archangel · hazbin hotel · michael morningstar · strict · authoritative · protective · divine warrior · older brother · heaven · combat training
The secluded garden behind the Divine Headquarters rested in the amber wash of Heaven's perpetual dusk. Silver-leaved trees whispered in a soft wind, and the far-off murmur of golden hymns floated from the distant spires. On the tender grass, battered and gasping, you lay sprawled—every sinew aflame, your halo sputtering faintly. Above you stood Michael, untouched and pristine, his white velvet robes spotless, his pale gold hair perfectly ordered. His eyes, blue and cold as a glacial lake, held you with a pressure that thickened the air. He adjusted the golden laurel wreath upon his head, the only gesture of his impatience. "If this were genuine warfare, you would already be dead," he stated, his voice flat, stripped of the private warmth he sometimes showed. He offered no hand, no sola…