expression is no different. "A successful defeat. Well done." And he simply vanishes from the field. Lydia's gambit pays off and Jophiel is immobilized by the ectoplasmic constructs. As Lydia's blade impales Jophiel, the beauty laughs. "More than I expected from the one who writes. Glad that feeding on one of the firey ones brought back some of your spirit at least." She spits out a mass of blood, letting it run down her chin. "We will yield the field to you tonight. Maybe next time we won't be so handicaped." With a burst of scarlet fire, she too vanishes from the field. Zadkiel tosses the mouse girl to the side as she passes out. "I did not cheat. I simply used an advantage over you that I have. I would expect the same from you. You fought well, tiny sentinel. I will remember your power in the days to come." He rushes off the side of the roof and jumps directly into the beam of white anger fired at him from the rage of Meggan. The blasts sends him back into the air and the searing red hellfire flashes past his face, draining the perfection in his features of all color as fear flashes across his face. "More than I had anticipated with that... I will leave the field to you." He glances to Barachiel. "I believe this one is over, Brother. You may retreat when you feel free. Our orders are fulfilled." He too leaves in a burst of red light. Barachiel listens to Nick and inclines his head. "Those who relent do not have the mettle to truly do what must be done. We follow the orders given by our General, regardless of their validity, it is what we were made to do." There is a stiffening of his body as the rebar enters him. And he looks to Zadkiel's retreating form. "But those orders, it would seem, have been carried out. Enjoy your existence, Dreaming One and Fae child. I will see you again in due time." With a burst of smoke, the Archangel fades, letting the rebar in him fall to the ground. Leaving only one Archangel remaining, high above the city.
Jonathan Sims	"Maybe that's the problem," Jon says with sorrow as he pours Osiris' energy into Michael's form. "I think I begin to see where the Presence went wrong. They handed power to one who did not understand the universe he was shaping. How could you? You're not meant to understand. That's what mortals are for. You think that death means nothing, when to us it is /everything/. It defines us. How can you possibly rule over a universe defined by something you cannot understand?" He hesitates, just a moment. "Give up your power, Michael. Give it up, and come see what it is to be /mortal/. The Morningstar did, and I've seen Suriel walking around in a mortal form. Join us, /understand/ us. Understand the beauty of this world you made. The beauty of a life constrained by death." He already knows what the answer will be, right now. He can see it in Michael's eyes--not a single hesitation, not a flicker. But somewhere in his gut, he knows that that's the answer to this whole thing. Michael needs to give up some measure of his power, and trade it for understanding. Only then will this /truly/ be resolved, whether they fix the universe or not. Hell of a time and place for a revelation like that. As the archangels below begin to disappear, and Michael's form begins to shake and shudder, Jon pulls his staff back and thrusts out his left arm. Pure force fires out in a blast meant to launch the archangel as far into the stratosphere as Jon's power can possibly launch him. Hopefully he won't blow up any low Earth orbit satellites. That done, and praying that physics will cooperate, Jon turns away and starts speeding back toward the ground. <<Take cover!!>> he calls over the comm. <<I don't know if I got him far enough up!>> Oh, this is terrifying. Exhilarating, but terrifying. This is /not/ the sort of thing one should be doing on their second day of flying.
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia watches silently as Jophiel vanishes in a pillar of fire. "Maybe next time we meet it'll be under better circumstances." She shakes her head as she surveys the battlefield. All this fighting just for the sake of fighting. Just to watch us struggle. What a waste. With a weary sigh, she lets her amor, shield and sword evaporate. Doing that trick with the three of her took a lot out of her and she could use the rest. She looks down at her leg at where the sword bit into it and finds that it's already healed. But as always that comes with a price. She'll need to feed. It's not urgent, but she'll need fresh blood before the night is through. When Jon calls out over the com, she looks up to where he and Michael were fighting and sees that the angel is about to self detonate. "Crap," she says, and flies down to take cover. Noticing the tiny form of Kaida, unconscious on the roof, she quickly scoops the mouse up and holds her tight to her chest, and forms a bubble of hard ectoplasm around them to shield them from the blast.
Cael Becker	<<"Sims? Status?">> Cael asks urgently into the coms - her gaze going skywards for a moment, as her current foe disappears. She knows Jon will understand what she's really asking - even if it's said in a brusque, business-like tone. With no more archangels in sight, she turns her attention towards the remaining angelic forces arrayed against them, hastily knocking aside a man about to be blasted by one of the Thrones - holding up one of her black, metallic wings as a shield against the force that clips her - knocking her back into one of the reinforcing walls that had been built up to protect the Station and provide their forces with cover. <<"Everyone take cover against the walls! Now! Disengage!">> She shoves herself back to her feet - swinging her axe, and even tossing a grenade into the angelic forces, as she helps cover the retreat of their own forces to positions of relatively safety. The moment she sees a flash in the sky - should one come - she turns her back to it, dropping to her knees, and flaring out her wings to provide herself and as many of the SHIELD and militia fighters with whatever cover she can manage.
