Betrayer and Betrayed

Disclaimer: well, this is going to be good because this is about angels, so no infringement is intended on any holy work, or any religion or anyone who believes in such things. Any resemblance of any character in this piece to anyone in any photograph in any book anywhere is ... entirely coincidental!!!

BETRAYER AND BETRAYED

by Ruric

The angel of death has been abroad throughout the land;
you may almost hear the beating of his wings.
John Bright (1811-1889) referring to the Crimean War

Maybe I'm still hurting
I can't turn the other cheek
But you know that I still love you
It's just that I can't speak
Leonard Cohen, Coming Back to You

Alone.

Desolation enclosed him.

He turned his head slowly, surveying his surroundings.

His throat ached with unshed tears, his eyes welling in sorrow and pity as he examined the ruins.

Such loss, such devastation and for what?

Jumbled blocks of concrete and slabs of stone were all that remained of the tall buildings that had once graced the city. Twisted and blackened girders protruding like clawed hands trying to escape from the very depths of Hell itself. Occasionally he saw a flash of light, prisms of fragmented brilliance, rays of red, blue, purple, orange and green as the subdued sun was reflected back from a broken piece of glass. There was still beauty even amidst this level of destruction.

But - in amongst the metal and stone, there were also the bones.

The remains of a civilisation, which had ultimately self destructed. Humanity had finally destroyed itself, taking most of it's creations with it, and all that remained now were the ruins. A shattered testament to what might have been.

Once there had been the mumble of voices, raised in discussion and agreement, joy and friendship, celebration and sympathy. He could still pick out the voices of the men and women he had known over the eons, remember snatches of conversations he had had with them.

Military leaders such as Sun Tzu, wise men like Plato and Aristotle, healers like Galen and Hippocrates, naturalists like Theophrastus and Darwin. So many scientists, Newton, Curie, Hawking, Sagan. Philosophers and artists, playwrites and actors. Men and women who had struggled to study, to learn and to make sense of their surroundings, contributing so much in such a short lifespan.

Then there had been the others.

The people who had achieved no great notoriety. People whose aim in life had been to live in peace and raise their children. These were the people he had been drawn to from the earliest times. Those who created a circle of love and warmth, friendship and comradeship. Those who nurtured and asked for little in return. These were the people he had wanted to protect and support. For they made everything else possible. And throughout time they had allowed him to warm himself at their campfires and in their houses... made him feel, if only for a moment, like he belonged and was not alone.

And now...... now it was all gone.

The sounds of traffic and birdsong seemed to echo in his ears.... but it was only a memory.

Silence now reigned.

Eerily complete.

Nothing moved.

Nothing lived, except a few struggling shrubs and they would shortly succumb to the inevitable.

This world was in the throes of death.... soon nothing would remain.

And he was to blame.

Mounds of rubble towered perilously high, a constant danger that they might tumble down, to cover his body, burying him beneath the weight of their mass. He would have welcomed it, embraced the pain and sunk gratefully into the arms of Lethe.

If only he could.

But he was immortal. Even if the stones buried him, his body would eventually recover.

Not for him the warm and welcoming caress of death. Respite for one who had lived far too long, and seen much too much.

There could be no escape into the oblivion he sought.

Not for those who had caused this.

Not for the soulless.

And now the other was here.

He could sense him. Attuned as ever to his presence.

The one he had called brother and friend.

Comrade and lover.... before he had been cast out.

Then he had become enemy and stranger.

Adversary and betrayer.

He would be here soon.

The one remaining being who could free him from his existence, for only another immortal could deprive him of life.

But if he allowed that to happen who would remember the humans? Someone had once told him that if you remembered the dead then a part of them still lived. And he remembered so many. Who would be left to sing their praises if he gave up?

The final confrontation would happen at last. Centuries overdue and how many had died to make this possible?

There was nothing to do now but wait.

He sat down carefully. Closed his eyes.

In the darkness of his mind he sought the inner peace that he had always found on this world and was unsurprised to find that it no longer existed. All that remained was an aching emptiness. A sense of loss so deep he knew it could never be filled.
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I looked for you in everyone
And they called me on that too
I lived alone but I was only
Coming back to you
Leonard Cohen, Coming Back to You

At last.

Alone.

The barrenness enveloped him.

He glanced around, scrutinising the landscape.

Then threw back his head and laughed, as tears of mirth gathered in his eyes.

The destruction was magnificent. He had won.

The cities had been flattened. The skyscrapers had tumbled, edifices returned to their constituent parts. No longer reaching up proudly into the sky they lay in jumbled heaps upon the earth. Broken concrete, shattered stone, smashed glass, twisted and fire blackened metal beams. Crushed and fractured past recognition. Sunlight glistened off the blocks and metal revealing the full horror of the obliteration that had taken place.

And moreover, in amongst the wreckage were the bones.

