[Cover Art: Archangel Raphael with Bishop Domonte by Bartolomé Estebán Murillo]
So far, deep in the throes of the cosmos . . .
The New God [Archangel Michael] begins to put his thesis to the test! He’s introduced us all to what he simply calls ‘a story,’ except now with three chapters and two interludes worth of getting to know this kooky cast, we’re starting to think Michael is serious about saving our souls.
And we’d be right, except we can’t forget that Yahweh, the current God of our universe and modern timeline, is out to save our souls too. He knows He’s been asleep on the wheel, but the important thing is that He tries to begin with.
With the affairs of the next chapter settled, Yahweh and His daemons take to the portal, while Michael and His angels take to the Waters, we’re about to dig in. But before we all do that, Michael insists that we get to know a little bit more about a special cast member, Raphael [The Healer of God]. He promises you, Raphael is more fun than you think, and it’ll be good now to figure out how these whacky, polyamorous angels tick as we go deeper . . .
“I’m still up, Mikey.”
The last angel [that Michael kept awake and did not submerge in the Waters of Resurrection] was Raphael, the likes of whom is teasing at God with an arched brow and a smirk. He knew why he was last to go in and he relishes in it, reclining on a side with one hand propping his chin up. All that long, dark hair would flow off from his back and flow into the water, his head wings in the pattern somewhere between a parrot and a peacock, all manners of greens and browns.
None of this is lost on Michael, not a single detail, which is why he just turns to The Healer and stares,
And stares,
Before making a slow saunter over with a gaze full of hunger. The blonde would then touchdown in the water too on an elbow, one tanned hand slithering over that real nice hipbone that poked out.
“Don’t act cute, Raphy, you ain’t Luciel.” Said with a less-than-humble smirk as his thumb starts to massage the skin. “You’re the oldest one here, I know you can use your fucking words.”
Certainly, Raphael can! Sweet Inferno, he can do more than that, too: unlike the other three, he knew how to blank out his every thought a second before acting, something that helps him dodge around Michael’s omniscience,
Which is why he can smack God right in the face before gripping Him by the shoulders and pulling Him closer.
“Here, Mikey, I’ll give you some words.” Said with a cold smile as he watches Michael’s face flit from surprise to the first hint of arousal. It only drops because what would come next was not funny, not for Raphael.
“It has been too long, Mikhael. We have both let our busywork distract us from sustaining our relationship after The Fall, certainly, but it seems like the minute you became God, you got preoccupied out there in the cosmos with such little time for us. For me.”
The Healer had every right to say that. While it was true at the time of killing God back in the human year of 2012 that Michael couldn’t just come out and say he was God to most of the angels (He had to practice orchestrating His ability to manipulate energy by using Earth as a test subject), it was no excuse to hermit up to the extent He did. Nor was it an excuse when Raphael knew from the start what He was doing, so why did He?
(Why did He?)
“You don’t have to forgive me for being such a poor lover, Israfil.” Is all Michael could say, really say, as He sneaks a toned arm around Raphael and rolls onto His back so they can just be in each other’s arms. “I know I fucked up. You have backed my every move even when you find it most disagreeable with your own morals, helped take care of both Helel and I when we have needed you, and never betrayed me even when it would have been more convenient to deal with the old God.”
Sigh. One would think being separated from Lucifer would teach Michael the value of that, but it seems even being God Himself could not stop Himself from making these mistakes, getting lost, or not always present like He wishes He could. He understands this now.
And Raphael sighs too, shakes his head with the first hint of a warm smile. He takes advantage of this position to get closer, rests a hand on Michael’s chest and his head on His shoulder. “I can at least admit I could have told you this sooner if it was bothering me, so I don’t want to sweat you for it. I just needed to say it in the end and be heard.”
Well, of course. The blonde’s eyes soften, the arm around the brunette’s slender waist tightening, foreheads meeting. “What else can I hear you on, Israfil? Tell me everything, I want no secrets.”
Nothing Raphael had to say to Michael was a secret, not really, but he’d say it anyway, how much he missed his dumb jock and those dumb jock jokes, that he loved how Michael existed seamlessly even when He was the most awkward, abrasive, or moody being in the room,
And that while The Healer did not experience The Fall the same way Michael did since Lucifer is just his friend, he doesn’t have to imagine the agony because he knows he’d feel the same fucking way if it was the Former Heavenly Host down there.
“If you intend to go down there, someday, I’m going with you.” Raphael says with a half-flat tone, like he’s bored but it’s more like he’d be disappointed if Michael assumed otherwise. “Don’t try to talk me out of it.”
Michael just smiles real warm, gives Raphael a half-lidded gaze full of adoration. “Come on, you don’t think I haven’t already met you a couple times down there? There’s a few versions of you and I just hanging out down in Duat with Anubis . . .”
Right, Mikal and Israfil, the two death servants of Osiris’ court(1). Well, Raphael isn’t God so he can’t exactly remember all the details, but he could, for a second, see a flash of dark hair with dark eyes and a wicked beautiful smile that was dangerous to look at with a scalpel in hand. That, and –
“I can’t explain why,” Raphael begins after a moment, twirling a few strands of blonde hair around his finger until it formed a neat little curl. “But I feel like Anubis fucked me over somehow and that I owe him some nice, cold revenge.”
Michael just shrugs a little, gives an impish hint of a smile. “I remember just about everything, you know. I could tell you if you want . . .”
“Ugh, no, that’s boring.” Raphael rolls his eyes. “If we have already or are already living it, I should very much prefer we make a story out of it sometime.”
To which Michael brightens up with a real smile. “Well, maybe we can get back to it if we start with this story first.”
Now, where should they start? Is the question God is about to ask, having liked talking to Lucifer an outline of what was to come,
Except Raphael keeps his mouth closed and shakes his head with a smile. “How about you put me to sleep, then you go in, and well, I’ll show up when I show up?”
The fact that Raphael wouldn’t play in to the design of things added a spark of uncertainty, something that thrilled Michael because he wouldn’t know when or how.
“Fine, honey, you can do that if you want.” Then, with a cool graze of fingers over that ass one last time before they get to it, “Are you at least going to tell me if you’ll remember me when you do?”
Pfft. Raphael just laughs behind his hand, shakes his head again. The number one rule about storytelling (and he knows this despite not being some fancy schmancy writer like Gabriel or Lucifer) that you never,
ever,
give the character what they want that easily.
(So, he won’t. It’ll be fun that way, he thinks.)
“Nah. I think I’ll just . . .strip most of my memories and try to focus on your essence instead.” Then, adding with half-lidded gaze while running a finger down Michael’s chest one last time, “And if you’re as clean with it as I remember you to be in all our other lifetimes, Mikey, then it won’t matter whether I have those memories. I will just know.”
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