The bolts on the front strut of his jetbike had sheered clear off. At the speed he'd been traveling, it had practically disintegrated beneath him, sending him tumbling over the handlebars headlong into the desert like a rag doll. When he had picked himself off of the ground, aching and bloody but otherwise unharmed, how could he not consider his surviving such a crash a miracle? But after two days spent walking across the flat desolate landscape with no food and or water, it crossed his mind that God might be addressing his sinfulness with a punishment that was far less merciful than the quick death the spill from his crash would have brought.

"...for the wages of sin is death..." Priest whispered. He'd definitely done a fair share of sinning in the past two months since his exile from the Church. Greed, for wanting to keep his daughter to himself even if it was just to protect her from the world and everything in it, and envy of Hicks' close relationship with his daughter. Wrath directed toward the Church for its complacency and the sloth in himself, for waiting so long to do something about it when he knew--he knew--that the vampires were on the hunt again no matter what Monsignor Orelas had said to the contrary. Pride, when it turned out he'd been right. And of course lust...though he'd never acted upon that at least, he knew Priestess would not have turned him away if he had. He had no doubt that she was out there looking for him in the desert and not for the first time, deeply regretted the fact that he had rebuffed her one and only gesture of affection and concern. He could almost feel the warmth of her palm on his cheek, even though weeks had gone by since that simple touch.

In fact, the only cardinal sin he'd managed to avoid so far was gluttony, and that was only because there was so little food available. He deserved whatever divine retribution God deemed fit for his many transgressions and he would it without complaint.

The shimmering blue of a lake edged a rocky ridge to the south. "Inferior mirage," his brain supplied the technical term for what his eyes were seeing. The mountain ridge was real-the water was not. He shambled that direction, pulling the hood of his robe further over his face to protect his skin. At the very least, the rocks would provide some shelter from the blistering sun.

He arrived at that distant ridge just as the sun was setting on the fifth day, but by then even his extraordinary strength and will had been drained to the point that he collapsed in the shadow of the mountain. He was dying. The only truly surprising thing about that was the manner in which he would meet his end. Given who-well, not who, but what--he was, a violent death was all but assured, especially since the War had restarted. Death as a result of dehydration and exhaustion would be the closest he'd ever come to dying of natural causes.

Perhaps this was a demonstration of God's mercy, not punishment. The rocky outcropping would not be his shelter, but his grave marker.

The last vestiges of his strength were used up when he rolled to his back so that he could meet his end with his face pointed up at the Heavens. "Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness; according to the multitude…of your tender mercies, blot out my… my transgressions," he breathed, and though he spoke with sincerity the words were as dust in his parched mouth. "Cleanse… wash me from… wash me thoroughly from my si… my iniquity…"

The verses had always come easily to him, but now they slipped away. Closing his eyes, he began to do the same.

There was a flash of light, bright enough that it stung his eyes with pain even through his shuttered lids. A second followed seconds later. Dimly, Priest registered that someone near him was speaking. The unfamiliar voice was deep and formal, infused with the barest hint of hurt.

"Brother, why have you come? Father has entrusted this task to me, did you think I was incapable of completing it alone?"

"Of course not, Brother. Am I not, above all others, aware of the lengths that you will go to in doing all that Father asks of you?"

A soft, discomfited rustle came from the direction of the first speaker, who then asked, "Then why are you here?"

"Because I wanted to be here to see his reaction when he learns the truth."

There was a distinct pause and then a statement of realization. "You did not ask Father if you could accompany me."

"I did not," the more familiar sounding one responded, adding with faint amusement, "It is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission."

There was another more exasperated rustle of sound and he heard the heavy footsteps of the pair approach and stand on either side of him.

"The resemblance is most disconcerting. Of course, he is immeasurably more sinful," the deeper voiced one accused and his voice was hardened in disdain.

"Is the sinful thought equal to the sinful deed, Brother?" his companion asked casually.

The first grunted, "You will not lure me into a war of words on that particular front yet again."

