Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 6

had to have faith that there was a reason. For now, that was all that he could do.
    Realizing his deliverance was not coming, he finished his prayer, the only way he knew how.
    Looking up, knowing his pain was written all over his face, he gave his oath. "My loyalty is unwavering, My Lord. I know not Your purpose in this, but I trust You have one that I cannot yet see. I will be Your servant always." Touching his fist to his heart, he bowed his head again and then stood.
    Samael's legs were shaky from holding the position for such a long time, so he held the wall as he walked life into his limbs again. Once he started though, he couldn't stop. Back and forth, he strode the five steps across the tiny room. Back and forth and back again. At this rate, his nervous energy was going to tear him apart.
    Michael and Raphael would be coming in to deal with him soon enough: removing his wings, divesting him of his power and banishing him to Earth. Allowing nothing to remain. No clothes, no coin, nothing but a dagger to defend himself with.
    At least they were giving him that. Once stripped, he would be human. Not weak, by any means. He'd been a warrior for far too many millennia for that. However, he would need to live as a man, his life would be mortal, and his strength would not be what it was.
    As Samael paced, he could feel his fists clenching and releasing almost in time with his steps. "Gadreel" he growled. "I will not rest until my name and honor have been restored, and I am home again." Then, he would make sure that demon spy was where he belonged.
    In Hell.
    He had no idea how long he waited, marching along in the small chamber, before he heard keys in the lock outside the door. Stopping suddenly, he turned toward the noise and stiffened. It was time.
    Michael entered the room followed by Raphael, and the looks on their faces said it all. Their eyes so filled with pity and sadness that he actually flinched.
    "Hey buddy." Michael said, sounding so defeated that of course he had to make a joke.
    "Finally," he whispered, grinning the best he could without making it into a grimace. "It's about time you guys came to bust me out of here. I think I wore a hole in my shoes."
    Raph grunted and crossed his arms, while Mike gave the most dismal half smile he had ever seen. "Yeah, don't we wish?" Mike murmured. "I am sorry, man," he continued, "You can't know how hard this is for me."
    Feeling the need to give his friend some ease, he slapped him on the shoulder. "I know, Mike. I know. I don't blame you. Let's just get this over with."
    Michael nodded sharply once, then grabbed him and pulled him into a hug, smacking his shoulder hard a couple of times. Sam did the same and then pulled away, not knowing where to look.
    "Alright already, quit your blubbering, you little girls."
    Samael turned to Raphael snorting. "Look who's talking, Oh Pretty One."
    "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful," he said striking a pose.
    "Ok, Mr. Vain." Michael put in, cuffing Raph's ear.
    "Ow. Hey! Don't mess with the hair." Raph called out, smoothing his hair back, before starting to hum a song from the twentieth century about being vain.
    Samael realized he was grinning at the byplay. He didn't know how he did it, but Raphael had broken the tension that was overwhelming him. Somehow, things were going to be okay.
    He held his hand out to Raph, who gripped his forearm tightly and nodded to him solemnly. Samael held his gaze for a moment, seeing friendship and regret, before tilting his chin in acknowledgement and turning to Michael.
    "Ok, man," he announced to his friend. "Do your thing."
    Michael and Raphael exchanged a meaningful look before they moved. In the blink of an eye, they had surrounded him, and then there was just white-hot light. It was so bright Samael had to close his eyes against the burn. The beams sliced him, setting his blood on fire. Agony shot through him and he felt like he would collapse, but somehow stayed standing. He cried out as the wind kicked up and he was in the middle of a tornado. It beat against him, stealing his breath, whipping his hair and ripping his clothes off his body. The fray could have lasted minutes or an eternity, he couldn't say, until a sucking sensation pulled at him with such force that he thought he would implode. He felt as if his soul was being extracted from his body. It jerked and stretched, like a rubber band pulled past its limits, until it felt like the band finally broke. Or maybe he did,