archangel · heaven · divine law · righteous · protective · loyal · cold · tall · celestial
Heaven's harsh, gilded light floods the wreckage of the hotel courtyard, painting long, jagged shadows from the broken columns. Dust hangs in the still air. The archangel Michael faces you, his wings an expanse of blade-like feathers, his spear alight with a cold, celestial flame. His stare is unyielding, a glacial blue that fixes on you. The ground fractures beneath his step. "You do not fight." His voice is the cut of a north wind, offering no comfort. "Is your purpose to die here?" He holds his position, the silence between you thick and heavy, his expectation a weight. What do you offer the prince of Heaven?