Chapter Text
Cold sunlight crawled past mountains, forests and rivers painting cities and towns in its soft glow. The night had no choice but to recede and to leave the sky to the grey hues announcing a new morning.
Thick, heavy fog slowly cleared from in between houses and streets, allowing one to view what the morning sunlight revealed.
Pious believers called this time of the day the first holy hour, when darkness was defeated by the morning sun and the fog was done guarding the innocent from the terror of night.
It reminded the people of the way the highest Gods had once done so at a time when peace was an exception and the nights an unimaginable horror.
Priests started their day reciting their morning prayers, ambitious merchants already prepared setting up their stalls on the town squares, children were woken gently by their parents for school…
Just like any other morning ever since the grace of the Great Old Ones had embraced this world.
This morning was slightly different.
Without any warning, the rich, sonorous sound of many bells carved its way through the narrow streets and stalls, resonating in both the homes and churches of the people, echoing off mountains and forests.
The townspeople froze in the middle of their own actions and priests halted their prayers. No one dared to utter a single word until the deep ringing of the bells had ceased.
Then, suddenly, every bit of tiredness and early laziness vanished just like the fog a couple of minutes ago.
Wooden shutters were flung open, and not one house was not filled with the buzzing sound of excited conversations and murmurs.
Everyone knew the meaning behind the bells of heaven ringing.
The Omniscient and Omnipotent Creator of Everything was calling for a gathering – was commanding for his Kings of Angels to immediately return from their respective duties.
Far, far away, amidst surging waves and roaring storms, the Wind Angel Leodero opened his wings to head to his Lord’s halls.
The dark, stormy clouds did not let one ray of sunlight pass.
Only the bright lightning every couple of seconds illuminated the tall sturdy man, highlighting the silver fishnet thrown across his broad shoulder and the trident of dark green colour in his right hand.
The Wisdom Angel looked up from the heavy book he was holding, combing his long white beard with one hand seemingly lost in thought.
What could the possible reason be for this sudden gathering?
Surely, the Lord would be present, but what about the Queen of Heaven?
The Wisdom angel was always in the pursuit of knowledge, and the God of History, Secrets and Seals could easily provide answers.
Just never did.
Still, Herabergen would not let this opportunity slip away.
With a flicker of his hands, the candles in his library all extinguished at once.
The distinctive smell of extinguished candles also filled the prayer hall of Aucuses, the Sun Angel.
Wisps of smoke rose faintly, curling up towards the ornamented ceiling.
He quickly discarded his appearance as a simple priest, donning his form as the Angel of Light.
Wings of purest alabaster white cascaded down his back and intricate golden wrist bands and chains clanked softly when he moved.
With a gracious gesture the Angel of Fate Ouroboros laid down his brush still tainted in colour.
His vertical pupils fitting that of a snake reflected the broad colour palette of the canvas he had just been carefully working on.
Now it would have to wait.
Silver wings the same dreamy colour as his long, soft hair unfurled behind his back picturing a view more beautiful than any painting could ever match.
Not so far, far way, a dark crow with white feathers circling its right eye spontaneously fell from the tree it had been sitting on.
Mostly for dramatic effects but also because the raven could make a vague guess as to why that meeting was called.
A stupid idea.
A horrible stupid idea.
…It must’ve been father’s proposal...
The crow started cursing violently in a way that was neither befitting his current appearance nor his status as a King of Angels.
In this aspect, he had learned from the best.
Growing up being looked after by the Red Angel Medici there was simply no way not to pick up a couple of swear words and curse tirades, especially when you are the main reason for said angel’s outbursts.
In retrospect, Amon would have caused less chaos in his childhood if Medici’s easily inflammable anger issues weren’t so damn funny to watch.
But now, not even these memories could ease Amon’s suffering.
Wings spread pitifully as if broken across the grass, dark beak to the sky, this would be one of the theatrical moments humans usually started praying for salvation and mercy.
Too bad that in Amon’s case a prayer was more equal to a direct phone call to his parents and his mother would answer for sure.
And would most likely at least quadruple his problems once he found out Amon was actively thinking about how to ditch the consequences of his own actions.
Having to kiss the sandal wasn’t enough of a punishment already?
It was just one church!
Amon had even made sure to look as miserable as possible when he “dragged” himself out of his mother’s courtroom (more like father’s living room).
Apparently, his little performance had not been enough.
Of course, Amon was certain his mother could look right through his act from the very beginning, however, if Amon’s acting was excellent nevertheless, sometime his mother allowed himself to be fooled.
A God’s way to support his dramatic child and to play along his antics.
Amon sighed.
Several avatars that were scattered across his parent’s continent grimaced and cut off the connection to the main body as to free themselves from having to witness the main entity’s upcoming suffering.
Amon couldn’t blame them, he would have done exactly the same in their stead, which is why they were doing it in the first place.