The dehydrated man pried his eyes open and looked up, up, and up, and saw that the first speaker was a giant in both height and breadth, garbed in the armor of an ancient warrior with an enormous spiked mace hanging from his belt. Around his neck was a heavy metal collar, his hair was cropped short and his eyes were pale and cold and hard. The sun had set behind that tall, armored frame and in the lingering light Priest saw something dark and shadowy shifting behind the warrior accompanied by that ruffling whisper of sound. His sludge-slow mind took a long moment to comprehend what he was looking at. Wings.

"You've come to punish me for my wickedness," he rasped to the Angel of Death, for who else-what else-could he be? "I am ready to atone for my sins."

The hulking angel's head tilted to peer down at him and he seemed almost bemused. "Truly, the resemblance lessens with each passing moment, Brother."

He turned to regard the other being who was similarly dressed in warrior garb with the metal collar, the only difference being that his weapon of choice was a sword and his face... Priest's breath left him in a quick rush of air. It was as though he were looking into a mirror that revealed a sinless version of himself, the features smooth and unmarked by the ravages of time and the War. The piercing blue eyes staring back at him were warm and compassionate. Were his weakened body capable of it, he would have wept at the sight, but it wasn't and he couldn't, so he shifted his thick tongue around in his mouth for a long moment before informing them, "I am dying."

The heavenly being he so closely resembled knelt down, placing his palm upon the man's forehead and the tattoo there burned like fire beneath the soothing touch. "Not today, Michael. Not yet."

He drew in a ragged breath at the name and corrected automatically, "My name is Priest."

The big angel shook his wings with agitation, growling out, "Why even bother to make you his namesake and then take that name away from him?"

"Be at peace, Brother. It was not his doing," the other replied evenly before telling him, "The Priest is what you are, Michael, but it was never meant to be who you are."

The man digested what they had said, his eyes swiveling between them before resettling on the one that knelt at his side. "Your name is...?"

A smile touched the angel's lips and he nodded. "Yes, my name is Michael, and this is my beloved Brother, Gabriel." His grin broadened, "And before you ask, yes, I mean that Michael and Gabriel."

"But... why do I… you..?" He tried to lift his hand to touch his face, he really did, but those stubborn fingers did little more than twitch at his side.

Michael the Archangel was thoughtful as he deduced the half-worded question. "Who hath known the mind of the Lord, Michael?" he finally answered.

The man whispered, "My name is Priest," a second time and when he saw their disapproving expressions, he struggled to explain the compulsory need to correct them, "To go against the Church is to go against God." It seemed ridiculous, saying it out loud to these two, especially given his exile from the City.

At his words, the kneeling celestial's lips tightened in anger. His brother Gabriel's fury was more obvious. He scowled and rested his large hand on the grip of his spiked mace as though he were fighting the urge to smite someone or something with it, demanding, "And if it is the Church that goes against God? What then?"

Wide-eyed, he could barely even comprehend the ramifications of such a thing. "I...But the Church..." A fat wet droplet hit him on the cheek, and then another. It was starting to rain, he realized with rising alarm. There was a reason that nothing grew in the vast wastelands, that crops planted in fields withered and died. Humanity's desperate efforts to rid the world of vampires had poisoned the earth and when water fell from the sky, it did so as acid rain, rain corrosive enough to burn the skin, strip the bark from trees and even melt away rock and stone.

A rush of adrenaline renewed his strength and he staggered his feet, grabbing Michael's hand to drag him further beneath the shelter of the rocks. He reached for Gabriel as well, but the broad-shouldered angel shook his hand off with a snort of impatience, so he tried to warn them, "The rain... poison..." and hauled desperately on his namesake again.

The archangel was standing, but otherwise immobile. He raised his other hand in a calming gesture, "Be at peace. This rainfall is a gift from the Almighty Father."

At that reassurance, the Priest-Michael-stopped, lifted his face upward, recognizing that the drops were not leaving searing tracks down his face, opened his mouth and the rain that spattered in past his dry parched lips was sweeter and purer than the filtered water from the City would ever be. Tempted as he was to swallow up every droplet that he could put into his dehydrated body, instead he fell to his knees and thanked God for this precious, precious gift while His Archangels, Gabriel the Messenger and Michael, General of all the Armies of the Heavens, watched in silence.

