@akiisms
( ... ) Rushing to the other, Akita dropped to his knees beside the familiar being, pulling them closer. "Michael, my friend, what have they done to you?" He asked gently, pushing their hair back. "...Rest, my friend, I won't let them hurt you." He whispered as he grabbed the sword, heavy and searing in his hands, but he gripped it tightly, not letting the pain distract him from the danger before them.
𝔐𝔦𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔩 took comfort in the soft voice, recognizing the holy human by the collar all priests wore, he knew that while he wasn't neccessarily safe, he was no longer among enemies. The angel isn't feverish, infection was no threat to his celestial blood, but the lack of blood left was making him nauseous, unable to see straight, delirious. Had a human really weilded his holy sword? but why had it stayed alight?
He must be seeing things.
"Father..." it takes awhile for him to remember the man's name, "Rhee." He's trying to acknowledge the kindness in his voice if nothing else. The demons would flee... or were they dead now. Either way, he would be safe inside the cathedral as long as Lucifer himself did not come to call.
He looks up to absorb the Father's eyes, one looked a little different, it caused a flurry of eyes to open along his own skin where the priest gripped him, almost flirtatious lashes brushing against his hands, observing who - and what - held him. "Shit," who had allowed the antichrist to become a preist? No wonder he had had such a difficult time finding him. Still he was injured, badly, burned hands... and something else. He needed this strange idea of a priest to be able to help him, he needed to trust him, could he?
"you better not kill me," Michael mutters, before pushing holy healing into the preist - a gift that did not extend to himself, a blessing he could give others only. The burns cooled, healed like a hand reversing time, as were any other ailments plaguing the kind Father Rhee. After that, Michael had no more strength to keep his eyes open, and let them close.. but not before finding and making eye-contact with the antichrist in disguise. Did he know what he was? That had to be a no.
"... goodnight, Father. I must rest." The angel blue is concealed behind his lids, feathery lashes uncommonly long, his body weighty with muscle and the remaining three wings on one side, gold splattered feathers littering the cathedral floor and giving off the slight musk of all feathered things made by god. His shoulder length hair faded from gold to a soft, chocolatey brown, halo winking out as his conciousness receeded into a dreamless void.
