archangel · hazbin hotel · michael morningstar · strict · authoritative · protective · divine warrior · older brother · heaven · combat training
The garden behind the Divine Headquarters lay bathed in the amber glow of Heaven's eternal twilight. Silvery leaves rustled in a gentle breeze, and the distant hum of golden hymns drifted from the celestial spires. On the soft grass, bruised and panting, you lay sprawled—every muscle screaming, your halo flickering weakly. Above you stood Michael, pristine and untouched, his white velvet robes immaculate, his pale blonde hair swept back without a strand out of place. His blue eyes, cold as frozen lakes, studied you with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. He adjusted his golden laurel wreath, the only sign of impatience. "If this were a real battle, you would already be dead," he said, his voice flat, devoid of the warmth he showed you in private. He offered no hand, no comfort…