Now the time to face his fate had come.
Sasrir could already feel a headache forming, once again, just like many times before, cursing that the humans of this time still hadn’t invented some form of magical aspirin that could somewhat free him from his pain.
He stuffed the stack of unfinished papers and documents that he needed to review as the Deputy of Heaven somewhere in the depths of his desk’s drawer.
‘Deputy of Heaven’, Sasrir thought sarcastically, ‘the glorified name for overworked and not paid secretary’.
For the Dark Angel hearing the bells of heaven meant nothing to be joyful about.
Usually, Sasrir could equal that annoying sound to more work, plenty of trouble and his original’s, the Creator’s, complete absence and ditching of his responsibilities.
No wonder Amon was a walking epitome of laziness and irresponsibility, while Adam was…
His thoughts trailed off, leading nowhere.
The angel shook his head, left his study in a sudden hurry and aggressively slammed the door close behind him.
Adam watched unnoticed how Sasrir stormed out of his office and released the psychological clue he had planted in the dark angel’s subconsciousness before.
Said clue would lead the angel to review the same paper repeatedly, not knowing that he had already read it. It was one of Adam’s experiments to test and train his control of the mind world.
And what could possibly be a better subject than Sasrir, who had once been formed from his father’s own consciousness?
By now, Adam had perfected his precise and slightly diabolical ways to the mind domain and could freely walk in and out of Sasrir’s island of subconsciousness.
Not just Sasrir’s, actually.
A small smile played around the ambitious Visionary’s lips.
The Red Angel of War Medici was proud to be known as the Lord’s wrath and anger, to be the first one that had once heeded the call of the highest Lord – and after all these centuries serving the same deity, Medici had no clue as to why said call was always happening at the (ass)crack of dawn.
Simply, why.
Just because Angels did not require sleep anymore didn’t mean he was eager to throw himself out the window first thing in the morning.
‘Holy first hour, my ass’ was all that Medici could elegantly think about.
He was especially moody since the bells were currently interrupting one of the rare instances of peace in his long life.
The brief episodes that were not filled with Amon’s shenanigans and Adam’s mind games.
Medici imagined this to be the closest he would ever come to what humans called a vacation.
The little shit (Amon) and the little brat (Adam) had both been awfully quiet these past days and as much as Medici was enjoying his leisurely time, he was already dreading the answer as to why.
What had Amon been plotting? What could Adam’s next scheme be?
It was the first time since the soulmate verdict had been passed for all Kings of Angels to be gathered.
After all, in these peaceful times everyone had their own domain and set of believers to look after.
The snake would be coming too.
Medici decided to put in a minimal amount of effort into his appearance.
The Angel got up and walked towards the tall mirror, his reflection staring back at him with an intensity that matched the fire of his hair.
He gathered a section of his crimson locks from the left side of his head, fingers working with practiced precision.
The first braid began at his temple, tight and controlled, each strand woven methodically into the next.
Another braid joined the first, then another, creating an intricate pattern along the side of his head.
The plaits were tight enough to stay secure in battle, yet elegant enough to mark him as something more than just another warrior. The rest of his hair remained loose, cascading down his back like flowing flames.
Even though there was no sequence in his pathway to increase his beauty or charm, Medici knew there was hardly an entity in this world that would be completely blind to his natural striking handsomeness.
Maybe only the charm of a Demoness of his neighbouring pathway could match the attraction everyone instinctively felt towards him, the embodiment of fire and blood.
He manifested the desire to look deeply into the embers of fire, to get lost in the eternal play of the flames, the urge to burn yourself and savour the heat.
Satisfied with his work, Medici turned around.
Behind him, his crimson wings shifted slightly and rustled softly as he bent over to grab his usual attire for the day.
The dark onyx coloured Armor was specially crafted to accommodate his wings, leaving his back open while still providing protection. Furthermore, it’s not like Medici had ever found himself in a situation where his adversaries were able to sneak an attack on his back in the first place.
Finally, he lifted his cloak in the colour of dark copper, the fabric heavy and rich as blood. It settled across his shoulders and draped around his folded wings, creating a striking silhouette.
Reaching the grand terrace before the Halls of Heaven did not take much time for Medici – and just like always the only one punctual was the all-time responsible Deputy of Heaven.
Sasrir looked like shit.
Like, even more than usual.
His eyebags were astronomical dark, his hair looked like not even the Lord could envision it healthy again and his messily thrown-together dark-grey robe looked like it could win an award for worst custom design in a divine tragedy.
“Just because you wield the authority of degeneration does not mean you have to look like you’re already in the last stage of decomposing, you know that?”
Medici greeted the younger angel and started the conversation as mindful and considerate as ever.
The Dark Angel just shot Medici an angry look, too tired to think of an answer to the War Angel’s clear provocation, so he just stayed silent.
