#archmight

Look, Michael, they're just not that into you-

Lucid is still clothed, but he agrees there are far better and more pressing things in life needing attention. Like pressing the “Summon Crab” button!

Husk pushed open the creaking doors of the old church, the smell of dust and aged wood hitting him like a cold slap. Sunlight streamed weakly through cracked, grimy stained glass, painting the cracked floorboards in muted reds and blues. He hesitated for a long moment in the doorway, hat in hand, as if the emptiness of the place might swallow him whole.

He walked down the aisle slowly, fingers brushing the edges of worn pews, before sliding into one near the center. He took of his hat in hand and his gaze traces the statues along the walls.

Mother Mary sat there, serene and sorrowful, hands folded. Husk’s chest tightened at the memory of his Nonna’s house, the little Virgin Mary on the mantle beside a tiny St. Michael, frozen mid-battle against a coiled serpent crushed at his feet.

His gaze shifted to the larger St. Michael in the church, wings outstretched, sword slashing down at the serpent beneath him. Husk’s throat tightened. He wasn’t a religious man, not in years. Hell, he hadn’t set foot in a church in decades. And yet… here he was. The men who want him dead, were closing in on him, and every option he usually counted on... bluffing, sweettalk, gambling... was gone. He could feel the cold knot of fear in his stomach, rising faster than any pride could smother it.

He bowed his head, muttered under his breath, words more instinct than devotion from what he remembers from his Nonna: “St. Michael… proteggimi… please… don't let them kill me.” His fingers dug into the pew, knuckles white. He didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t expect miracles.