ARCHANGEL || A Michael Jackson Fanfiction ||

6. Soldier's Homecoming

"Meet the boy at the Veil," Gabriel said gently. "Azariel will arrive with him any moment, and he will want to see you."

Mind numb with grief, Michael kicked off from the ground before Gabriel finished. "I will. Thank you, my friend," he said. He headed for the Veil as fast as he could fly.

He soared through the towering golden gates and high over the Road to Heaven, where people of all sorts walked by the thousands. He searched the crowd, every single face, for the young man whose image haunted his mind.

Elijah. Brave boy.

Michael did not want to believe he was dead.

Elijah was nowhere to be found along the Road, and soon Michael came to the Veil. He sighed and conjured a solid gold bench. With his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands, he waited amid the glittering mist of the passageway. Silvery, iridescent clouds hung in the air and drifted slowly around him. He watched them with dull eyes and clutched his chest. Something inside felt heavy. Was this sadness? It must be, he thought. If he had known how to cry, in that moment, he would have. Michael tried to think of something to say to Elijah when he saw him, but no words came.

In the corner of his eye, Michael saw the stilled sparkling mists of the Veil ripple and billow. He looked up, and a fine, cool vapor sprinkled his skin. Then, faces, hundreds of them, moved toward him through the bright haze. People of all colors, sizes, and dress crossed over with eyes wide as they looked around with awe and curiosity, talking among themselves in tones of wonderment, like children.

Roused from his despair, Michael stood proudly to greet them and smiled. The moment when a person enters into paradise was one he never grew tired of witnessing. One by one the people saw him, and all were stilled with astonishment.

"Michael," they gasped.

"The Archangel Michael."

"San Miguel."

"Bellissimo!"

Countless tongues whispered his name like a prayer. Their hearts longed to be near him, this son of glory and loveliness, and those close enough to do so stole forward and reached out for him, falling to their knees. With tears in their eyes, they said his name, and praises rolled off their lips. Oh, look! The way his black curls fall in a halo around his face. His face! So intelligent and full of empathy. See the way light emanates from every inch of him, and when he smiles! It is like the fierce dawn breaking after an endless night. His eyes! Oh, his magnificent eyes! How deep and sparkling they are, like they contain a universe all their own.

Michael clasped their hands one by one. "Welcome," he said brightly. "I hope you all had a safe journey."

Azariel, the angel of death, emerged from the mist looking more tired than Michael had seen her in a while. She was the last to pass through, and the Veil closed itself behind her. The massive scythe she carried flashed in the light. "Of course they had a safe journey," she said.

Her great wings were those of a raven, and her flawless ebony skin shimmered softly with the brilliance of a black pearl. A translucent gray cloak elegantly draped her slender form. Her eyes of rose red glistened like her ruby-encrusted scythe, the weapon she wielded to protect the journeying souls of the dead from Lucifer's hideous creatures, who often attacked the angel and her dependents as they made their way through the realms of earth to the Veil's entrance.

Each time Michael saw Azariel's scythe, he felt a pang of guilt and remembered the days when she did not have to carry it.

Azariel was the most solemn of the archangels, but when she saw Michael from a distance, she looked over the heads of the countless newcomers and grinned affectionately at him. "Hello, Commander," she shouted.