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Taking a deep breath in, Aziraphale steadied himself. He had been at this for hours, but progress was slow-coming. It was grueling; it was embarrassing. Today was the day the archangels had chosen to look over the other angel's training, making sure they were prepared for combat against heaven's newest (and first) enemy, the demons. With gritty determination, Aziraphale looked up once more and focused on the training dummy ahead. His flaming sword felt heavier than ever.
"Principality Aziraphale," spoke Gabriel, "you must remember your training."
Frustration welled up inside of Aziraphale. Of course he remembered his training-- Gabriel had spoken far too long in his smug, self-satisfied voice to forget. A snap of the archangel's fingers brought Aziraphale back into the present, where the figure in front of him lurched to life. For a tense second, both stood still, until the dummy suddenly broke into a sprint, striking down onto Aziraphale's blade. With two hands now, the angel gripped his sword desperately, feeling the blow reverberate down his very core.
"You must concentrate, Aziraphale. You cannot allow the enemy to gain the upper hand."
Aziraphale grit his teeth. He knew. Of course he did. Drawing away from the stalemate, the angel went for a thrust, only to be blocked. Once again he tried, only to be forced backwards by his opponent. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto his flaming sword as his attacks were continuously matched, the dummy giving no leeway or openings. Anger and frustration guided his blade now as he slashed his way forward; his blade was much too low, his stance muddied by carelessness. He should have seen it coming, yet the freezing cold shock of surprise pierced through him as the dummy clipped one of his wings with its weapon. Surprise, however, soon mutated into something Aziraphale had never felt before. Molten lightning bubbled in his veins, and a burst of light, brighter than anything that had been seen by the angelic host in a long time, erupted out of him as he brought his flaming blade down over his head. A crack of thunder melded with the angel's scream of fury, the wake of which threw the other angels in the training arena to the floor. The figure first glowed with unfiltered angelic light, then shattered like tempered glass onto the floor. Aziraphale, standing until that moment, collapsed onto his knees, clinging to the hilt of his sword like a leaf in a storm. His blade had been extinguished, and he no longer had the strength to stop his blood from flowing onto the shards under him. When he dragged his head up and forced his eyes open, all in the arena were staring back at him, stunned and startled. The first to move was Raphael, who scrambled over to the principality and asked, "are you alright?"
"I'm fine," came Aziraphale's weak reply, which seemed to shake Gabriel out of his own slack-jawed daze.
"That was an acceptable resolution to this training session, principality, but weakness like this will get you killed on the battlefield. I will expect more from you in the future."
The archangel then turned away, followed by Michael and Sandaphalon, who took one more glance back before turning forward dutifully.
More, always more, thought Aziraphale, still unable to process what just happened.
"Ignore him," hissed Raphael, who was now crouched beside Aziraphale, "he just doesn't want to admit that you're more powerful than any of us realized."
"Ignore Gabriel?"
"That's what I said, Aziraphale. Ignore him completely if you'd like. It's what I do."
Then, with a tired chuckle, Aziraphale started to believe that maybe training wasn't so bad after all.