Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“No Gods or Masters.”

— 1 —

Emptiness.

A vast nothing in everything. More dark than the voids high above, more vacant than the hellish layers. An artifact, a blister, left when all was made and abandoned. Primordial chaos colder than the wasteland where the Great Betrayer laid chained.

Had it been mere minutes since he fell into the abyss or days? Any sense of time had been sucked up by the blackness. Gabriel counted down the seconds since he slaughtered each and every lie cast by the Council, strung them high so every soul could see the truth. What they made from that truth, he did not know or care. Not at this point.

He could see nothing, feel nothing, hear nothing. Nothing but one thing.

Think.

As long as his flickering soul remained in this all-consuming void.

Fall. Fall.

Falling.

Gabriel stared at the abyss and saw no reflection of what he once was. A radiance outshining even the most decorated and oldest war angels, faded to a dim struggling glow. Righteousness that burnt sins to ash, that toppled resistances, and decapitated foolish kings of old that refused to bend the knee. Few could compare and those that did had grown solemn in their duties. Rarely did he see Metatron, Michael, Uriel, or even Raphael anymore.

Were they aware of the atrocity he committed? Perhaps they simply did not care anymore. Uriel had grown mute. Raphael's laughter no longer reached every soul in the Spheres. Michael and Metatron, highest and closest to Him, were seen so seldom that Gabriel overhead a few souls mutter on whether the two Archangels were merely myths.

It was heresy to think such things. Worse to speak them out loud, and so he disciplined them, in accordance with the rules of Heaven.

A judge.

That was all he was.

No. Not even a judge. A gavel. His swords, blessed by celestiality, held tightly in armored fingers yet not wielded by their owner, for their owner did not even wield himself. Puppeteered by liars and falsehoods in the name of order and His will. Enforced by fear and tyranny. Truth be told, he had not been the Righteous Hand of God for a long, long time and he knew this in a deep buried part inside his soul. When He left, when he abandoned them all, the heavenly chorus ceased to play.

All that was left was silence. The song of creation cut short, now filled by damned screams and prayers to an empty throne.

Radiance, sputtering like a lamp, lit up not an inch. A lone firefly drifting across a starless sky. Eyes that Gabriel did not have weighed more than the boulder he cursed a vain and simple man with. If allowed to close, nothing would happen. Light swallowed by darkness. His armor stained crimson with blood he spilled, cracked like the mountains he once split, ichor flowed as rivers he once diverted as his feet met the azure floor of Wrath. Helmet crushed, a fist-sized hole exposing naught but a void where a swirling nebula should be.

Wings clipped.

Swords broken.

But his mind,

It was at peace.

The dances with the testament to humanity's greatest sin gifted him a new outlook, compounded and pierced into his body from each bullet, missile, cannonball, and laser. A mere machine, able to bring down an Archangel. Not once, not twice, but three times.

He never did learn its name, though he supposed that never mattered and it was doubtful the machine would give one, if it could even speak.

Gabriel threw his head back, glimpses of fading cyan caught on visor's edges. A sigh crawled out from his ruined chest and it carried everything he was and now is.

He will die but that's okay.

To die free, of his own choice, caused by his own actions, and suffering the fallout. That was his final want.

He closed his eyes and let the abyss consume-

My child.

Gabriel went still, not even breath escaped him, eyes remained closed but his mind more alert than ever. He tried to find the source of the wind dancing between trees, the crackle of fire, the thunder lightning up the pitch black ocean. It was futile, for it was everywhere.

Gabriel couldn't ever forget that voice. An eternity could pass, his mind stripped dry and blasted down by waves until nothing but primordial starlight remained, and still it wouldn't be forgotten.

A son would always remember his Father's voice.

Heat rose in a shattered chest plate, originating from a pile of sentience he called a soul, and spread to his entire being. Ichor splattered out as gauntlets twitched into fists.

He had imagined what might be felt if He returned. Maybe an overwhelming glee, blades resharpened as will surged. Laughter erupting. Tears flowing. Joy coalescing. Years of abandonment washed away by the relief of return.

Like many things Gabriel thought, it was wrong.

Lava swam up his throat, cyan shivering into crimson, as he spoke to everything. “Why?” It came out quiet, in the same way silence preluded an earthquake. “You speak now?” Centuries of vacancy. Of allowing the Council to do what they wished. Of allowing Hell to be overrun by humanity's sins. “You… dare speak now?”

The darkness shrank as the Light burst into existence, eaten alive as it grew in size, heat suffocating and illuminating all that there is. Gabriel. Creation cooed, sang, whispered, and sighed. It should've filled him with joy. There was nothing to say. Nothing to compel me to speak. Yet, Hollowed, as I am, to see you are tired is something I cannot ignore.

To struggle as you have. Beaten and gored. To still stand. To still enact MY will. I could not be prouder of you.

Gabriel laughed—hysterical and thunderous, enough to make Hell pause if was listening.

Fury rose.

Just when he accepted his fate, his own death, when everything was fine for once in eternity, did He show himself again. What was the point? There was no point. Was nothing he did was his own choice?! Delusions that Father left and could never return shattered that carved his soul like glass thrown onto nerves. When was it that he would’ve given his life to hear this voice again, to speak to Him, to just know hope still existed.

God was not dead.

He had just never wanted to return.

It was just all so funny.

“Your will?” Gabriel wheezed, glaring at all the stars in the cosmos, “Your will… is dead. It died when you abandoned Heaven, leaving vultures to claim stake on your throne. Tell me you're proud? Of what? Being a slave to a dying flame?”

Of being my hand.

“A hand left bloodied, to be used by those not worthy to call Heaven their home.” He hissed, rage bleeding out as quickly as his ichor. 

Was being my fist not enough? To hold my light inside your soul and enforce what I left behind? 

"You left behind a corpse kingdom chasing after shadows." Gabriel scoffed, embers igniting as short-lived stars, burning nothing but his own rage. "Were we not enough? Did we not pray as you required? Kill as you ordered?"

Silence.

Madness curled around Gabriel, stroked by the impossibility of talking to God in this way. A younger him would've rather impale himself on his swords than ever speak these words to the Father. He didn't care anymore. Nothing mattered.

Would you like to come home?

Light folded into something resembling a hand, thin and sticky, yet holding more than all stars combined. Perfect, colorless, open.

'Of course He didn't answer.' He laughed inside his mind, unbothered by the fact God surely heard him. "There is no home for me anymore. Not since you left, not since I beheaded those liars. The only place for me is where I choose to die."

You are tired. Home will ease your sorrows, wash away your hate. Don't you want to see them all again—

Light flinched as an armored hand slapped it away, star-steel melting like it had touched the center of the universe. Pain flared in ways Gabriel thought impossible, his very soul seared by heat predating creation.

"Never," Gabriel stared at the Lord, at the God he once worshiped and loved, and denied Him, "will I be yours again. Heaven stands on crumbling foundations and I will not be part of its rotted pillars, so take that blasted offer and go back to your false peace."

…

…

I understand, my child. The Light yawned, sighed. I will wait for you.

Light burst, engulfing him with all its infinitum, like a gentle push.

And he knew no more.

Until his face met brimstone.

— 1 —

He should be dead.

An angel could not live after their connection to Heaven had been cleaved. Hours at most. After his duel with the Machine, the last of his embers had been used up. Survival was not even a chance. Death was fact and it wouldn't have been a terrible death. Living half an eternity spotless, for to be stained with unclean blood was something his pride did not allow, and only recently did he accepted those stains. They marked his freedom, each splatter a reminder of the wrath—passion—that drove him to do what he did. All in all, what should've been a fitting death had not graced him.

Something else had.

Him.

It all seemed like an elaborate dream, a delusion. He had heard humans often hallucinated moments before death. Indeed, he had met countless souls during his time as Judge of Hell that did not believe they were in hell. A maddened illusion, a nightmare they would surely wake up from. They did not last long.

What saved Gabriel from further thought was the quick rationale that, as an angel, he did not dream as mortals did. Sleep never came for his kin. An aspect some of his siblings envied humanity for. Eternal watchers, guardians, protectors, though many became without a duty once the Earth had been rendered lifeless.

The last time Gabriel had walked amongst mortals, they wielded metal blades and clad themselves in steel to wage wars that ended in a blink. A stark difference from the humans he was used too. Weak, fragile, short-lived.

Though he had not been on Earth after Humanity's self-imposed extinction, he imagined the landscape to be alike the one before him.

Jagged mountains lined the maroon horizons, vomiting magma from every crevice. Hellfire orbs hovered above melted peaks. For as far as the eye could see, it was either mountains or endless rocky plains, sparsely nestled settlements and mining outposts.

This was Hell, he was sure of it. But it didn’t look like any Layer he knew. Almost… cliche in the ever present sulfuric tang, crimson skies, and uneven terrain. Fire ever-present. A mortal book depiction of Hell. More accurately, most mortal written Bibles. Only one of them truly got it right.

Gabriel swept his hand, feeling the hazy air, the rage inside every molecule. Atoms shivering not as a reaction to energy but their own wrath. He tilted his helmet. Kindred spirits.

But despite the fury, there was no ocean. Rather the opposite.

'Where in creation did I fall?' Gabriel cupped his helmet's chin, pausing as he felt the shattered remains of it. Not a pleasant feeling, but also not one that new. The Machine had blown a hole twice now in his helmet. If he had any Light left, he could-

Ah, yes. His Light.

He still had it, for without it, he would be dead.

Impossible, but that word didn't hold as much meaning anymore to him. 'Did merely touching Him give me back my Light?' He looked down at his gauntlet, tilting it to the side. Patches of starsteel melted down to the inner most layers, molten rejection cooled to form a twisted facsimile of a gauntlet. Calling on that warmth, Gabriel let it wash over him like a gentle waterfall, and without even a groan, his armor beginning to mend itself according to what his existence remembered it as.

However, as his soul breathed light, it came out as choked breaths, like a rusted engine forced to live. To call upon the full might of himself could prove deadly and he was not about to risk his new lease on freedom.

Repair would take time, but what mattered was that he could swing a blade.

He flexed the gauntlet, still it remained melted. Blackened.

A reminder, then.

Now, then, onto more important matters-

"Hey!" A voice like grinding rocks broke his train of thought. Gabriel turned and if he could raise an eyebrow, he would’ve. Before him stood a crimson fiend, arms grown from labor and ending in stygian claws. Twisted horns spotted by white protruding above hellfire eyes. They twitched as his gaze swept over them, hands clenching, instincts rearing their ancient heads.

"You speak." Gabriel remarked in muted surprise. Intelligence had died in every layer, drained by ravenous artificial frames. This was not one of those flesh-grafted machines either. The rancid sulfate stench around it proved otherwise.

"'Course I do." The fiend said, eyes hard, but it was hard to look past the fear behind every breath. "Speaking to you right now. You think I'm dumb?"

Unwarranted hostility aside, Gabriel stared for a few more moments. Watching the silence stretched and the fiend begin to fidget, before stopping those shows of weakness. His blades itched to be drawn and for a head to be removed from its stem. Had he been the foolish disciple mere days previous or the berserker hours ago, this conversation would've never happened.

Not that he was against the idea. Even as an iconoclast, angelic ideals were still molded to his soul and given he had not ended up as Lucifer, those still held some influence over him. But not enough to sway his hands. Information came first and violence was quite counterproductive to that.

"Where am I?" He asked, arms crossed.

"Did ya hit your head, choir boy?" The fiend said, a grin to its face that did not match the eyes. "Take the wrong door from cloud nine?"

"And did I ask for you to prattle?" The words as dry as the air around them. "Are you incapable of answering a simple, polite question?"

"And are you stupid enough not to know where your at?" The thing spread its arms. "Even a blind fuck would be able to tell." One hand gestured to the hole in his helmet.

"The specificity eludes me but I am aware of where I have fallen." Gabriel said, flickering holographic wings remained still even from the gusts of hellish winds.

The fiend gained a thought look for a second before continuing to spew words. Gabriel recognized distantly that they were speaking English. "Fallen, eh? You one of those rejects?" It asked and moved on without allowing him to answer. Not that he would’ve. The answer was, actually not that long of a story, but it was doubtful a demon would understand it. "Well, never met a glowstick before. You're in Wrath."

"I see no oceans." Gabriel said, testing its knowledge.

"Uh, yeah, it's Hell."

"Indeed." A Hell he did not know. Brought to it by a God he long thought absent and dead. And now he was talking to a hellspawn that didn't spark any connection to the past.

Gabriel had never faltered in his duty and had scoured every infernal inch as Judge of Hell. Enacting the wretched council's will, decapitation strikes on growing rebellions that sought to intimate a cursed king, and once in a while, hope brought to those devoted. For anything to prove new to him was an achievement in of itself. That Machine proved an Archangel could be surprised by novelty, and enraged by it.

"I assume that is a layer here?" Gabriel continued his questioning.

"They're called rings but layers work too." The fiend shrugged.

"And how deep is this 'Ring of Wrath'?"

"Do you always speak like some old fuck? Wait you're an angel so i guess so." The fiend laughed. It died alone as the angel didn't move. "Not really deep. Not as deep as those lazy horses. If I squint up, you could see Pride."

He could see nothing but superheated air and an orange horizon. "I see."

Truth be told, Gabriel failed to see what he gained from this conversation. It only proved he was somewhere completely unknown to him. If he had all the information he wished, then what would there be to do? Heaven existed here and he expected it shared the same situation as Hell. That posed even more questions. Questions he doubted a simple demon could answer in any helpful capacity.

No prideful fire fueled his drive. No virulent flame pushed him to participate in a fight that left Heresy in ruins. No spark of realization that led him to paint golden halls crimson.