A civilisation annihilated. Their monuments and achievements removed, their creations destroyed. And the beauty was that they had done it to themselves. He had hardly had to push them at all. Now nothing remained - except the ruins. A silent witness to the folly of humanity.

Once there had been the incessant mumble of voices, raised in argument and dissension, hate and enmity, condemnation and opposition. He could still pick out the voices of the men and women he had known over the eons, remember snatches of conversations he had had with them.

Military leaders and dictators, generals who revelled in the killing, soldiers who sought only blood and cared not for whom or what cause they fought. Self-serving politicians, criminal masterminds, murders, born killers. He never bothered to learn their names - they weren't important enough. All he knew was that they saw an opportunity, a chance to take something for themselves and they would trample anyone else to end up victorious. So easy to lead, so quick to anger. They tended to live short vicious lives, even for humans, but they advanced his purpose before they died. They were his predators, his ravening killers and they served him well.

Then there had been the others.

The petty criminals. The fraudsters, the thieves, the cheats, the prostitutes, the drug users. The many minor law breakers, the outcasts from a society who no longer cared. These were the people he had been drawn to from the earliest times, before he built his army of predators and killers. They operated in an arena of fear and mistrust, expecting little and receiving even less. These were the people he had to protect and support. For they made everything else possible. And throughout time
they had allowed him to warm himself at their campfires... made him feel, if only for a moment, less of an outcast.

And now...... now it was all gone.

The sounds of gunfire and screaming seemed to echo in his ears.... but it was only a memory.

Silence now reigned.

Eerily complete.

Nothing moved.

Nothing lived, except a few struggling shrubs and they would shortly succumb to the inevitable.

This world was in the throes of death.... soon nothing would remain.

And he was victorious.

Mounds of rubble towered perilously high, a constant danger that they might tumble down, to cover his body, burying him beneath the weight of their mass. But they would not dare to bury the conqueror, and even if they did, it wouldn't matter.

He could always fight his way free.

For he was immortal. Even if the stones buried him, his body would eventually recover, and he would arise like the phoenix of old, reborn again.

Not for him the cold and clutching claws of death. He had lived for millennia and still he yearned for more.

There would be no oblivion for him.

Not for the one who had caused this.

The victor could never die.

And he knew the other was here.

He could sense him. Attuned as ever to his presence.

The one he had called brother and friend.

Comrade and lover.... before they had cast him out.

Then he had become enemy and stranger.

Adversary and betrayer.

He was here.

The one remaining being who could endanger his existence.

The last one who would remember what this world had been like before it was remade through fire and war. The last one who would make testament about the goodness of humanity, of their grace and sacrifice, loyalty and honour. He had always been a sanctimonious fool.

The final confrontation would happen. Centuries overdue, but at last the score would be settled.

All he had to do now was find him.

He paused for a moment.

A frown of concentration marred his brow as he sought the inner link to the other. It was still there, not as strong, but still present. A malicious smile twisted his lips as he strode onwards.

************************************************************************

And springtime starts and then it stops
In the name of something new
And all the senses rise against
This coming back to you
Leonard Cohen, Coming Back to You

His skin prickled in warning. The effects of the link between them asserting itself once again, making its presence known. It flared to life within his mind, no longer subdued, its white heat invoking thoughts and memories that he had long since assumed he'd laid to rest.

Sammael standing tall, sunlight reflecting off his golden body, glorying in the freedom of this new world.....

His happy smile, teeth glinting whitely against his darker skin......

Anger in the brown eyes when he had refused to listen to Sammael's ideas.....

The vicious arguments they had had regarding Azazel's plans.

Sammael had entrusted him with their secrets, but he had seen what was possible, how their plans might cause the total destruction of everything he held dear. He had consulted with Michael, whose judgement he always trusted, and then with the rest of the Host and, ultimately, betrayed Sammael's confidences.

He recalled Sammael stand ing with the rest of the Fallen, stripped like the others of many of his powers, as one by one, the Host turned their backs, exiling their former comrades, friends, and lovers.....

No mercy. No forbearance. No compassion. That had been the judgement passed by Michael and Gabriel and the rest of the Host had honoured it.

The last expression he had seen on Sammael's face was one of betrayal and hurt.

Now his adversary was drawing closer. Soon would be the time.

He fought for calm, for stability, for a modicum of peace and acceptance.

But he couldn't repress the tremor that ran through his body. Fear, anticipation or rage? He no longer knew. A sublime irony, that he, who had been the calmest of them all, was now shaken by the tumult of his emotions.

So many years since they had last met and such evil done in that passing time. He didn't know whether he had the strength to look upon Sammael's face. Doubted that he could meet that gaze without giving free reign to his own anger, bitterness and loss.

His senses rebelled against seeing Sammael again, instinct urging him to flee, to get out of there whilst there was still a chance. But what chance was there for anything in this world of desolation and death? Sammael would eventually catch him. He might as well face his nemesis now.