It only rained for about thirty minutes and the Priest drank from the sky itself, snorting and choking with joyous laughter when he tilted his head too far and it went up his nose. When it finally tapered off, he was hit with a wave of exhaustion so strong that he collapsed again and this time fell unconscious. He awoke in increments, feeling hard ground beneath his lean body, the weight of his wet clothing cocooning him in a warm damp embrace, the tickling play of fire light heating his face, the lingering sting on his forehead where the angel's hand had rested on his tattoo.

It was sometime around midnight, his inner clock told him, and he fully expected that when he came fully awake, he would discover his encounter with the angels had been nothing more than a dehydration-induced hallucination. But when he opened his eyes, they were still there, seated on large stones around a fire pit in which the heaped pile of small rocks burned like kindling.

The two saw he was awake, and the smaller of the angelic beings invited him over with a wave of his hand, indicating the third stone seat around the fire. Hauling himself to his feet, he silently thanked God again for the renewed strength the rainwater had given him and made his way over to join them, though he sat down cross-legged on the ground instead of on the offered seat. It just seemed wrong to sit amongst these two as though he were their equals. Sitting just below them with the humility of a child before his teachers seemed more appropriate. The pair gave him gave him accessing looks but said nothing.

The man stared at the fire and burning rocks or no, knew that it would be virtually a beacon to all vampires in the area. Surely his heavenly companions were aware of that, but even so, he swallowed and said, "The fire... Vampires will be drawn to it..."

Gabriel's answering smile was broad and predatory, "I sincerely hope that they are, but I doubt they would be that foolish with us here."

His brother gave a rueful shake of his head and the human was struck by how at odds they seemed with their prospective tasks. Gabriel, with his stern military bearing, appeared as though he was well suited to be the general of an angelic army, while Michael, with his calm and more sensitive demeanor, delivered the messages of God.

"Are you hungry?" Michael asked him.

The Priest's stomach answered with a loud gurgle before his mouth got a chance to.

Far from being offended, the archangel only smiled and reached into a pouch at his waist to withdraw a small white morsel of food before offering it to him.

He ate it without question and the manna, for that was surely what it was, melted in his mouth, its sweetness sliding down his throat to settle comfortably in his belly. It had been a small bite, but even that was enough to satiate his hunger.

"Son of man," the larger and more reserved of the two angels abruptly addressed him. "Would you have left the City and disobeyed the edict of the Church," Gabriel's lips twisted as though he had a sour taste in his mouth, but he continued, "if the man Hicks had told you of the vampire attacks without mentioning your family's involvement? If it had been a random settlement under attack instead of Augustine, would you still have gone?"

Would he? The Priest stared into the fire, remembering how he had felt on hearing what had happened to Shannon, Owen, and Lucy. The request to have his authority reinstated by the Monsignors had been fueled by urgent need and his strong desire to save the life of the only blood relatives he had, but would he have still made the request if it had been someone else's family that had been lost? Family involvement or no, he had known that there was something amiss, the dreams and nightmares awakening in him a crystal clear knowledge that when it came to the vampires, there was something inherently wrong about the Church's unconcerned and rote reactions to his concerns when he did voice them. It was as though he had been teetering on the cusp of a tipping point. Any ill news from Hicks would have been enough to push him over the edge. "Yes, I would have," he finally replied. "With less desperation and urgency, it's true, but I could not sit idly and do nothing any longer."

Gabriel's pale, hard eyes searched his face for any signs of prevarication and he made himself meet that intent gaze without flinching because he knew he had spoken the truth. The hulking archangel shifted his attention to his brother and something tangible seemed to pass between the pair, opaque and heavy and full of meaning that he, a human, was incapable of comprehending.

The two stood up in unison to look at him. Then Gabriel stretched out his broad soot-black wings and was suddenly enveloped in blinding light from Heaven itself. The Priest shrank back, instinctively throwing up his hand to shield himself from being burned within and without by that holy radiance. After a few seconds, it subsided enough that he could gape in awe at the Messenger of God who spoke, saying, "Fear not, Michael, for behold, the eye of God is upon you and you have been judged worthy among men. He has set before you a mighty task; go forth unto the people and wrest them free of the Church, whose teachings go against God and thus into wickedness. You will continue to show them the way, drawing them into the light of truth in His name, and thus to salvation."

