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Mikael hadn't expected the ambush, I guess that had been their idea, and he had flown away from the assault as quick as he could. The second he landed in what he hoped was an abandoned building his wings coiled up dissolving in to his skin, leaving only 6 straight lines as scars on his back, the only evidence they had been there moments before. He looked down to his torso, a spear jutted from the flesh of his abdomen. He examined it trying to judge how much of the spear was within him but deciding this was a problem for once he was safe he merely snapped the wooden handle close to his skin.

He had been knelt upon the cold floor as he worked, he let himself fall forward, a shudder travelling through his body warning him that soon the adrenaline would falter and pain would wash through his core. A voice echoed through his mind, a sense all angels were born with 'not alone' it said simply. Mikael wanted to just stay where he was, not move for a moment, not exist in the war he found himself in the midst of. This was not to be however, he let his body swing forward so he could move a hand to steady himself to standing.

Mikael now stood in a pool of his own blood dripping from various scratches in his clothing and the embedded spear. His hand reached to the sword on his hip, a weapon he despised before he spoke. "Show yourself." he uttered, his voice was commanding and strong. Even in his agony his voice didn't falter, as he predicted the pain was beginning to spiral like a vortex originating from his wound.