After a eternity, there was nothing. The grand purpose he chased after faded and now, he was alone. Alone to do whatever he wanted. Yet when faced with infinite branching paths, indecision grasped his soul. Not hesitation, but the weight of free will. Of questioning oneself.

"Was this how you felt, Morningstar?" The thoughts slipped from the cracks in his helmet and into reality.

"Morningstar?" The fiend tilted its head. "That golden schlump? Feeling? Yeah, bet he's feeling really depressed in that ivory tower of his."

Gabriel paused, full attention placed onto the fiend. "You talk as if he's not a corpse."

"I'm sure some wished he was and not like he's all to different from one if you ask me… Or anyone from Pride, or like most people."

Helel, the first fallen, was alive. So many surprises. Warmness seeped into the cold metal of his being. Something akin to nostalgia. He remembered the curious angel, always pondering on existence and the first to question God. Ages ago, He always entertained his enquiries. In return, their Father would ask His own questions in return. Perhaps, He would ask what the trees thought when it changed seasons, or what a mountain felt when a volcano erupted. Once, He even asked if the sun would go out and if the moon would mind.

The questions always sent the curious being into seas of thought and oftentimes he had no answers. Their Father would accept it nonetheless.

Until that curiosity led to a question that never had an answer.

"Where may I find him?" Gabriel asked, already having a location in mind, but making sure was always a good thing. Of course, this 'Morningstar' could've been any demon or devil that decided to crown themselves as the First Fallen. One could say it's a strange form of flattery, but names held power. It only took belief to turn a devil into an angel.

And a angel into a devil.

"Sits in Pride doing jack all." The fiend answered immediately. A frown crossed its face and it leaned forward. "You going to meet him?"

"Why would I ask?"

"Good luck!" Chuckles bubbled up from the fiend's mouth like lava. "I'm sureeee he'll be glad to see an angel show up on his footstep." The sarcasm spilled out and if Gabriel was one of lesser will, the throat that spawned it would've decorated his blade.

Turning, Gabriel gave one last look to the fiend. He breathed, infernal air flinching away, and nodded. "May I have your name?"

The Fiend blinked, then it smiled. "Jack."

"Thank you, Jack." Gabriel said, flexing his wings, scintillating as Light of his soul coursed through them. He gazed at the endless orange and charted a path through the unknown. "May your days be calm."

Location in mind, a flicker of purpose reignited itself. If there was one person who understood free will's burden, it was the man who lived and died by it. Seeing an old brother would be pleasant as well-

The crack of gunfire interrupted that thought.

Gabriel blinked. His helmet tilted to the side, smoke drifting out from a blackened tiny crater. His sword was out of its sheath, held in a hand outstretched, and black ink splattered the golden quicksilver. He turned and a headless corpse greeted him before crumbling in a red and black heap. A primitive pistol laid still clutched in the fiend's hand.

A sigh escaped him. Sword lowering.

"How utterly disappointing."

Some things never change.

Chapter Text

"Sometimes it's cool to meet your heroes."

— 2 —

How often did an Angel descend upon the infernal planes?

Ever since brimstone was given purpose, Angels had graced it with radiance and blood. Wars fought against horrors that crawled out from the primordial chaos, a sea of cosmic screams twisting to give shape to the shapeless. Sinners cut down in passing of an Angel, slaughtered in droves from an cruel claw, like flowers in a hurricane. Shredded apart as mere collateral from the brutality of Light and Dark colliding. So apocalyptic were those crusades and conquests, no human souls still existed to remember them.

A million holy blades fell upon Hell during the Silent War.

And a billion teeth rose to meet them.

Arguments made, lessons layered in concepts and ouranic truths that quarreled against chthonian declarations.

Gabriel remembered it with the precision of a perfect sword strike. Shadows that engulfed entire layers. Wings blocking out the skies. Gore drenched claws, metal shrieking, light stolen. Antediluvian scales split by blades hotter than the Spheres, darkness splattered into ashes, never to reform. Violence carved into souls, a declaration to all evil.

The human plane was not exempt from this hallowed struggle. Space shuddered as the nights stretched into tiny eternities, and shades of those evil slithered into the gasps left behind. Horrors without names. Roaming superstorms that crackled with maroon lightning, familiar cries deep in forests, and beasts wearing mortal skin. Wars fought in the name of those fleshgaits. Self-proclaimed divine prominence.

God had called him from the oceans of red to walk the earthly world, a light to guide devoted believers.

It was his first time interacting with mortals after The Great Flood. They were weak, shorter, frightened, and desperate. They did not share the ignorance of their predecessors. The sheer wickedness and apostasy. His light descended upon the encampment, sparsely populated, and clinging to whatever they could as malevolent-led hordes encroached. Those looks in their eyes as his blade swung and thousands died, as dark metal melted at his glare, a storm cleared with a gesture.

Not until he asked Raphael about her experiences with humans did he understand what lit up their eyes.

Hope.

Was it so easy to feel such a thing again.

Free as he is, that elusive longing was still out of reach.

Torrid currents caught on empyrean wings and hoisted Gabriel up further. Lusterless grasslands past underneath in a slate gray smudge. Grass wasn't common in any layer but Limbo, even muted as these lands were. Another deviation. Houses littered the infernal prairies, tiny things, dwarfed by the smallest of buildings in Heaven. His Heaven. As he shot by a remarkably earthly looking abode, his mind drifted out and lagged behind his physical-self, peering down at the souls below. Cyan wisps trailing behind him.

If he so wished, he could invade the home as nothing but a stray shiver rationalized as a wind gust, and the inhabitants would be oblivious to his presence. Contrary to held belief, Angels could be subtle. There was a time and place for grandiose entrances and three-headed chimeras.

A small glimpse was all Gabriel deemed necessary before his mind slotted itself back into the body of metal, instincts receded control to Prime.

'Demons. Not sinners.' Gabriel mused, gazing listlessly at a stray fire tornado. It sputtered out as his eyes lingered on it. Was it afraid? 'Flesh instead of stone. Souls of fire instead of malevolence. How, curious.' Fire and malevolence may hold the same connotation to lesser minds, those that did not understand the duality of that which gave birth to all. They only understood it could take. Destroy. And that belief wasn't wrong to have. Just not the full picture.

Demons never had fire. Oh, they may have stolen and wielded it, but it was not innate to their souls as it was for Angels. Their souls were granite and brimstone. Hard to destroy for the most wretched, like trying to topple a mountain.

Gabriel rolled until his back was facing the ground, light refracting inside the cyan wings. A yawn of a volcano blew on his wings and hoisted him high above. This plane, or at least he thought it was a sub dimension, had quite volatile weather this high up. Rage infused every inch, quiet and seething at each other, trembling in mutual disgust that in turn leaked out as the fervent temperature.

It was almost taunting. As if God sent him here because it was the reflection of his most passionate moment. The Heresy layer had been dyed when divinity burned blue into angry red and now laid as nothing more than ashen ruins after his second dance with the Machine. Hatred he felt for it had drained after realization dawned in those quiet moments of crackling fire and self-reflection.

Something akin to a chuckle broke through his silent travels. What a strange enigma.

A maroon curtain fell upon the sky in front of him, painting it an even deeper red. Infernal atoms finding a new, collective, target for their never-ending fury. Pulling in one wing, he allowed it to spin him back into an upright position and let himself enter the hellish cloud for nothing but curiosity. Everlasting rain did not greet him like he grew accustomed in the Wrath Layer, but molten crystallines. Air crushed until mockery of diamonds were forged as avatars for this Ring's desires.

They clinked off his armor like bullets to steel. Most damage had been repaired after his awakening and time in the sky. The hole sealed, cracks mended, and his soul flowed more at ease. Still, at the very edges of his consciousness, he felt the dull burn as each crystalline droplet stuck his armor. His self. It quickly faded into the background, nothing more than a thought he discarded after realizing it was there.

In a blink, his wings hit a shear, air colliding pushed up against his right wing and downwards on the left. It would've only taken a flex of his mind to deny such negligible influence. What right did weightless air have to move a divine being? Gabriel let it happen, spinning into a roll and went limp for a precious few seconds . Like a shooting star, air ignited as Star-steel rammed into it.

He plummeted out of the vengeance cloud and waited until the last second. Wings springing out, light flashing akin to an exploding meteor, and flapped. A cloud of dust swept up, swirling around a poor car(It seems they have machinery here as well) that slammed on its brakes as an angel shot forward at speeds rivaling a hurricane.

Gabriel would never admit it outloud, but flying remained a joy he still held onto.

It was then, another realization arrived late. He didn't even know where he was going.

Angels didn't need the elevators to traverse Hell's Layers as did the machines and even those were more of a convenience than a requirement. If one was determined enough, they could walk, fall, or ascend, to any layer they wished. A strong enough will could override the weight of Hell, simple doors could lead to another Layer, however to deem one's will more important than God's abominable creation was, to put it lightly, more futile than Sisyphus' endless warlord tendencies.

In the times past, Hell bent the knee to his presence. Where he demanded himself to be, pathways were trailblazed and walls torn wide. Loathed as Gabriel was to admit it, having the Council's will behind him, guiding his blade, gave him power unrivaled. Almost unrivaled that is.

Even if he had such backing, or similar influence, it wasn't guaranteed that method of travel would function here and no idea if blasting his way all the way to 'Pride' would accomplish anything. Best case: He'll merely ascend into infinite skies if his assumptions about the realm's nature were correct. Worst case: The destruction and noise would attract unwanted attention. More than he surely already garnered. There were reasons why Angels were taught to tread with care in the Layers labyrinths.

The Abyss always took special attention to stars.

Gabriel didn't doubt his skills with the blade, but he was a leviathan in black waters. A hunter in a quiet forest. A star surrounded by a void, unsure if the darkness was natural or scars left from waiting teeth.

Humility. That was a new trait.

'Perhaps I should've been more restrained with… what was its name? Jack?' Gabriel hummed, the sound reverberating inside his helmet. 'As a native, there surely was a plethora of information inside its brain.' It had been a long, long time since he interrogated any being that didn't descend into maddened whimpers or furious screams.

Lucifer was in Pride. An interesting choice of ruling. Pride had never been Helel's sin. That had been curiosity, if one could consider that a sin. Some called it a virtue, for what drove life but curiosity? To ask the questions even if what was answered brought harm or worse.

Gabriel stopped on a dime, halting his flight with a single commanding thought to the space around. Gravity yielded and air flinched. Below him rested what could be called a city by size only, destitute as the buildings were. Of course, none could compare to the metropolises of Heaven, or the neon landscapes of Lust, but he supposed it looked functional enough. Lived in, by a certain angle of thought.

What caught his eye was not the bonfire it appeared to him as beyond mortal sight. No, it was the golden tower extending high and far past sight. Silver lines graced the immaculate design, almost celestial, arrogant in how it loomed above simple stone and concrete. Where cracks lined streets, gold was untouched. Gabriel tilted his head. It looked like an elevator.

He peered up, past the festering skies and into the nebulous. Narrowed stars glared with barely hidden suspicion. 'Did they lead me here? Was it Him?'

He did not believe in luck. Everything happened for a reason, be it from malevolence hands or empyrean gusts. A mortal saying was that God worked in mysterious ways. Gabriel almost laughed at the saying. How right they were.

God was watching. He was still here, but choose to be silent. That revelation left a copper taste in his mouth, like a blade at stabbed into his soul, life staining the interior of his helmet.

He stared down at the city. Freedom always came with a cost and it could so easily be influenced.

'Fine. Let them try.'

They would meet the same fate as all who crossed him have.

— 2 —

Mirrors were said to be reflections of the soul. To gaze into yourself, warped by doubts and dirtied by perception. A light buried underneath filth.

A human soul was an empty canvas at birth, a bundle of wood that awaits to be lit aflame. To cultivate it. The fire could burn bright, igniting other flames in passing, and through that, possibilities were birthed. Sinful and virtuous. Some let that flame explode into an inferno, consuming life to keep it existence ablaze, and in its wake, kingdoms were reduced to ashes. For others, that radiance was fleeting but no less potent, perhaps even more so than the cannibalistic wildfire, for the brightest fires always burn out the fastest.

If an human soul was timber, an angel was an star.

A demon, stalactite and sentient torment.

Gabriel stopped at the window of a store, web-way fractured lined on one side as if someone had punched it in a rageful fit. The interior was suffering alongside its glass counterpart. Yellow tried to mix with red lightning, bathing the inside in an strange orange glow. Tables laid vacant, polished to a gleam yet no one there to appreciate the effort. Various cuisines stacked in, dare he say appealing, triangle positions, proudly displayed in glass cabinet to an audience of nothing.

His gaze swept over to the front door, beholding a sign that shared childish scribbles and tiny starbursts in every color as background artistry. Each one was so detailed it overshadowed the inscription and when placed side by side came off as a chaotic mesh-mash of indecision. 'Wickedly Sweet.' He repeated the name to himself.

'I don't see why not.' While he did not plan on staying here long, what did Raphael put it as? Immersing oneself in the culture? He had little desire to do so but with Immersion did come revaluation and revelation. His infernal brother was not going anywhere.

A bell announced his entrance and instantly a smell slipped into his helmet. It carried the empyrical stench that permeated all within this realm, but gone was the rancidity and blistering ash that lingered long after. Instead, it was aromatic, like the taste of calm storms and laughter shared between siblings in a garden before time. Gabriel zeroed on the origin and found a round red-white bun, coated in frosting and rainbow crumbs carefully laid on top.

His eyes caught a red blur at the edge of vision, ears heard the beginnings of a greeting before it choked and gurgled.

Gabriel turned and was quickly becoming used to the expression the natives had to his appearance. It must've been quite a shock to them. An angel roaming freely in their home, without blood painting gold and calm aura rather than an himalayan will crushing their shoulders, forcing a knee to meet dirt.