The words were said with such power and conviction that the man found himself shamed for being presumptuous enough to question the angel's suitability as God's Messenger sent from above. They watched him, waiting for his reaction. He had never been a man of flowery words and eloquent speech, and had no idea what should be said in response to this God-given charge. So he could only nod slow dubious acceptance and said, "I will go."

The heavenly light faded from around Gabriel who frowned at him, interpreting his hesitancy as something else, before demanding, "You doubt Him?"

"Of course not," he answered immediately, surprised by the question. "How could I doubt Him? I doubt myself."

His quiet confession resulted in another quick wordless exchange between the two angels and then they both sat back down around the fire. The Priest remained silent for a long moment, thinking over what the angel had said to him, and then asked the question that had been burning a hole inside him since the subject had first come up. "How is the Church going against God?" He rubbed his hand across his scalp in thought and then slid it down to massage his fingers into that aching patch of skin around his tattoo, and another question occurred to him, "What truth?"

"How is the Church going against God?" Gabriel repeated incredulously and seemed on the verge of launching into a lengthy tirade when his brother raised hands, pleading for calm yet again.

"Peace, Brother, peace. Let me be the one to answer this question," Michael the Archangel requested.

His jaw clenched with restrained fury and the big angel hesitated before giving him a brief nod. "As you wish."

Michael was quiet at first and his dark wings flapped with something like distress before he said, "It all began here, seven hundred years, seven months, and seven days ago, in this very spot, actually." He looked around, remembering, and his eyes fell on his angelic companion. "And it very nearly ended here as well, didn't it, my Brother?"

Gabriel said nothing, just sat there tense and hunched.

"Mankind was on the verge of extinction, for God had grown weary of the unending wickedness, how they would kill each other over greed and race, waging war over dust and rubble and words scribed in old books. A reckoning was at hand." The archangel fell silent.

The Priest—Michael, that is who I am--knew what he was referring to. "You're talking of the Purge, right? The Great Purge?" It was a time when humans had exploded into a sudden paroxysm of murderous violence, killing each other with ferocity and determination like never had been seen before. Though it was said to have only lasted three days, by the time it came to an end, it was estimated that less than a tenth of the world population had survived. Billions had died. It was impossible to comprehend so many lives lost in such a short span of time.

"Yes." Michael leaned toward the man and his piercing blue eyes were intent. "But what you don't know, what has been all but obscured from your history books is that the Armies of Heaven were the means by which God's judgment was delivered."

His blunt fingernails sank into the coarse fabric over his thigh and Michael the Priest shivered, but not because he was cold. "So... you're saying that... that the angels caused the Great Purge at God's command?" he said, the words slow as he struggled to process such a thing.

The archangel's face was drawn and sad when he explained, "The angels were the Purge. They possessed the weak-willed and violent humans and used those vessels to bring God's wrath down on all those around them-family, friends, strangers, it didn't matter...the Armies of Heaven had been given a direct order from God, and it was every angel's duty to obey that command." Michael stood up and began pacing, his wings flexing with agitation.

"But one did not," Gabriel interrupted, staring across the fire.

"One did not," his brother agreed.

Realization dawned, and the man named Michael's jaw dropped with genuine shock as he stared up at his angelic namesake. "You disobeyed an order given to you by God Himself?"

Michael nodded, stating simply, "I did."

Gabriel's face was set in stone. "He disobeyed, and at great cost to himself. He lost his wings and his life, all while trying to protect a human girlchild who turned away from her own son seconds after he had come forth from her womb."

The Archangel Michael did not dispute any of that, only stated, "I never lost my faith, though. Not in Him, nor in mankind."

His decision to go against the Church paled in significance when compared to what the Archangel had done. To go against the Church is to go against God, Monsignor Orelas had told him. Then I go against God, Michael the Priest had said, but in his heart of hearts, he did not think his words and deeds defied the will of God. Wouldn't God have wanted him to go see the truth for himself? Staring at the angel, he tried to imagine what could possibly have been strong enough to kill him. Wasn't he immortal? "How did you lose your life?" he asked with morbid curiosity.

"I killed him," Gabriel announced, hunching over even further what seemed to be a mixture of both sorrow and shame. "I obeyed my orders." His wings drooped low behind him.

