Ire fired through Michael’s veins, yet his steps trudged, feeling as if his legs were as heavy and as burdening as stone. Each glowing step appeared as he ascended, leaning forward to keep his hefty white wings from tipping him back. The stench of death clung to his skin and leathers, as did the smears of human blood. Decay had burned a permanent home into his nose, and he did not think any amount of cleansing in the angelic pools would rid the feeling of filth from his body or relieve his sore, twitching muscles.

Nearing on two years, cleanup of war was a task that stained his soul. A task that, although he surrendered to in duty, reminded him of the devastation that existed before God flooded the land and killed off almost all of humanity. The centuries since had not been free from evil and violence, but they had improved—until this latest war.

The kind of careless greed for power and control reminded him of one angel. An archangel he had not been responsible for in more than a millennium. An angel who deserved every moment of his banishment after soiling the purity of his heavenly sister, Gabriel. An archangel that had been banished—and who to this day, he could not find in the anarchy of swarming kingdoms that had allied to overthrow Babylon. Lucifer.

“Your suspicions are correct, Warrior of mine.”

Michael froze at the punch of God’s powerful voice in his mind. Having cleared the final steps, Heaven’s glowing landscape stretched out all around him. The orb of God’s brilliant light that filled the tall, pearly throne was unmissable, as was the static sensations that rode the air from his hovering presence. Yet Michael had been so drained and consumed by thoughts of his disgraced brother to notice. Now he was aware, and God’s telling words revealed so much. Michael could not stop his bloody hands from clenching. “Lucifer instigated this war? A war that has killed thousands?”

A war he had been responsible for cleaning up for two long years.

The ire in Michael’s veins wanted to break free. He wanted to bellow his frustration. He wanted to demand to know where Lucifer was, and demand that action be taken to stop his chaos. And he wanted to be the one to deliver his brother’s punishment.

Yet he breathed not a word of his wants, swallowing the venom his tongue wanted to blurt out. God did not accept demands. He bestowed them. He could only hope his maker was finally ready to react, to do to Lucifer what Michael believed needed to be done so very long ago.

“Lucifer failed my final test. He has turned against me. Yet my faith in him still lingers.” God’s brilliant light pulsed once, then it sucked in on itself. In its place, a boy with tan skin and golden hair sat upon the great throne. With glowing white eyes filled with sadness, God slid off his throne in his young physical form and walked across the beaming light.

Michael dropped to his knees, bowing his head. He worried that his internal musings to take action had offended, and he braced for a zap of punishment. But God’s small hand was gentle and free from debilitating static as he placed it over Michael’s crown of long, black locks.

“Lucifer will be summoned above for the first time since his fall…” God’s voice, although it came from the mouth of a boy, was as deep as a man’s and equally as powerful in its quieter tone. “…for his final invitation to repent.”

Michael’s head snapped up, incredulous eyes betraying his loyalty.

The young face looking back at him smiled—and then unadulterated power stabbed into his skull.

Michael fell like a stone, his side then face smacking the hard light below as brilliance beamed up over his entire body.

“I grant you my power to wield and deliver. I set upon you a task, a freedom to act should Lucifer refuse to repent. I have kept Lucifer shielded from your seeking eyes—but no longer. In seven days, once your cleanup is complete, your brother will be summoned. If my faith in the Morningstar is disproven, you will deliver my will. You will strip Lucifer of his position among us from that day and every day thereafter.”

God burst into a beacon of light, reforming at his throne as telepathic words pounded inside Michael’s head. “Do you accept my task, Angel Warrior?”

The torture snaking through Michael died suddenly. Rushing up to kneel on his shaky legs, he sucked in a breath at the internal permission God granted him. It was a retaliation to Lucifer that, in his opinion, was centuries overdue. He bowed his head, feeling charged as he noticed the brighter hue that haloed his body and draping wings. Finally, God was prepared to act. In seven days, Lucifer would never pose a threat again. “Your will is my command.”