Michael trembled with righteous fury, and he reassured himself that he was not trembling with fear. No matter how scared he might be, he would not show it. He would bury it, let it wither and die until he was no longer afraid.
“My threats are not empty, Loki,” he snapped, adjusting the grip on his blade. His eyes flicked to their surroundings, taking them in and readjusting his stance. “I don’t need to explain my tactics and reasoning to you.”
“I want you to die,” he hissed, pure hatred blazing through his words, “and I want you to suffer while you do so.”
He swallowed once, before leaping at the other with his sword in hand. Well, whatever happened now, he’d brought it upon himself. He should have controlled himself better, not allowed emotions to push through the path of logic and reason. Still he did not stop as he swung his sword at the other.
With Michael swinging in furious strokes, blinded by emotion, it was not hard for Loki to dodge each strike with ease, almost as if he was dancing around the angel.
“You may kill me, Michael. In fact, I may even permit it,” he said with a smile, expression unchanged as ever. With a flash of green, he disappeared from the front of the angel, reappearing behind him. “But know this, Michael,” he muttered into his ear before disappearing once more.
“I will haunt you.”
He appeared once more into the path of Michael’s blade, blocking the strike with his own scepter. “I am older than you, older than your god. You are a but a speck in my life, but,” he grinned, “I must admit, you are an entertaining speck.”
He let the flesh of his cheek touch against the angel’s sword, drawing deep, crimson drops of blood. “This is my choosing, not yours.” The god smiled, disappearing and reappearing once more, a few feet further from the angel.