Surprise, motherfucker Lucifer. You're dealing with a competent moron.
Fortunately, the lateness of the revelation works in Aziraphale's favor, the deep pleasure of seeing Satan looking wary and startled giving him just enough energy to climb back to his feet. All the pain coursing through him he lays aside for now, and he lunges forward with a broken, unbalanced flap of his wings. It's not as graceful as it would be if they'd been unharmed; in fact, it's not graceful at all. He flies at Lucifer and slashes again and again, growling like an enraged, wild animal, throwing everything he has left into this.
Taking advantage of Lucifer's momentary unguardedness, he seizes the Adversary by his vessel's shirt and drives the fiery blade into his gut, holding him on the end of it like a speared fish.
"This is not your world," he snarls, "and he is not yours. Our will is our own now, not bound to you or anyone, and as long as I am in this universe I will use every bit of it to strike you down."
And he plunges the sword, throwing all his weight behind it, deep into Lucifer, pushing it through him nearly up to the hilt. He holds it there, gritting his teeth with the effort, then wrests it back out again and releases his grasp, stepping back and standing for a glorious moment with his feet planted, sword blazing at his side, and his bloody, broken wings spread behind him.
TW: stabbing/impalement
motherfuckerLucifer. You're dealing with a competent moron.Fortunately, the lateness of the revelation works in Aziraphale's favor, the deep pleasure of seeing Satan looking wary and startled giving him just enough energy to climb back to his feet. All the pain coursing through him he lays aside for now, and he lunges forward with a broken, unbalanced flap of his wings. It's not as graceful as it would be if they'd been unharmed; in fact, it's not graceful at all. He flies at Lucifer and slashes again and again, growling like an enraged, wild animal, throwing everything he has left into this.
Taking advantage of Lucifer's momentary unguardedness, he seizes the Adversary by his vessel's shirt and drives the fiery blade into his gut, holding him on the end of it like a speared fish.
"This is not your world," he snarls, "and he is not yours. Our will is our own now, not bound to you or anyone, and as long as I am in this universe I will use every bit of it to strike you down."
And he plunges the sword, throwing all his weight behind it, deep into Lucifer, pushing it through him nearly up to the hilt. He holds it there, gritting his teeth with the effort, then wrests it back out again and releases his grasp, stepping back and standing for a glorious moment with his feet planted, sword blazing at his side, and his bloody, broken wings spread behind him.