Matt leaned back on the hard surface of the courtyard. The lights off the pyramid in front of him were nearly as beautiful as the tiny woman at his side, and far less likely to blush when he stared. The two of them had taken a break, sitting directly on the ground. When Michaela sat on benches sized for normal adults, her legs dangled like a little girl. When Matt did, his knees stuck up around his ears. One of the few things they agreed on completely was sitting on the ground when they could.
She leaned against him, humming a quiet little tune. He couldn't help smiling at the thought of what she would do if he voiced his opinion of her humming. She was fine with compliments about how well she fought, but even after decades together he could still make her squirm with compliments about anything else.
"Penny for your thoughts."
Nothing else for it. "Just thinking about how beautiful you are."
She looked over at him. "All this," she waved an arm to encompass the view, "and you're thinking about me? Are you blind?"
He stared into her cinnamon-colored eyes without blinking, long enough for her to blush. She didn't look away, though. That brought a smile to his face.
"I appreciate how beautiful everything else is, but you, love, are the most beautiful thing I will ever see."
They sat there staring at one another for an endless perfect moment. A twist in the air wrapped around him; the tingle of her wings sheltering both of them. In all the beauty surrounding them, only she really mattered. He pulled her close, cradling her in his arms as her wings cradled him.
A flash of light from the pyramid caught the corner of his eye. He scanned the sky, wondering what could possibly distract him from Michaela. A second later, light glinted from something moving silently through the sky. It moved across an open patch of sky, and huge wings blotted out the stars.
"Love," he whispered, "I think we've got him."
***
At Matt's whisper, Michaela whipped her head around to where his gaze fixed itself. Something huge flapped through the sky. Whatever it was, it was getting away.
"Tell security!"
With that, she launched herself into the sky. Some deep intuition told her this thing had caused the thefts they'd investigated. If she was wrong, she could always apologize, but if she was right, she had no better chance to catch the thief.
Her wings a noiseless ripple in the night sky, she climbed into the heavens. Shortly she looked down on the City of Lights, watching a huge silhouette of broad bat wings sweeping along beneath her. At the center of the wings flew a figure made tiny by scale. She wasn't sure, but it looked human. Still silent, she stooped down on the intruder.
As she got close, the body glittered in the light reflected from below. The figure didn't react until she got nearly within arm's reach. Just before she could lunge, he rolled, his wing slapping her aside. She tumbled out of control, instinctively angling for the biggest object she saw piercing sky. Before she hit, she twisted her legs beneath her, catching herself like a turning swimmer. Michaela launched back into the sky, arrowing for the winged figure hovering before her.
As she shot toward her target, her world narrowed to the slim humanoid sliver of darkness surrounded by vast, cloudy wings. The villain's edges rippled, his clothing billowing in the wind of his own passage. His hands and chest glittered with reflected light from above and below, giving Michaela just enough of a target to aim her charge.
If she hadn't been so focused, she might have missed the tiny flicker of deep violet light around her enemy's face. As it was, she barely jinked aside as a torrent of flame so dark it was almost black licked out through the night, searing the air around her. A savage grin split her face as she danced through the flames, her rush to close with her opponent barely slowed. The flames only illuminated him so she could see who she faced.
The man's face was an eclectic blend of continents; almondine eyes glittered blue around a broad, flat nose, both surrounded by rounded cheekbones and a jaw so angular it almost came to a point. In the light of the flames roaring from his mouth, his skin seemed to ripple; with the preternatural focus of an angel of the Host she made out the tiny lines of a Maori-like tattoo covering his face completely.
His clothes gleamed and fluttered like fine silk, the dark light hinting at beautiful scenes depicted on the fabric. Where his shirt parted at the chest, she caught the gleam of an enameled breastplate. The tips of his fingers and the toes of his boots both glittered with metal edges.
Michaela took all this in as she rode through the flames like a surfer, her body never quite touching them. Her wings dipped through the fire at one point, and the searing heat drew a scream from her throat. The sound became a battle cry before she reached her foe, and she almost summoned her spear. At the last moment, she remembered they wanted the thief alive, so they could recover the artwork he'd stolen.
Her fist connected solidly with her opponent's jaw, sending a jolt shivering up her arm as the impact stopped her mid-flight. Before she recovered from her surprise, before the pain even hit, the dark figure slapped her with a lightning quick backhand, sending her spinning through the sky once more. The twin scents of demonic sulfur and draconic ash smothered her, and she shrieked a cry that was half anger and half agony to the uncaring sky when the pain finally made itself known. Again, she angled her tumbling flight to bounce herself off the radio tower looming above the skyline of the city, but this time she didn't charge in quite so heedlessly.
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Her hand ached, but a quick flex told her it hadn’t broken. From the pain in her side, some of her ribs might be cracked, but battle fury was upon her; she would deal with her injuries once she had vanquished her enemy. With a thought, she called her spear to her hand. The light of creation flared in the sky, banishing darkness and illusions alike. She twisted in midair to charge once more at her opponent and stopped dead in her tracks, her wings gently sculling to keep her airborne.