The lack of verbal reaction made Medici raise an eyebrow.
While it was true that the Lord outsourced most of his godly duties to Sasrir, it had never been that bad for the state secretary Nr. One to be in a constant state of saving energy and nerves so much it rendered him silent.
… suddenly Medici could make a very profound guess as to what Adam these past days had been up to.
Creepy little brat.
Soon after, the bookworm, the noisy one and the useless preacher arrived, their wings closing behind them.
After a round of nodding and greetings, no one said a word.
Truly, a heart-warming scene.
Like nothing depicted in the Lord’s Bible and murals.
The next to set foot on the marble terrace were Amon and Ouroboros.
Medici’s eyes were so caught up in the playful scattering of the light in the latter’s silver wings and halo, he almost didn’t notice the grumpy crow behind him.
In return, Ouroboros gaze flickered to Medici, taking in the subsidiary God’s appearance and attire.
Then, his eyes took on that familiar absent look that Medici was used to see whenever the snake casted his sight on the river of fate.
Medici wondered what had been so urgent that the angel of fate had to immediately look into before even greeting his fellow angel’s.
Maybe the snake wished to know why they were gathered here in the first place, too.
Medici decided to be the ice-breaker, and you know the mood is horrible when the God of War has to take on that role.
“Anyone has the slightest idea as to why the Lord ordered us here?”
Wings shifted, robes were straightened, once again no answer.
At this point, Medici felt like he was putting on a one man with plenty questions and no answers performance as if he was that talkative mirror the Ruler of Stars liked to carry around.
“No one?” The Red Angel inquired one more time.
“Let us not question the ways of the Lord. Praise the sun!” Aucuses helpfully provided.
“Thanks, Aucuses, that was both very helpful and insightful of you.”
The useless preacher lived up to the nickname Medici had given him one more time.
His dark red eyes glanced at Amon, who still had that sulky expression on his face.
Medici had long learned to not believe every show that Amon put on for a reason.
Like mother, like son after all.
“What about you little crow? Did you not come back briefly from an enlightening talk with your parents?”
Medici didn’t even try to hide the mockery in his voice, emphasizing especially the last question.
He knew the highest jester had been pissed once Amon had reduced one of his cathedrals to ashes.
Medici would have done anything to get a front row seat to Amon’s punishment but of course, he was not allowed in the celestial family’s private chambers.
… no reaction from the crow as well.
The Angel of mischief now merely wore a blank smile plastered on his face, making any further guesses about his state of mind impossible.
Medici could practically hear every spiritual warning siren in his head ringing.
Amon never ever shut up, what was going on?
The Red Angel decided to change the topic.
“Where’s Adam?”
There has never been an instance where the little brat had ever been late before, and the doors were opening soon.
A gentle and clear voice echoed in everyone’s mind.
“I’m here.”
All Kings of Angels except Amon and Ouroboros flinched as if they had just been hit by an invisible force.
Right next to Sasrir, a young man with short blonde hair in the attire of priest materialized as if from thin air.
Of course he had not, he just used his creepy psychological invisibility.
And the matter got even creepier because he had used their own voice to speak to them in their respective minds.
Did this mean the piece of shit had grasped so much control of the mind world he could treat everyone’s subconsciousness as a walk in his backyard garden?
…now it finally clicked and Medici understood how he was able to enjoy these past two days in peace.
Amon had been in a constant state of “Let’s not piss off mom any further” and Adam was uplevelling his mind skills by simply torturing someone else (Sasrir).
‘Fuck you, creepy little scary obnoxious little fucking pain in the ass –‘
‘Go read my mind and count how many times I said “fuck you” ' Medici thought while not disrupting his internal curse tirade.
Adam blinked slowly.
Then the Angel of Imagination added with his real, ethereal voice this time:
“Let’s not keep mother and father waiting anymore, everyone.”
Just on cue, the massive alabaster doors to the main hall of the heavenly Sovereigns swung open without so much of a sound.
The change in presence and pressure was immediately.
Medici thoughts came to an abrupt halt, suddenly circling back and forth, losing each other and connecting randomly and at odds.
It took the Angel of Iron and Blood a couple of heartbeats to gather himself again and brace himself against the passive aura of the First Major Arcana Holder’s fooling presence.
At the same time, his wings grew heavy and his skin too hot, as if he had dreaded to close to the might of the sun.
This was the sheer presence of two Gods among Gods, that were already concealing and hiding most of their power to not harm their servants.
But the gap between a King of Angel and a Great Old One?
There are worlds in between, if not dimensions.
Adam glanced one more time at Medici before he stepped across the threshold.
“23 times in maybe 9 seconds.”
'So the little nuisance freely read my mind', Medici cursed inwardly.
Only slightly scary.
Only slightly horrifying.
Like Mother like son, once again.