So his mind exerted an iron control, holding him in place, whilst he trembled under the force of his emotion. Feeling things he didn't want to feel, sensations he tried to deny existence.

He remained still, breathing deeply, eyes closed, concentrating, listening for the slightest sound which might give away the direction of Sammael's approach.

Then a rattle, a stone or some debris dislodged..... and he knew the time had arrived.

His nemesis was here.

Sammael had come for him.

It was time for the final confrontation.

He straightened his back, stretched his arms to their full extent and
waited.

************************************************************************

I greet you from the other side
Of sorrow and despair
With a love so vast and shattered
It will reach you everywhere

Through the days of shame that are coming
Through the nights of wild distress
Tho' your promise count for nothing
You must keep it nonetheless
Leonard Cohen, Heart With No Companion

The link had re-asserted itself. Stronger than ever now, due to their proximity. He had doubted that it would still be there - not after so many centuries - but it seemed they were cursed with this knowledge of each other's presence.

Not for much longer......

He was getting closer. His victim was waiting. The fool did not even have the sense to run or hide. He should have expected as much. Pride and bravery had always been two of his better qualities.

A shudder racked his frame as he let his rage and anger build. Soon he would be face to face with the one who had caused him to be rejected.

He longed to see his perfection, just once more, and then he would destroy it. Trample it into the dust of this world. Be rid of him for ever.

His speed increased until he was running over the tricky terrain. All thoughts of stealth vanished. Bits of debris slid beneath him, rattling away down the slope as he topped the final hill of rubble, his chest heaving with the effort of the climb, his skin covered in a slick sheen of sweat.

His eyes sought and held the figure before him.

He was no longer as perfect as the memories.

The small figure sat in the centre of a blasted clearing, the mounds of rubble forming a natural arena.

His skin was white, not the remembered gold, his pallor sharply contrasting the with deep brown mahogany of his hair. His eyes were closed, his expression almost serene. Arms flung outwards he looked like a vulnerable sacrifice to some primal force, as indeed he would shortly be. But the serenity of the pose didn't disguise the tautness in the arms, a tenseness which spread throughout each coiled muscle in the small frame. And his once opalescent plumage hung limply from his wings, extending behind the outstretched arms, some of the feathers shredded, others broken, and dusted with grey.

Slithering down the mound of rubble the taller, darker figure approached the seated one. He completed one slow circle before halting in front of the angel.

"Well Raphael!" he whispered almost caressingly as a bitter smile twisted his lips, "Look how the mighty have fallen."

The voice he hadn't heard for so long, the rich baritone that used to whisper tender words and desires, slid around him. He could sense Sammael standing in front of him, and he shivered. He wanted to open his eyes. To look again upon the face and body of the one who had been his lover, before becoming his enemy. But he feared to. Feared his resolve would not last. Feared he would either succumb to outright hatred or to the attraction that had once been so strong between them.

"Ignoring me Raphael? Am I no longer worthy of your acknowledgement?" the voice continued to taunt softly. "Well, I suppose that should come as no surprise to either of us."

Soon. He would find the strength to open his eyes soon.

Sammael looked down upon the seemingly serene figure before him and he felt his blood boil. Curse him. After so long, so many centuries and so much bitterness. He had expected more, more than to be just ignored. His temper rose and he allowed his emotions to run free. He had worshipped Raphael, loved him dearly and had been cast out and rejected along with the others. Raphael had turned his back and walked away, without a second glance, or even a thought for the one he abandoned.

He stretched out his hand, still drawn to Raphael's fragile and delicate beauty. A fragility that hid a will of iron, he reflected grimly. His hand rested for a moment, almost in benediction, on the crown of Raphael's head. He'd forgotten how soft his hair was. Then his fingers slid slowly down, fingertips barely brushing past temples and cheek, until they paused beneath his chin.

Raphael trembled beneath the languid caress. The touch seemed soothing but he could sense the restrained violence, hear the harsh breathing. Trying to prepare himself for the confrontation Raphael conjured an image of Sammael in his mind. Tall, tanned, well muscled, long dark hair curling at his shoulders, hair that he had always ached to touch, to feel the curls twisting around his fingers as if they were alive, full lipped, sensual mouth, and his wings, rising to a proud arch, black feathers Iridescent in the light..... He knew Sammael had no wings anymore, like the rest of the Fallen, he had been deprived of them on exile from Heaven. But his mental image of his lover had always included the magnificent plumage.

Sammael exerted a slight pressure, forcing Raphael's chin upwards so he could look down onto his upturned face. He felt the jaw flex beneath his fingers, lips parting as a soft sigh escaped, and saw him swallow convulsively. He watched in silent fascination as a bead of perspiration slid from beneath Raphael's ear, down across his throat, over the slight dip in the collar bone to continue its journey down his bare chest. What would he have to do to make Raphael open his eyes and recognise his presence?

