The archangel has been flying for days now, unable to land due to the crushing anger and guilt raging inside him. He shouldn't have done it. Killed those people. Killed Becca. But at the same time, he was right to. They were torturing angels for experimentation. Ripping out their wings and pinning them to their walls like some sort of prize.

The thoughts bring back the images and the images bring back the rage. A group of eight balls flock in the streets of an abandoned town below, circling the stupid human that dared enter alone. Perfect. The angel angles himself downwards, folding his wings slightly to allot for more speed. His shadow appears over the group and they turn their eyes skyward, just in time for two eight balls to receive the business ends of his blades.

The rest of the group loosens its formation, making space around the archangel as he fully folds his wings in. The human, a small framed young man, whips around to face him with his gun raised. Michael stares back at him blankly, not bothering to hide his displeasure at this man's action. "Leave," he orders flatly. "Now."

Lucky for the man, he doesn't take long to follow the order and shoves his gun back in its holster before sprinting toward the opening behind Michael. The eightballs lunge after their escaping prey, but Michael's faster, slicing through three chest cavities and allowing the man the proper time to flee. It also causes all the eightballs to lock their attention on him.

He takes an offensive stance and waits, watching as the group circles him. When the group gets tired of circling, they finally attack. His blades are a blur as they decapitate, slice, and otherwise take down the possessed beings . The carnage lasts only a few seconds, but it's enough time for Michael's rage to settle. Father always said he had the worst temper of his children, he just never paid much attention to it.

Blood colors the otherwise barren desert ground and drips from his swords, forming small crimson puddles near his feet. The battle doesn't take much out of him, but after nearly a week of nonstop flight, he's left huffing in the middle of a circle of death. A shadow blocks out the sun for half a second, but it's enough to put Michael on edge. His weapons are raised again as he scans the skies above.

A heavy flap of wings and the sound of something landing on the dirt behind him causes Michael to turn, tips of his swords leveling with the figure's neck. If they had been any closer, their head would've been on the ground. Instead, the edge barely kisses the throat of its target.

"You're getting sloppy, Michael," the female says, using her finger to nudge the blade from her throat. "Your swings are wider than normal and your footing was off."

The voice rings familiar in Michael's ears, surprising the angel into lowering his weapons on his own. "Nico?"

The angel smiles, brushing her bangs from her happy blue eyes. Her black hair is different than he remembers, the left side barely brushing past her shoulder as the right stops at mid ribcage. Her dirt covered green shirt sticks to her sweat sheened torso while her one size too large denim shorts barely hang onto her hips. If it wasn't for the weapons belt, they wouldn't. As usual she's barefoot, but she's alive and healthy, so Michael decides to lecture her later. "You sound surprised, brother," she says, lifting an arm to shield her eyes from the sun. "How's it been?"

"Surprised isn't exactly a word I would use," he responds, allowing his arms to come to a full rest as his sides. "Annoyed? That sounds better."

The teenage angel snorts in amusement at her brothers quip and she runs a hand through her windblown locks. "I see you still have no sense of humor, big brother," she comments, lifting her other hand to fold them behind her head. "And you've cut your hair. Shame. You looked better with it long."

"What are doing here, Nico?" the older angel asks, earning a curious look from his sister in response. "You were in the Middle East the last time you contacted me. Why are sudden change in location?"

Nico shrugs and unfolds her arms to stretch them over her head lazily. "I wanted a change in scenery," she replies as she drops her arms back to her sides. "The war took a toll over there, so I came to see how everything was going over here. Clearly though..." She pauses to scan the bloodied corpses around them and a mock frown of disgust plays on her lips. "...there isn't much of a difference."

Michael frowns in disappointment and levels his gaze on his sister. "You know it's pointless to lie to me," the older angel comments, finally getting around to replacing his swords in their casings. He watches as the humor on Nico's face fades and is replaced with defeat. "Why are you really here?"

At first, it actually seems that Nico is about to argue with him. In half a minute the words form then die on her tongue, leaving only a sigh of defeat and a disappointed look. "I came to see if there really is a Chosen One," she admits in a childish huff. "I heard Gabriel discussing it with one of his followers when they were scouting over there and I came here to follow them."

Michael huffs in annoyance but isn't surprised by her tale. Even in her early stages of life, Nico was a curious one. Always wandering off to explore even after being told not to. Her following Gabriel because of a story she heard is probably the least problematic thing that has happened because she couldn't contain herself. "Whatever you heard was correct," he responds after a moment. "Gabriel has found the Chosen One. In fact, the Chosen One is probably with him as we speak."

Nico raises an eyebrow in confusion. "But Gabriel said that you had the Chosen One locked up with you in some ruined city," she half asks. "What happened?"

The memories of that night replay in his head and his hands clench into fists. He refuses to meet her gaze, instead locking onto one of the dead eight balls near his feet. "A lot," he responds coldly.