Tears stung the Priest's eyes. Centuries may have passed since the Purge, but these two were still deeply affected by all that had happened in those days.

Michael walked over to rest his hand on his brother's shoulder and his voice was quiet and comforting when he said, "Only the mortal shell, Brother. My spirit abided still, and by the grace and glory of God the Father, I was summoned back to the Heavens and restored to my physical form. Gabriel did what God wanted. I did what he needed." He gave the other angel a reassuring squeeze and then made his way back to his stone, sitting down again. "And thus, the Purge, as you call it, ended. And the War between mankind and vampires began."

Wiping the wetness from his eyes, the man named Michael shook his head with confusion. "Wait, I don't understand. How did one lead to the other?"

Gabriel gave himself a shake from wings to feet, shedding his lingering grief like a great bird ridding itself of water droplets, and explained harshly, "When the Armies returned back to the Heavens, the empty husks of the possessed remained behind like empty jars of clay waiting to be filled. And filled they were. By demons."

Michael rocked backward and a chill swept through his lean frame that even his heavy priestly robes did little to chase away. "Vampires are… demons?"

"No," the Archangel Michael shook his head. "Instead of re-engaging mankind in outright war again, instead the demons took their vessels into the deepest parts of the earth, far from the light of the sun, and spent many years twisting and corrupting the physical forms under the guidance of their leader, Agrat Bat Mahlat. And while they were doing their monstrous work below, above, the child, the baby boy that had been born during the Purge had grown strong both in body and faith, finding great favor with the Lord. God spoke through him to the people and they finally listened, setting aside pagan religions and agnosticism and atheism to unite the majority of mankind into a single religion under one banner—The Church. It was miraculous, to put it bluntly."

"Saint Alexander the Protector was the baby? The one you died for during the Purge?" Truly, this was all starting to give Michael a headache, it was so much to take in at one time! At least the stinging pain around his tattoo had started to recede, ever so slightly.

Gabriel allowed in a gruff tone, "The child's name suited him well. He truly was a protector of men."

"Indeed," his angelic brother agreed. "The Father called him home, and the Church persevered in spite of his absence. And then, Agrat Bat Mahlat unleashed her monstrous creations upon the earth. Only a handful had survived their unholy transformation, and those that did were no longer capable of being possessed by demons or angels, but in the end it did not matter. They were driven by an insatiable lust for human blood and flesh. At first, their predations, terrible as they were, went largely unnoticed. But Agrat Bat Mahlat had found a way to breed her creatures, which came to be called vampires, and in return they named her their Queen. Years passed and the vampires became more numerous, while mankind's numbers dwindled, and…"

Heaving an impatient sigh, Gabriel interrupted, "Can we hurry this along, Brother? I see no need for this history lesson, none of this addresses his original question."

Michael frowned and seemed on the verge of arguing the point, but then his gaze shifted to where the Priest was seated on the ground, doing his best to follow what was essentially a complete rewrite of history as he knew it. "You're right, of course." The archangel sighed, resting an elbow on his knee, and asked the man, "Michael. Have you ever asked yourself why the War ended with a truce?"

The Priest blinked shook his head, insisting, "No, it ended with the Church's victory."

Gabriel snorted his derision. "A victory. Is that what they called it?"

Michael straightened and gave a neat flip of his wings. "Ask yourself, then—how is it that at the end of your Church's so-called victory, that some vampires remained alive to be relegated to the reservations? Don't you think it would have made far more sense to exterminate such a deadly threat to human existence completely? How, exactly, do you believe that the victory and resultant peace came about? Did you and the other Priests go out and round up the vampires, driving them before you like cattle to their new homes? Or did they go willingly, and of their own accord?"

His brows drew together in a frown. It was true, when the War had been declared finished, he and the other Priests had been surprised when the Church had held them back from hunting the vampires and their Queen into extinction, especially after what had happened at Sola Mira. "They… they went willingly to the reservations… their familiars helped…. They knew the War was lost…." He rubbed that aching spot on his forehead, thinking it over because there was something wrong about it all. There always had been, but he just turned a blind eye to it, trusting in the Church's decision.

