Sigillum ex Fatum [UNDER EDITING]

Chapter 6.

"Fuck!"

"You really should refrain from swearing quite so much." 

I looked up from where I was on the floor, on my hands and knees, panting and sweating. Mikha'el stood at ease, frowning down at me. I glared defiantly. 

"Uml g gnay oi!" (Then you do it!) 

"Ah, your Enochian is improving. I'm impressed." Then to my horror, Mikha'el squatted before me, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked my head back to look at him; it hurt. He glared. "Engzul c g ton, pash." 

It was a phrase he would use often with me: Enough with your tone, child. 

Roughly Mikha'el released my head, standing and glaring down at me. He nodded once. "Again." 

I clenched both hands into fists while the pitter patter of my sweat hitting the floor filled my ears. "I can't." 

"Can't, or you won't?" 

I raised my head and glared. "I can't." 

"Funny," Mikha'el mused, looking at his nails as he cast an air of indifference, "I seem to remember you being turned into an angel?" 

"What's that supposed to mean?" I growled out, throat dry and parched. I was at serious risk of collapsing fully, my arms shaking as I tried to hold myself up.

"It means," Mikha'el said, eyes honing in on me, "that you have strength beyond your wildest dreams. It means that you are thinking like a mortal still. You don't feel pain, you don't feel fatigue." 

"The fuck?" I panted, struggling to get up after I finally collapsed. I looked up into his face. "I do hurt! My back is on fire from all these stupid tricks you're having me ru—" 

To say I was caught off guard when Mikha'el kicked me in the chest, hard, is an understatement. I would have gasped at the shock of it, except I suddenly couldn't. Instead I rolled onto my back; I could feel the skin where wings met shoulder blades crack and bleed. I let out a strangled, gasping, barely-audible yelp at the excruciating pain. 

"YOU ARE A SOLDIER OF THE LORD!" 

I scrambled away then, on my hands and knees. But Mikha'el easily bested me. Roughly he grabbed me by the shirt I was wearing, hauled me to my feet and punched me. Then he punched me again. Then he shook me. 

"Do you think the HellHounds are going to care if you're tired as they feast upon your flesh?" he ranted at me. "Do you think a demon would stop it's torture of you just because you're weakened?" 

I am not sure why, but a laugh bubbled up from my lungs and into my throat. I could barely see out of the one eye he had punched, and I could feel blood trickling down my lip and chin from where he punched my mouth. Mikha'el raised his hand, his palm glowing golden. He stopped millimeters away from touching my face. With his other hand he had me by the hair again. 

"Insolate child!" he snapped at me, voice low and deadly, eyes wild and slightly glowing golden. "I should kill you right now." 

Another laugh. "You can't kill me. Angels don't die." 

His hand grew brighter, and now his nostrils flared. "Unless they are killed by another angel or Hellion."

I was exhausted, tired. Four days in, I found myself not caring if Mikha'el ended me. In fact, I sort of wished for it. I was seriously starting to think that I wasn't cut out for this whole angel business. Nothing came easy for me, I felt that everything was a struggle. I laughed again, really pressing my luck and really not caring. 

"You won't." 

His hand flared, and I could feel the heat from it now. 

"What happened to the whole soulmate thing, eh, Mik?" I laughed. "You'll never kill me."