There was a time when Xion had been truly rebellious against Michael.
Not just a stubborn or uncooperative one.
But truly, viscerally rebellious. The kind of defiance that lived in bone and blood, that didn't fade even when his body had died once.
He had fought him with every ounce of strength he could muster. Even when the laws of the universe pressed down on him, smothering his power like a heavy blanket, he had refused to stop.
His breathing had been ragged, his vision dark at the edges, but his hand had still found the hilt of a knife.
And with a surge of rage, he had driven the blade straight at Michael.
The memory was a jagged, vivid fragment in his mind.
There was the sound of steel slicing through the air, the startled, almost disbelieving look in Michael's silver-grey eyes before pain overtook him.
The chaos that followed was still fresh in his mind. The scent of blood, burning in his lungs, and the heavy slap that had knocked him to the floor.