Exasperated, Gabriel finally just told him, "Michael, son of man, in order for an armistice to work, both parties must reach an agreement to end hostilities. The War ended because the Church made a deal with the vampire Queen, the demon Agrat Bat Mahlat."

As soon the words were said, it was as though the missing key to a complex cipher had been revealed. Unable to remain seated a moment longer, Michael jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth in quick, agitated strides as he put it all together. His priestly robes flowed around his body while the two archangels watched in silence. "We were winning… the Priests had turned the tides of battle against the vampires and we were winning the war." He gnawed furiously on his thumbnail, thinking back to the day the Monsignors had announced to the City that the War was over. "They… they summoned us. The Monsignors summoned us and thanked us for our service in the name of the Church and God. And said that in return for our sacrifice, we would never have to fight again, that we would be blessed to live out the remainder of our lives in peace within the City." His head jerked up in sudden knowledge and he faced the celestial beings, his fists clenched with righteous fury. "That was the deal. That the Church would make it so the Priests never left the City again. They did it to protect the vampires from us."

"And now the scales fall free from his eyes," Gabriel said with a cold and humorless smile.

The Archangel Michael leveled a steady look upon the Priest. "That was actually only part of the deal. The other part of this 'bargain', if you will, was centered around the settlements. The Church had come to regard those who dwelled within the settlements outside the City walls as rebels, malcontents who sought only to break away from the Church's theocratic authority. As such, their lives were forfeit."

"We have made a covenant with death and with hell are we at agreement; When the overflowing scourge shall pass through it shall not come unto us, for we have made lies our refuge and under falsehood have we hid ourselves," Michael softly quoted. It was monstrous, that the Church that he had believed in, had fought for, and very nearly died for on numerous occasions, should have fallen to such lows. "And what, pray tell," the man grated through clenched teeth, "did the Church get in return for their black bargain. It sure as hell wasn't thirty silver pieces."

Gabriel answered that question with one simple word. "Immortality."

"What?" That was startling enough that Michael paused in his pacing to stare back at him.

"Agrat Bat Mahlat promised the Monsignors immortality," the celestial Michael expounded. "That is what she achieved with her experimentations on your friend Jacob."

"Jacob? I don't…" And then he knew who the Archangel was referring to. "You mean the other Priest. The one who became the man in the black hat."

Gabriel rose up to his feet now, those large dark wings rustling with disgust. "She turned him into an abomination with her blood potion. He retained the memories of his human life and intelligence, but gained the vampires insatiable thirst for blood in addition to their inhuman strength and speed. And so long as he continued to drink human blood, he would never get sick and would never die by any means other than sunlight or fire. That is why your earthly weapons had little effect on him." The angel looked him and said, "It is good that you killed him. Any human he bit would have become like he was, had they survived the attack."

The Priest's lip curled. "He was going to share his curse with the Monsignors?"

"He was going to destroy the city just as he and his vampire companions had destroyed every other settlement they passed through on that unholy train," Michael explained and stood as well, looking over at Gabriel.

"Father calls me home." Gabriel's face had gone from stern to serene between one blink of the eye and the next. The change in his warlike demeanor was unexpected and beautiful. The big angel looked at the human and said, "Michael, son of man, when you next see Agrat Bat Mahrat in that vile pit that she calls her nest, say my name and I will bring her a message of destruction like none she has ever experienced before." He crouched down and launched himself upward, neatly dodging the rock outcropping with extraordinary grace and then vanishing into the sky.

Michael watched until he was gone from sight and he could not help being saddened by the knowledge that soon his other Heavenly companion would be gone, leaving him alone in the desert once more.

The Archangel Michael discerned his thoughts and reassured him, "You won't be alone for long. Your friend and companion Nichola will be here soon. And of course it goes without saying that God is always with you, so you are never truly alone."

Nichol…? Priestess. Nichola was her name. It was the beautiful name of a beautiful woman.

His cheeks went a ruddy red when Michael realized he was on the verge of having lustful thoughts about Priestess—Nichola—while standing in the presence of the Archangel Michael himself. Rubbing his fingertips on that aching spot on his forehead again, he scuffed one boot on the ground like a chastised schoolboy.