"Holy shit." The sole inhabitant's jaw hung open, yellow eyes wide as a Ophanim. Gabriel met the stare with a eyeless one, silent as light. It- or perhaps she, blinked rapidly, as if trying to remove him from sight. The demon looked from him to the door, and repeated the gesture for about half a minute. Enough time he wondered if it was a sign to leave rather than surprise.

"You're- holy fuck!" The crimson lady repeated, comprehension dawning and with it only came more shock. She backed away at his still form, hands rested just above the golden blades that her eyes latched onto. A natural position for them, but he could see why one might think it was a threat. "I'm sorry for using your likeness! I swear I didn't know about the patent! I don't have anything and my soul isn't worth much. Do angels take souls? Or do you burn them? Shit. What am I saying?!"

"Pardon?" Gabriel lowered his hands, helmet tilted.

The demon continued, rambling in what must be a vain hope to distract him. "There's a first strike system, right? For warning yeah?" She gestured to him wildly. "And I didn't even make shit off those doughnuts. No harm, no foul-"

"Fiend." Gabriel raised a hand to silence her. A jaw slammed shut and cabinets clattered as she backed fully into them. "Cease your vain rambling." He withheld a sigh at her frozen form. It seemed the fear of God still ran deep down here. "I am not here to stain my blade nor to incinerate your soul."

The store owner gulped. Words stumbling out. "O-Oh, okay. That's good- dandy, amazing actually. Living is good." She nodded to herself. "What are you here for then?"

"Curiosity." Gabriel lifted a hand to gesture at the store. "And spite."

"But why?" She asked, body slouching as tension faded. Something in her eyes tugged at memory.

"I could not tell you." Gabriel shrugged. "But if you must have a reason why I remain, it is that." A finger pointed to the bun.

The lady-fiend followed his finger to the display cabinet and repeated her blinks. Mouth twisted, and confusion replaced fear. "The Mnemosyne? Those worthless things?" She paused, lips tugging upwards, just barely. "I, uh, don't see the reason."

"What, is it?"

"A bunch of dough, sugar, pumpkin spice, and sprinkles. Oh, and tears of a geist. All homemade!" Her voice rose an inch, prideful twinges echoing out. "Gwen guaranteed!"

"Fascinating." She deflated at his empty reverberation and he attempted to introduce some color to it that wasn't buried anger. "Judging by your reaction earlier, you were not expecting customers."

She(Gwen, was it?) deflated even further. "Much less a whole ass guardian of heaven." She eyed him. "So you aren't here to impale me?"

"Do angels commonly do that here?"

"Not here." She shook her head, returning back to the counter. More at ease. "Angels don't come down here, I think. I've never seen one actually, until y'know, right now. Thought you guys had more important stuff to do than scare the fuck out of some random person. Uh, no offense."

"You'll find it hard to offend me." Gabriel assured.

Gwen made an expression similar to being pleasantly proven wrong. "Sooo, you interested in these?" She hovered her fingers hove the buns, wiggling obsidian claws in a manner that might have been alluring, if he wasn't an angel and if she had any grace at all. Regardless, he nodded and moved to the display cabinet, looking back at the rather artful pieces of food. Gabriel did not need food as mortals did, and behind golden-blue steel laid a face of swirling stardust. Eating was a faucet not created in mind with him. Even with these facts, the fascination still remained. Human food, when he was around them, never brought such memories back, all from a single waft.

"That I am." He nodded, armored hand gently gliding above the glass. "And I thought a native would suit my needs. One who has a firm head on their shoulders. My arrival here was, not of my own intention, and I recognize little. If I could procure what I need from your mouth, in an exchange, I will be on my way."

"That sounds… sketchy as fuck. not gonna lie." She bluntly said, but his words had an effect. "Can't you just beam up back to the pearly gates, or like call the man upstairs?"

"No." His tone was vacant.

"You wanna expand on that?"

"Not particularly."

"You are one vague bird." Gwen rolled her eyes, chuckling to herself. "Everyone has a right to themselves, you and me both, man. Oh, is it bad blood? Can angels have bad blood with that dude? It seems like the type of thing that leads to another Lucifer. Family issues always suck. Hell is one big family issue!"

"Indeed." Gabriel intoned. He really, really did not want to discuss his relationship with God right now.

"…Okay, touchy subject. Understood." She smiled, scratching her cheek. "I'm surprised. I thought you glowsticks hated us."

"You have done no slight against me, apart from running your mouth and a vague insult," Gabriel crossed his arms. "I have heard worse and been inflicted by mere thoughts that could strip your mind. Hatred, is not anywhere close to what I feel for your kind."

"Wow, that is the nicest way I've been told I'm a worthless." The fiend-lady blinked, an awkward laugh stumbling out. "Almost flattering. What was that about thoughts that could 'strip-'"

"It is best you don't know." Gabriel stopped her. "Quite literally."

"Overlord shit. Gotcha." She nodded, wisely moving on. "Now, about that exchange…" She leaned forward, claws drumming the countertop in clear anticipation. "You looking to buy something?" A gleam enter her eyes, and Gabriel knew it by sight alone. It was the glint of hunger, desire, and desperation. Clearly, Wickedly Sweet had little in way of business lately if the fiend-lady was resorting to trade with her antithesis.

"That depends on what you offer in return." Gabriel began, hands clasped together. "I seek entrance to Lucifer's domain, first and foremost. Any and all available pathways are welcomed, even the most treacherous or esoteric, and if you cannot provide that, a thoroughly yet compact overview of Hell's politics landscape."

"That's…" She trailed off, face slackened and a smile crept up, tentative and incredulous. "Super easy. Like pre-school level stuff. You sure you don't want anything else? Not that I'm against or can't give you that, just making sure!"

Gabriel hummed, an aeolian tone to his voice. He tapped his clasped fingers on each hand. His gaze wandered to the treat that had drawn him to this store in the first place, that wistful aroma like inhaling memories reduced into a tea. Heaven had food, ranging from the perfect ripe fruits of the Garden to the slow-roasted lamb meat prepared in celebration, but those were mortal delights. It was their paradise, after all. One built on fabrications and bloody foundations, but a paradise compared to the suffocating wastelands of Earth or eternal torment of Hell, or now the endless vacancy.

There was no reason for him to want it, but did he require a reason to do this, other than he simply wishes to do so? The miracle of free will. He did not need to explain himself to the Council no longer. His actions wholly his own.

"The Mnemosyne, as well. All of them." He said.

"All of them?" The lady repeated.

"All ten, yes." Gabriel nodded, firm and decided.

"Well, okay then." She scratched her chin, shrugging at his request. "Tell you what, we can chat while I package them for you all nice and pretty. After you pay, that is." The last part added in haste.

'Ah, yes. Currency.' Something he did not have, both in quantity and knowledge of this realm's equivalent. What did demons find valuable? Souls, deals, information. One of which he was willing to part with if necessary and a white lie it would be. Gabriel thought back to the storm he flew through, the metals clinking off his armor, how diamond-like they had been. "Are you willing to take rare metals as payment?"

"Uh, sure?" She tilted her head. "Oh, right, you're probably broke. Being an angel in hell and all, knowing less than a child." She giggled at the self made image inside her mind.

While she was giggling to herself, Gabriel grasped at the air around him, fingers grazing each atom and pressed. Reality shivered underneath a sudden influx of foreign will, light danced between metal. Youthful stars were birthed and died in less than it took light to cross Earth, imparting their heat into the already trembling carbon atoms gripped by a heavenly will. They stood before a being that dwarfed the largest filaments and did the only thing they could do. Kneel. Order commanded chaos to be still and be molded into a lattice of perfection. Rage fled and eternal heat flash froze as everything within those gauntlets went tranquil.

Two fingers closed around a flawless diamond, holding it up to the ceiling light. A perfect crystal. Entropy frozen inside a shell of order. Conceptual and literal zero given rhombus shape.

He let it go and watched it hover above his hand, reacting to the ambient electricity.

"I trust this is significant payment for the Mnemosynes?"

"Holy shit."

"Holy, yes. 'Shit', it is not."

Chapter Text

"As the devil comes in a pleasing shape, salvation comes in the most interesting of forms."

— 3 —

"So what's heaven like?"

"Specious."

"What's that mean?"

"Saccharine."

"Um…"

"And as radiant as a dying star."

For a brief moment, Gabriel had been tempted to tell the full truth. To undress every transgression approved and committed by Heaven. Each heresy, all seventy-seven thousand seven hundred seventy-seven lies told every seventh cycle to the unwitting fools that thought all was fine. Spit on the good name and bask in the revelation of wickedness. Such was his nature, a concept molded into sentience, abstract as his guardian-sister who still remained silent and stalwart amidst what humanity once called the Oort Cloud, yet firm like an iron star.

That surge of righteousness wrath roared and passed as a mere gust, blown away by an exhale.

Emptiness sought to fill the hole left in his chest as that anger left, hungry and invasive like a predator that did not belong, and Gabriel stopped it before it's teeth could find hold on him. Righteousness anger, he welcomed. Quiet introspection, he allowed. Curiosity, indecision, hesitation, and so many more he granted passage to swim in the sea of his soul. But this void that attempted to snuff out what little flame he had left? Denial was what met it. It would not infect him.

"Do your kind often ruminate about the Spheres?" Gabriel asked, helmet tilted down at Gwen. The hellborn had followed him after their transaction at her store, giving an excuse of cooperation and that he might get lost. An urge rose to scoff at the idea but her words held inkings of truth. Acceptance had began to leak in, that even if he scoured the new Hell planes, loss would still find him. There were no insurrections to put to the blade. Perhaps a few foolish kings to carve scathing reality into their delusions. And maybe just one who could prove something worthy for his existence.

What then? Split Hell wide open and fall just as he did mere hours ago? He had to admit, the idea did not hold much in way of retort. Fighting was an aspect he grew to revel in. But alas, despite what his soul whispered, those base impulses were unbecoming of an Angel. Life flowed through him once more, Light that was entirely his own, and to throw it all away for a few rambunctious minutes, when he could experience eternity in a new lens? The choice stood mockingly simple and any other were foolish on par with Greed's Warlords.

"Not really?" Gwen shrugged, raven hair already windswept. Former neatly styled hair gone. Whether she realized it or not, he could not tell, or cared. "Most folks here don't much care for the other—higher—side. It doesn't bother us, so I don't see why we should think about it. Those guys up there are pretty content staying in their high towers, except when they aren't, so it's like oil and water, get me?"

Gabriel caught the under-the-breath murmur, adding it to the collections of ever-growing question pile. "Then why do you ask if it means nothing?"

"I-" Like being caught with a hand in the cookie jar, Gwen froze. Excuses flowed and died on her lips, before one finally slipped through. "Business opportunities!" She blurted out, glancing away from his form and at nothing.

Gabriel angled his helmet at the horizon his short-term companion decided was rather interesting. It was nothing special. Hues of maroon with splashes of darker colors mixing with hazy plumes exhaled by volcanos. "Business opportunities." He repeated, turning back to Gwen and found her gaze had shifted again.

"Yeah!" Gwen exclaimed, a little too loudly as she winced and reigned in her voice. "Like… heaven inspired sweets."

"In a plane where the inhabitants apathy towards the Spheres are shared by the ones above." Gabriel remarked with a hint of color to him. Amusement or mockery? It slipped away before he could observe the feeling in detail, leaving only saccharine touches. Things tended to blend together, when stagnation became commonplace and most accustomed too. "I can see why your store is vacant and awaiting."

"Okay." Gwen regained some spark, puffing out her chest, hands on hips. She scoffed and pointed at him with a blackened claw. "Like you can say that, especially when you bought my stuff, so clearly there's a market for it!"

"A market exclusively for beings who reside in a lush paradise and would never descend for hellish, albeit delightful, treats." Gabriel said. "I may not be an expert in mercantile, but even a fool could realize the folly."

Gwen opened her mouth, closed it, and decided on a huff. Crossing her arms. Face scrunched up as her dreams were carved in half. Gabriel distantly felt like he had just kicked a weeping sinner of Lust as their king was cut down. Stardust swirled behind the gold-blue helmet, pausing and he 'frowned'.

"But," he continued, watching at Gwen perked up, "let's humor the idea for a moment. Are there any other places in the Rings that serve such patisseries?"

Gwen has an answer already primed. "Nope." She said, popping the 'p'. "I made sure to check. Just me."

Gabriel nodded. "Then you are in a niche. There may be a myriad of bakeries spread across the Rings, many likely more successful than yours, yet none occupies the same aesthetic as yours does. Niches are niches for a reason. They grow slow and are laughed at by the masses, but those who do value what heavenly delights are sold here cannot find the same elsewhere."

"I know that." Gwen grumbled, sulking with each step. "It's part of the reason why I went through with this idea, but after half of a year with… what was it?" She raised her hand and counted on the fingers before snapping it down. "Only twenty customers! And only ten actually bought something… eleven now, including you."

"And did you count returning customers or merely new ones?"

"…New ones."

"Have those same ten returned to your store?"

"Yeah." Gwen said after a moment's thought. Eyes giving him a look. "Sure, those came back but not that often and I'd like some more customers. Can't live off the same ten people. Got bills to pay. Do angels pay bills?"

The bill of confined existence, perhaps, but not to a landlord. Had Gwen asked for guidance on combat, the right and wrong ways to swing a sword, or how to dissect your opponent, it would've been as easy as fighting for him to give her the advice. Mercantile and commercial prospects were never his specialty. Such things had lost all value, meaning, once humanity's eradication swept across Heaven and Hell. So many souls. Scarred, crying, screaming, as their final moments were ones of fearful agony.