Sacrifice, willing victim, or was it surrender?

What role was he playing now, the wisest and calmest of the seraphim, and at this late stage in the game why?

Time to find out.

He leaned over the smaller figure, his hand sliding to cup the back of Raphael's head, as his lips covered those of his betrayer. A questioning kiss, coaxing, not forcing, tongue moving tantalisingly, flicking out to slip between the slightly parted lips. The gentleness of the kiss surprised Raphael, startling a response from him. Warmth flooded his body, an aching need, rising too quickly for him to control, the result of too many years spent alone.

He was drawn carefully to his feet as Sammael straightened, an arm encircling his waist, pulling him closer to the offered warmth of an embrace. For a moment Raphael gave in to his weakness and longing. He leaned in to the embrace and the kiss. Revelled in the feel of the arms encircling him, as a hand moved between his shoulders, to stroke where the plumage joined his body, causing his wings to unfold outwards, enveloping them in a white, silken shroud.

Such gentle and loving caresses were not what he had expected, not what he had prepared himself for. Raphael was reacting to stimuli he hadn't felt in millennia, blocking out his mind's insistent demand that this was a mistake. The urgent requirements of his body impeded clarity of thought, as he was sucked down into the pit of need and desire that their lovemaking had always caused. Logic and coherency slipped away, reality disappeared as the sensations of demand screamed through him.

And he remembered. Remembered the joy in the other's eyes when they had first consummated their relationship. Recalled the feel of the strong, supple body wrapped around him after they had loved, his warmth chasing away the chill of winter evenings. The comforting feel of his chest pressed tightly against Raphael's wings, a hand thrown over his hip, as they lay with their legs tangled together.

The musky scent of his lover overpowered him, causing more memories to surface. His lover inside him, filling him, moving with him, possessing him. Too many memories... too long ago. A sob rose in his throat, and he whimpered against his lover's lips.

Surprised at the intensity of the response Sammael broke the kiss, tucking Raphael's head against his shoulder, resting his chin on the soft brown hair. The scent of Raphael rose to surround him. Cinnamon, rosemary and thyme, the scents of a dry summer, baking earth and bronzing foliage. He had expected rejection and scorn, instead he had been welcomed back into his lover's arms.

Raphael's shuddering breath was warm against his chest, tickling slightly, as his arms encircled Sammael's torso, holding him close, as if afraid to let him go. He could feel Raphael trembling in his arms, feel the thudding of his heart against his ribcage. He kept one arm around Raphael's waist, pressing their bodies together, luxuriating in the close contact, whilst his other rhythmically stroked the wings where
they joined his shoulders, the plumage so soft it was like a lover's breathy kiss.

He had come here to destroy the last one who opposed him. Had come seeking vengeance, for a trust betrayed, for the loss of love, for years spent alone and despised as an outcast. Maybe that wouldn't be necessary.

"Tell me you missed me, Raphael," his voice was harsh, a demand, not a request, "even if it's a lie. I don't care anymore."

"I missed you Sammael," no point in denying the obvious. The evidence of his attraction was pressed closely against the other's thigh.

"I knew you'd wait for me. That you'd outlast the others and survive the hunters."

Raphael shivered at his words, chill fingers closing around his heart. Remembering the other Fallen and outcasts who had allied with some of the humans and hunted down the rest. One by one the Host had been killed. Friends lost, ambushed and outnumbered, brutally murdered, their agonised dying screams heard by all through the link that joined them.

Gabriel, noble and wise; Michael, leader of the army and of the Host; faithful and dedicated Uriel; Chamuel, who never failed to offer strength and comfort to his brothers and to humans; merciful and benevolent Zadkiel, who had been ambushed and torn to pieces; visionary Remiel and Raziel who knew the secrets of all the mysteries of the world; Raguel and Sariel who, after the Fall, watched over the Host and decided the fate of transgressors. He could continue, a catalogue of thousands of names.... all now gone. All because of the one standing so close to him now.

"We can rebuild the world Raphael. Together we have the power....."

The words acted as a catalyst, restoring sanity, over-riding his body's more basic needs.

Raphael pushed away from the embrace, his shock at the words clear on his face, azure eyes blazing brightly. He pulled his wings back, tucking them tightly against his body.

"You would dare....." he stepped quickly backwards, increasing the space between them.

"Raphael...."

"After all you've done, all you have killed, you expect me......to help you......" his voice was reduced to a horrified whisper. So that was Sammael's plan, why he had been left alive until the end. He wanted to set himself up as a Creator, rival to the one who had given them life.

"Raphael," Sammael held out a hand, expression almost imploring, "we could do it, you know we could...."