Hovering above the city of lights, borne on wings of smoke and darkness, one of the largest dragons she'd ever seen filled the sky. His sinuous length reminded her of the noble Eastern wyrms she remembered from her days as an angel. The huge, silver gleaming claws and powerful legs were purely Western, as was the long, spiked tail. His face was something else entirely, a leonine ruff framing a face that was half crocodile, half cat, and entirely covered in hard, black plates.
"Angel!" The dragon's hiss was full of anger, barely leaving room for surprise. "What are you doing here?"
Michaela studied her opponent as she answered him. In the light of her spear, she could finally see the truth of the decorated silk covering his body. Vibrating gently in the passage of his wings, a collage of canvases stretched over him like a second skin. "I'm here to reclaim what you stole, dragon."
"Stole?" The confusion in the beast's voice was false, a cruel smile of mockery playing across his maw. "I stole nothing, Angel. I simply reclaimed what should have been mine." He ran one forepaw down his front, and in the light of her spear she saw sparks strike where his claws brushed across the stolen artwork. She realized that he'd somehow bonded them to his scales, almost like tattoos. She wouldn't be able to avoid hitting one if she closed.
"What is it the young people are saying this century?" The dragon chuckled, malignant boulders crashing together in the sky. He spread his forelegs wide, baring his chest to her, his body an open target. "Oh, yes. Come at me, bro."
Lord of Hosts, a draconic douchebag. This simply must not be allowed to continue.
Without warning, without a cry, she dove for her opponent, her spear cleaving the air before her. She spiraled toward him, jinking at random to avoid it when he struck at her with his flaming breath. But he did not breathe. He just hovered there, a look of amused condescension on his face, as she bore down on him. She tried to aim at the juncture of two scales, but a last moment twitch of his mammoth wings forced her to strike a scale dead on.
It shouldn't have mattered. The spear of one of the Host was purity incarnate, forged from the faith of angels, anathema to anything evil. Demons should fear even touching it; lest it burn them even through the skin of their host.
Her spear shivered, fragments flying into her face in the moment before impact. She twisted, hitting the dragon's scale with her shoulder instead of her head, but even so the shock wave rippled through her body. As she fell away one of her wings clipped the scales she'd hit, sending up a shower of sparks, marring the perfect enameled finish.
The dragon roared his rage at her impertinence, his tail coming around to swat her from the sky. For a third time she was flung back toward the tower Eiffel built. This time she managed to get her wings stable before impact, slowing herself until she could light on the topmost horizontal steel beam. With a thought, she summoned her spear back into her hand. Created at need from her reservoir of faith, it showed no signs of damage from shattering against the demonic dragon's hide, but she wasn't about to risk it again by throwing it. Instead, she watched in its light as the wyrm flew lazily toward her, one paw buffing the scorch mark from its chest.
"Foolish Angel. Why do you think I waited so long? Why do you think I tolerated the vermin of this world as they whimpered and spread around me?" Michaela just stared at him, willing him to go on speaking, hoping he would give her some insight into his weakness. She suspected she would have to get her sword and armor, but she didn't want to do it; too much could go wrong. "I waited for this," he ran a paw down his front, "to be completed. A thousand years of masterpieces. There is power in art, Angel. Power untainted by evil, but unbeholden to good. Power that protects me from you and your puny faith."
A laughing, contemptuous roar echoed through the sky, thunder answered it. "Fitting, isn't it? The mortals you spent so much time protecting have provided me my defense and sealed your doom."
"Whoever you are, repent and give over this scheme, Dragon."
"My name, little Angel, is Drake, and I will never repent. I was born to tear down the walls of this pitiful world, and the time has come for me to do so."
Michaela's heart dropped into her feet. She had no choice; her only option was her sword, the Sword of Justice. The creature would be destroyed, Time and Space tortured to screaming by the presence of her battle gear, but no Art could stop the edge of her sword. It tore holes in reality itself. With a reluctant sigh, she stepped out of Time.
***
Outside of Time there was only the endless here, the endless now. In the distance, Michaela felt the warmth of the Presence. The endless song of angels echoed quietly in her ears.
Her sword and armor hung before her. The armor, woven by her will from the adamant firmament of the universe itself, glittered black and white and gray as it fluoresced death. It bent Time and Space around itself, or she could never wear it on Earth. Her sword, gleaming with the same tortured light as her armor, glowed red and smoked blue when air touched it.
She moved to arm herself. Before she completed the motion, a battering ram of scales and muscle and Art hammered her away. She rolled with the blow, trying to suck nonexistent air. The Dragon hovered between her and her battle gear. She summoned her spear, but the spark seemed pitiful here in the darkness of the beast's enveloping wings.
Before either of them could act, the distinctive sound of the Host's horns rang through the heavens. The Dragon glared down at her. "This isn't over, Angel."
With that he was gone, and the Host surrounded her. Michael himself pulled her back toward the warmth of the Presence.
Come, Angel. There is little time.
She drifted close until she felt the welcoming arms of the Presence surround her.
The Dragon's Art is nearly complete.
This close, she couldn't feel panic or pain. Her cracked ribs reknit themselves, the ache in her wrist eased. Michaela wondered why the Dragon upset Michael so. The thing was dangerous, but nothing could threaten the Presence or stand against the Host.
The world will not survive a battle between the Host and the Illuminated Dragon.
Shock ran through her as the meaning of the words sank in.
Go, Grandchild, and stop the Dragon's Illumination.