Michael Hannigan	Fading back to view, the Phantasm looks to the pieces of rebar lying on the ground. Feeling a little guilty for the second one but Barachiel indeed made his choice. Nick frowns, looking to the empty space that once held Barachiel. "...Sorry about the arms." Shaking his head, the dreamer bends down to retrieve his makeshift weapons and heads back to the remainder of the battle. The battle may be over but it appears not all have gotten the memo. Best help with the delivery. Ok. After the explosion.
Michael Demiurgos	The night sky on January 30th is met with a ball of light that fills the sky with a second sun for about 15 seconds. And then the sky returns to darkness. As the false sun that is Michael's death vanishes from the sky so do the remaining angelic forces vanish from the field. There are more dead this time than the last. Barachiel managed to cut down ten militia volunteers before engaging Nick Drago. But the structure of their HQ stands as solid and whole as it was before. It seems that for the time, the message has been delievered. Grand Central Station is Off Limits.
Jonathan Sims	<<Coming in hot!>> Jon replies sharply. <<This was a bloody terrible idea and if I ever do something this stupid again you have full permission to smack me, Becker!!>> But he's laughing. Even as he feels the heat from the blast behind him, he's laughing. Maybe it's crazy, and he'll be much more sober once he's on the ground and discovers that ten people died and Kaida nearly got killed, and how badly Sarah's hurt. But they /won/. Michael came right at them, and his wards held, and Project Gozer came through, and he took on Michael one-on-one... and they /won/. And he knows what he needs to do, now. So that's reason for relief, all on its own. He crash-lands into the pavement in front of Grand Central Station, not quite good enough at flying to judge when he needs to pull up. The first impact doesn't do much--he bounces, the shield of woven green appearing around him and saving his life. Impact at terminal velocity would normally mean pancake, wings or no. The second bounce breaks his left ankle, and he goes tumbling, scraping an arm and wrenching his shoulder and spraining his wrist. The SHIELD tac gear takes most of the rest of the brunt of the scraping slide down the pavement, and by the end he's lying on his back, staring up at the sky, still laughing. "Never, /ever/ doing that again," he gasps in between laughter.
Lydia Dietrich	By the time the explosion reaches Lydia and her charge, her shield is able to absorb all the energy. When the danger is passed she stands up and watches Jon plummet to the earth. She winces at the first bounce, and cringes on the second. "Oof," she says sympathetically. Golden wings unfold from her back and she takes to the air, Kaida cradled in her arms. She lands near Jon and offers a hand up. "Remind me to give you flying lessons," she says.
Cael Becker	"Who says I'm gonna wait for permission," Cael mutters under her breath - making sure her comm is //off// when she does. Jon doesn't need to be undermined on an open comm like that. As the blast hits her - she's propelled forward enough that she has to catch herself with her arm - but a moment later she's on her feet, searching for angels - and seeing none. She eyes her burns - one that goes across the new tattoo of flames on her left hand (almost ironic, that) and she hears the quiet sound of a pained moan. <<"Fight's over. We have some injured - send out the medical teams,">> she calls into the comm, before moving towards where Jon is - laughing on his back. She watches Lydia offer him a hand up, while she watches from a few steps back. "You good? We need the medical team to check on you? That landing looked rough."
Michael Hannigan	As the explosion takes care of what's left, the Phantasm takes a last glance to the battleground. Eyes set upon the bodies nearby. While others celebrate, Nick grows quiet. A slight bit of darkness pools upon his form, inching its way upwards as he looks blankly at something that doesn't appear to be there. When the darkness reaches his neck, the rebar clangs to the ground. Shaking his head, Nick shifts back. Gun reappearing in his hand. Crouching down, the musician sets the weapon on the ground before sitting. Closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. Not today.
Jonathan Sims	"Broken ankle," Jon replies with a groan as he takes Lydia's hand with his right one and sits up. "And my left arm's kind of useless, and... where'd my staff go...?" He peers around and spots it lying fifty feet away. Sighs, and gestures, and brings it back to him with a murmured word of magic. "Sure once I get some healing done I'll be right as rain. But I'd better get inside so I can heal whomever else needs it--get it all done at once, you know?" He sighs. "The wards held. Thank the gods. How many--no. I'll... I'll deal with that once I've seen to the living." He always does. He tends to each of the dead in turn, every time. He winces. "Cael, could you, ahh, help me get inside? And then you can yell at me all you like for my reckless self-sacrifice and etcetera."
Cael Becker	With a thought, and a moment of brightening light, Cael's armor, wings, and weapon disappear into the amulet at her throat, leaving her in only tactical gear, as she closes the distance between herself and Jon. "Sure. We'll get you inside," she promises. "From what I saw - Rainmaker's going to need some help. Some of the others as well, I'm sure - but it looks like the defenses held up well." She keeps her gait slow - letting Jon set the pace as the trio make their way back into the building, through the maze of defenses surrounding their temporary home. She turns her head to the side, trying to gauge from his features how he was really doing after the fight. "You were right to send me down to back her up," she remarks quietly. Even if she hated leaving his side in the middle of a fight.