Page 42 of Raphael
“But why? Why would he do such a thing?” Lucifer stammers, his confusion giving way to anger. “That backstabbing son of a—!”
“He’s the one,” I finally manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Kane has been stealing from the club, and… when I threatened to expose him, he…” Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision.
“That bastard!” Lucifer growls, unleashing his rage upon the room. The walls shake under his hellish fury until he reads the fear in my eyes and reigns himself in.
“Don’t you worry, my dear…” Uncle Luci assures me, his voice a mix of tenderness and menace. “I’ll make sure Kane gets what’s coming to him.”
Just then, a man strides into the room, tall and well-built, his golden blond hair a short, wild mane. His royal blue scrubs match his piercing eyes. I have no idea who this guy is, but as soon as he enters, the tense atmosphere dissipates, replaced by a stillness brought on by his mere presence.
“Michael...” Raphael murmurs, instant relief flooding his expression. Is this truly the sword of God’s justice?
“Visiting hours are over,” Michael says softly, leaning casually against the doorframe. His gaze snaps to Lucifer. “Well, well. Isn’t this…extraordinary?” He greets Lucifer curtly, old grudges simmering beneath the surface. “Suddenly, I’m getting déjà vu, seeing you and my brother together again. Last time that happened, we ended up in the Great War...”
“Insufferable angel...” Lucifer mutters under his breath. “Helena is my niece.” An edge of protectiveness laces his voice.
“I figured as much when I filed the paperwork. We don’t get a lot of Morningstars around here, usually.” Michael’s half-smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Anyway, as I was saying… visiting hours are over.”
“When will you discharge her?” my uncle insists, his tone sharp.
“Not today, Lucifer,” Michael replies, his voice holding an age-old fury that sails collected, yet potent.
Uncle Luci lets out a low chuckle, his chest rumbling with a mix of amusement and frustration. “Oh… you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Michael cracks half a grin, acknowledging the unspoken history between them.
“Lucifer, I think you should leave,” Raphael says, straightening with military resolve. His muscular physique seems to expand, authority ringing through each syllable.
My uncle loses it. He barks out harsh shouts, the words blurring together as a wave of pain crests and crashes over me. I sink back against the pillows with a weak cry, the room spinning violently. Darkness swims at the edge of my vision, threatening total oblivion if something doesn’t give way soon.
Through the dizzy haze, I feel tender hands support me gently, a calming voice cutting through the chaos sharply. “You’re in pain… Hold on.” Mercifully, Michael appears by my side, summoning medications to dull my agony. He and Raphael exchange tense murmurs, lost beneath the dull roaring filling my skull. A nurse arrives swiftly, administering blessed relief through the IV, tethering me still from complete delirium.
As the potent drugs take effect, my ragged gasps ease slowly. The stabbing pains retreat enough to resurface coherent thoughts, though the light remains too harsh against my hypersensitive nerves.
Blessed numbness spreads through my veins from the medication, granting respite from the throbbing agony wracking my battered frame just moments before. I float disconnectedly as my strength gradually returns on the pain’s retreating tide.
Through the blissful fog, urgent voices echo as if crossing a vast distance. I peel my reluctant eyelids open to the startling tableau of three immortal giants forming a daunting triangle around my bed, their combined might filling the small recovery room to bursting.
They stand resplendent in ancient warrior armor—otherworldly generals, marshaling forces perpetually at war since time’s first treacherous battles. The sight pierces my medicated haze and I behold their true, glorious essence, momentarily stripped of mortal illusions.
Michael stands at the center, his commanding presence lording over us. His intricate armor of burnished gold and gleaming white mail seems to capture the radiance of heaven, matching his mane of cornsilk hair spilling loose to dance in the gentle aura that surrounds him. His angelic halo may be subdued at the moment, but the atmosphere around him crackles with tension, ready for even the slightest spark to reignite age-old conflicts.
Raphael hovers closest to me, his restless energy barely contained. Clad in resplendent platinum armor, his snowy feathers rustle in agitation. He’s like a guardian wolf, ready to defend his mate against any danger. My hand instinctively reaches for him, seeking the reassurance of our physical connection as the storm gathers around us. As I touch him, he turns to face me, and through his eyes I see the unspoken promises and intense emotions that bind us together beyond mere attraction or compatibility. His glossy white wings wrap around me protectively as everything else in my reality begins to shift and tilt.
Across the bed, framed by darkness, Lucifer’s imposing figure looms over us. His obsidian armor streaks silver in the dim light, resembling the endless void of space where light and warmth cease to exist. His dreary exterior seems to seethe with inner fire, his reptilian eyes fixed on Michael, who stands tall and commanding. As their eyes lock in a bitter stare, it’s clear that there is a long history between them, one that only those burdened with immortality can truly understand and appreciate.
Behind Lucifer, midnight wings spread menacingly, the feathered tips glinting blood crimson in the shadows. Even when forced to yield before heaven’s authority, he exudes a regal aura perfumed faintly of brimstone. The very air shudders with his tightly leashed infernal energies straining for release, promising immeasurable retribution against any who dare challenge his ancient sovereignty.
My overwhelmed senses cannot fully process the silent war raging in this small room. Mortals are mere collateral in this deadly game, caught in the crossfire. Michael, with his steely gaze and determined facade, reads my inner turmoil easily. But despite his role as heaven’s stalwart champion, there is a softness in his eyes that betrays his true nature. I can tell he’s not just an executioner, but a vessel for compassion and mercy when needed.
“Raphael. Lucifer...” Michael calls their names, affirming the bonds once forged by brotherhood in arms, now strained unendurably by opposing principles. His commanding voice leaves no room for argument. “The circumstances require Helena’s continued recovery with no added stress or turmoil. I demand that both of you leave immediately so she may heal in peace.”
Michael’s carefully chosen words may seem neutral, but his eyes betray a fierce determination. He dares anyone to challenge his sole authority. “Surely, we can postpone any further quarrels beyond these walls meant to preserve and protect?” His gaze sweeps the room, daring anyone to question him.
“Fine...” Lucifer concedes, a hint of irritation in his voice.
“I’ll come see you soon, my love,” Raphael whispers softly, brushing a lock of hair away from my face. “Rest now.”
His tender tone soothes me as exhaustion presses down irresistibly. I feel myself drifting off, lulled by gentle fingers carding through my hair.
