Fallen

Chapter Twenty Three

"Miles?" Michael whispered, his voice losing all conviction.

He wanted to reach to his friend, to offer assistance, but he could not force his body to respond. Instead, he kneeled at his side, weak and helpless, as slowly Miles pushed up in to a seated position.

Miles looked down at himself, as though seeing his body for the first time. There were no signs of injury, no blood that would be his own. His hands were coated in the blood of the Fallen, who still lay at their side.

Michael remained silent, unsure what to say. There were no words of comfort, no assurances to be offered.

Slowly, Miles turned to look at Michael with his now unfamiliar eyes.

"I....I am human?" he said, a statement that was bordering on a question.

"Are you certain?"

Miles nodded. "I felt my essence leave this body. My tie to Heaven is gone. I can feel it as though it were a tangible thread, frayed and broken."

Michael shook his head quickly. "How..."

"It is a sin to kill," Miles said with surprising calm. "To be pure, and to kill another, is to be damned."

"But you were defending yourself,"

Miles shook his head slowly. "The reasons are irrelevant, my friend. The law is absolute. For an Angel to kill another, pure or mortal, is to be cast to Earth as human. My act has sealed my own fate."

Moving slowly, Miles shifted to push himself to his feet. Michael's hands reached out to assist, but quickly pulled back. Michael felt certain Miles would not want his help. It was his acts, his feud with the Verland boy that had caused the damnation of his closest friend.

Silently, Michael watched as Miles took stock of his new form. Gazing at his hands, still covered in human blood, the former Angel appeared calm. Curious, even. He moved to step forward, the movement awkward.

"It is a strange sensation," he mused, almost to himself more than to Michael. "The feeling of being no longer tied to Heaven. I feel...heavy. As though gravity is now my tie."

"I am so sorry," Michael heard himself speak. "Miles, I never wished,"

"It is not your doing," Miles said quickly, turning to Michael for the first time since mortality took him. "It was my choice to intervene. My doing in ending the life of the human. Please do not blame yourself for my fate."

A stinging pain touched Michael's eyes, blurring his vision. He shook his head, trying to clear them, before reaching up and wiping the back of his hand over his face. The skin came away damp with clear liquid, startling the Angel.

"What is this?" he asked, frightened.

"It is tears," Miles explained, always knowledgeable. "It is a expression of many human emotions. Your body is reacting to the situation."

Michael felt weak, his stomach rolling with an uneasy feeling. How could this have happened? How, when so close to the possibility of absolution, could such a horrific turn take them from their path? They were one day away from finding their answer, from possibly changing history. And now, no matter what, one of them was never returning home.

A high pitched cry called out over the field, causing the two to turn. In the distance, the figure of Anne Caison could be seen running towards them, her hand to her mouth. With her, was Ariel, keeping easy pace, as well as Jonathan, and several other Otherworld members.

Michael turned to Miles, immediately panicked.

"Say nothing," Miles said quickly. "Do not risk to perjure yourself."