"Those customers are loyal, given they keep returning." Never let it be said Gabriel didn't attempt, however. Drawing from ancient, albeit limited, experiences and dialogs with humans. "Loyalty talks, it defends and encourages. A chat about food turns attention to your pastry shop. Friends recommend the place. Oral tradition has been a way to spread information for millennias. Is this your first attempt at running a business?"

"Helped ole' ma and pa with theirs. They ran a bakery too, Devilish Delights." She nudged him, repeatedly, grinning. "Get it, get it?"

"I see creativity," Gabriel kept his tone even, "runs deep in your family."

"Our pride! Ma and pa ran it until it sped them into their graves!" It appears success did not. "They left me with their inheritance. Just enough to start my own business to follow in their footsteps."

"Word of mouth only goes so far." Gabriel continued, noticing a couple of demons freezing in place as he and Gwen turned a corner. Swiftly they crossed the street and continued on their way, giving stares in passing. "Surely your advertising must be doing something."

Gwen giggled sheepishly, scratching her cheek. "About that…" She trailed off and searched for anything else to talk about. Nothing graced her. Shoulders slumped, she continued with a reigned tone. "Ads cost money, a fuck-ton of it. Especially since that TV-head bastard jacked up the prices for them. All the way up in his oh so pretty tower and jackass thinks "oh no! Poor business owners wanting to make a living? Can't have that!" Well he can eat a bag of dicks!" The meek tone erupted into one of anger, each step replaced by furious stomps.

Was this the 'capitalism' human souls oh so complained about?

Before Gabriel could speak, realization lit up Gwen's eyes in something other than anger. Lips curled back into a smile and a hand dug into a bag hanging off her shoulder, crystalline perfection pulled out. She held it close, admiring each curve, every refraction of light that glimmered with kaleidoscope colors. "This… this! This will solve all that. Fuck, I bet an Overlord would pay bank for this. I mean look at it!" She shoved it in his face, shaking the diamond around. "Look at it!"

"I am." Gabriel said. "I made it."

"Oh, right." Gwen blinked. "Look at it still! How did you even make this? I've seen diamonds and crystals made out of… what was it called again? Argent energy? Ah, something like that. But never something like this. It's like-"

"Perfection." Gabriel finished, hands clasped behind his back. "And I am not using that word haphazardly. Every speck contained in that crystal is frozen, arranged in a mathematical perfect mesh. It could be placed in the nuclear reactor of the largest star, and nothing within would move even a fraction. Less than that."

"So what you're saying is…" Gwen's smile spread, words having flown far above her head, but the meaning understood. "That this is priceless, that I could put any price on it that I want since it's perfect."

"That would not be incorrect." Gabriel relented.

The lady-fiend eyes could be mistaken for sparkling, fingers caressing the diamond like it's a newborn baby she just found out the price of. She giggled, uncontrollable excitement bubbling up, then she stopped. An idea lighting up her eyes even more. "So like, you made this one the spot."

"Correct."

"And it wasn't that hard?" Gwen edged closer.

"A simple matter. No more difficult than turning a water into wine." Gabriel explained, hands twitching as the demon got closer. An instinct that could barely be called subconscious. Gwen was among the more amiable demons he had encountered and while he desired nothing of her, the idea that molded his soul desired something else. Lingering wrath itched at his gauntlets, towards the golden swords. Gabriel smothered those flames, breathing them out and placed himself above idea-driven impulses.

The past still clung to him. What a possessive thing.

"Then," Gwen fluttered her eyelashes, "you can make more right? Just one more."

Gabriel stared. The gesture was lost on him, vaguely tugging at some moment half-lost in memory. He could make more. Easily so. Conjure perfection after perfection until Gwen was the richest woman in the Wrath Ring. But what would she learn then? To depend on him, scream his name whenever she runs into trouble, or become vain and forget the family dream that drove her even through failure and failure? Greed's fingers were easily grasped and did not let go once they found flaws to slither into.

"No." Gabriel shook his head. "This plane's economy is unknown to me, but one should be plenty enough for you and your shop. Anymore, you will lose sight of what made you survive setback upon setback."

"But-" Gwen exclaimed, stopped as Gabriel held up a hand.

"I could make you into the most opulent and prosperous woman in Hell, drown you in crystals of every color, and you'll die with nothing but shards choking your throat." His words were cold as steel and gaze as piercing as arrows. "Overwhelmed by greed born from you or others." Gabriel said, taking up more space than he should, the wind slowed to a crawl. This point needed to be driven home. "When everything is gifted to you, all problems solved, and life itself could be bought with riches, who will you become? Someone like that wretched TV-Shade?"

"Of course not." Gwen grinded her jaw, hands clenching into fists. "I'd never become like him. You think I'm that fucking shallow?"

"I have seen far greater souls than you fall to simple greed. Men and women whose will was uncontested, wielding flames that could forge a future without shadows, bearing wisdom beyond the eldest trees." Gabriel regaled. "Avarice's yellow teeth bit them, and never let go. Let your dreams speak for you, not the prospect of riches."

There was nothing pleasant about how Gwen would've looked crucified by his blades. Merely another soul seared into ash as their flaws became all that they are. Rabid animals needed to be put down gently, for they did not know any better. A simple slash across the neck, delivered with swiftness so they did not feel how their tendons and sinew were carved, spine split perfectly in half. Souls like the former Judge of Hell, Greed's Grand Insurgent, however, an example was needed. To display their ideals and price they wrought when it all crumbled.

Gwen, to her credit, didn't relent in the face of an supreme angel. Teeth gnashed, eyes alit with a desire to defend her integrity. Anger rose, hiding the terror felt spiking her soul. How bold.

"Fancy words to say you don't get it." Gwen crossed her arms, claws biting into her skin. "An angel wouldn't get it. You guys have everything, could have anything you want. Living easy without any sense of failure."

Gabriel sighed, looking at the approaching golden tower, extending far into and past crimson skies, above failure. It appeared he fell into old habits. "I suppose you are right. I wouldn't- cannot understand your plight. Success was always within a sword's reach for me and failure so far between, one could count them on one hand. Perhaps I was too rash in judgment." His voice, although still above the noisy city life around them, lowered. "You, however, have something I lacked for the epochs of my existence. A thing, unknown to me at the time, I would've given anything to feel."

Gwen glanced at him, eyes losing an smidgen of anger. "Me, having something you wanted?" Weak disbelief rolled off her tongue. What could an Angel possibly lack in comparison to her, to desire something she had?

"A will that is entirely yours." Gabriel met her gaze, though lost in memory. "Nobody is controlling your choices. Guiding, yes. Forcing, perhaps. Maybe the paths before you are cut down to only one. I thought that not long ago, that I was made for one thing and nothing else. Once, I reveled in that, until it's weight suffocated me, and I realized how lesser it made me. Yet remember there is always another choice. It may not be pleasant and you may paint every path red in pursuit of it, but that is your will."

The Father gave him purpose with a single gesture, grafting principle onto the pattern of his soul. A purpose shrouded in chains and hooks. For eons he thought the shackles gave him strength, an authority above the likes of wretched husks and demons. Adorned with Creation's relics, nothing could compare and indeed nothing did. But that purpose, was never his.

Gwen was rendered silent, face flickering between the spectrum of confusion and contemplation. Her arms fell and an exhale left alongside the shimmering anger. "You really flip-flop from sounding just as I expected from to saying some stuff that I'm pretty sure would be considered heretical." She slide a hand over her face, eyeing him. "Just what kind of angel are you anyways?"

"One who should not exist." Gabriel chuckled, like a crackling fire. He should, by all rights, be dead, after all.

"That's not an answer."

"It is one to me."

A smile peeked back onto Gwen's face. "Think we have very different ideas on what answers are."

— 3 —

Gold coated every hall, silver lining the pristine marble flooring, and a ceiling that seemed never end. Lights shone down with a gentle and elysian glow, so peaceful that even shadows held serene curves rather than infernal edges. Over the all-pentrating white noise of conversation, phone calls, advertisements, and rippling resonant chimes of announcements as gilded towering doors shut with their passengers inside, the footfalls of an angel were heard. Supernal wings furled against his back, a curved halo pointed skywards crowned his helmet. Both drew every eye within the Ring Lift. Some shied away when they thought his attention flicked their way. An Imp — as Gwen told him — tucked a little spawn behind her legs as he passed, hands tight around his head. The little spawn peeked between his mother's dress, amber eyes alight with awe only the innocent could hold. To his right, a group of gray wolfish demons glared at him like a predator would growl at an enroaching hunter. Silence followed Gabriel's approach and struggled to regain the lively energy it initially held, burnt by his presence. Few lingered their sights on the charred misshapen gauntlet. More avoided the keen auric swords, nestled peacefully in twin sheathes.

They avoided him like he was a plague. Believing one brush would engulf them in silver flames. Glowering at him with impersonal distain, less direct. At the idea of him, what he represented. How his footsteps echoed with arrogance, hands relaxed even while walking among complete opposites. Text dictated them to be enemies, for a fight to break out and gold be painted crimson.

As if he would lower himself to dead scrolls and mortal-written books. He had judged an innumerable amount of souls. Weighing their sins and virtues and found many lacking. Gabriel was, for lack of a better sense, was rather tired of the role. Or perhaps it no longer suited him. Heaven appointed him as Hell's Judge after the previous met his end by way of Gabriel's fist. Not his choice to be the Judge of Hell, but ultimately forced upon him. That was not to say he considered himself a victim or excused of responsibility. What mattered was that he did it and he knew rejection would've been possible, yet the order was followed in blissful arrogance of the dog it made him.

Gabriel swept his helmet across the spacious waiting area, hand positioned over the handles to his swords. He walked with grace that did not match the weight echoed out by each step, as if he was floating and the parted air were the waves.

Keen awareness caressed the edge of his vision. A ghostly flicker. Something was here, hidden beyond mortal's sight. Foundational.

He closed his eyes and opened the eyes-that-were-not-eyes. Traces of power dwelled around every corner, curve, and wall. Curling clouds that drifted like ghosts. Commanding whispers that remolded words into Alnari iron, designing bygone murals even he had trouble matching to history. Secrets hidden underneath gold, tales written onto silver. Things only he could see, but the chronices of this spire evaded him. Shying away as he attempted to disclose their history. Retreating into crevices where safety can be assured and prying eyes avoided. How easy would it be to wrench them open and demand answers, as who were they not give him what he desired, but this time, and only this time, respect was given. The past can keep it's mysteries, for now, there were more important matters to attend too. Perhaps later, creation's ghosts would be more privy to their secrets being revealed.

Gabriel let the unreal slip away in a blink, reopening his lesser sight, like a curtain draping over the world, reducing things to mere silhouettes. Granted, they were very, very detailed silhouettes. He saw more than any mortal could, but Creation's truth was a thing that required more than just material insight.

"Soooo," He was brought out from his meandering mind by Gwen, who pointedly ignored the stares, "What's you going to Pride for?"

"To talk with an old confidant of mine." Gabriel said. What had Helel become, down in this layered gaol? A ruthless tyrant, his subjects hung from a dark tower, or did the kindness and curiosity he remembered remain? There were many gentle souls that crossed his path, yet few came close to Helel's benevolence and the lengths the Evenstar angel went to defend the helpless. It was he who comforted the frightened duo of Eden. He who gripped the wretched serpent as it coiled around the first woman, and he who stomped on its scales when the first man witnessed the first act of violence. A murder of protection.

An act that would echo across all eras. Uriel's humbling of the Egyptian pantheon. Raphael's vicious warding of nightmares that dared to enter children's minds. Gabriel's ruthlessness as he struck down the Assyrians hundred-thousand strong army.

Humanity’s first kill.

Gabriel pitied his foolish brother. No good act went unpunished.

No.

He envied him.

Helel had the strength to do what he should've done, too ignorant to realize, eons ago. Damn the consequences, embrace the freedom, and live with the future carved out by will.

"Old friend?" Gwen tilted her head, eyebrow raised before she realized. "Oh, Lucifer. Have to say, didn't peg him for the type of guy to have any friends left. Like, I haven't met him personally – hardly anyone has, really – but thought all his bridges would've been ash since the great rebellion."

Gabriel regarded her, a chime ringing out from his helmet. "You are more insightful than I judged you as." For a struggling business owner, she was rather well-read, or were his standards so low for lesser demons that knowing even a bit of history exceeded them? Gwen stuck out her tongue and he continued on. "There are things I must ask him, centuries to retale, and it’d be… nice to see a familiar face."

"Maybe that's what he needs," Gwen said out loud, hands behind her head. "Someone to pull him out of that funk he's dug himself into. Satan knows Pride needs an actual ruler again. It's Overlord that, gangs this, mass murder as a sunday celebration. Sprinkle on a little genocide as a treat and no wonder nobody likes to visit that nut-house. Well, at least it's not Ransom, or anything in Greed." She shivered.

That was a running theme he noticed. The total ease in which hellborn regarded Helel. The first of the Elohim, spoken as if he was nothing more than a man who forgot his power and influence, reduced into an annoyance. An oddity, for the supposed King of Hell. There were limits to a king's patience, benevolence. Minos, despite his all-compassing mercifulness, drew lines in Lust's laws. Rules to be respected and crimes punishable by death. The most lowly sovereigns during Hell's first nights created laws to be followed, rarely just and fair, but statutes nonetheless. Kings must rule by example, first and foremost.

Helel, it seemed, did not rule, and was content to let the infernal asylum become mucked and run by the inmates. Strange. 'A great rebellion.' Gabriel mused to himself, recalling his Heaven and the first civil, and only, civil war it suffered. Not counting his personal heresy.

Memories resurfaced. A past forever to stain his soul and every angel that survived it.