A moment of heavy silence fills the air around them, Michael still avoiding his sister's eyes. After a few seconds of the stillness, the younger angel throws her head back in annoyance and a sound of pure pent up agitation rolls from somewhere deep in her core. The brother is pulled from his daze by the sudden outburst and he finally looks at his sister. "I hate it when you're vague, brother," she complains, head still back as she practically groans the words. "I'm not a child, Michael! I can handle it!"

The archangel blinks. "Pardon?" he inquires, causing the smaller angel to roll her head back to normal. "I am not treating you as a child, Nico," he retaliates. "I simply don't wish to speak of it at this moment."

Nico scoffs and rolls her eyes, throwing an arm up in exasperation in his direction. "You could have said that earlier," she says in the same childish tone as before.

"I thought it would be obvious," Michael counters calmly, lifting his gaze to the setting sun. "It's getting late," he continues before his sister has a chance to interrupt. "We need to find somewhere to sleep for the night."

Nico's eyebrow rises again. "We?" she inquires in expectancy. "What do you mean we?"

"We have been away from each other for nearly one hundred years, sister," he says stoically. "The world is different than it was back then. It's dangerous."

Nico scoffs again and folds her arms over her chest. "I can take care of myself," she counters.

Michael frowns as he scans the empty houses around them. "Isn't that the exact thing you said in Pompeii?"

"Pompeii was an accident!" Nico says, arms thrown up again. "I told you that!"

Michael hums in fake agreement and spots a semi-suitable two-story a few streets down. "Right," he says sarcastically, starting down in the direction of the house. "Now come on. We need to secure the perimeter before it gets too dark."

Nico groans in irritation but follows behind her brother. "I want you to know, I liked you least of all our brothers and sisters," she calls, keeping an instinctive eye out for any of the possessed. Michael gives the same half attentive hum from earlier and continues forward. "I'm serious," Nico continues, kicking a stray stone along her path. "I like Uriel more than I like you, and Uriel's a-"

"Language," he scolds flatly, still only half paying attention to his youngest sibling's insults. She continues her ramblings, but Michael isn't paying attention. His eyes are focused on taking in their temporary house.

It was nice back in the times before the war. The once light blue paint is now faded to almost white from elemental abuse and lack of care. Part of the large front porch has collapsed, the stairs and entire left half leveled on the ground. The glass around the front door is shattered and the door is wide open, setting man on edge with every step he takes. Two of the four front facing windows upstairs are broken along with one of the downstairs windows, though no glass is on the ground outside. He takes it as a sign that something or someone broke in. Whether or not that something left is up to fate, so Michael draws his swords just in case.

"Stay behind me," the archangel instructs, lightly leaping onto the unstable but still standing part of the porch. "I'm going to sweep the inside."

The younger agent finally stops her ranting and snorts in amusement. "That isn't happening," she responds through a smile. She closes the distance between her and the house and hops up beside her brother. "It'll go much faster if we split the house to search." Without waiting for an answer, the teenage angel slides a small knife from the hip holster on her weapons belt and steps inside. Michael, after signing heavily through his nose, lifts his own weapons and follows Nico inside.

Nico seems to pay no mind to the shattered glass that crackles under her feet with each step as she walks but Michael still notes to find her some shoes as soon as possible. "Hello," she calls, earning a look of mild disbelief from her brother in response. "Anybody home?"

"What are you doing?" the older brother asks, stepping up to stand in front of her.

Nico shrugs. "It's better than walking around paranoid," she counters, motioning to a room to her left with her knife. "If nothing died on it, I call that couch."

Michael keeps looking for a moment longer before following her knife. The living room is in shambles. Glass from the broken window sparkles on the ground in the setting sunlight, littering the dark blue carpet with pieces of orange. Large hole in the ceiling leaves pieces of wood, drywall, plaster and other house materials hanging haphazardly from above and a lot more in a pile on the ground, most of that ending up on the couch Nico indicated. The television lies face down on the ground amongst other remnants of past life. Shattered picture frames with still smiling faces in them sit in broken piles in random places of the floor.

Michael takes one look around and shakes his head. "Absolutely not," he says, turning away from the carnage and starting deeper in. He ignores Nico's sigh of protest and heads toward the stairs. "You take down here," he instructs from halfway up. "Call if you need anything."

Nico snorts and lifts her knife in half attempted defense. "As I said, brother," she says as she starts for the kitchen. "I can take care of myself."

The rest of the sweep is done in mostly silence, the only sounds coming from when one of them opens a door or when Nico clicks her tongue in hopes of attracting something. They meet up back in the living room and Michael looks at her expectantly. "Anything?"

The black haired teen shakes her head and replaces her knife in its casing. "Nothing but roaches and a few terrified cats," she replies through a poorly smothered yawn. "You?"

"Nothing," he says, taking one last glance around the place. "We have to sleep downstairs. The roof gave way in some places and an eightball could get in." He sees the spark of triumph form in Nico's eyes and he speaks before she does. "We aren't sleeping in the living room either," he continues. "There are too many ways for anyone to get in here as well."

