Michael: Last Angel of Earth

In a distant part of the world, deep in the bowels of hell, a cloaked figure sat in silence. He was dressed in all grey, and his only outline in the room was that of his wings. All around him was darkness; to him, dark was the truth, and darkness was life. As he enjoyed the silence, a lesser demon ruined the tranquility.

“What have I told you about disturbing me during my mediations?” asked the figure, hiding his growl. The demon bowed before replying.

“Pardon the intrusion, your wickedness, but you have been summoned to the chamber. Lord Zarakoth has requested your presence on urgent business.” The figure slowly got up and walked out of the room, taking a deep breath. As he made his way to the chamber, all around him, he saw the fires of hell’s industry. Factories were producing powerful weapons, more dangerous than the last. After the watchers’ defeat, the armies of darkness turned their sights to other parts of the world, dominating the other ancient ones. Their policy was simply this: submit or suffer. Many joined their ranks, while the few in hiding continued the fight. Arriving at the chamber, he pushed open the door and was greeted by an astral projection of Zarakoth via Palantir. The figure bowed before the dragon king.

“Good fortunes to you, King of the Isles,” he said.

“As to you, old friend. I have something that might interest you,” said the Dragon. The hooded man chuckled under his breath.

“Zarakoth, there is nothing you could have that I would want.” Just then, Zarakoth speaks a name

“Not even Michael?” Suddenly, the figure looked up and stared widely at him.

“What?” he replied. Zarakoth then showed his friend the images captured by his fallen ravager, showing Michael still alive.

“My sources tell me that he lives in a village under the guise of a scribe named Barjon, a Nephilim name, no? I trust you have sensed his presence. After all, you two have unfinished business.” It was quite a surprise to hear of a watcher still alive during these times; even more, it was an archangel. Smiling underneath his hood, he thanked his ally for sharing this news. Zarakoth paid his respects, and the ancestral image slowly faded away. Armed with this new intel, the cloaked man quickly left the chamber and marched toward the throne room. Taking the same walkway and descending several stairs, the figure arrived at the throne room door. Pushing the stone doors, he entered the imposing room.

Barbaric braziers encompassing each of the fourteen travertine columns light up most of the throne hall and cover the entrance in warm oranges and dancing shadows. The intricate and symmetrical design patterns on the embowed ceiling danced in the flickering light. Simultaneously, carved demonic images and sculptures looked down upon this grand hall’s limestone floor. A carmine rug ran in a circle around the room, with two paths at the throne and the main entrance, while wolf head banners with emblazoned tapestries dropped from the walls. Between each flag hung a little luster; none but a few have been lit and, in turn, illuminate the artistic depictions of famous battles won by the army of darkness below them.

Draperies shroud gothic, stained glass windows of mesmerizing mosaics colored the same carmine as the banners. The curtains have been adorned with decorating tips and gilded linings. A savage teak throne sat in front of a large window radiating light onto the throne and was adjoined by two equally imposing seats for the queen and royal prince. The throne was covered in byzantine designs, and a red diamond lion’s head was fixed on each relatively narrow foot. The bulky pillows were a light carmine, and these had been adorned with ornate ridges. As he approached, he stopped and bowed before his master, the king, and the queen of hell.

Sitting on the imperial was a man with brown, short hair neatly trimmed, revealing a chiseled, time-worn face. Big, round black eyes sat elegantly within their sockets. Fallen debris left a mark reaching from the forehead’s left side, running towards his lips’ right side and ending above his left eye, leaving a lasting burden of battles past. He was Lucifer Brightstar’s face, the master of evil and ruler of hell. He stood average among others, despite his skinny frame. Something was mystifying about him, perhaps it was his disposition, or maybe it was merely his patience.

Nonetheless, people tended to befriend him, while others spread rumors about him behind his back. He was independent, capable, and full of anger. But what led to this? He was the youngest of the watchers of his time and worked hard to fight alongside the ranks of many mighty angels such as Metatron, Azazel, Abaddon, and even Azrael. However, that all changed when he committed the greatest sin of all. He fell in love with the demoness Lilith and was exiled from the watchers. He and his wife had to survive in a bitter world all alone. But with his talents and fighting skills, he managed to face all obstacles and crush all that was in the way and now rules the bowels of hell.