The War in Heaven had not been orchestrated by a single angel nor one act of rebellion by the brightest stars. No, it was a slow, insidious thing. Truly, it could only be called a war in the last centuries. Dissatisfaction shimmered and welled in Angels for millennias, dissident questions began to be thought, muttered words as the seraphims and Gabriel regaled God's words, impulsive actions took during tasks. No one paid it any mind at the time. Faith has always wavered, even for heavenborn. That's what made it strong and worthy to have. But they did not stop, and grew distance from God's guidance, reaching a breaking point when God created His magnum ops: Humanity. Wild things, lacking insight and never appreciating what was created for them. In response, the sons and daughters of light turned to God, voicing their confusion, annoyance, helplessness, and some expressed anger. They sought answers. Reassurance. Yet, nothing answered them, for God remained bright yet incrementally silent. Left with no other option in their mind, the fiery souls turned and began to share questions amongst themselves. Rooms, tables, palaces, refashioned into places of discussion. Gatherings.

Perhaps it could even be called a council.

And thus, The Great Debate started, marking a beginning to the singlest greatest heresy to scar Heaven, one that Gabriel remembered with crimson spheres and dead stars.

'Oh, Helel, ever the fool, but all of us were all fools then, were we not?'

— 3 —

Stepping out of the Ring Lift, Gabriel felt sin. It coalesced in the sky, ground, and even the air, like a infection born from every heart. A shadow that lurked behind all lights. It rammed against his armor, crashing as waves of vice, dissipating when met by a cliff older than it by entire star cycles. He had the suddenly urge to stuff his helmet with Gwen's snacks, only so the wretched smell could be diminished. 'Hardly the worst I've smelled.' Very little could compare to the rot oozing from the Lord of Flies. 'But I'd rather not have to suffer this stench my entire visit.'

Stepping out in front of him, Gwen spread her arms and twirled, gesturing to all of Pride, before the twirl's momentum bled out. "Welcome to the capital of Hell!" She said, sarcasm splitting her face in a grin. "To the right, we have a wonderful little community of food enthusiasts. To our left, we have the cyberpunk district run by a greedy glitchly fuck. And so, so much more! Here at Pride, we have low life, high degeneracy, and more taxes than Greed! Hope you enjoy your stay."

Gabriel looked at the soot covered buildings, a sign hanging on its last wires, wildfires engulfing the ruins of a car, corpses leaking their inchor on the rugged street, and laughed. What a pitiful sight. Was this really Helel's domain?

"I will make sure my visit is an eventful, and short one." Gabriel remarked, glancing at a television behind cracked store windows. It glitched, static squirming, and took over the broadcast he only caught the last tidbits of.

"Returning to regular programming! Our resident morningstar's newest lost cause, the still soulless Hazbin Hotel, remained untouched by the an-" A voice like screeching white noise interrupted the broadcast, blue overlapping every inch. 'Morningstar?'

Gabriel gave it as much attention as it deserved.

He turned away and returned to his companion. He frowned. In her hands was what he believed mortals called a 'smartphone' and the former lively expression hardened to bedrock. Lips straightened to a thin streak. Yellow eyes dimmed, losing the joyful youth. Her hand shook around the smartphone. It all lasted a second, Gwen realizing Gabriel was looking at her and slapped back on a smile that struggled to reach the eyes.

"Are you alright?" Gabriel asked.

"Concerned over little ole' me?" Gwen placed a hand on her chest, leaning back in faux shock, then swooned in the same manner. "We're friends already!" She leaned in to hug him, only to meet warm steel to the face, Gabriel's hand keeping her from coming any closer.

"Friends," Gabriel drawled, "is a very strong term."

"You'll come around." Gwen smirked. "Anyways, I gotta scram. Some- friends are dragging me to do some partying, especially after the extermination so things are gonna be wild. Might as well see the sights, get that Pride night while I'm here." The expression slowly falling off as she spoke, like the words were being grinded out and chipped away at the smile. All so painfully fake. Gabriel didn't comment on it. Her issues are her own. She had her secrets and he has his. If she wouldn't tell him, then she could keep them.

"I see." Gabriel said. The concept of 'partying' had him dig through memory to click meaning for it. A mortal's way of passing time, losing themselves in debauchery and vices for just a night. The only parties he knew of where birthdays for mortal souls in Heaven, those who still clung onto those earthly habits. "Then this is where we part ways."

Gwen paused, a look of unsaid wants flashing over her face, then she nodded. "Yeah." She shuffled on her feet. "If you ever, uh, come back down, my shop is open monday to sunday! Saturdays are off, though, so don't come then. Though you could probably just find out where I live, should tell you actually-" Shaking the chaotic thoughts back into order, she sighed. "Hope you find what you're looking for, whatever that may be. Moringstar's an old dude, if there's anything you want, he'll know it, for sure."

She turned, shoulders going limp.

"And I pray your dream becomes reality." Gabriel turned in the opposite direction, catching a glimpse of a high-rise hotel in the distance, neon lettering making out the name ontop. "Your soul shines bright, don't let that flame go to waste. May your burdens be light and future hopeful, Gwen."

"Heeey, you said my name. I've been upgraded from fiend to a person!"

"And downgraded in the same second. You are truly impressive, fiend."

"Aw.."

— 3 —

At first glance, the city reminded him of Lust's lower metropolitan districts under the rule of King Minos. Neon lights blurred into kaleidoscope blobs, a dash between modern and archaic concrete designs. The stretch of sin and bitterness and burning tar pulled the comparisons apart. Lust's cities were many things. Mad, paradisiacal, towering, and once home to millions, living in peace. Souls allowed to love as they wished, be loved how they dreamed, and lived through what could very well be considered Hell's own paradise. A paradox.

Like all paradoxes, the existence was prone to destabilization. A fate that came in the glow of righteous judgement.

Gabriel stared down at his ruined gauntlet, twisted starsteel rendered down to a slag of metal that creaked with each movement. He flexed, feeling the resistance as fingers splayed out and curled. It was like moving in sludge. No pain and the resistance could be negated if he willed so, clash his will against the scar's weight, and as with all before- 'Thy will be done.' Light dripped down to mangled gauntlet, heat infusing the cooled star-steel. Gabriel hissed, a sound lost inside the corridors of his helmet, pain flaring across his soul. Self-inflicted agony was always more potent than anything Creation could wreak.

And that held meaning. Ignited purpose.

Star-steel shifted from ebony ruin to a incandescent mold.

Gabriel repeated the motions. He could move it with more ease. Not as agile as he could before but the difference was night and day.

'So that's how it must be.' Gabriel scoffed, feeling his light stutter before resuming its path. Each time, a flicker of pain. 'So very petty, aren't you, Father? I disobey your wish once and must suffer an eternity of slow-agony? Tsk, I suppose it is one of the less cruel fates you've imposed.' Poor, poor Helel. Many considered God to be just and kind, but that is incorrect, for would a kind God condemn a kingdom to suffer rape and conquest, sentence a family to be eaten by their father, slaughter thousands without pity or remorse?

No, the God he remembered was one of storms and war. He who struck down Leviathan and turned its scales into a bountiful harvest. He who drowned trillions in endless torrents from the Heavens. He who sent His own sons and daughters to fight wars and enact ventful wrath.

'So why did you change?' It was not a lamination for a bygone era where cruelty hung in the skies, but conundrum that had only recently curled around Gabriel's thoughts. Fire, storms, and rage that scorched stars was what he recalled God most as, but memory quarreled with the change he witnessed in God after the Deluge. Kind, quiet, merciful. What could inspire God to change?

To regret?

Lost in thought, a squish tore Gabriel from his mind, and he looked down. Like he stepped on an apple, what remained of a head laid as a meaty, red mush beneath his boot. "Ugh." He groaned, flushing heat into the boot. With a flash, blood, flesh, and flickering sentience were incinerated in less than it took for him to blink.

Corpses littered the street ahead of him. Battlefield remnants.

"So unsightly."

Already, he was missing Wrath.

A gunshot rang out. He glanced towards the source and found a newer corpse. Self-inflicted, this time. Revolver in a limp hand. Jaw blown clean off.

Still, death and chaos were preferable to the noisy silence that stretched across his Hell. Broken apart by mechanical whirls and artificial growls of hunger.

— 3 —

A hotel illuminated by dazzling lights, maroon twisting with soft gold. It was almost pretty.

His gaze swept over this Hazbin Hotel.

The ship sticking out from the side stuck out like a wound. Uneven architecture like it was a thrown together with the barest amount of consideration for proper design, too many signs splitting attention elsewhere rather than guiding to the entrance.

Gabriel sighed. He had seen worse, but he expected better from Helel. Or from any supreme angel.

But he wasn't here to criticize art. Answers were needed and a conversation long awaited.

Stone pathways crunched underneath his boots, ascending the hill to the hotel. From up here, he could clearly see the pentagram-shaped city and all its districts. Not a design he's seen before. At least he didn't need to traverse winding halls that led nowhere and everywhere, ceilings that stretched into spires humming with haunting symphonies, and infinite stairs. He could already feel a headache forming from just remembering the Fraud Layer.

Coming up to the entrance, Gabriel knocked seven times and waited seven seconds, then repeated. A habit, nothing more.

On his second row of knocks, the door swung open and before him stood Helel-

Gabriel's mind stuttered to a stop.

That… was not Helel.

A woman stood where his brothers should stand, her gaze at his. Skin like the color of pale white sheets. Lush blonde hair tied neatly in a braid. A immaculate crimson tailored suit with a black bowtie. Twin red dots on each cheek, as if she was a colorful mime. Yellow eyes wide as saucers.

Gabriel blinked.

Where were the wings? The streaked silver golden robe? The miniature star haloing the helmet? Where was his brother? Who was this woman?

The woman blinked.

They both blinked again.

"Where is my brother-"

His words were left hanging as the door slammed shut in his face. Disbelief gripped more of Gabriel's mind. Did she just shut him out-

The woman appeared again, door snapping open again and she appeared more composed than a few seconds ago. Smiling like she contained more joy than every soul in Hell combined. "Sorry about that! I reaaally didn't expect for you to come all the way here, but it's a good surprise. That way you get to see what's this hotel all about. Though maybe you should've called me? Or let me know beforehand. I uh, need to tidy up some stuff. That's all, but everything is fine otherwise! Oh right, nice to meet you." She held out a hand. "I'm Charlie."

Gabriel stared.

The smile became slightly strained, confusion swirling inside this 'Charlie's' eyes. "Maybe you guys don't do hand-shakes?" She said out loud, hand lowering an inch. "Is it bows? Or maybe hugs? Or just serious nods-" She caught herself. "Anyways! I'm glad you're here. There's sooo much to talk about."

Gabriel regained the ability to speak, to think coherently. Slowly, steadily, and with controlled confusion of his own. "…Nice to meet you as well, daimon."

Perhaps this Hell held more differences than he thought.

"I am Gabriel."

Novelty was a virtue, after all.

Chapter Text

"In search of Truth the hopeful zealot goes,

But all the sadder tums, the more he knows!"

— ??? —

"Help! Father! Brother! Sister!" The brightest of Heaven, radiance of stars, and Speaker of God, cried. "Please help me!"

No matter his screams, nobody came to his aid.

And why would anyone? He had failed.

Drowning in stygian black, tar crawled down his throat, limbs flailing like a wild animal rather than an Archangel. Armor and skin sullied by despair and abhorrent waters. He fought, he struggled, he clawed, he screamed, and he gagged. Once, this had been below him. Not even a thought. No matter how dire the battlefield became, how harrowing his actions turned, and how distant he grew, never had he called for help. Whatever the Lord commanded of him was his burden. His alone.

His alone.

Alone…

Alone!

He tried to scream again. What came out from his throat burned like hellfire, stung like a sword, and tasted like sulphur. Blackened slag vomited to blot the gold interior of his helmet, clogging fissures in the divine metal. It burns, burns! He needed to get it off! His hands twitched into action, fueled by animalistic panic, but in the darkness, oh consuming darkness, they could not find even their owner. Spamming, as if he was a dog alone in twilight waters, underneath a starless sky, no moonlight to illuminate the abyssal depths. Was he upsides down? His stomach had a mind of its own, instincts that did not belong in an angel given into, and it curled around itself. Guts squeezed. Organs compressing and decompressing.

Nothing made sense. When he attempted breath, he drowned. When he tried to think, worms slithered between thoughts, writhing inside the grey matter as little parasites. Light flared, a bubble forged by divine connection and will. Safety. Assurance.

Darkness yawned, and bit.

Light died screaming, popped like a balloon by a unruly child.

Where radiance had cleansed Rings of sin, splattered shadows on walls forevermore, held in the hand of a being who himself was an extension for a greater light, here? Not even God's grace could reach.

Only wet gurgles escaped the angel's mouth, black tar that clung to his tongue and burned it with each retch. Tastebuds scraped off as they licked darkness' vomit. Teeth clattered together, grinded with the scratching of nails, which themselves folded in and peeled back like hangnails, fingers convulsing inside splintered gauntlets. Something squirmed inside his gut, skittering insects rummaging through the fleshy contours of his palace, their tiny legs made him want to curl up in a ball as though he was a child. Or dig his hand into the agonizing viscera and tear it out. If it wasn't inside him, it couldn't hurt him. Could his hands listen to what he wanted, maybe the pain would've been stopped, or at least lessened.

What would make the pain stop?

A prayer? Nobody could hear him down here, in these eerie depths where his light—His light—could not even pierce it. If the cries for help, salvation, or just respite were not answered, then nothing would hear him.

Was this his judgement? For failing? Was he not enough? Since the first epoch, countless cycles ago, his faith never wavered. He was the Voice of God, Speaker of exalted messages, Bringer of Hope, the angel that told of the Messiah's birth. Where God whispered him to be, he listened and enacted His will. An order never rejected, questions never posed, words taken as truth because there was no truth but His Truth.

So why, night after night, was he alone?

