#azrael-asks

Their eyes narrowed, and the grip on their sword hilt tightened. Lucifer's voice had always been deep, a soothing baritone that encouraged every ear to bask in its sound, but now…It had twisted. The fangs that grew now from this mouth sharpened his tone and the infernal magic that filled his core, now, no longer asked but demanded to be heard. To be listened to. To be followed. 

Azrael would not be demanded of. They would not be compelled. 

They pursed their lips and drew in a slow breath through their nose. 

"I will ask once more. Whom have you brought with you?" Michael had spoken of only Lucifer's presence at this meeting and none other. The situation was already unstable, already tense, and Azrael, acting as their in between, would not see it grow worse. It was merciful of Michael to extend a hand to their fallen, even if it was merely to ask how they'd adapted to the Devildom. It was a long and difficult fall after an already long and difficult battle, made even longer and even more difficult by the circumstances that proceeded it. It need not continue. The consequences had come, the penance delivered, but Lucifer and his Pride would not put down his hatchet.

 But Lucifer had changed much in that time, they supposed. The Devildom must have made quick work of any fleeting sin for Lucifer to leave behind his trust and compassion in favor of such spite. Such deceit. 

Unless. 

Azrael shook off their misgivings with a roll of their shoulders.

Demons lied, and Lucifer was one of them now. Azrael would not allow him to corrupt this act of charity. Not with lies or tricks, and most certainly not with illusions. 

"You will tell me before Michael arrives. I will not allow this meeting otherwise."

The roll of Lucifer's ruby eyes were as rough as the gemstones for which they matched. The glare was pointed, the motion jagged, and it stabbed at the frustration quickly building within Azrael's stomach. They could feel it leak into their veins, heavy and hot, and not at all soothed by the uncertainly that followed after. Lucifer's silence spoke volumes. Lucifer would not say. Lucier could not say. 

And so they came up with an answer themselves. 

Azrael looked once more upon the small one's bright hair, so unlike Lucifer's and yet so familiar, and the deep green of their eyes, so filled with curiosity, and the round point of their chin and they decided they did not like the result. Once more a vision of compassion, of hope, filled their vision before it went red. Like blood, of which had stained their hands when it dripped from their sword. Like anger, at themself for the deeds done and undone, and at Father for -

No. Father had trusted them with the task of judgement, of execution. It was their fault to not see it done. But it had been. Azrael had seen her fall. Azrael had not seen her land but she had fallen and that had to have been enough. 

If they had failed...

"Lucifer, I swear, you will tell me!" The growl rose, unbidden, in their throat but Azrael did not try to stop it from curling around their words just as they did not stop their fingers from curling ever tighter around the hilt of his sword.

"Or what? You'll attempt to strike me again?" 

Lucifer's words, finally uttered, were strained and Azrael's hand shook. They were right. They were right. There had been some mistake. Their mistake. It would be corrected now, and it would not happen again. 

"No, not you," they said, and the warning went nearly unheard but not understood when Azrael tore the blade free from its sheathe. Lucifer's brow twitched at the light that poured from the naked steel and the hands he crossed over his chest fell to guide the young one further behind him. His body would offer little resistance, but the sentiment was, at least, noble. Futile, but noble. They had to give Lucifer that. He was dishonorable, a stain on the Celestial Realm, but he protected his family. It was a shame how it all ended up. It was a shame how it was continuing to end. 

The magic from his sword buzzed in their hand and made the hair on their arm stand on end. Their teeth rattled from the force of it, and Lucifer's own power made their head ring as they pushed against it. Pressure built in their ears as the infernal energy that coiled under Lucifer's skin seeped through his glamour. A shadow of wings was cast behind the demon as Azrael lifted the sword. A tail, long and thin, lashed besides it and Azrael's eyes widened. 

Had Lilith - 

"Put that away, Brother!"

The pressure lifted only to be replaced by another, stronger, and the rush of air pushed Azrael's arm back down to their side, the sword digging itself into the earth by his feet. The light dimmed in comparison to the one that poured from Michael's descending shape. Lucifer recoiled from it, briefly, before recovering himself. Azrael could not strike at him but they could find some satisfaction at his discomfort. Their eyes jumped to the young one - to the demon - behind him. They had wrapped their arms tight around Lucifer's leg and pressed their face behind his knee to shield themselves from the angel's light. That sight, too, comforted them. 

Another angel would not behave so in the presence of another. Another angel would have fallen to their own knees, not find security in a demon's shadow.

"I merely wished to know Lucifer's intentions of bringing such a stranger," Azrael said. They picked up his sword, the metal heavy now, and slid it back into its holdings. "I was not made of aware of their coming and would stand not for any demon's treachery."

"Your loyalty is appreciated," Michael said, and they could not help but to swell under his praise. "But I was the one to ask Lucifer to bring him."

Azrael worked to keep their face impassive, despite the relief and frustration that battled within them. 

"Him?" Not her. A mistake, a new one, an assumption on his part and not one of failure. They had not failed to carry out his orders. Father had not failed to make Lucifer suffer for his uprising.