The ruler of hell was dressed in his favorite battle armor. The shoulders were squared, short, and enormous. They’re decorated with a metal dragon wing on each side, curved to the sides. The upper arms were protected by pointed, half-covering rerebraces, which sat nicely under the shoulder plates. The lower arms were covered by vambraces, with a metal snake curling around them. The breastplate was made from one large piece of metal but crafted to mimic the muscles’ appearance. It covered the entire front and backside, but the attachment straps exposed the sides under the arms. Squared, fully covered cuisses wrapped the upper legs. The lower legs were protected by greaves, with several curved spikes attached near the bottom, shaped like claws. Behind his back were his exposed, raven black wings, which rested on the sides of the throne.

In both hands, he held a weapon. In his left hand was a revolver. But not just any firearm. This large revolver was his preferred choice when it required extra firepower. It’s relatively lightweight, making it not too demanding to handle. It packed a big punch with excellent accuracy. The bullets it used varied, killing anything demonic or angelic. This particular revolver came with an expensive metal grip, with decorations made of ivory, and a standard barrel with gothic etchings, which could be gilded if desired. Due to its destructive capabilities, Lucifer named it Blackout.

As for his right, he brandished a rigid Greek-style shield made from savage iron, offering a stringent safeguard, especially against lunging attacks and coordinated attacks. This was not a fluke, as titan orcs forged this shield in an elemental workshop. The shield’s edges were emblazoned with layered metal scales and decorated with inscribed runes from his allies from the World Tree. Its center was embellished with symmetrical paintwork and small spikes. This shield had been through hell and back. Damage and trauma made by who knows what left mementos of beating the odds, but one thing is for sure: death will have to wait a little longer.

Next to the king was his wife, a woman of tremendous power and respect. Her noble dress flowed from top to bottom and had a semi-sweetheart neckline, which elegantly revealed the luxurious dress worn below it. The comfortable, buttoned-up fabric of her dress covered her stomach, where the continuous flow was broken up by a small rope belt worn relatively high around her waist. The skirt below the rope belt opened up slightly and revealed the dress below. The top dress’s front was longer than the bottom dress and curved outwards; the back continued to flow a fair length behind her and ended in a broad tip. Her sleeves were longer than her arms and narrow; their flow was broken above the elbow, divided by thick, ornate bands. These were the same fabric and color used to outline the dress’s edges.

White, perfectly groomed hair awkwardly hung over a chiseled, lively face. Clear red eyes sat wickedly within their sockets. Several yellow gems were spread charmingly across her forehead. She was Lilith Brightstar, the mother of monsters and wife to Lucifer. She stood average among others, despite her rigid frame. Something was enticing about her; perhaps it was her “decency,” or maybe it was merely her presence.

Nonetheless, people tended to welcome her, while others tried to hide from her. She was coarse, brave, and harsh. Like her husband, she, too, had a past. She was born and grew up in a large demon family in a significant community, she lived happily until she was about twelve years old, but at that point, life changed.

She lost her family and almost everyone during the great purges. With the help of Lucifer, she had to survive in a villainous world. But with her eagerness and wits, she managed to find a new home with him and overcome all odds. Still affected by the past, she worked with her husband to solidify their rule. By doing so, she found inner peace and joy, and love for life she never had. For resting in her lamp was her and Lucifer’s only son, Samuel. The child had both his parents’ features, but he resembles his father in one form and another. Resting his head gently against his mother’s chest, the child drifted asleep.

“Arise, my teacher. What news do you bring?” asked the lord of hell. The Grand Adviser arose and removed his hood before addressing his master. Black, greasy hair neatly coiffed revealed a skinny, menacing face. Clear brown eyes sat graciously within their sockets. Scars were reaching from just under the right eyebrow, running toward the tip of the nose, and ending under his right eye, leaving a pleasurable memory of unexpected friendship. This is the face of Xathianel, Grand Adviser to the royal family and second in command of the army of darkness. He stood high among others, despite his hefty frame. There was something sinister about him, perhaps it was his sense of honor, or maybe it was merely his presence. Nonetheless, people tended to flock toward him while staying on his good side.

