The Lord Protector of the Vale was considered the strongest warrior amongst all the angels. Few matched his skill, his speed, or his agility. Once upon a time, only Lucifer could. Yet Michael found he had truly met his match in the Angel of Death. He fought with the same tenacity and ferocity as his father, and was just as proficient with a sword, perhaps even better. 
Every attempt Michael made to strike was in vain. Samael parried each of the Archangel's attacks, switching sword hands even to keep Michael on edge. The simple but deadly longsword Samael wielded flashed through the air and never failed to miss its target. A nick here, a cut there, and soon Michael's ivory battle gear and wings were steeped in blood.
The worst of it was Samael never went for the kill. He toyed with Michael, making him bleed, wearing him out rather than cutting to it like true soldiers in an honourable fight. The two-faced monster had no honour. Weary and dizzy from blood loss, Michael stumbled back when he felt the sting of Samael's blade slash through his skin again, causing a nasty gash over his already wounded shoulder. He grunted but stayed on his feet.

"Give up, Michael. You can't beat me." Samael grinned viciously. "I have watched you for years, studying your every move. I know what you'll do even before you do. Do yourself a favour and bend the knee. I'll grant you the mercy of a quick death."

"Like you gave Azrael, you mean?" countered Michael, bearing the pain down.

"Do not speak that name!"

"Only cowards shy away from their own actions, Samael. You killed Azrael, and you killed your mother. Kill me too if you like; it will not change that their blood will never wash from your hands."

Blinded and fuelled by unruly rage, Samael came at him, bringing his longsword up from the side with both hands. This time, though, Michael was ready for him. Instead of moving away from Samael, he stepped up to him. He grabbed hold of the blade, right underneath the hilt, stopping Samael's attack in mid-air. The Angel of Death's eyes widened in surprise at this sudden action, and Michael took his chance.
He hit Samael's left wrist with the pommel of his own sword. Samael's grip on the longsword loosened, and Michael snatched it out of his hand, throwing it to the other side of the cell. Then the Archangel spun on his heels, slashing his opponent across the chest with his double-edged broadsword. Samael cried out, and Michael swiftly changed the grip on his sword, spun back around and struck again. 
For Azrael. For Margaret. Samael's cross to bear, now carved into that perfect half, which only covered the canker underneath. But a wounded animal was the most dangerous kind. And the Angel of Death was more beast than man.

Before Michael could distance himself, Samael dived, his black wings folding in as he kicked Michael's legs out from under him. The Archangel landed hard on his back, his own blood-tainted wings sprawled in an unnatural and painful angle.
Samael flipped and hit Michael's chest with the heel of his boot. Michael gasped for air as his ribs cracked and his lungs collapsed. Then, Samael stood over him like the horrid giant David fought in a long-forgotten time and stomped on him, again and again. Michael could scarcely breathe anymore.

"You think you're so much better than me? That you're so perfect? God's favourite? You're nothing, Michael! You're less than an ant underneath my boot!" Samael kicked Michael's face. "How does it feel knowing you'll die at the hands of the thing you feared? Of the thing you tried to get rid of before it was even born? HOW DOES IT FEEL, MICHAEL?"

He went for Michael's face again, but in his fury, Samael failed to notice he hadn't lost his sword. Michael waited for the right moment, rolled swiftly to his side to get on one knee, then pierced straight through Samael's thigh. His cry was so intense and blood-curdling that it even stilled Michael for a moment. Just one moment.
He pushed him off his sword, and Samael fell into the pool of blood amassing on the floor. Michael groaned as he got up. Every breath he took was one too many. All the damage he had suffered at Samael's hand had Michael wheezing. It hurt so damned much. But he couldn't stop yet. He had to finish it. He promised.
Michael raised his sword with a trembling hand. He looked into Samael's eyes as the Angel of Death raised his head. Pain. Hatred. Darkness. It was all Michael saw. Any potential of being good had been eradicated by the Circles, by Lilith... and by him.

"I'm sorry for everything you've endured," he said. "May you find peace, Samael."

Just as Michael was about to recite the incantation to summon Heaven's Fire and set Samael free, he was pushed aside. He broke his fall with his hands and wing, his broadsword clattering onto the stones. Grunting, he looked up to see what had happened.

"Lucifer? Why did you —?"

When Michael realised what had possessed Lucifer to push him away, his heart stopped.

***

His breath choked. He felt cold. Icy even. But it didn't hurt. Death's touch wasn't as painful as Lucifer had imagined. It was... almost peaceful.

At least you didn't make her suffer, thought Lucifer as he looked at the shocked expression of his son.

