Fallen

Chapter Thirty

Stepping through the small cold door of the mourning room, Michael was not prepared for what he saw. The moment his eyes fell on Harpers form, a cry left him, his heart constricting painfully. He had to grip tightly on to the cold gray brick to steady himself, as his knees weakened.

She looked so small, lying in this stone room. She had always been tiny, especially when compared to Michael. But now, she looked so young, so fragile.

So mortal.

Composing himself, Michael stepped up to her side, falling to his knees.

She was so beautiful. Never, in his endless years, had he ever seen anything so perfect. Even in death, nothing compared to her.

Exhaling a shaky breath, Michael reached out to touch her face.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "I am sorry that I brought you to this. I am sorry that my appearance in you life was the catalyst for it to end." Running his fingers over her cheek, his lip shook. "But I do not regret. Nor do I fear the death that I shall gladly succumb to, if it is to join us again. I have lived a million lifetimes, but none of them of any true worth. I have seen everything, and experienced so little. I never felt true emotion, true feeling, until you. You brought me alive, Harper. You gave true life to the immortal. And now I wish to end it. Because no life is worth living, without you."

As his fingers fell over her lips, a tear stung at his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" a voice called, causing Michael to stand swiftly.

In the doorway was a man. Silhouetted by the moon, it took Michael a moment to place him. But when his features came clear, a tension pressed on him.

"Micah Farwell," he breathed.

"I am," Micah confirmed, stepping inside the mourning room. His face was hard, his posture stiff, as he regarded the Angel. "What I would like to know, is why you are here, spouting declarations for my fiancé,"

It was now Michael's turn to harden. Tightening his fists, he faced Micah.

"She is not your fiancé," he clarified. "She is nothing of yours."

Micah tilted his head. "And she is of yours?"

Michael's immediate inclination to remain silent was only momentary. He no longer needed to hide. Nor was he capable of fallacy. With a relief, he lifted his chin defiantly.

"She is," he said firmly. "And she will be always."

Micah seemed shocked, but again, it was only momentary. For just as quickly as the expression flashed across his face, it was replaced with one of anger.

"You," he breathed. "It is you, who forced her to this choice." Stepping up, Micah pushed at Michael, causing him to stumble. "You fooled her to care for you, knowing all the while it was forbidden! You toyed with her, lead her on, knowing the entire time that you would return to Heaven, and she would be left here. A ruin of your presence in her life!"

Michaels own rage surged, as he moved to push Micah. The mortal boy fall back, his fall broken by the wall at his back.

"It is you who brought her to this," Michael hissed. "With your selfish desires of advancement and greed. Using her to rise in the ranks of a broken system that was destined to be fall. You were going to use her for your own gain, and yet, you have the audacity to assume her a ruin of my presence?" Michael paused, his hand pointing to Harpers lifeless form. "Look carefully, boy. For this is of your doing."

Without warning, Micah lunged at Michael, the two colliding in a loud mess of limbs. Hitting the stone wall behind him, the air was knocked from Michaels body, as Micah moved to bring his fist to his side. Moving quickly, as if his body knew the motions without his conscious thought, Michael dodged, escaping Micah's hold and coming to the other side of the room.

Breathless, but enraged, the two stared each other down, each waiting for the other to make the next move. With surprising speed, Micah reached down, picking up a heavy stone pot of flowers, and launched it towards the Angel. It missed Michael's head by only centimeters, shattering to sharp sharps of slate.

In the distraction, Micah converged on Michael again, the two coming to the ground. Each grappled for the upper hand, and while Michael was larger and stronger, Micah had the knowledge, practice and skill of fighting. In many ways, they were equally matched.

Coming to hover over the Angel, Micah's fist collided with a sickening crunch to Michaels jaw. In the momentary daze, Micah took advantage, continuing his assault. Michaels hands reached out blindly as his eyes were blurred with stars, a large hand wrapping around a cold sliver of slate at his side.

Without thinking, he swung his arm out, connecting with Micah's side. The human cried out, immediately ceasing his attack, as he pulled away. Scrambling to his feet, Michael was able to regain his focus. Micah was now on the other side of the room, his hands now griping his side. The pale material of his shirt was quickly soaking through the blood, the stain pouring over his hands.

It was not a fatal wound. But enough to slow him.

"I do not wish to kill you," Michael said, his voice stern. "But I will, if you force my hand."

Seemingly assessing his chances, Micah slowly began to move towards the door. Michael was careful to keep the distance between them, circling Harpers body as though she were merely a spectator.

Once at the door, Micah spat blood from his mouth. "I advise you to be gone, before I return with your Lead, Angel," Micah warned. "Or you will be as damned as your comrade."

Without another word, Micah stepped out, moving quickly but with difficulty across the yard in the direction of the Angel residence.

Panting and in pain, Michael fell to his knees, again at Harpers side. His eye was beginning to swell, blood soaking the skin at his lip. And yet, he pushed the pain away. It would all be over soon.

Bringing the bottle from his pocket, he praised the Lord that it had not broken. Setting it and the blood shard of slate at her side, Michael reached out to touch Harpers lips once again.

"As this is your place of everlasting rest, as too shall it be mine. As this body ends, so my eyes will take their final look at your beauty. My lips, their final taste of your skin. No touch will rival yours, as I bargain my fate in the stars, I welcome death at your side."

Reaching up, he placed a soft kiss to her lips, before reaching at her side. Picking up the bottle, Michael removed the stopper. Unlike Harper, he did not hesitate, as he placed it to his lips, and swallowed it pure.

It took only seconds, and as he felt the life drain from him, he did not look away from her face.