“My lord Lucifer, I bring troubling news. Zarakoth, our ally ruling the English isles, has reported that an angel is living in a town on the Emerald Isle,” said Xathaniel.

“What concern is it to us? What can one lone angel do to our authority?” asked Lilith.

“My queen, this is no mere angel. This is a former watcher, the archangel Michael,” replied Xathaniel. The name Michael caught the attention of Lucifer. He knew of a young angel by that very name. But that was a different life when he once served as a watcher.

“What is it you propose?”

“With your permission, I would like to deal with this matter personally before it becomes a problem. I will send out one of my ag-”

“No,” said Lucifer. Xathaniel stared at him as if he did not hear correctly.

“My lord?” Nathaniel asked.

“No, let him be. He is of no concern to us. He poses no threat to us,” said Lucifer. Xathanael was shocked by his lord’s reply.

“Perhaps you did not hear me. This is Michael, one of the council’s top warriors of his day. If he is allowed to persist, he will grow to become a threat to us all.”

“Xathaniel, I will not start a problem unnecessarily. If this former angel does become an issue, we will deal with him. But at the moment, he is nothing. Leave him be. That is my final order.” Xathaniel jabbed a finger at his king.

“Your negligence will be our downfall!” he yelled.

“How dare you insult your king!” shouted Lilith.

“Do not forget who put the crown on both your childish heads,” he seethed. Suddenly there was a loud boom that echoed throughout the throne room. Xathaniel touched his cheek and felt a small scratch. He noticed blood on his fingertips and saw that Lucifer had fired a shot from his revolver and point-blank range. The king of hell slowly rose from his throne and towered over his teacher.

“We haven’t forgotten, and my judgment is still the same. Leave the watcher alone. Understood?” Xathaniel glared and bowed before his king. He then turned around and left the throne room to return to his mediation chamber. However, along the way, an idea popped into his head. Making a slight detour, Xathaniel went to the hunters guild, home to the army’s most experienced hunters and assassins. Opening the door, he was greeted by one lone hunter, a Rakshasa Maneater. The Rakshasa hailed from the Indian continent and were mighty warriors, expert magicians, and illusionists. As shape-changers, they could assume different physical forms. As illusionists, they could create actual appearances for those who believed in them or failed to dispel them. Some of the Rakshasas were said to be maneaters and made their gleeful appearance when the slaughter on a battlefield was worse. Occasionally, they served as rank-and-file soldiers in one or another warlord service. However, in other cases, some reached even higher when operating in the dark army. Such was the case of one Maneater.

“Greetings, Javurmas,” said Xathanael. Like most of his kind, Rakshasa could take the form of any creature, in his case, an anthropomorphic tiger. His mouth was full of razor-sharp teeth with two fangs protruding from the top of the mouth, and he had sharp, claw-like fingernails. As an insatiable maneater, he could smell the scent of human flesh from any corner of the world. Coarse, impatient, and impulsive, he grew up in a small family in India’s typical village. He lived out of trouble until he was about seven years old, but things worsened. He lost his clan after a revolution and was rejected by all. Without any help, he had to survive in a mad world. But with his diligence and persistence, he overcame all odds and escaped hell. This turned him into the man he is today. Still plagued by the past, he worked as a hunter for the king.

“Greeting, Xathanael; how may I serve the grand adviser?” he asked.

“I have a job that requires your talents. A job that must never leave this room. Are you up for the task?” The Maneater nodded his head. Xathanael smiled.

“There is an enemy of the realm that needs to be dealt with, with extreme prejudice. His name is Michael, but he goes by the name of Barjon. He is a Nephilim like me; thus, do not underestimate him. Here is his picture.” Javurmas studied the image he was given. Purring with excitement, he asked the grand adviser when he should leave.

“Now,” said Xathanael.