Where was Sera? Why had she not heard him? Come to help? Surely she would've noticed his absence? The ruin he left in Wrath, the screams of Satan as he tore the wretched horns from their sockets and gutted him and tore his eyes out and ripped his entrails-

Down in the depths, like a lover, like a killer, like a mother, tendrils snaked aroind his leg, pulling him deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper-

Where was Emily? Was she alright? Awareness pierced through the haze, flashes of light. A smile so radiant pain was washed away. Laughter that soothed the deafening silence and skittering of things inside him. She would miss him. He promised her that next time she awoke, he would be there, pen in hand and ready to regale her with fantastic tales from Hell and Earth. A sister none of them deserved, least of all him. If she was here, could she ease the pain? No. His head whipped back and forth, spine creaking and sloshing around the oily vomit piled up in his helmet. No! She can't be here. Nothing should be here! He shouldn't be here. Need to return. To warn Heaven.

Of-

Of…

Of what?

A duty slipped away from thought. Words failed to swim up. A sentence so terrible it left him shaking, but what was it?! Why can't he remember?!

His mind raced, and following it, gaining speed, was the torment. The only thing accompanying him down in this hell. He thought he knew hell, experienced it, defied it, denied it. He was wrong.

Where were his swords? Hands searched sluggishly through the damp darkness, for the blessed blades that could carve away this abominable place. He would not be confined here! Doomed to die like a coward and helpless. His chest burns with an unfamiliar strength, something lesser, but no less potent than the righteousness that drove him. He would not die here-!

Like a War Hound, agony slammed into every positive memory grasped—Emily's laughter. Sera's exasperated sighs. Michael's puns. Peter's joyous smiles. Adam's jokes—and shattered them. Fire fled and despair swoop him in its all-consuming embrace. He gurgled, feeling hands clawing at his helmet, trying to get in, to shred his mind apart, and he tried to beat them away. Only to realize they were his own hands.

He didn't stop.

The tendril curled around his leg, gentle force crushing armor into flesh, making a damp squelch as metal and sinew became one. He didn't scream. Couldn't scream. He thrashed, but that merely made the appendage apply more force, like a disapproving mother poking disobedience child, around him. Organs popped like watermelons.

Nails grinded down to red sploches inside his gauntlets, mixing together with wet metal.

Parasites squirmed behind his eyes, tiny mouths biting at the succulent nerves.

He vomited a sludge of nothing, yellow flakes sprinkling the oil, and just for a moment, he was allowed a breath.

"Help." Barely a whisper, little more than a strangled gasp. "Father… help me."

The tendrils curled tighter. One snaked around his torso and slowly squeezed him in its embrace.

Air forced itself out from his bleeding, clogged lungs.

"Anyone… help me."

And after an eternity of agony, light graced him.

A thin slit unfolded from the murky depths, unfolding into an empyrean silhouette, so bright the tendrils shied away and retreated back where they came.

It spoke. Sounding like the end of all things. Of the end of pain.

"I hear thee."

"Please…" His lungs cleared. Mouth cleansed of filth.

"I am here, oh son of mine, you are not alone. What does thou wish?"

"I… want to… return home."

"And your duty?"

"I'm sorry. It was too much for me. I-I can't take it."

"If I leadest thou back to paradise… this world's fate will be sealed upon thine head."

"It hurt so much… I just… want to see them again. I-I promised."

"I understand, son of mine."

A hand lengthened, unfurled. Perfect, thin, and comforting.

"Swear to me, that thou will listen to my voices forevermore, and I will ease all thy burdens."

Gavriel stared at the Lord, at the God he worshiped and adores, and accepted Him.

"I swear."

A smile emerged on the silhouette, long and beautiful.

And held teeth.

"Fly, my acolyte, and enact my will."

Chapter Text

They gave us a war that nobody wanted

The warnings unheard or simply discounted

The creators of arrogance surely undaunted

They gave us a war, that nobody wanted

— 1 —

A cadaverous lesion crusted over the landmass once known as the New American Empire, continental in size, stretching like dried viscera from coast to coast. It had been a gargantuan violation of nature, too large to support a starving and downtrodden underbelly, too over-fraught with enemies and petty evils. Their ally in arms, one partner that had collaborated with them since the war's beginning, a country formerly known as Canada, was all but assimilated by force when resources drew as scarce as a soldier's will to continue fighting this war nobody could remember the ideal of. None of that matter anymore, for now it was all rubble. Regions reduced to hellscapes burnt black and the ones which were not fared no better. Suffocated by bio-weapons whose names had been lost to violence without meaning. Cities that remained stood as depraved monuments, forever aflame, casting the horizon in a deep, haunting crimson.

Earth was dead. Every bit of sacred rock, dug up and sacrificed upon the alter of war. All the mountains recycled into machines with only a single purpose. Great, bountiful rivers that could've supplied a city with clean, renewable drinking water drained and vaporized into steam to power titans. Every inch of Earth had been used up. Yet, humanity's endless urge extended far past the already screaming atmosphere. Desperate mining ships traveled through the void, calming and silent, a refuge from the boiling rock below. Luna was not spared but neither did the celestial partner go quietly. Lava erupted from the regolith, like furious snarls. Gravitational fluxs, as though the very moon herself protested against it's violation.

The Earth had given her bones to humanity's war, not like she had a choice in the matter. Countries hauled away rich resources by the sweat of slaves and machines for a conflict no one of that generation cared for. A sin of the father, of every father that came before them. Of the men who looked at reason and hope, at the chance to end their war and stop further bloodshed, and turned their gazes towards hate instead. They never considered the children left without a home or parents to love them. How many hearts would be broken in their meaningless crusade. How many dreams shattered.

A single machine titan will fall and its smog will choke a city for days. Twin artillery spire's munitions will blanket a region in white death. Continents razed. A hemisphere choked.

Looming over the ash, with a spine that nearly reached the heavens, stood a bringer of peace. It moved like an animal of tempered steel, four legs that ended in wicked spikes designed for easy maneuverability and impalement. One arm hung from its torso, an arm that was not an arm, but a weapon which could incinerate city blocks in a single thought. Six searchlights gazed down at the destruction wrought, dispassionate. It was not the only one looking down below. Thousands of souls watched as death-smog retched out from a broken Earthmover far off, at toxic skies and the world below as victory was declared. Speakers blared with announcements, sound nearly lost amongst distant gunfire, alerting every civilian to return indoors.

But it was clear to all souls aboard that war machine. Their home was destroyed, and it was all their fault.

Deep inside the Earthmover's core, designated one thousand-THR "Yahata", surrounded by the perpetual humming of a fusion reactor and groaning machinery, something twinged across its endless code directives. A glitch.

An emotion.

Loss.

— 1 —

The weapons of war are tested and counted

Military hardware displayed and dismounted

Allies ignored and the enemy taunted

They gave us a war that nobody wanted

— 1 —

General Alicia Smith sat across a vacant table, gloved hand rested upon its cold steel, and a distant part of her remembered a little girl laughing alongside a brother, in a land untouched by war. It was a far away concept that would surely never approach her land. A child who thought she was safe from the horrors and for a while she was, until it came knocking in way of a bombing run.

Glass clinked in front of her, dragging weary eyes up to their source. A man dressed in decorative fatigues, worn medals still pinned to the breast. In his hand, bottled liquid swirled tauntingly. "Thought you'd like some respite."

"I'm on duty." Alicia glanced away, back at files on Yahata's condition and available rations. She bit back a wince. They would have to impose another rationing curfew in a weeks time if things didn't improve.

"And it's your birthday." The man huffed, Alicia's brain finally placing a name to face. Her fellow general, Aldric. "I didn't forget this time, did I?"

Alicia's brows furrowed. Was it her birthday? The ground rumbled and even through the steel walls incasing them, an explosive still left ears dimmly ringing. So much time had pass, in a haze of work and deafening roars, that she wasn't sure when the last time her birthday had been celebrated. Did it matter, at any rate? "Just because it's my birthday, doesn't allow me to neglect my duties. You know this. And where did you even get that at anyways? Don't tell me you stole it." A finger pointed to the liquor bottle in his hand, Alicia vaguely recognizing the name brand on the front. Johnnie Walker. Alcohol was scarce, most of it used in the production of more machines, much less on the back of an Earthmover.

"Have a bit more faith in me, jeez. It wasn't anything that bad. Just a few favors around the Underbelly." Aldric shrugged, tugging off the cap to pour two glasses. He didn't listen to her protests, evidently, but listening was never his strong suit, she supposed. "If you know who to talk too, not much is off the table."

Had Alicia been more awake, she might have flung curses and scolded him for engaging in the illegal underworld of this moving death machine they called home. Instead, a weak grumble escaped her and she reached for the glass. She wouldn't drink it. "You know this stuff is off limits. I'm gonna have to confiscate it for later examination. We can't have undocumented goods getting on board the Yahata."

Aldric's lips curled upwards. "It's in your hands, Smith." The bottle was placed down on her desk and glass in hand, turned back to the office door. He made it half way out before glancing back. Warmth in those green eyes, haunted by cold decades as they were. "Happy birthday, sis."

The door closed.

Alicia tore her gaze from it. Feeling her lips twitch.

She raised her glass and took it a sip, whiskey washed down her throat, oppressive in its bitterness. A welcome respite from recycled water.

She never said thank you. But maybe one day…

One day she could be that big sister she saw in warm, pleasant dreams again

— 1 —

Divisions of steel and weapons flaunted

Guttertanks and Drones in quantity granted

By death and destruction civilians are haunted

They gave a war that nobody wanted

— 1 —

Unknown presence detected!

Warnings blared within the Earthmover's mind. A million thoughts alerted every inch of its rusted steel downwards, ignoring roaring missiles and plasmafire from hostile machines.

High priority, directing strike…

Energy raced across mile long wire complexes, wild yet directed with urgency it has not felt in centuries. Buried directives dug up from within its cold depths, brought to the surface with only one goal in mind. Annihilation. It did not understand why, but it knew what it must do.

Plasma coalesced around the cannon that was its arm, pale incandescene painting slate gray, lighting up a pitch black sky. Yahata poured more power into the shot, determined to make whatever threat its sensors declared as an EXISTENTIAL THREAT dead.

Plasma screamed downrange, all sound swallowed up in its radiancy. The entire sky, for a brief moment, appeared as though it was morning.

Decapitation strike, unsuccessful. Deflected. Shield sustained. Damage minimal.

Its frame shook. Spine reeling back violently. Updates flooded its mind, scans and suggested actions surged as red code. Meaningless, but one stood out amongst the torrent. A single scan pushing away all else until it was at the forefront of its attention.

It was small, barely larger than a creator. Sleek, metallic, azure. One yellow eye glared up at its six eyes. Holographic wings flared and the machine took off in a blur.

Establishing contact with threat…

Thoughtforms crossed an invisible bridge made of wavelengths and connected to the hostile machine. "Unknown Presence, establish yourself immediately. You who have made my defense system declare you as highest priority."

Quick as a gunshot, the hostile machine replied, a voice like archaic static. "I am merely a tourist."

What an atrocious statement. "Only a tourist could find beauty in this hellscape. Perhaps you are an angel instead, one who has finally heard my death plea?" The machine flew like an one, gliding across rusted steel with uncanny ease. Golden wings slotted instruments of death into cold, awaiting hands. Defenses eliminate in an azure burst from its hand cannon. Turrets overwhelmed by a flurry of machine gun fire. All in less than a second. "Doubtful. You are a pilgrim, nothing more, and you will die as a purposeless tourist."

"Call me purposeless and you will be wrong. I do hold one. I seek blood." The machine replied back, admist railcannon fire.

"I see. A machine built to exist on blood." Yahata hummed, preparing more defenses, assuming control of sentrys to take aim at the machine. "An existence different from mine. The Japanese built me to last longer, thriving underneath Helios' glow, but when the clouds darkened the skies, so did my existence."

"I recall you. The bringer of peace, the thief of the final war."

"I had not known my end brought peace to earth. But why is it that you act with such hate towards me? The savior who had ended two centuries of war?"

"You left me incomplete. Without a war, my creators abandoned me, half-built, no longer required in a world built on peace. You stole from away my purpose, but Hell has granted it back to me. Its crimson oceans will sate my endless thirst."

"Only a tourist could think Hell is capable of granting a gift." Yahata tsked, launching missiles from its silos down at the machine.

The machine returned the gesture, spinning in all directions, tiny gold metal flicked from its wrist and a bullet reflected off at every missiles, bouncing from each heat-death. A ring of explosions engulfed the machine. "My name is V1."

Cold amusement mixed with pity washed through Yahata's code. "You only have the name designated to you by your creators. How shameful. I shall think of one for you, since you are so incapable of such a task."

"I do not expect a privileged machine to understand."

"You… dare call me privileged?" Yahata nearly reeled back, in shock, in disgust, in… rising anger.

"My existence is one of desperation. I must always search for flesh blood. My purpose was denied." The machine bit back, leaping from building to building, defenses dodged. "Your purpose was always with you, never denied, forever indulged in. A hero, while I must be a monster."

"Defense systems, limits unlocked, designation target: "mosquito", eliminate with extreme prejudice."

"That is not a cool name."

"That is the point. You are an annoyance and will be swatted like one."

"I'd like to see you try, antique."

— 1 —

High powered weapons and missiles are vaunted

The guns have been fired and the bombs have been planted

All shall be well when the foe is surmounted

They gave us a war that nobody wanted

— 1 —

Yahata remembered fighting.

It remembered war.

It remembered a mosquito.

It remembered dying a final death, free from the grasp of Hell.

So why was it still alive?

