The worst pain slowly faded away, and he found himself somewhat capable of functioning again. There was still pain, but nothing he couldn't ignore. He was used to it. He had to, after all the battles he'd participated in. Forcing the pain aside he examined his body mentally. Everything seemed to be in order. He even managed to draw his claws back in, sealing the wounds on his arms -- he was far better at healing himself than he'd ever been at healing others. The fangs still remained, though, and he could feel them with his tongue. Even otherwise his body did not feel like his own; it was almost exactly like before but still not his.
There was still emptiness inside him, a huge void that felt impossible for him to ever fill. And it was. He knew very well it could never be filled again, and that thought hurt more than any pain that still lingered.
A voice broke into his thoughts, pleading, calling for a name that felt familiar to him. After a moment his mind was again functioning well enough to realize what it all meant. Very slowly he raised his head and opened his eyes, looking around.
There were tree angels in sight. Gabriel stood farthest from him, apparently quite stunned. Then there was Uriel, very pale, his robe torn and red on one side due to the wound caused in their battle. The angel still had a sword in his hand, looking determined although in pain. Well, that was all good and well. He deserved some pain for what he'd done.
Then there was Raphael, kneeling in front of him. The healer looked as beautiful as always, even though now his green eyes were wide with shock, traces of tears streaking the freckled face. Raphael, like everybody else, was staring at him.
"I'm not Michael," he said, and just like his body didn't feel like his own anymore, even his voice sounded odd in his ears. What he produced was more a growl than a proper sentence, and thus he said again, this time forcing himself to sound somewhat normal, "I'm not Michael." Fixing his eyes at Raphael, he continued, "Michael is dead. I am not him.
"I am --" A name rose to his lips, a name he had never known before but now recognized very well. His own name. "Mictain. My name is Mictain."
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There was still emptiness inside him, a huge void that felt impossible for him to ever fill. And it was. He knew very well it could never be filled again, and that thought hurt more than any pain that still lingered.
A voice broke into his thoughts, pleading, calling for a name that felt familiar to him. After a moment his mind was again functioning well enough to realize what it all meant. Very slowly he raised his head and opened his eyes, looking around.
There were tree angels in sight. Gabriel stood farthest from him, apparently quite stunned. Then there was Uriel, very pale, his robe torn and red on one side due to the wound caused in their battle. The angel still had a sword in his hand, looking determined although in pain. Well, that was all good and well. He deserved some pain for what he'd done.
Then there was Raphael, kneeling in front of him. The healer looked as beautiful as always, even though now his green eyes were wide with shock, traces of tears streaking the freckled face. Raphael, like everybody else, was staring at him.
"I'm not Michael," he said, and just like his body didn't feel like his own anymore, even his voice sounded odd in his ears. What he produced was more a growl than a proper sentence, and thus he said again, this time forcing himself to sound somewhat normal, "I'm not Michael." Fixing his eyes at Raphael, he continued, "Michael is dead. I am not him.
"I am --" A name rose to his lips, a name he had never known before but now recognized very well. His own name. "Mictain. My name is Mictain."