Shaking, Uriel forced himself to regain control of himself enough to pick up his sword again. He was in extreme pain, worse than he'd ever felt before, but he had a duty to fulfill. The Presence was now out of his reach, he knew it was there but he couldn't feel it, but he would survive. He had to. He'd come here for a reason.
Very, very slowly, he forced himself to go past Michael's kneeled form -- except that it wasn't Michael, not anymore -- and walk towards Raphael. Each step hurt -- each passing second hurt, the Presence no more surrounding him, supporting him -- but he still went on.
The most his eyes agreed to see were hazy forms only vaguely resembling angels, his eyes still almost completely adjusted to the level of Presence. He saw two auras, one blue and one yellow, streaked with white. This time, however, his vision was not blocked by his own aura, for it was gone, leaving him weak and pained, yet determined. This was his purpose, what he had been Created for. He would fulfill his duty no matter how much it hurt, no matter how badly he was torn apart himself every time he struck down an angel.
Yet in his mind he hoped, no, prayed that Raphael -- or perhaps Gabriel -- would do something, anything, that would stop this from happening. If he had to Fell another archangel, he would break completely. He couldn't survive that, he simply couldn't. Even now he only wanted to die.
"Raphael," he said quietly, raising his sword, forcing his hand to stay steady even though all he wanted to do was to break down and creep into some corner weeping and trembling. "Michael was not the one I came for."
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Very, very slowly, he forced himself to go past Michael's kneeled form -- except that it wasn't Michael, not anymore -- and walk towards Raphael. Each step hurt -- each passing second hurt, the Presence no more surrounding him, supporting him -- but he still went on.
The most his eyes agreed to see were hazy forms only vaguely resembling angels, his eyes still almost completely adjusted to the level of Presence. He saw two auras, one blue and one yellow, streaked with white. This time, however, his vision was not blocked by his own aura, for it was gone, leaving him weak and pained, yet determined. This was his purpose, what he had been Created for. He would fulfill his duty no matter how much it hurt, no matter how badly he was torn apart himself every time he struck down an angel.
Yet in his mind he hoped, no, prayed that Raphael -- or perhaps Gabriel -- would do something, anything, that would stop this from happening. If he had to Fell another archangel, he would break completely. He couldn't survive that, he simply couldn't. Even now he only wanted to die.
"Raphael," he said quietly, raising his sword, forcing his hand to stay steady even though all he wanted to do was to break down and creep into some corner weeping and trembling. "Michael was not the one I came for."