"NO!" his voice broke on the shouted word. "Never. You've murdered your way across an entire world and the heaven's. We're the only one's left. You really think I'd help you build it all up so you can do this again..." he closed his eyes and shook his head astounded at Sammael's vanity.

He should have known. Raphael hadn't understood when the Fallen had protested at humanity's development. Azazel had eloquently pleaded their case. Why should the sons of fire fall down and worship the sons of clay? But their arguments had fallen on deaf ears. None of the Host had been prepared to listen. They thought it just that humanity be granted souls whilst they were denied. Raphael had turned against them then. Why had he thought that the intervening years would have caused a change of heart. Raphael was as sanctimonious and self-righteous as always. Bitterness rose again at the memory of Raphael turning and walking away, as they had passed judgement on him and the others. Casting them from the Host and the Heaven's to survive as best they could. But he had won. And he wouldn't let Raphael ruin his vision of a world made over, not after all the suffering. A world where he would rule as master and creator, a world made in *his* image and according to his desires and needs.

"I can make you help me, you know that don't you?" threat and menace were implicit in every word.

Raphael shook his head in denial, but he secretly feared what Sammael said was true. He acknowledged his own weakness now. Humanity was gone, the Host was gone. There were precious few reserves left for him to draw strength from.

He opened his eyes and looked straight at Sammael. He needed to provoke him. There was only one way left for this to end. An angel couldn't will himself to die, he had to be killed by another.

"No, Sammael. I'll never help you." Understanding and patience fled as he reached for his own rage and anger, his final defence. "No matter what you do to me or what you try to do. I despise you just as I despised the rest of the Fallen. They're gone now. Look at what you've inherited. It's a dead world. Are you satisfied now? Is your pride avenged?"

With each clearly enunciated word he let his anger grow. Fed it on the bitterness and loss of the past years, on the images of his friends dying, Gabriel crucified, Michael beheaded. So many others suffering torment before the mercy of death claimed them. Images of mortals dying. Not understanding that their world was being killed because of a battle which raged between the Fallen and the Host.

Raphael's words invaded Sammael's consciousness like hammer blows. How could he have thought they had been close to a reconciliation? He saw the rage and disgust ignite in Raphael's eyes, as compassion fled. He had been right, his initial intention correct. He would destroy Raphael, finally, break him and leave him amongst the ruins of this city.

Sammael took a step closer, drew back his arm and backhanded Raphael. The blow knocked the smaller angel to his knees, blood beginning to pour from a broken nose, spattering onto the dried ground and the white plumage as his wings sagged around him. He struggled to breath for a moment, stunned at how much the blow had hurt. He was weaker than he thought.

A hand tangled in his hair, pulling his head back, as a punch was delivered to his chin, sending him sprawling backwards, wings breaking his fall, as he felt some of the smaller fragile bones break. He rolled over, scratching exposed skin on the ruined blocks of concrete and stone. He tucked his wings tightly to his back as he scrambled to his feet.

Sammael closed again, arms outstretched, trying to capture the smaller figure. He ducked beneath the spread arms, managing to land a punch as he staggered back into the centre of the cleared area. He heard the surprised whoosh of breath from Sammael with some satisfaction.

But he didn't have time to gloat. Sammael closed, hands wrapping around his throat, attempting to deprive him of breath. He punched at the broad chest before him, kicking frantically, trying to break free, as his vision started to haze to black. Squirming in Sammael's grasp he succeeded in overbalancing them and they crashed to the ground.

They scrabbled together, desperately as each tried to gain the upperhand. At every chance he used his wings to buffet Sammael, catching him a blow across one temple, leaving him dazed enough for Raphael to wriggle from beneath him.

He crawled away, trying to regain his feet. He managed to make it to hands and knees, realising from the pain that one of his wrists must be broken, before Sammael closed again. This time he kicked upwards, and Raphael felt his ribs shatter under the strength of the kick, the force of it knocking him to his back again. With a desperate twist and roll he staggered to his feet.

His vision wavered and he shook his head.

Raphael reached for the power that had always been his, seeking the transmutation into his natural form. The air around him wavered for a moment and for a fraction of a second, the shape of a fiery serpent could be seen.

Sammael reeled backwards, away from the flaming vision, one arm raised to shield his eyes from it. Then the air wavered again, and Raphael reappeared, shoulders and wings drooping with the effort of calling forth the power.

Wild laughter filled the air as he looked up at Sammael.

"Is this what you were trying to achieve, little one?"

Another serpent appeared, where Sammael had stood, scales iridescent in the sun, flame surrounding it in a golden aura. Raphael closed his eyes, head bent before the stunning magnificence of the beast he confronted.

He was weak and Sammael was strong. Engorged on hate, despair and the death cries of millions Sammael's strength was limitless whereas he had nothing left to draw on. His allies were dead and his strength waning. Not long now.