Nico groans and drops her head back again. "My couch," she says through her groan. The complaints last for another few seconds before she sighs in defeat and puts her head back up. "The kitchen is pretty stable," she informs in a disappointed huff. "No windows. The ceiling is in one piece... I think there's even food in there."

The thought of food causes Michael's stomach to tighten in hunger. "Are you sure it's stable?" he asks, trying to focus on the main task.

The younger angel rolls her eyes and sighs. "I was in there," she responds in an agitated huff. "Do you not trust my judgement?"

"It's not your judgement I don't trust," he says, passing her on his way to the kitchen in the back. "It's your ability to tell actual safety that makes me uneasy."

"Why's that?" Nico asks, following her brother with a raised eyebrow.

"Pompeii."

"That was an accident!"

A slight smirk touches the corners of Michael's lips as he enters through the wide kitchen doorway. The door to the pantry lies in two broken halves on the floor, most of the canned goods spilled out and splattered in blood. The oven is face down on the tile and dragged out in the middle of the room. Half the contents of the refrigerator is scattered on the ground and the door is across the room. The light fixture above is broken and its glass lies under it on the ground.

Other than the immediate damage, there's nothing crippling about the area the area she saw potential in. The outward window is still intact. There's no giant holes anywhere. The only real thing they would need to do is clear a big enough area and dragged some clean blankets down. Michael nods once in approval and finally gets around to replacing his swords.

"This will work," he states, earning an unseen victory smirk from his little sister. "We need to clean up first. Go get some shoes an-"

Nico stops her dancing and raises her eyebrows at her brother. "Excuse me?" she asks, leaning closer as if to hear him better. "Shoes?"

"I was clear the first time," he says, turning to face her as he speaks. "Go get shoes and we can start."

The black haired female snorts and places a hand on her hip. "You're joking right? Michael, I'm old enough to know whether or not the situation requires shoes."

"There is broken glass everywhere."

"And we can clean it up."

The two have a thirty second glare down before Nico groans and turns away. "Fine!" she shouts in irritation as she starts toward the stairs. "I'll get some stupid shoes!"

Michael nods and turns back to the disaster area. "Bring blankets as well," he calls over his shoulder. He earns an angry sound as response as she disappears up the stairs. Once she's gone, the archangel fully enters the kitchen. He grabs both sides of the overturned oven and lifts, easily tightening it and pushing it back into place.

"I got the blankets," Nico says, appearing in the doorway with an armload of half folded blankets. Michael turns and glances at her feet, nodding in approval at the over sized black flip flops she has on. "What now?"

"Put them down somewhere and start sweeping," he instructs, kicking a broken box of graham crackers away with his foot. "We have to get situated before nightfall."

Nico drops the pile on the ground and mock salutes, turning to the closet a few feet away. "Aye, aye, captain," she mocks mechanically. "I'll clean the poop deck nice n shiny, yes I will."

Michael rolls his eyes and continues to move food, checking each object for anything edible and sorting them in piles. After about an hour of work, the angels have the large kitchen cleared and a nest of blankets is made in the center. The window over the sink is blocked by a box spring Michael brought down and positioned, allowing them enough cover to light a small fire in the broken oven. Most of the food Michael deemed edible is over the expiration date, but with no other options at the time, they eat more than half of it. Nico managed to slip away from her brother's watch for enough time to explore other houses and find a change of clothes for both of them, a few pieces of medical supplies, a decent sized bag for any other supplies they may find, enough water to last them at least a week, and a .45 caliber pistol with fifteen shots.

After Michael fussed at her about leaving without telling him, the siblings changed into their cleaner clothes and are now lying on the still hard floor in front of the fire. "Today was successful," Nico comments lazily, twirling a shorter piece of her hair around a finger. Her new clothes consists of a plain red long sleeved shirt and a pair of dark gray shorts that actually fit better than the other pair. Of course she's still barefoot, but Michael is starting to give up in that argument. "What's on tomorrow's agenda?"

Michael, who now dons a familiar outfit of a black shirt, black jeans, and a black leather coat, takes another drink from one of the gallons of water Nico brought back. "Survive," he says, recapping the jug and setting it beside his swords on the floor.

Nico furrows her eyebrows and glances over at him, tilting her head sideways so she doesn't have to sit up. "Is that it?" she asks, earning a single conformation nod from her brother in reply. "That's lame."

"That's all I have," he admits flatly as he shifts to lay on his side facing away from her. "Now go to sleep. We have to leave in the morning before the eightballs get curious."

The younger sister keeps her confused eyes locked on the brother's back for another few seconds before huffing and shifting her gaze back to the ceiling. "It's still a lame plan," she says, removing an arm length black pole from its holder on her hip. "A really lame plan at that."

"Go to sleep, Nico."

Nico mocks the words but closes her eyes anyway. "Stupid plan..."