Giving him a knowing look and a warm smile, the celestial rested his hand on the man's shoulder, and said, "You know, the Father never intended for you to live a solitary life without companions or emotions. Emotion is what helps us be compassionate. Nichola's devotion and friendship is a rare gift, one you should treasure. Do not be afraid to share your appreciation of that gift with her. Your daughter Lucy also looks to you for love and support. She is still alive and uncorrupted by Jacob's unholy taint by the grace of God, and you are the only family she has left. The man Hicks loves her, yes, but she also needs her father's love and guidance as well. Do not begrudge her that."

The Priest looked into that face, so much like his own, and said simply, "Thank you."

"Thank you, for reinforcing my faith," Michael the Archangel smiled back. He dropped his hand from the man's shoulders, stepped away and stretched out his dark sooty wings. "Oh, and don't worry, it'll fade soon."

"What will fade soon? Wait," Michael called out, unable to help himself. "Will I see you again?"

A bright chuckle came forth from the angel as he leapt toward the Heavens. "Have faith!"

So intent on watching the archangel's ascent into the sky that he didn't even hear the jetbike's approach until it was a couple hundred feet away. He turned his attention toward her, watching the lithe woman stop, park, and dismount the bike with such calculated deliberation that he could not help being impressed by her self control. Walking toward him with perfectly spaced steps, her dark eyes darted over him starting with his tattooed face and working her way down his tall, lean body as though looking for any visible signs of injury before returning up to his tattoo again. When she stopped an arm's length away from him, there was the barest hint of confusion and concern in her gaze, but that was understandable, given the circumstances under which this reunion was taking place. "Priest," she finally said, lifting her chin in greeting. Though her arms hung loose and relaxed at her sides, her fingers twitched like she was fighting the urge to reach out and touch him.

"Michael," he gently corrected, raising his hand to rest on her shoulder. Giving her an affectionate squeeze, he then moved closer to wrap his long arms around her in a warm embrace. The woman stiffened in surprise and returned the hug with such fierce strength that it almost hurt, but in a wonderful way. Laughing, he rubbed his cheek on her hair and said again, "My name is Michael. And yours is Nichola."

She went still in his arms and said, "My name is Priestess." Suddenly, she drew back enough to stare up at him in shock, asking, "How did you know my name? Where have you been for the past five days? What happened to your bike? And… why is your forehead glowing?"

His pale eyebrows shot upward, "Why is my…." Lifting his hand and running his fingertips across that patch of skin on his forehead, he understood now why it had been bothering him since the Archangel Michael first rested his hand on it hours before. Then he grabbed her by the hand and led her over to the fire, chuckling. "Come sit with me, Nichola, and I will tell you everything that has been revealed to me."

A/N First, thank you for taking the time to read this fanfiction. It's been in my mind ever since I finished watching Priest and Legion within days of each other. I really felt like there was something missing from Priest, some hugely important plot twist. If the Writers/Director had incorporated the part about the Church making a deal with the vampires, the movie would have been so much better I think! I really hope it wasn't too confusing that Priest's name was Michael. I did my best to give clues as to who was speaking by using descriptions, so hopefully you readers were able to keep up with it. I made a real effort for there to be a progression of Priest accepting his name, starting with Priest, then 'the Priest', then 'The Priest Michael' and finally just Michael.

Also, I'm not totally hip on the angelogy thing and I know there are different ranks and types of angels, but it felt weird typing Archangel every single time, so I used it interchangeably with angel. Sorry if it bothers any readers.

As a complete aside, I really really HATE how the document manager on ffdotnet eats double hyphens. If you find typos/errors in the story related to those, it has to do with the automatic formatting of the document manager, not because my errors. I even went through and tried to fix them all, but it just won't accept the changes.

The following Bible verses from the King James Version were referenced in this story. I'm listing them in order of appearance.

Romans 6:23 "For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Psalm 51:1-2 "Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin."

Romans 11:34 "For who hath known the mind of the Lord, or who has been His counselor?"

Acts 9:18 "And immediately there fell from his eyes as it had been scales, and he received sight forthwith, and arose, and was baptized."

Isaiah 28:16 "We have made a covenant with death and with hell are we at agreement; when the overflowing scourge shall pass through it shall not come unto us; for we have made lies our refuge and under falsehood have we hid ourselves."

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