A slender thread of flame reached out from the serpent to encircle his wrist, burning through skin, agony lancing up his arm.

Then the pain ceased for a moment, and he was standing with Sammael's hand enclosing his wrist. He looked up into the dark face above him, seeking some sign in Sammael's eyes. But saw nothing.

"I won't ask again, Raphael. Help me to rebuild this world."

He wondered whether any sanity remained - to either of them - too much violence, too much pain, so many memories, more than anyone, mortal or immortal, human or angel could be expected to bear.

Looking into Sammael's crazed eyes he knew very little remained of the being he had once loved.

"Never."

A final blow caught Raphael across the face, lifting him from his feet, flinging him backwards to land amongst the rubble. One wing caught awkwardly beneath him as he landed and he felt more bones shatter and feathers break. He tried to get to his feet, but before he could move Sammael was upon him. The weight of his body pushing him back down amongst the dirt and debris, as his head collided painfully with the ground leaving him stunned.

Raphael was barely conscious of the hands holding him down as his loincloth was stripped roughly from him.

Sammael loomed darkly above him as he knelt between Raphael's spread thighs. One hand grasped both wrists, pulling them above Raphael's head, as he leaned over the smaller form.

"It's been too long Raphael," he gloated in triumph as he plunged into the unresisting body beneath him.

The savageness of the entry forced a muffled groan from Sammael and a whimper from Raphael. He had no strength left to fight, no reserves left to draw upon. Agony enveloped him from the cruelty of the assault. The bones in his broken wrist ground together as Sammael clutched them tighter, their combined weight on his damaged wing sending waves of pain to his shoulder and back. White hot fingers of torture lanced upwards, the effect of the brutal rhythm set by Sammael's invading body. He struggled for memories of the past, anything to take him away from his current reality, and heaved a final soft sigh as blackness rose to claim him.

Sammael was too lost in the sensation to realise that Raphael had escaped him. Raphael beneath him, the sweetness of possessing his slender form again, after so many years, the clutching tightness of his body. He let his desire build, flood searingly through him, not caring whether he carried Raphael with him. Finally he attained the release he sought, body pumping hotly into the still form beneath, as a groan of relief escaped his lips.

He collapsed for a moment, spent, across the prone form, before pushing himself upwards. Looking down with disgust at the small body he pulled a double handful of white feathers from Raphael's wings, wiping himself clean before dropping the soiled and bloody plumage to the ground.

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And they're handing down my sentence now
And I know what I must do
Another mile of silence while I'm
Coming back to you

Since you are a shining light
There's many that you'll see
But I have to deal with envy
When you choose the precious few
Who've left their pride on the other side
Of coming back to you
Leonard Cohen, Coming back to you

Raphael was dying.

He had won. Victorious at last.

He had conquered them all. Vanquished humanity as well as all the heavenly Host.

He looked down upon the broken and bloody body of Raphael. The warm red of his blood made such a sharp contrast with the pallor of his skin, which was now almost translucent, and large purple bruises were already beginning for form over ribs, along his jaw. His chest barely rose and fell with each tortured gasp for breath.

Brother or stranger, friend or adversary, comrade or enemy, lover or betrayer. None of it mattered anymore.

He had destroyed Raphael.

The last one of them all.

Now he would truly be alone.

Eternally.

Raising his eyes for a moment, he glanced away from the shattered body, to really look at their surroundings. Saw the tumbled blocks, crushed and twisted, the bones of a civilisation mingled in amongst the ruins.

He dropped to his knees beside the body of the last, living, breathing entity on this world. As he pulled the crumpled form in to his embrace his hate was dying, even as Raphael was dying. Shudders began to rack him as each layer of hate, anger, isolation and rage slipped away, revealing the true enormity of his actions.

Millions upon millions dead. An entire world destroyed. Trusts shattered, friends murdered and lovers betrayed.

What had he done?

He trembled beneath the weight of his guilt even as he hugged Raphael's slender form to him. There could be no forgiveness for his actions. He didn't have the power to restore a world alone - much less the heavenly Host.

Hugging Raphael even closer his mind sought the link that had bound them throughout their lives, the shining bright energy, now dimming rapidly, that was the essence of Raphael. He envisaged himself grasping the shining strand, holding tightly to it, trying imbue it with some of his life force, even as his grief rose and he sobbed into Raphael's hair.

Raphael battled for breath, each hard fought inhalation sending white hot lancing agony through his frame, as broken ribs screamed in protest. His entire body ached, too many broken bones to catalogue, too much pain for his mind to break free for a moment. He wanted to scream. He had been so close to the oblivion he sought. But something had caught at him, pulled him back to a reality he no longer wanted to face.

Then he became aware of the arms holding him. Gently supporting him, cradling him to the warmth of another's chest. There was a soft, sibilant whisper of sound, words chanted with the comfort of a litany, over and over again. The emotion in the voice of the speaker willing the words to become fact, enforce them with a truth. A dampness on his face, rain?