After undoing Lilith's ritual on Ariëlle, Lucifer told the girl to stay hidden until either Michael or her parents came whilst he returned to deal with Samael. He'd witnessed Michael taking the upper hand in the fight, and there'd been a part of him that wanted to attack Michael then for hurting his son again. But when Lucifer saw what Samael planned to do next, every fibre of his being had screamed at him to protect Michael. And so he had.
Lucifer had thrown himself against the Archangel, pushing him out of the way so Death's hand — which Samael had conjured inconspicuously with a flick of his wrist — wouldn't touch him. But in doing so, the skeletal hand fell on Lucifer, right on his back and over his heart. 

The way Michael stared at him now... He remembered the moment Michael told him he had never stopped loving him. The Devil finally believed it.

Lucifer coughed and smiled weakly. "Sh-Shall I... leave you... to Death next time?"

Michael's harrowing scream was the last thing Lucifer heard. After centuries of living for vengeance, he would now die for love.

***

Joan and Gabriël ran faster, hearing the sounds of battle echo through the dungeon. When they came upon a large cell, Gabriël gasped at the sight before him. Michael and Samael fought each other like madmen with daggers and swords, despite their injuries. In the few openings Samael had, he tried to use the powers of the Circles, but Michael deflected every assault with his wings. His feathers ruffled and burned. Some fell on the floor, but the Archangel had either moved past the pain or simply didn't care. Gabriël drew his sword to help his friend, but Joan raised her hand, halting him.

"No, it's Michael's fight. He has to do this. And besides, I need your help."

She pointed to something, and Gabriël drew in his breath when he saw Lucifer lying on the ground, his body slowly crumbling into ashes. Joan rushed toward the Devil and held her hands over his body.

"I think I can slow down the damage Death's hand did, but we have little time. Go get our daughter. She's in one of the cells we passed. Hurry!"

More concerned about getting his daughter to safety than rescuing Lucifer, Gabriël ran back into the corridor. He sensed another being nearby and cautiously continued, searching the nearest cell for the baby, but saw nothing. He turned to inspect the cell across and froze at the sight of a little girl appearing in the opening. Gabriël felt a jolt through him. 
The blue eyes looking up were his own eyes. That long, beautiful hair was also similar to his, perhaps darker. Her features, though, were the same as those of the woman he had adored silently for centuries. 

"Ariëlle?"

***

Michael noticed Joan sitting by Lucifer's side as he spun on his heels, using the edge of his right wing as a blade to cut through the air and force Samael to retreat. In that single glance, he felt hope again. A Seraph's powers were greater than any Archangel's since they stood closer to God. If anyone could keep Death from taking Lucifer, it was Joan.
With a renewed fighting spirit, Michael leapt into the air to dodge another of Samael's lunges and stretched out his wings to stay aloft. Samael threw him a murderous scowl from the ground.

"You dare call me the coward when you're the one running from me?"

"Who says I'm running?"

Michael gripped his broadsword with both hands and swung overhead, but Samael parried by crossing his daggers to stop the descending blade. He swiftly flipped over Samael's head and struck from below, but the Angel of Death blocked him again. Yet this time, he only used one dagger to hold off Michael's sword.
Michael groaned when he felt the sting of the second sharp weapon against his cheek. He saw Samael whirl around, and both his knives cut through Michael's wing. The Archangel used his torn and tattered wing to push Samael away before he jumped back. His eye caught a sudden glistening on the floor.
Samael came at him again, and Michael moved further back, narrowly avoiding Samael's daggers. Then he jumped forward, gripping his sword with only his left hand, and Samael did exactly what he had wanted him to — he halted, expecting Michael to strike. But instead of attacking, Michael dived and somersaulted over the floor. With his free hand, he grabbed hold of Lucifer's sword and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"IN DEI NOMINE, EGO VOCO SUPER IGNEM CAELI!"

Heaven's Fire roared up in Michael's hands as he whirled and put both swords together to form one blade. He pierced them straight into Samael's heart, driving them through to the hilt. A single gasp fell from Samael's lips. Michael grunted when the Angel of Death's rune appeared and burned off his arm. He met Samael's eyes, one green, one white. They stared at him in disbelief and surprise.
And then Michael felt it — the blade stuck in his side, right underneath his ribs. His hands slipped away from the swords, and he fell. Down, further down, into the deep abyss of his mind and heart where he and Lucifer could be together, even if it were just for the briefest moment.
One last time.

***

Heaven's Fire consumes all that is touched by darkness. For the Angel of Death, whose heart was so corrupted, it was a death sentence, as the Devil had feared it would be. The flames spread until they devoured him. Only the slightest sliver of goodness survived. The secret love he bore for the mother he had known and the mother he had always wanted to meet was still there, buried deep within.
Because of this love, the Seraph — sent by God to once again be the saviour of her people — showed mercy. She took the part of Samael that was good, and granted him his greatest desire to be with the people who cared for and loved him unconditionally.
He was whole. Delivered. Home.
At long last.