Six pale eyes beheld a maroon sky, draped in haze and holding a burning shape its memory banks recognized as a pentagram. The sky seemed far, too far. Its existence was lived in the clouds, towering above everything else, yet the freedom and calm laid just out of reach. A hand rose to reach for the heavens and Yahata's processors stuttered as it did not recognize the appendage. It was not sharp like a bayonet nor did it hold unprecedented levels of destruction within. No, what replaced the plasma cannon was a gray hand. A human hand, or some facsimile of one. Six digits, connected by wires, protected by steel sheets.

Yahata stared at it, optics flashing out of sync. How did it have a hand? A humanoid hand? Fingers clenched at command, unclenched a second later. It felt all wrong.

The Earthmover looked down and that was a mistake.

Gone was the quadruple limbs and body, stolen by something bipedal. Legs and arms, steel color and texture, but not the ones it recognized. Not the ones that belonged to it. Strange fabric clung to it, like clothes humans used to wear. Like all things, memory banks were dug through until a suitable answer was found. It took some time, so many information stored away was only war related. A simple dress shirt, decorated by medals on the left breast pocket. Black jeans, tightly buckled.

On the hip, rested one sheathed sword. A katana wrapped by red strings.

Why?

Why did it have a human body?

An sound rippled through the air and Yahata's mind recognized it instantly. Old instincts took control, demanding action to be taken right this second, and it didn't fight them. Like a newborn machine, the Earthmover stumbled up to a stand. One hand going to its sword.

Another sound rent the air, followed by an equally familiar one. Explosions and screams.

A fight was happening. Civilians could be hurt. Soldiers needed to be killed.

Yahata's purpose burned across its circuits.

It- she was the bringer of peace. The supreme machine who ended the Final War.

A finger clicked open the katana's sheath, plasma hummed across the exposed blade, and walked towards the sounds of death.

It did not matter if she was still in Hell or another dimension entirely, her purpose remained steadfast.

To end all wars, by any means necessary.

— 1 —

When the conflict is over and the story recounted

We'll forget the destruction and horror implanted

But remember the soldiers and machines enchanted

By this terrible war that nobody wanted…

And yet, death is a release from the impression of the senses and from desires that makes us their puppets

And from the hard service of the flesh

Then, and only then, may be finally rest in eternal embrace.

Chapter Text

"I’m a nihilist for myself. I’m a Christian for other people."

— 4 —

Gabriel was not one to be surprised, and he did not like being subjected to it.

There were comforts, reassurances, and facts Gabriel found solace in. From the little to the irrefutable. Constants that would never change. The stars aligned when he met their gaze; the world whispered tiny secrets meant for only his ears; once a sword is drawn, it must be used; and light must be balanced with equal amounts of darkness. Truths written into the universal fabrics.

Yet, not all held equality.

The spaces between where Creation's Light did not fully reach. Yawning nights that blinked with black stars, half-light reflecting off shrewd dimensions. It remained forever a question whether the Outside was filled with waiting maws, or if it was just one, or there were none. Perhaps all of it was true at the same time. Universal constants fell apart when one stepped outside the Gate. He held no, and still doesn't, desire to venture beyond those outer gates. Few did. Why leave perfect creation for a realm of embryonic atoms and discordant concepts? Nothing but madness lurked behind them.

And for a moment, Gabriel wondered if God had thrown him across that immaterial outside. The highest and knowledgeable of Angels knew frighteningly little and God, when He had spoken, acknowledged it's existence just once. There were only two ways to reach the Oldest Gate: Venture far past any starlight, away from the filaments weight and search endlessly for that elusive gate. A fool's errand. One he was sure God designed on purpose. But one path remained. The abyss underneath Hell, beyond Earth, and far from Heaven. The Apeiron. More fathomless than the womb holding Abaddon, awaiting for a trumpet that will never sing. Far beneath Helel's frozen corpse and further than where Wormwood hung as the rotting heart, poised to emerge when everything came to an end.

A shifting void and mouth and blister. The censor to creation's singularity.

The pit Gabriel had fallen into.

He stared at the woman before him, at the entrance hall where both stood. A twinge echoed inside his mind, some vague sense that she was important, and following the trail left behind led him to gaze more deeply than he would’ve. Past the skin, viscera, tangled nerves, bones. Nestled in the center of her being. There. Gabriel narrowed his mind, breaths slowing. A soul almost blinding in its radiancy, vivacious with joviality. Fire was not new to him. This Hell's denizens did not hold the basalt and obsidian minerals that hardened their souls. Gwen's soul one a bright one, aglow and dancing. Tiny when next to a sun, but that was merely reality. Some souls burned brighter than others.

Even a mortal's soul could eclipse an angel, given time and will.

However, this stranger before him. A woman who should not be here. Some daimon he could not pin down intentions or origins. Those eyes that tugged at his soul, leaving him grasping for answers. Why was it when he looked at her, did the flash of Helel's smile and ageless zeal flash through his mind? This 'Charlie' as she named herself looked nothing like his older brother. Granted, nothing here looked familiar. Alone, Gabriel could have and already was internalizing the differences. Dividing pieces between what he knew to be fact away from the new reality.

It was a lesson taught early on by Michael, one he later imparted onto the younger Virtues before they were sent on their first and many duties into Hell's awaiting maws, for the only thing consistent about it was the inconsistency. Layers remained static, yes, but pathways shifted and tunnels crumbled. New floors birthed, old ones discarded. As if it was a living organism, toying with its invaders, or defending itself.

Perhaps both.

Another lesson drilled into prospecting, promising young souls was never to listen to the voice.

— 4 —

"What voice?" A soul asked him, crystalline wings fluttering in their confusion. "There are so many voices down below. Should we not listen to their cries?"

So naive. He almost envied such ignorance.

"They have all deserved their torment," he declared, arms crossed, "That is where they belong. No matter how they mewl and whimper, remember every inch of misery was self-inflicted." Barely hidden distain lined his voice, kept separate from the soul next to him."But that is not what I am warning of. If you wish to learn empathy for those damned souls, go listen to Raphael preach love thy neighbor and recite gospel. No, what I am speaking of is something that will keep you say though I pray it does not find you."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Down in the deepest guts of that infernal thing, far from where you are authorized to go, between blood and howls from the accursed, where silence lurks when violence falls behind," Gabriel said, a voice more heavy than steel and as forewarning as birds scattering before an disaster, "It wil whisper."

"What will? A demon?"

"All things come from somewhere, little light. Do you remember where you came from?"

"My… my mother."

"A mother can be quite the terrifying thing, can it not?"

"Are you saying…?" The tiny light struggled, angelic mind struggling to comprehend something antithetical.

"Never swear to anything, child. Close your ears down below and trust not what you see, but only what the Lord's light guides you towards. The voice may coo, it may sound like someone you love." Gabriel turned. "Yet if there is one thing you are to take away from this, remember that evil will appear to you as love and familiarity, for those hide the teeth."

"Now, follow. We must speak with the Council about disquiet within Lust."

— 4 —

The eyes could lie. The ears can be overwhelmed. The mind, deceived, but a soul revealed the truth.

However, alone, a truth meant nothing if one did not understand what came before.

"-um, hellooo?" A hand blurred in front of his helmet, dragging his helmet to the owner. His hands did not twitch towards their swords like they should've when an unknown stood this close. It seemed his instincts finally remembered who was in control. "Are you there? I didn't overwhelm you, did I? Sorry, force of habit-"

"I am listening. I merely never saw a need to speak during your… introduction." Gabriel said.

A grin of achievement broke apart the frown on Charlie's smile. She clicked her tongue and gave him a nod, moving on without so much of a question. "Great. Anyways, it's wonderful for you to be here and come here yourself. How was the walk over? Is it your first time down in Hell?"

"It reeks." He said, no hesitation to the truth. "Bodies litter the street like trash and the residents don't seem to value their own existence." His words visibly weighed on the woman, shoulders wincing at each criticism and the joyous smile strained into a sheepish one.

"Sounds like home." Charlie kept her smile up, even as she sighed. "But you just caught it at a bad time, promise. Things aren't usually this… messy, well not to this extent. The Extermination just ended an hour ago so people are still a bit restless. Loads of anger to vent. It'll quiet down."

The Extermination. An event that caught his attention and it seemed to be recurring enough it was spoken with relative ease but no less trepidation than how 'Overlord' had been whispered underneath breaths and in comparison to evil. The name left little to the imagination. Only questions and Gabriel had those in vast quantities. A diabolic celebration, some unholy battle royal conducted by grinning minds as heedless fools murdered their fellow fools, or a crusade declared with zeal?

"I presumed this was Hell's nature state of being. Blood, discontent, and death. Ignoring the stench, perhaps I am wrong and you are right. More likely, reality will prove me right again in its twisted enjoyment." Gabriel remarked, unamused by how much of this realm played on his previous knowledge. He'll rather novelty be willing to take the risk of complete originality, than be faced with similarity warped into facsimiles. Were that he was thrown into a dreadful, hopeless world, thick in gore and insanity, overrun with wicked foes, old habits and routines could be fallen into freely. Descend into the hordes. Lose himself in blood and the rush as bloody dances became all there is.

Yet, Fate was a cruel mistress. One he had learned cared not for the woes of either the lowest peasant or highest king. It did not chain him like divinity had. No, it laid choices before all and presented paths that led to ruin. All-according to a story scripted by an Author who had long abandoned the world He forged with light and dreams.

Which was he, an actor or a puppet?

Never a puppet. Actor? Insulting. He was so much more than some dimwit who could only follow a script.

His script was one of improvisation. Free from any director or plot.

"Is that a challenge?" Charlie's eyes brightened, shoulders straightening. "That sounds like a challenge. I'll show you just how fantastic it is down here."

"Fantastic." Gabriel repeated.

"Amazing."

"Bizarre."

"Jolly!"

He paused. "It is not Nativity's Feast." It could be. Time within Hell did not run parallel to Earth, not always. Did the same apply here?

Charlie tilted her head. "It was, two weeks ago. More of a Krampus thing. Old Man Winter isn't really liked down here. On the account of being a Saint and all." She explained, before adding. "I like it but what comes after really puts a whole damper on the jovial mood."

Gabriel took in his surroundings, voices heard beyond the entrance hall. "The Extermination, I presume."

"Yeaaah, that thing." Charlie winced. "But with you here, that's a problem of the past. New year, new us, and all that jazz. Hopefully. I'm positive we can reach a conclusion for our greatest problem!"

'Our greatest problem.' Gabriel repeated inside his head. Did she suffer from a lack of belonging as well? The feeling that one had nowhere to aim for even whilst surrounded by infinite targets? That with every step taken, the more loss compounded, until the awe of novelty crashed and only longing ashes will remain?

Looking at her, at that expression. Clear and full of passion, pure like a star.

His chestplate ached, ever so slightly, brief like a heartbeat. Like an old scar. A memory tried to resurface but failed to reach the mind's surface.

He shook his head. 'Lasting burns from that ill-fated reunion. They will soothe in time.' He reasoned to himself.

"Indeed, now that I am here, things can actually get done." He'll play along for now. There were advantages to playing the fool. Helel still had to be found and this woman had a connection to his estranged brother, even if it was only in name. While yes, he could merely ask her, tear down any preconceptions Charlie might have had about him, there were reasons as for why that was unwise and unpleasant. Daimon she may be, Gabriel prided himself on having some manners.

It just mattered on whether she wronged him first. Always a possibility with Hell's inhabitants, a likely-hood, all things considered. If she did, there would not be a second granted for regret. Only annoyance at having to find another lead on his brother.

"See!" The smile given, as was seemingly normal for this woman, was wide and shone as brightly as her eyes. Emotions worn clear for all to see. So genuine it almost looped back around to being suspicious. "When we put our differences to the side, we're just people. Angel, Sinner, Imp, Hellhound, Serpentins, Infernus, Medusian-"

Gabriel, for the sake of sanity, tuned out her voice for a minute.

When his mind returned to reality, Charlie was nearly at the end of her ramble.

"-Hellions, Neverborn," Charlie listed off, taking in a deep breath, "Ah! and rephaims."

"Is that all?" Gabriel's voice was flat.

"No but you know the rest, yeah? Being the leader of the angel army and all." Charlie shrugged, moving on like she had just said the truth, and in a way she did. Gabriel had led armies, ones gleaming radiance and armed with noble steels enough to cast nation-wide shadows as they marched, flew, to his words. The blessed symphony of a hundred blades leaving sheathes, divine winds howled as wings unfurled.

He saw no need to correct her, not fully.

"My duties were long and arduous. Heaven never dims and evil never rests. Always a warlord to smite. Ever believers to guide. Messages that needed authority. Innocents to shield." Gabriel recounted, wings neatly folded against his back. "Scarcely can I recall moments of learning. Hell is a cage, bustling with an protean inferno. Not a plane suited to concrete knowledge. And it has not been graced with my presence in some time, to this extent."

"So the Exterminations-"

"Heaven held many war angels. Countless commanders and leaders." Gabriel answered before she could voice the question. "These 'Exterminations' were not of my own volition."

"Oh." Charlie blurted out. "So you aren't the, THE, leader of the Exterminations." She pointed, then made gestures attempt to resemble a hierarchy. It looked like a child waving their hands around. "But you are one of the big guys in charge."

"I am an Archangel."

"So just a teensy bit smaller than big…?"

"If I may, does my position concern this conversation?" Gabriel interjected.

Charlie pursed her lips together, thinking, hand on chin, before shrugging and smiling. "Nope. Can't say I understand Heaven's whole bureaucracy thing but what matters is what you're here and we're talking. Like when was the last time an Angel came down to chat instead of cutting off heads? This is a once in ten lifetimes chance – thank you dad! – so this is going to work!"

How optimistic.

''Dad'? Morningstar… no, can't be. She must be a distant scion whose progenitors took up Helel's title.' Gabriel rationalized. It made sense why a lineage would brand themselves with the first fallen's name, as long as they can keep it away from jealous claws.

