Chapter Text
A strong blinding twinkle is everywhere and nowhere, keeping the rows of angels over the light. They fill the large space, all of which stand as statues, hundreds to thousands of eyes on fire rings and some humanoid-looking despite the far too long limbs and core and far too sharp face and far too many eyes littered across, soft pale-yellow glowing wings set behind all of their bodies, remaining straight as they keep their eyes set forward and forward only, dull white or black eyes unmoving, just like their entirety.
A single angel stands in the middle, crouched down on one knee, hand on their thighs. This angel is one of the few that resembles a human, though they do have their halo circling the top of their head, the bones coming off of the collarbones. The other differences too include the length of their arms, reaching nearly their knees despite how tall they are, and how high and proud their wings are, held at the length of their halo, feathers reaching the ground, as well as how unhealthily bony they are, grey skinned. They don't resemble a human, not at all; but they're the closest to it.
They face down the clouds, wings shrunk behind themself, bright golden glow emanating from every feather alike the stars, bright confused eyes wandering through the other angels' feet. That angel has no idea why they, out of everyone, have been conjured by the Archangel Michael. It makes them confused as a swirl of fear shoots down their spine.
Then, the already quiet place gets deafeningly silent as steady air blows around, the angels bowing in respect as a bigger angel lowers down in front of the scared little crouched down angel. The little one glances up, seeing the Archangel's glowing bright red wings covering their feet, flawless dark skin exposed over their legs as their middle set of wings take place behind themself in a relaxed way, their top set of wings setting up high above their heads, wide-open before they settled over the other two, overlapping. The little one swallows, bright white eyes widening a bit as they gaze into the Archangel's middle head's glowing red stare. They take a sharp breath.
All of Michael's eyes cast down on the simple angel, faces emotionless as part of their curly hair falls down their shoulders and forehead, plump lips parted as everything seems to solidify. Time seems to solidify. They blink, lips parting more.
"The end gets closer as humans begin to sin," the voices from each head's different ranges are prominent, high pitched in one edge as the other is low. Many humans would describe that voice as demoniac. "The gates of damnation begin to falter. The creatures of God ineffably begin to die. The future is set, though, there's a chance. They gave us a chance." The Archangel spread their three sets of arms, heads turning to look at their audience despite the middle one staying solely on the angel. They move to crouch down on their knees, their muscled body gracefully dropping down as they kept their three heads straight, eyes boring down on the little angel's. "Artiya'il, your time has come; your connection with mankind and your soothing grace have shown themselves to be necessary upon Fate's orders. It is time to prove to God's creatures that there is still salvation." They move the hands from the middle set up to touch the little one's shoulder, blazing eyes beginning to dull. "It is time to prove to them, — us — that this generation is worth saving; lest there be mass extinction once again."
The little angel is lost, their believing eyes shifting over the powerful angel, wary of the meaning behind their words.
"The son of the Devil is soon to be released upon the earth; according to Fate, you are heaven's only weapon capable of impeding the wrathly revengeful destruction that God's opposal mass plans to cause. Little one, all the creatures remain upon your claws, under your wings and protection. You shall complete what destiny awaits for you and you shall succeed; for all the living things depend on you."
And before their words can be registered, they stand up.
"Now, under your heart's guidance along with a few selected ones', you shall restore faith. Go."
Everything becomes confusing. The little angel begins to sink. The world underneath caves. Upon their siblings' confused eyes, they fall. Artiya'il's wings start to retreat unwantedly, their eyes widening, body shrinking. The recollection of thousands of centuries starts to fade, their senses begin to fail, they stop feeling. They can't look anywhere. They shut their eyes as the sinking thought dawns upon them.
Have I been banished from heaven? Have I fallen? Though it's hard to ponder as a big impact takes over them, harsh enough to make their entire being shake to the core as they stop understanding.
Their eyes are forced open. A blinding light flashes, their pupils thin. As the darkness fades off of their stare and the desperation dominates, a human face enters their vision. They look around and shake. They start to cry. Not because they want to.