***

Gabriël grunted as he caught Michael just before the Archangel hit the ground. He held his hand over the wound at Michael's side. The dagger had slipped out, and it was bleeding badly.

"Joan! Joan, I need... you."

Gabriël's words fell away as he witnessed Joan stepping up to Samael's burning body. She wrapped four of her wings around him. Her feathers dazzled brightly, and the flames glowed white at her touch. The spirit of a boy appeared in place of the smouldering corpse. Auburn curly hair, piercing verdant eyes, a perfect angelic face, and a genuinely overjoyed smile. Gabriël realised with a shock it was the boy Samael would have been. He watched in awe as Joan's wings let go of the boy's spirit, and he faded away.

"Joan, you... H-How did —?"

Suddenly, Michael gasped for breath and woke up. Gabriël held him tightly so he wouldn't hurt himself more.

"Easy, Michael, easy! You're hurt. Hold on, I'll take you to... Raphael. Wait, what...?"

The wound at Michael's side was already mending. Gabriël stared at it in bewilderment. Archangels had fast healing powers, but not that fast. He raised his head to Joan.

"Are you doing this?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, actually. I think I am. He's definitely healing." She glanced over her shoulder. "So is he."

Gabriël followed her gaze. Ariëlle sat on her knees next to Lucifer in the protective shield her mother wrapped around him. She had her little hands on his chest and her eyes closed.

"L-Lucifer..."

Michael struggled, and Gabriël let him go, half walking, half crawling. He dropped beside Ariëlle and reached for Lucifer's hand but froze at Joan's voice as she warned, "Don't touch him! Not until Ariëlle is finished."

Both Archangels kept their eyes on the little girl, who didn't even notice what was happening around her. She remained perfectly in place, humming a song.

"Well, she's a fast learner, isn't she?"

Gabriël jumped at the voice suddenly sounding beside. He hadn't heard that voice in centuries. Nor should he have heard it now, since this particular being was supposed to be dead.

"What's the matter, Gabriël?" Azrael shot him a wide grin. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Wha—How is...? I mean, h-how are you...? I mean... how?"

"Aren't you a Lord Protector now, too?"

Azrael winked at Gabriël. He turned to Joan for help, believing she brought Azrael back somehow.

"Don't look at me," she reacted, appearing as confused as he was, her brows furrowed. "I don't even know who this is."

"My name is Azrael; I'm your daughter's teacher and guardian. I was the Angel of Death before Samael claimed that title."

"Oh. Um, no offence, but aren't you kind of... dead?"

"Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I'm gone."

Gabriël and Joan eyed each other. Azrael gave an exasperated sigh and shook her head.

"Honestly, what do they teach you angels these days? Okay, short version; I am linked to your daughter, since she is essentially my reincarnation. Since you, Gabriël, took up Michael's role as Lord Protector, and you, Joan, are now a Seraph — congrats on that, by the way — you can both see me until Ariëlle officially becomes the Angel of Death and I move on."

Gabriël looked down at Michael to see if any of this made sense to him, but Michael wasn't paying attention. His eyes were fixed on Lucifer, who was once more full-bodied. Ariëlle fell silent and sat back, hands folded in her lap. Michael's whole body appeared tense, and Gabriël held his breath. He surprisingly found himself hoping the Devil would survive — for Michael's sake. 
 It wasn't until Lucifer's chest rose and fell, regularly and calmly, that Michael gave a sob of relief and cupped Ariëlle's face to kiss the top of her head. She giggled and beamed at him. Joan's hand slipped into Gabriël's as she leaned against him.

"Looks like we're not the only ones who found each other again," she whispered.

Gabriël furrowed his brow at her words. He recalled something else Uriël wrote; two hearts once more as one. But those two hearts were broken, completely shattered even. They caused eons of pain and bloodshed between dark and light. Could Michael and Lucifer be trusted to make the right decision this time around? Or was it better to remove the decision from them, if only to make sure history didn't repeat itself, as it so often did?

***

Since Lucifer still possessed darkness within him, and no one knew what effect Joan's Seraph powers would have on him, she didn't dare transport him like she had Anne and Thomas, and the angels at Megiddo. Michael refused to leave Lucifer in the Circles since he was in and out of consciousness, and Gabriël refused to leave Michael, so it was decided they would return through the Angel of Death's gateway. From there, they would let Peter know they were all right and wait until he opened a portal to the Vale.
Unfortunately, they were awaited by a surprise welcoming committee. The Four Horsemen, astride their ghastly steeds, waited patiently in the Musée d'Orsay for the group to appear. As soon as he saw them, the pale horse stepped forward, its hooves clicking in rhythm against the floor.

"You know why we have come, Archangel?" spoke Death in that eerie dual voice.

