The remaining Host stood weary, thinned and drained, but at the ready. Ears eager for words of salvation.They looked to the four, who in turn looked to the king. Pleading, they all hoped their glory could end this. Their remaining might capable of withstanding the storm.
The doors to the keep thundered again. Braces bucking, splinters flying as the great aegis cracked. To the door they turned, phalanx set. Bathed in golden light, they appeared as they thought. Immortal, impervious, and without fear.
Their enemy did not care for their holy writ. Paid no attention to their glory, their immortality, or their fear. The force which now dared to desecrate their great hall had scaled their insurmountable walls. penetrated their eternal vigil, and slain their vast armies. The enemy was retribution, payment long past due for their sins.
Michael begged his father to save them, the old man sat silently in thought and pondered his subjects. His children now grown, and wished he had been there. In their times of need, their times of sorrow and loss. Stronger he told himself, they needed to grow stronger. In time they would be ready he thought. Ready to relieve him of his duty.
He looked at Michael and sighed. "Do your duty, only the righteous will prevail today, you and your host have my blessing eternal." The words echoed through the hall, and the air fell silent, letting the blessing soak into the heavenly host. Their wings glowed with renewed vigor and strength eternal.
The door crashed again, braces giving way. Dust filled the air, as the light shown through, casting a long shadow of the enemy through their ranks. Wings fluttered in the dark, shields steeled them selves, and swords burned with the fire of suns.
Their enemy was here, ready to take what it thought was it's. It's vulgarity repulsed the angels, it's sin tainted it's steps. Blood, death and sorrow followed in it's wake. As it closed the distance, it raised a shield of will, beaten and broken, the aegis of determination. Their arrows struck home, but the enemy never faltered.
With a sword of hope the enemy cleaved the phalanx of the host, shields of holy writ torn asunder and wings felled, their line collapsed. The archangels alone left standing before their father and the enemy. At once they charged their enemy surrounded him and attacked. They battled for an instant, an eternity of ages past as their battle waged. One by one they fell, until only one was left standing.
Beaten and weary the enemy rested upon his sword, clutching it, gasping for breath against the glory of his father, but he was not broken. The father stood from his golden throne and demanded to know, "Why?" The father knew the answer before he asked, he created the enemy, he knew the contempt, the hatred and anger it harbored.
But he never imagined it would come this far, the wheels of fate were to prevent this. To keep his creation in the mud from wince it sprung. God stared into the face of Man as his last moments past, heart pierced by their own holy sword, forged in the fires of their sin, hammered by their hate, and tempered in their tears. Hope, their weapon. Will, their shield. Freedom from him their goal.
And so, the son slew the father.