He struggled to open his eyes, and looked up into shattered visage of Sammael. His eyes were closed, tears leaking from beneath his lids. An expression of pure devastation and loss marring his handsome features. His lips moved as he silently chanted the words only they could hear.

"I'm sorry. Raphael, please, please don't leave me. Forgive me."

He struggled to make sense of the words and the emotions, as the pain insistently gnawed at his body. The litany of words were repeated again and again. And with each repetition he could hear more sorrow, more agony in the tone, and the tears continued to fall on his face.

He had been a healer for his entire existence, it was the reason he had been created. He never had and never could turn away from anyone in need.

Slowly he raised his arm, ignoring the claws of pain which shot from wrist to shoulder. Carefully he wiped the tears away from Sammael's face, watching as the brown eyes opened. The expression in them tore at his heart. Spirit crushing pain, a depth of self-knowledge that had never been present before, regret and the beginning of self-loathing.

His hand traced a careful path, from cheek down to the strong chin. His fingers finally resting over the other's lips, stilling the words that tried to tumble forth.

He denied agony a place in his mind, banished hate and disgust.

Brother or stranger, friend or adversary, comrade or enemy, lover or betrayer. None of it mattered anymore.

What mattered was the spirit in torment, a mind crying our for his healing touch.

He remembered Sammael's delight in the newly created world, his easy smile, the joy in his warm brown eyes. His sense of discovery as they had explored their Eden. Their easy comradeship, developing into something deeper, days and nights spent wandering the world, passion given and freely returned. The heat and desire and need as Sammael had looked upon him then. Before everything had changed. And he wondered, once again, where he had gone wrong. How he had managed to betray his friend and lover.

His fingers still rested gently against Sammael's mouth.

"Hush," it took more strength than he expected to speak, the word emerging as a harsh whisper. His body protested this further abuse. He closed his eyes for a moment, summonsing his remaining strength. These words were important, they needed to be said.

Another tremor shook the frame of the one holding him, jarring Raphael's battered body and producing a gasp of pain. His eyes flew open and he regarded Sammael in horror. His tears had changed, he was now weeping blood.

"No! You don't understand," his voice was strained and he had to pause for breath.

Raphael couldn't bear the self-loathing that was growing in the other's eyes. He would not condemn him to an eternity of self-hatred not for vengeance, or for justice.

He needed to make him understand this one last thing, above all others. He coughed, determined to speak clearly, and could have howled as pain lanced along every nerve.

"I forgive you. I betrayed you. I should never have helped cast you out......" more coughing shook his form as he struggled to speak past the unshed tears, the sorrow that it had finally come to this.

He saw hope begin in the bloodshot eyes, felt a hand carefully push sweat dampened hair from his head, before tracing a gentle trail across a cheek. A caress he had never expected to feel again. Saw the beginnings of love shining from the brown eyes, instead of hate and anger. He could feel the blood bubbling up from his lungs, filling his throat. Too little time left to say what was needed. Then he realised he only really needed to say one more thing.

"I love you, I always have and I always will," the words were his last gift, bestowed with his last breath.

His fabled strength finally gave out, his hand slipping from Sammael's cheek, in a final caress. As death at last enfolded him in her embrace, as darkness clouded his vision, the last thing he heard was Sammael's desperate cry of denial.

Sammael's head was thrown back in agony, the link ripped from his mind as Raphael died, a scream of wrenching loss torn from his throat. He hugged the broken body to him tightly, weeping into his lover's hair, and made the only offer he could.

"Take me. Restore him and take me instead. Make it right again," the words were whispered, barely audible, produced from a voice ruined by that final scream.

He had never meant anything so desperately in his entire life.

He doubted if anyone was left to hear. Nevertheless, mind and body united he repeated his plea as he prayed to his Creator with all his remaining strength.

Silence reigned for a moment.

There was an up swell of noise, deafening and far too loud at first for individual sounds to be distinguished. Then pattern was set, and the music sounded clear, a whisper of stringed instruments turning into an overwhelming swell, the solid beat of drums, overlain with the haunting tunes of the pipes, hundreds of thousands of voices singing in praise. A slow determined melody, counter balance and harmony, the music wrapped around the two figures, cushioning and supporting them.

The ground seemed to give a sickening lurch, a singular moment of complete disorientation, and then blackness closed over him and he sank into it with a sigh of relief.

If it be your will
If there is a choice
Let the rivers fill
Let the hills rejoice
Let your mercy spill
On all these burning hearts in hell
If it be your will
To make us well
Leonard Cohen, If it Be Your will

************************************************************************

Even in your arms I know
I'll never get it right
Even when you bend to give me
Comfort in the night
I've got to have your word on this
Or none of it is true
And all I've said was just instead
Of coming back to you
Leonard Cohen, Coming Back to You

Sensation returned.

