“I thought of that; I’ll call him to come over,” Michael said, pondering if that young warlock had anything to do with this.

“That damn boy couldn’t make up his mind if his life depended on it,” John nitpicked. “Watt is making you and your even worse brother deal with balancing humanity and the supernatural when that’s the boy’s job.”

“He’s so young, though,” argued Sister Christian.

“With so much our brother has to do, would you rather have the humans slowly realizing about us, burning, hanging, and torturing our kind?” John spat.

“Or even better, experimenting and trying to extract our powers—which is impossible! Humans are so dumb, trying to extract Gala’s powers, which is like tearing out their souls,” added Joseph.

Michael exhaled with siblings bickering, and he cut his hands in the air and shouted, “Enough!”

As if someone put the mute button on everyone, the Choirs’ bickering at one another halted, and they snapped their attention back to their annoyed leader. Each of their eyes stared at Michael’s snarled look. “This may be a scary time with a Gala creating havoc. This is one of the worst scenarios that we have had to face throughout history, but this doesn’t give us an excuse to turn to each other and act like children! We are Choirs.”

The Archangel’s tone softened. “My dear sister stated, we are here to serve with no complaint. Each one of you has come from Heaven to earth to help humanity. You have no right to get angered by a heavy situation that you signed up for.”

There were some audible gulps from his siblings, knowing they had crossed the line. Some bowed their heads in apology, and others refused to look at him, guilt crossing their faces. Michael had that effect. He could be that wonderful leader that everyone looked up to, or he could put everyone in line with the command of his voice.

“Do you understand?” Michael asked sternly, piercing his gaze at everyone in the room.

“Yes, Brother Michael,” his Choirs answered softly, their tones switching quieter from their raised voices seconds ago.

Michael nodded affirmatively, and a gentle smile spread across his angelic face. His golden eyes sparked so much happiness that they silenced their agreements. “Anything else to discuss? Our siblings are watching what’s going on with San Francisco and Los Angeles, so we are on track.”

None of the Choirs didn’t wish to rankle their leader anymore. There weren’t imperative topics to discuss at hand anymore.

“Meeting dismissed,” declared the Archangel.

He watched the Choirs leave without even talking among themselves like usual. The tension of keeping peace between the human world and Galas choked them, worrisome. His siblings cut a stare at their leader, hoping that he could settle the chaos laid before them.

Michael refused to jump to the conclusion that Pitch could be alive. He breathed out a sigh, pondering if any of the Choirs could capture a surveillance camera on him in San Francisco. He turned to his sidekicks, leaving, “John, please stay with me for a minute.”

Once Daniel left, the Archangel pulled a chair for his brother. John sat comfortably down, glancing up at his leader’s hard stare.

Without another moment’s delay, Michael began his vent. “Not only do I have a loose Gala I have to deal with, but I thought one of my sidekicks was setting a rumor that Pitch may be alive.” Distraught by the mess, he admittedly felt better letting off some steam but was majorly bothered by what his brother was saying behind his back without his approval.

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John stared at the cold glower from his brother. He scoffed, “Brother Michael, I feel that the Harmonies are warned for their safety.”

The Archangel grabbed the top rail, yanking the chair backward, the legs scraping against the wooden floor. A sneer creased on his angelic face, his golden locks falling past his front shoulders, “You telling my daughter is crazy, also for the Harmonies’ safety?”

Spatting out with fury, Michael hissed between his teeth, “That’s certainly not protecting my daughter!”

In disbelief that his calm demeanor brother was acting like this, John stared up into his blue eyes, his mouth slightly arched. He sneered in defense. “Your daughter is nothing but trouble. Have you forgotten that she killed our siblings? That she destroyed—”

“Sara was five years old and scared. Have you forgotten that our siblings provoked her first? Have you forgotten she protected Katerina and put herself in danger?” Michael rebutted.

“How many more excuses will you give until she is burning the Celestial Realm? Have you forgotten she has demonic blood running in her veins?” clarified John, not daring to break eye contact, which would show any weakness.

Unlike his graceful self, Michael laughed sarcastically, “And I thought you were an angel, but here you are, acting like a demonic tyrant.” He gripped harder on the chair’s top rail, baring his imperial white teeth like a caught-off wolf ready to attack.

“This isn’t a warning, but a final. If you continue to speak about my daughter being insane and claiming to be a demonic, untamed assassin, I will strip you of your wings and title,” threatened Michael.

John shuttered, unable to find his voice. “Y—you wouldn’t d..d..dare!” His eyes jerked wildly with horror because stripping a Choir’s wings was like taking a runner’s feet, an author’s fingers, or a singer’s voice. Wings weren’t only symbolic of who they were, but also of what they took pride in.

Clutching John’s white buttoned shirt, Michael seized him, their noses nearly touching. His hot breath blew on his sidekick’s face, and he glared at him in disgust. He loved his daughter and cherished her more than any prize, and he would not have someone disgrace her like that, even if Sara didn’t notice or care.

“Then don’t put my patience on the test,” Michael growled.

The archangel shook in his chair, his voice quivering. “I understand, sir.” He swallowed the fear of his glorious wings being ripped off of him.

Upset about having to go the rough route, but not letting someone shame his daughter. Michael let go of the seat, the chair smacking on the floor with a reverberation. The Choir lurched to his feet, bowing if that would amend their conversation.

Sara was the first daughter Michael had. Despite his siblings disliking her—which he thought was justifiable but unreasonable to speak their minds about—she had filled in the gaps of his long, lonely years.

Only one person could be chosen to step in the shoes of the leader of the Choirs, the Archangel who fought against evil for the Choirs to look upon. He toiled tirelessly to slay away the Internals from his twin brother.

Time easily caught up with him, and Michael could lose track of the days passing him like the wind gushing by. It felt like only yesterday he cradled Sara in his arms, her bright coal eyes staring wonderingly at him, reaching her small arms to touch his face and play with his locks—sometimes accidentally yanking his hair too hard.

He needed to spend more time with her. Michael ran his fingers through his hair, exhaling to calm his conflicting emotions, like trying to calm the rushing tide of the ocean. Strolling out of the room and heading back to his office, his boots clang against the glass staircase with an echo, his mind trailing to the conformation with Lucifer.

The sadness and grief that overshadowed the Devil nerved Michael. He had to stop thinking of those darkened months; the pang of remorse kept coming back into his tormenting soul.

A memory stabbed at him like a thousand miserable needles, giving him a perpetual shot of despair and heartbreak. Her voice broke out, the cry of his sister ringing out: “My name is Abaddon now!”

A tear slid down his cheeks. Michael stared around, horrified, only to see a few Prowlers talking among themselves and not paying any attention to him. He quickly flickered the tear from his face. Lucifer stated that Michael did not care what he had done to their sister; he was so wrong.

Aiding in creating the disease that wiped out half the Infernal’s race, killing his beloved sister in the process, not only scarred him for the rest of infinity but continuously haunted him day and night.