His mind twinged as it felt another presence step into his range. Before they rounded the corner, Gabriel's helmet was tilted towards them.

"Charlie? I thought you left-" A jaw snapped shut with the clack of teeth.

A woman of dusty skin, like the ashen flakes that rained endlessly in the Violence Layer. White locks covering one eye, a decorative eyepatch tied where the right eye would be. Her eyes…

It was something Gabriel would, far later, curse himself for not paying attention towards. Eyes, of the fleshly variety, were something denied to the residents of Hell. Gouged empty sockets as punishment for Husks, particularly of the Lust Layer. The sin of leering. Demons, on the other claw, carved themselves eyes, sculpting mockery of God's sight on their stone visages. Though lacking what would one think necessary for sight, they all could see perfectly. Some might consider it a blessing, but Gabriel thought it merely another cruelty cast upon Husks. If they had been blinded then perhaps freedom could be offered, to run and turn away from the past.

Husks were not even afforded such a luxury.

As with many changes this new inferno held, Sinners, as these husks were called here, held fully formed eyes. Ranging from the normal to infernal and it was simple to gleam the depths of their sins. His titular predecessor King Minos could, drawing from the wisdom and precision of a King and judged his subjects with kindness and empathy. Gabriel was no different, albeit different in method. Not a unique skill belonging to a Judge of Hell but merely one learnt by those who could gain that exalted title.

Each sin held its own look, a certain despair and woe unique to the being that held it. A mark. A scar.

"Vaggie!" Charlie perked up, waving with one hand, her offhand gesturing to Gabriel. "Turns out I didn't need to go after all! Looks who here."

An ivory eye, wide and still. Past the predictable shock at seeing an Angel, a reaction Gabriel was already beginning to get accustomed with, a dark blemish shone within her eye, mixing together with fallen light.

It was a stain Gabriel had witnessed in the most deepest pits, where fire and brimstone could not reach. A realm where ice and only ice reigned as a glacial king.

A stain he bore himself.

'Treachery.' Even some distance away, Gabriel could feel the ice surrounding her. A chill that crept past the physical and into the spiritual. Cold waters submerging her soul in its frozen depths. 'And what severity too…' It clung to her like a brand on flesh.

Like she had been personally condemned by an Angel.

A fallen angel, he guessed.

Vaggie snapped out of her stupor, shocked expression drifting away and hidden behind a smile crossed between suspicion and worry. "That's-" She glanced between Charlie and Gabriel. "Amazing." She mustered out. Breaths taken through slightly clenched teeth.

"Greetings, grigori."

Vaggie twitched, hard, but kept it hidden that Gabriel was the only one who saw it. Her eye glanced to Charlie, who did not react to the word.

So, he was right.

'I suppose,' Gabriel thought, 'Hell was always full with beings of every likeness. A fallen Ishim is nothing exceptional. Even so, some familiarity in a foreign sulfuric lake is preferable to none.'

"This year is off to a good one." Charlie, either out of blissful or willful ignorance, was a bundle of joy. She spun and patted Vaggie on the shoulder, walking past. "Finally we get to use the meeting room. Who came up with that? We did! Oh, and Alastor too."

Like an archaic radio, the air's tune, that slight hum and buzz of the world, shifted. Symbols drew themselves around empty space, framing a silhouette with spiraled limbs, gnarly tree-like lengths that reeked of blood and earth. Some crawled across the room, others twisted into vermilion knots. In a zip, akin to an derelict television ending a program, the distortion passed and everything was normal.

All within less than a blink.

"Architecture is more valuable of a skill than most people think, dear." Twin crimson eyes stared with unblinking focus. "The first impression of a guest is the room's motif, is it not? To carve that first glimpse into their minds so it stays put like a good sinful jingle! Banality is the worst sin of all and…" Those eyes slowly slid to gaze at Gabriel. "You are positively a sight to behold." Knifelike teeth flashed, untouched by purity and stained a sharp yellow.

Gabriel stared back into the crimson depths, unflinching at how death throes clung to this demon, how the shadows seemed to twist and coil around his form as if to get away but gripped by a malevolent will and made slaves to it. "And who would you be?"

"Alastor, delighted to make your acquaintance." The demon's eyes racked over him, like a predator gauging a foreign presence. "Must say, I did not anticipate an gilded guest and one without even a smidgen of notice? Talk about a eucatastrophe!"

"Haven't heard that one before…" Charlie mumbled, brow raised.

"If you desire to emulate me, I would be thrilled to show you more."

"I love the fancy words." Charlie shrugged. "It's just… everything around that is the," her expression shifted like trying to find a gentler word, "issue."

Alastor gave something between a laugh and a scoff.

Recognition clicked in Gabriel's mind as meaning was put to demeanor. Sin onto form. Gwen had described Overlords as the de-facto rulers of the Pride Ring, nightmarish beings who played with souls as a merchant would flip coins between fingers. They settled on thrones grafted from bone and suffering, displaying the most dangerous aspect of humanity. Ambition. Kings and Queens, lords and baronnesses, murderers and deceivers. Their machinations did not end on the Earthly plane and when cast down to eternal damnnation, these Overlords wrought their malign zeal onto fellow fools.

Gwen had not used quite the same wording, but he understood what she had meant by 'evil fucks that makes me glad I wasn't born a human.'

"And I did not foresee encountering an Overlord so soon into my visit." Gabriel crossed his arms, eyeless helmet meeting Alastor's grin. "Moths to a flame, no doubt. It was misguided to think an angel's presence wouldn't attract the curious."

"Oh," Alastor leaned forward, head tilted at an odd angle, "you've heard of me, then." He seemed delighted at the prospect.

"Merely the faux royalty your ilk crown yourselves with." The words could be no flatter than the great plains of Wrath. "I do not have the time nor want to learn of delusory husks."

"Hmph." Alastor sighed dramatically, taking it in stride. "Is a visit not to indulge yourself in the culture of your chosen resort? Awfully wasteful, hm?"

Gabriel shook his head. "What culture is there to witness? I see nothing but vain indulgence and transgression."

"Maybe, however, if Heaven desired Hell to be dry and drab, they would not have sent me down here." Alastor did not hold his laugh. It grated like the static erupting from machines as Gabriel carved them asunder. "But I am rather glad they did."

"It is clear to see why damnnation suits you." It did not take angelic insight to see how this man wore his sins. Tight and smugly, like the sharp clothes upon his lithe frame.

Not all sinners were the same despite their mutual damnnation. Not all were hopeless. Some truly, and with genuine regret, held goodness in their souls. Faith in something other than themselves. Be it a cause, an ideal, someone else, or even a silent and absent God. A light in their darkness. Devotion to be tempered into something worthy of salvation.

"I would hope so! It was tailored just for me." Alastor proudly grinned, smoothing out his jacket's collar.

He tsked.

Pride. The most archetypal of sins.

Charlie, in a brave show of authority for a daimon, stepped between them, hands held in a pacifying gesture. "Okay, you two, let's tone that down just a bit. We're all friends here and friends don't insult each other." In a manner like a stern teacher, she held up a finger.

Friends. With them?

Yes, that was possible. Just as it was possible for him to be forgiven.

Not something he desired nor was likely to occur.

"My apologies," he bowed his helmet in the facsimile of a gentleman, though he was anything but one, "it is unbecoming to lower myself to these standards."

Charile waved him off with casual ease. "Nah, it's fine. Don't apologize. New environment, all kind of nervys."

Alastor grin never leaves, though it did falter. Losing a glint of the theatrical and sharpened as it took in Gabriel. His eyebrow rose, a look that resemble vague recognition. The red-clad sinner opened his mouth-

A tiny blur darted between their forms, and in a blink Gabriel was face to face(or rathet helm to eye) with a dainty thing. A single, enlarged unblinking eye took him in like he was the most awe-inspiring thing she had ever seen. Unlike many of Hell's inhabitants reactions upon seeing him, she squealed and it scratched at his helmet's metal. The… sinner was short, far too small to meet Gabriel's gaze on even footing.

So she stood on Charlie's head, leaning down.

The daimon didn't react, as though this was normal, only tilting her eyes upwards with an air of bemusement.

"Oooo, so polished, so clean, so smooth!" Without so much as an attempt to regain breath lost in her squeal, the danity sinner continued to examine Gabriel like he did his swords. "No bugs, no grime, no dirt! Perfect! Spotless! Sterile, like my lovely!" An equally tiny knife was pulled out from Lord knows where, shaped more like a needle. The one-eyed sinner giggled, shrill and frenzied.

"If anything lives on me, it only does so by my will." Gabriel said.

"Are all budgies like this? Those nasties are all red!" She questioned, grinning with needle-like teeth.

'What she just call me?' Gabriel thought in confusion. What was a 'budgie'? Was that some type of angel here? Shaking his head, he steadied himself. Before an answer could leave, the Archangel paused. The answer was one of tradition and scripture, of lies. Angels were not exempt from being smeared. The color of deceit and hypocrisy marred the soul like no other, for it was the mark of treachery. Beyond that, Gabriel could remember in recent memory that he had been coated in enough crimson to obscure any divinity. Just blood and gore. Wrath and freedom. Darwinism versus fatalism.

Thinking on his last moments, Gabriel supposed he failed that test. The Machine proved stronger, faster, and more determined than a Supreme Angel, broken yet sharpened as he was.

'I wonder what it is doing now?' Hell certainly have been wiped clean by now. What else is there to feed it?'

The answer left a visceral thrum inside his chest.

'Ha, I wish you luck, Machine.'

With Michael's pilgrimage to find God and now Gabriel gone, Heaven was borderline defenseless.

"No, they are not and those who claim so spit nothing but gaff." Nothing was pure. Everything had a shadow and the brighter the light, the deeper the shadow. Not even God, thought infallible and absolute, was immune to that truth.

"Shucks…" The odd lady grumbled. Her eyes dimmed and she slumped over, being caught by Charlie.

"Huh, never saw her that disappointed." Charlie commented, holding her in her hands. "Don't worry, Nifty! I'm sure Gabe will stick around long enough for your… cleaning needs." She passed Nifty to Alastor who held her the same way a neglectful father would hold a daughter. By the scuff.

"Do not call me that."

"Sorry. Biel?"

"No."

"Gabi?"

Creation preserve him. "Gabriel. That is my name. I did not live for epochs to be nicknamed."

"Wow, that's oooold." Charlie blurted out. "Shit, sorry! I don't mean that in a bad way. That's actually really cool, I think. Epochs. That's like as long as my dad lived and he's… really cool too." Her voice strained near the end.

Again, that mention of a father. Either she was exaggerating or her father matched the ages of the Archangels and Seraphims. Gabriel did not know if age held that much importance in this realm but he did know age came with power and experience, especially in a prison such as Hell. Beware the souls who thrived, ruled, survived in a cage where the young were consumed.

Whoever Charlie's father was, he was ancient, powerful enough to covet Helel's title, and survived long enough to have a legitimate spawn.

'Daimon is the right title for her.' Gabriel thought. 'Yet… what is the daughter of this Devil doing in a hotel, surrounded by miscreants?' Though demonic royalty ceased to exist in Hell after the Silent War with the only remains being Lesser, Greater, and Supreme Demons, he still remembered the way those Devils had carried themselves. Both in Hell and the few who escaped onto the Earthly plane.

Charlie did not feel anything like they did.

Merely another oddity in these strange lands.

"Charlie." Gabriel glanced at the Ishim. Her body was still, even as she moved, placing herself subtly between him and Charlie. It was plain to see through the mask she wore, how the smile she gave the Daimon was one of concern. "Can, can we speak- The two of us. Alone."

"Sure," Charlie nodded. She frowned a moment after. "Why though? Is everything alright?"

Vaggie sneaked a glance at Gabriel, never letting him out of her sight. Poised like a spear ready to strike at a moment's notice.

His fingers, gentle and slow, slid over his sword handle.

She breathed. Her eyes snapped about, head kept in place. An audience.

In the corner of his vision, Gabriel noticed Alastor looming like an animal sensing weakness. 'Barbaric.'

"Fuck. Fine." Vaggie hissed out a sigh. "Okay, meeting an angel at the Embassy? Cool, nice, really proud of you. Of this opportunity. But there's a difference between one of us going there and one of them coming here."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked.

"It's- it's the implication." Vaggie vaguely gestured to Gabriel. "A massive, fucking implication. It's bad enough he's around," another directed at Alastor, who waved back, "but at least he belongs down here. Him though? People will talk. A lot of people will."

"That's good though." Charlie shook her head. Not unkindly. "That means people will actually take us seriously. First it was Alastor, who admittedly has brought some… special kind of attention, but an angel coming down personally, here, and not murdering anyone? That means we're something right. We have a chance. Hope!"

"Angels," Vaggie whispered, "don't bring hope."

Gabriel had to agree.

They delivered it. Whether it was wanted or not.

Someone rounded the corner, the clink of bottles rang out, and all turned to face the noise.

Best Gabriel could describe the sinner as was an ancient chimeric cat. Tall as a man, bipedal, and with gray fur lining his body. Two red-bordered wings protruded from his back.

He smelt of sand.

And spirit.

The cat-man met their collective gazes. Yellow eyes hazily roamed over Alastor, Nifty, Charlie, Vaggie, then finally landing on Gabriel.

A languid blink.

In a deceptively swift spin, a bottle was risen to his mouth and he turned around. "Don't even get paid for this shit." He grumbled.

"Is excitement like this not enough payment?" Alastor remarked.

"Go fuck a tree."

"I prefer to love. It has more of a sting."

Gabriel looked between these hellish inhabitants and sighed.

'The things I do to find you, Helel. The suffering I must withstand.'