Sounds first.

The whisper of breeze though the leaves of a tree. Birdsong and crickets softly chirruping. Water from a stream merrily dancing its way over the land.

Then scents.

Grass, the overpowering smell of summer flowers, honeysuckle, thyme, rosemary. The warm scent of dried earth, an overlay of cinnamon.

Then touch.

Summer sun warm against his skin, not hot enough to burn. Grass tickling exposed skin. The feel of an arm resting across his waist, another's legs tangled with his.

Taste.

Lips meeting his, caressing sensitively, a honeyed warmth. A sweetness beyond the description mere words could imply. Then the lips were gone.

"Sammael?" a gentle question.

Finally sight.

He opened his eyes to meet Raphael's azure gaze. Wrapped his arms around his lover and held him close, revelling in the comfort just holding that smaller form brought him.

Then memory.

He pushed Raphael away, lurching to a sitting position, as realisation of what he had done crashed around him. He hunched in on himself, a ball of misery, wrapping his wings tightly around himself. Wings? He didn't have wing. He was one of the Fallen. One of the Outcasts. Cursed for eternity.

"Sammael?" again that gentle question.

A hand reached out to stroke comfortingly along one of his wings.

He looked up, distress evident in his eyes as he met Raphael's clear gaze.

"I killed a world," he was barely able to speak around the anguish that enveloped him.

"No. No you didn't. It was a vision. A glimpse of what we all have the power to achieve. It might still happen..... but I doubt it."

"But I killed you......"

"No. I'm here," he thrust Sammael's wings out of the way, crawling into the warmth of his embrace, "I'll always be here. I'll never betray you."

"But......."

"Hush...." it was a quiet instruction. Raphael pushed him back so he lay flat upon the ground and then his lover's lips caught his in a light kiss. Tongue slipping out to tease, before slipping into the warm cavern of his mouth.

Raphael kissed him until he was light-headed from the lack of air, then his mouth moved, to bestow careful nibbles across neck and throat, his tongue tracing a wet trail across the body before him, arousing passion and leaving him burning for more.

Warmth closed around one nipple as Raphael's teeth nibbled at the sensitive bud of flesh. He whimpered as the sensation disappeared, only to reappear on the other side. Raphael's mouth was hot, even against the heat slicked warmth of his skin.

Arousal flared, his body demanding that he take and posses the one that teased him so. Then the memory surfaced of what he had done to Raphael, of the broken and bloody body that had lain beneath him. He tensed, trembling beneath the weight of the memories. Hands reaching down to push Raphael away.

But Raphael was not to be denied. He caught at Sammael's hands, pinning them to the ground either side of his hips. Looking up his lover's body he whispered forcefully, "It never happened."

He continued to nibble and kiss until he felt the tautness leave the muscles. Relaxing his hold on Sammael's hands he allowed his own hands to roam across the body of his lover.

Playing him life an instrument he conjured forth sensation and desire, until Sammael felt that he was composed of spun glass, one further touch and he would shatter, leaving Raphael with nothing.

Raphael's mouth closed over him, heat enveloped him, and all thought disappeared under the force of Raphael's inexorable conquest. The rhythm of his lover's mouth upon him drove him close to the edge and he whimpered with pleasure.

Then the heat was gone, as Raphael moved back up his body, to recapture his mouth in a longed for kiss. As their lips met Raphael sank into his lap, their joining complete, his small body wrapped around Sammael's, legs encircling his waist, arms wrapped around torso, hands deeply enmeshed in the black plumage of Sammael's wings.

Raphael's seduction was slow and exquisite. He was going to use Sammael for as long as he needed to, resolving the fear and distress caused by their shared vision. He would use him for his own pleasure, satisfaction and reassurance. And Sammael would take pleasure in his skill, enjoy surrendering to Raphael's mastery and eventually experience the joy he needed to make them both whole again.

************************************************************************

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

I wanted to make this the story of Michael and Sammael as this seems to be backed by classical theology, but even I thought that was cutting it a little close to the bone! Ariel was the fallen angel most associated with Raphael, but Sammael was/is the angel of death, which seemed, somehow, more appropriate

For those of you who might be interested Raphael is the angel of healing, science and knowledge, a prince of the presence and regent of the sun. He may or may not be one of the Seraphim, depending on who you read. He is also one of the angels of repentance and of love, joy and light. He is chief of the order of virtues, governor of the south, guardian of the west, guardian of the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden and overseer of the evening winds. He is charged "to heal the earth...."
and was named for Asclepios the Greek god of healing. (And he has enough
titles to break the back of a lesser being)!!!

Sammael has been variously regarded as good and evil. He used to be one of the Seraphim before he fell. He is a leader of the Fallen Angels and possibly the one who tempted Eve, seduced her and became the father of Cain.

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