Gabriël nodded. He approached and showed them all the carefully wrapped package containing Death's hand.

"The souls first," he insisted.

Death's horse snorted and trampled impatiently, but Gabriël wouldn't budge. He looked at the Horsemen, hoping they wouldn't return on their deal. A burning cross appeared on Death's cloak. It blazed brightly for a few moments, then died out.

"It is done. Those who died since we set foot in the Mortal Realm have been released."

Gabriël glanced over his shoulder at where Azrael stood behind Ariëlle. She acknowledged Death's words with a brief nod of her head. Not having a reason to keep it any longer, Gabriël handed over Death's hand. The skeleton unravelled the package, throwing the bloodstained cloth away, and reattached it. 

"Our business is concluded. As said, we shall return to our own realm until we are called upon once again. For your sake, I hope this is not for many years to come."

Death pulled at the reins, and the pale horse returned to the others.

"Wait!" Gabriël called out. "There's something I want to ask you."

The horse halted, but the skeleton didn't face him. Gabriël still saw it as a sign Death was listening and continued, "When we last spoke, you told me you couldn't bring back the dead. You told me only one or two possessed this power."

"You wish to know if I spoke of you?"

"Yes."

"I suspected you had the potential for it," said Death. "A suspicion proved valid since your loved one is again at your side. Yet the one I actually referred to was the true Angel of Death. Your daughter possesses the unique gift to restore life if she believes that person deserves a second chance. But it can only happen for as long as the soul remains close to the body. Once it moves on, there is no turning back the clock."

The cloaked skeleton turned in the saddle, its hollow eyes falling on Ariëlle. The girl stared back with her big blue gaze.

"Be careful to whom you bestow your gift, child. To return what should not be returned defies the very laws of nature we were created from. Never forget that in the end, Death always claims a life. No matter whose it is."

Death glimpsed at Lucifer. Michael held him protectively with both arms, as if that alone would shield him from harm.

"Many of us died these past days." Gabriël spoke loud enough to draw Death's attention back to him. "Is there nothing that can be done? When we meet our final death, do we truly just... disappear?"

Death chuckled, making Gabriël's neck hair stand as a chill ran down his back.

"Final. Hm, such a curious word for an angel to say."

The pale horse neighed and stomped on the floor before galloping away, with War, Famine and Pestilence following swiftly. The Four Horsemen disappeared into a thick mist, the sound of clattering hooves echoing through the museum.
Gabriël stared after them with a pensive mind and a sombre heart. If there had been a chance for those who lost their lives to return, he would have gladly done anything to make it happen. When he turned around to join the others, he was surprised to find his daughter standing before him. Ariëlle beckoned him to kneel.

"Azrael said I could tell you something, but only you," she whispered. "Grandmamma, auntie Marina, and all the others are okay. They're waiting."

"For what?" asked Gabriël in a low voice. "Ariëlle, sweetheart, where are they?"

"With Him." She pointed up. "They're going to come back soon. But they won't look the same anymore. They'll be babies and have mommies and daddies. We'll only know it's them because of their heart and soul. That can't change."

Gabriël stared into his daughter's eyes. What she was talking about... It couldn't be. He glanced up at Azrael, silently seeking confirmation. She winked at Gabriël and put a finger on her lips. He nodded and looked back down at Ariëlle.

"Thank you for telling me," he said.

"Are you still sad?" she asked.

"No. No, I'm not sad anymore."

"That's good. Pappa?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Can we go home now?"

Gabriël smiled widely at her. He opened his arms, and she jumped into them. He kissed her cheek. Ariëlle giggled again, just like she had when Michael kissed her. It was the most precious sound Gabriël had ever heard.
Carrying his daughter back to Joan, he noted a stork flying over the Musée d'Orsay's windowed ceiling. The portal to the Vale opened before them. Gabriël had never been happier to see the Gates of Heaven. Home. They were going home.
All of them.

*****

In the following weeks, the Mortal Realm healed, once more bearing fruits and giving life after it had been made barren by the Horsemen. Slowly, nature found its balance again.
But mankind still suffered. People tried to make sense of what had happened. There had been one calamity after the other, with no good explanation of why or how their world had fallen to pieces so fast, only to have it all end just as quickly.
Freak outbursts of nature due global warming, a viral pandemic because of some sick animal or mutated strand in something commonly eaten, a new terrorist group with a never-before-seen way of warfare that yet remained uncaptured... It all seemed plausible enough, with a bit of evidence here and some well-chosen words there. But everyone knew it had been more than that. 
Some called it an act of God — a warning that mankind would be swept away again and that it would all start anew, just like it had at the time of the Flood. Many found their way back to God because of this. Yet many others stepped away from faith altogether. For what God would be this callous, this merciless, to do this to His own creation? It was a question raised even among those who fought for Him.