At a table carved from a substance that shamed the luster of silver and gold, the archangels gathered. At the head sat God—an intimidating, radiant singularity of presence. At the center of the heavenly hall stood that very table forged from a metal more resplendent than gold, laden with otherworld fruits that shimmered like captured shimmering starlight and fine wine sweeter than mortal dreams. Beside himself sat his trio: Raphael, the bringer of passionate grace; Michael, the Prince of the Heavenly Host; and Gabriel, the smallest and most fragile of the three. Besides the archangel Gabriel, sat the handsome but soft Michael. And beside Michael sat Raphael. At the beginning of said table sat God himself. And truly an intimidating and glorious God he was. The archangels again—Raphael, Michael, and Gabriel—continued to converse emotionally and intelligently as they sat in reverent and innocent silence, their androgynous hairless forms draped in rich heavenly dress of liquid silk, their wings folded with effortless grace. Raphael, the healer, carried himself with fluid strength, his dark sepia wings casting long shadows over the feast. Michael, the soft warrior, bore his golden gilded filigree sword with quiet pride amongst them, his knight-like armor gleaming like polished thunder. And Gabriel, the smallest of them all, three, radiated an innocence so pure it bordered on fragility, his golden hair cascading like sunlight, his sky-white wings trembling with every breath.
It was the twenty-ninth of the eighth moon of the heavenly calendar. A large feast was to begin amongst the angels as God watched. The three archangels smiled at each other. Notably all-male-bodied, but somewhat hairless and softly feminine in figure. They were angels after all, most ethereally beautiful of God's creation. All three wore beautiful, luxurious, robe-like garments that draped delicately over their firmly toned, androgynous bodies. Nothing on earth could ever compare to a Messenger of God's eternal beauty. A feast of golden, glistening, bountiful fruit platters and ambrosial wine lay plentiful across silk-and-lace-covered tables made of an otherworldly metal, beyond the quality of copper, silver, or gold. A giant feast was bound to begin and the three Archangels were completely there for it all.
It truly was the twenty-ninth day of the eighth moon. The feast was a sight beyond mortal comprehension, laden with sweet ambrosial wine and fruits that glistened with the candle-like light of glistening stars in a world where light overcame the dark but there was neither. The three archangels were marvels of glowing androgyny, enough to cause feelings of both intense infatuation and incredible fright to the unworthy. They wore luxurious, flowing garments that clung to firmly toned, slender pale frames, draping delicately over skin that glowed with an inner, ethereal luminescence. Clothing of chiffon and silk and velvet heeled boots is what they appeared to wear to the human eye if it could possibly see it.
Raphael stood first, his presence commanding yet fluid. "I am Raphael, one of the three who stand before the Glory of the Lord. I am a healer and a bringer of passionate tenderness and affection. I am Raphael, one who stands before the Glory of the Lord. I bring healing and the gift of eroticism and love." He leaned over the dark shiny wooden-like banquet table, his shoulder-length brown tumbling curls bouncing softly against his friendly looking shoulders. His hawk-like flowing glass feathered wings, light and dark, cast a protective shadow over his other companions.
Gabriel, adult in appearance yet tiny in stature and muscular waif-like, pink rose petals flying behind themselves. He looked at his otherworldly companions with a feminine innocence that bordered on if not the divine. His golden curly locks fell like a river of spun nutritious wheat, and he brushed them aside with hands as delicate as a woman's bearing porcelain pale fingernails, though his arms were defined by the opposing lean, hard muscle of a warrior but contrastingly soft and gentle. "And I," he whispered, his voice soft, shy, and tremulous. He batted long, dark eyelashes that framed eyes the color of autumn-seasonal hazelnuts, his sky white wings beating with a nervous, rapid but timid rhythm against his chair.
Michael, the dominant Prince, flexed, his glistening knight-like armor clanking with the sound of ringing bells. "And I, Michael the Prince of the Heavenly Host, with this ornate filigree-embossed sword, will protect Gabriel, Raphael, and the sanctity of the heavens against any encroaching painful darkness. I will protect the light. The candle burning in the dark. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, his authoritarian but safe gaze unwavering.
"I am the proud father to you all," God boomed, a voice like rolling thunder wrapped in warmth.
But the peace was suddenly shattered. A wave of discordant, brassy trumpets tore through the pastel color-changing clouds. Cherubs shrieked inhumanly, their tiny voices piercing the air. "The demons! The abyss is breaching the heavens!"
"Oh dear." Said God in a deep tone of voice. "I shall adhere to this at once."
God shot a bolt of lightning towards the swarm of demons coming towards the banquet of the archangels and the lord. It was made clear that a war was brewing.