He watched how the crowd rallied up to his words and closed his eyes to bask in the glory. Yes, this was their time . . . their time to burst through the heavenly gates!
The cheers in the club got louder, and he grasped the mic tighter in his hand. He would stop those fools before they could awake their precious Angelic warrior.
He was grinning. His plan was blossoming in front of him. He even got revenge on the Creator six hundred and sixty-six years ago, although it wasn't by his own hand.
His revenge tasted so sweet, he never knew why people called it bitter-sweet, but he didn't care. He avenged his brother, and here he planned to take over heaven.
There will not be a heaven or hell - just his perfect limbo, a world where the Angels and Demons could live in unity and even mate if they wished to. He grinned at that thought. Now, hybrids sounded good.
He placed the mic to his lips again. "My brethren, so let us begin our witch hunt on the mortal body of Gadrial! If she doesn't live, the scale won't be tipped in anyone's favour, but . . . we would be able to take on heavens full force!"
The crowd pumped their fists in the air. "Then go and bring Gadrial to her knees - go and create havoc, no matter how much innocent blood you spill! Bring her to me!"
There was a stampede as the fallen and demons spilt from the club, it emptied, and Moloch looked around him and licked his lips. "Yes, this will be the perfect base of operations far away from Michael's wandering eye.
He walked up the stairs and sniffed. " So this is where Lucian hid." He opened the door and entered the small apartment; it was messy. He stepped over the clothes piling on the floor, 'Has he never heard of house cleaning?'
Moloch snorted in disgust. The whole apartment was your typical bad boy image; guitars all over the place, posters of bands that mortals described as satanic.
He moved towards the bedroom, the bed was unmade, and the covers were on the floor; the linen didn't look like it had been washed yet.
He looked it over one more time. "Well, if I move my operation here . . . everything has to go." He walked past a standing mirror with a solemn expression on his face, and standing next to him was a transparent angel.
"Azazel..." His voice was barely a whisper. Azazel smiled at him. "Moloch, long time no talk. I see you are playing this game well."
"Of course, I have - if you weren't by my side. . . we wouldn't have gotten this far."
Azazel touched his brother's shoulder. "It was smart of you to have saved a piece of my angelic essence. I wish the Creator could have seen me the day Michael drove the sword through his heart."
"The look on his face was priceless."
Azazel nodded his head. "I couldn't agree more. So how are our plans going to get me my body back?"
Moloch's grin disappeared. His brother wanted a body of his own again, and not just any 'normal' body . . . but the Angel of War's body. He did try to push him in another direction, like Michael's. "Brother, I am trying-"
"You are not trying hard enough! I want her body."
Moloch flinched. He didn't know his brother's end goals were. . . and that scared him more than anything. All he wanted was to kill the stupid bitch so he could achieve his own goal, but Azazel was not having any of that. "I'll find her."
"You better because we have to do this in the surge as Gadrial wakens not before or after but precisely at the right time. Do you understand?"
"I understand. . . but please reconsider the use of Micha-"
"I have told you his body won't work! It still inhabits his immortal soul. Her body is perfect because it already inhabits two souls. And when the surge happens . . . her body will be empty as the two souls collide for the inhabitant of it."
That was the first time Moloch heard about this, so that is why his brother wanted her body. "I will..."
"Of course, you will. I am your baby brother, aren't I - and you big brother would do anything to see me happy, won't you?"
Moloch knew he would. He would do anything he loved his brother more than the Creator ever did. Azazel caressed his face soothingly.
He missed his brother's touch. The transparency wasn't working for him. It only felt like a small-tingling sensation and always left goosebumps on his skin. "Yes, anything to see you happy."
Azazel stood in front of him and brushed his lips with his. "That is the brother I know."
Moloch closed his eyes, accepting the light brushed kiss, and his body was starting to react - he had to do this now. . . and he stepped away from the mirror, opening his eyes. Azazel was gone, and all he had left was the tingling sensation on his lips.
He left the apartment in a hurry. The only way for him to speak to his Azazel was to look in the mirror - one of the main reasons why he didn't have any mirrors near him.
He went outside of the club and looked up into the sky. "Well, well. It seems Uriel is being naughty."
He spread his wings and took the sky straight in the eye of the storm. He danced with the lightning in the sky; Moloch adored storms, and he remembered every time there was a storm - he looked from heaven, wishing he was on earth.
The storm was lifting up to his disappointment. He had to get back to Michael to find out if this mortal woman had applied for the job.
He hid the fact from the brethren and his brother that Gadrial was in his grasp. For he knew if he wanted to continue with his personal . . . agenda - he had to hide things from them.
He turned in the direction of Angel War Company. Enjoying the wind that caressed his wings. He came to his room and landed on the window sill.
His thoughts returned to when he left here a few hours ago and screamed his name as Azazel when he plummeted from the window. This bothered him tremendously; Moloch knew he had to act in the club to throw Lucian and Gabriel from his scent.
Did he do that to get into character? Or was there something else that was at work here? He shook his head at the thought and drew his wings backwards. He walked to the elevator.
The doors opened, and he entered, pressing the down button. He should stop thinking about that and focus on what he could control.
The doors opened on Michael's office floor. Moloch stepped out and walked to the doors. . . he paused to knock. "Michael?"
He heard a scrambling sound behind the door and rolled his eyes. "Really, Michael?"
The doors opened - and out walked the chauffeur, bowing at the sight of Moloch, still pulling his shirt on. He gave him a nod and stepped into Michael's office.
"Really, Michael? Do you have no sense of dignity?"
Michael was buttoning his shirt up. "What is it to you? I can fuck whomever I want."
Moloch closed the door behind him. It was probably not his business, but he was the one who let Michael tumble over the line and accept who he was, and he had enjoyed that time a lot with Michael. "We have other business than our lust."
"You are always about business these days, Moloch. When was the last time you had a good fuck?"
He took a step toward Michael, smirking dangerously. "Are you offering yourself to me again?"
Michael stepped backwards. "You had your chance with me, so my answer is no."
Moloch grabbed him in front of his shirt and drew him forward, their lips a few inches apart. He trailed his fingers on Michael's face. "You miss me, " he let his hand lower to Michael's neck. "Admit it. "
He trailed his fingers down on Michael's torso and lower, stopping above his pants. "I can feel how you miss me, dear Michael."
Michael felt frustrated with himself. He had promised he wouldn't touch him in that way again, but his body was betraying him now. He groaned against Moloch's lips, "My answer is still no."
Moloch's eyes widened and pushed him backwards. "Fine! Have it your way." He went and sat behind Michael's desk. Looking at him and saw the frustration on his face. "Give me an update."