"Congratulations! It's a boy!" The person holding the little angel cooes. The angel cries a bit more, flapping their wings in hopes of going back, of wishing for a better explanation because what are they supposed to do? How must they save God's creations on their own? Though all it happens is that they flap their little hands around and whine.
"Oh my god," echoes behind them. "He's adorable!" And then they feel another pair of hands holding him, bringing them to their hold. He sees another face come into view, a beautiful, strained looking woman. "Hey there, little guy," she whispers with a small smile. "Welcome." She's visibly exhausted.
"Wait, was he supposed to open his eyes already?"
"Have you thought of a name yet?" The nurse ignores the father's question. The man that has been gazing at his child glances up with furrowed eyebrows. The mom pays no mind as she answers.
"Joshua. His name is Joshua." She hums.
"We will take- him now, yes?" The nurse speaks gently, taking the little angel from their momma's hands. She leaves the room going to the newborns' room. Once she's inside and Joshua's in his crib, she stands there, beside the bed, face falling blank. Joshua stares desperately. He fusses and whines and flaps his limbs. The nurse sighs, face turning sharper as her eyes glow red. She puts her fingers upon Joshua's forehead.
"May you succeed, little one," she whispers with the same voice as the Seraphim, her skin beginning to break from the pressure. That vessel isn't made for them. "Your understanding and kindness must all prevail until the end. All the pain will be worth it as time goes by and destiny does its job." And with one last apologetic look, Joshua isn't an angel anymore. He's a normal baby. No memories, nothing. But time will bring up the truth in time and the little angel will rise again.
Time will heal for time is and has been wounded.
Though, that's not the only great thing that happened that day. There's a shift within the universe as it sways under the repressed power being held out somewhere close, awfully close; for Michael's are not the only Archangel's glowing red eyes to shine at the sight of the beginning of an end.
The sun gets just a little brighter somewhere as the clock hits 3:33 am, the taunted promise of a new beginning sweeping through the universe. It alerts the supernatural beings scattered on the earth.
And life begins as it ends; there's someone else screaming for him. A woman whose face is so awfully red, veins popped, the most agonised expression one could make. It's horrifying to watch. For a human, maybe.
The glowing red eyes trace these lives with astonishment, wondering how something so pathetic could ever mean so much to God. Seriously, he wants to puke; although that's a common reaction of his whenever humans, well. Are humans. But no no no, he can look past his disgust of this species. He can, especially once the light baby cries fill the room alongside doctors' voices and whatnot. Yes, he can easily overlook his repulsion as his son finally incarnates here; opening every metaphoric door and gate so the march towards the end can fully begin.
He's delighted.
The doctors pay no attention to him, in the corner of the room in his suit and bleached blond hair. His figure is overlooked, as is his fond stare towards the baby, obvious enthusiasm over said stare as he crosses his arms before pushing himself off the wall. He pads up to the doctors slowly, reaching one hand up to touch his son's head.
His fingertips slowly trace the thin little mop of hair that the newborn sprouts, eyes of amazement turning to the doctor that watches him fondly. The wonder-filled grin widens and widens and it makes the doctor falter — he looks downright maniac, even if his wide eyes carry a single droplet of innocence; though the devilish aura pools around his iris tell another story.
"Can I hold him?" He asks. His voice is so soft, so caring, so gentle and it's a shame that the nurse has to deny the question. She bites her lip and shakes her head lightly.
"The mother's supposed to hold the child first; for sensory reasons." Her stare's apologetic.
His smile slowly loosens. His eyelids slowly heaven. His glare becomes deadly.
With a single swing of his finger, the flatline becomes awfully loud. And the bewildered stare from the nurse widens, head whiplashing to gaze at the dead woman on the hospital bed.
"We're losing her!" One of the doctors shouts. The nurse obeys an order from beyond; she handles the baby to the man as he swings yet another finger, hurrying to help since that's her one and only job. The man's devilish smile returns.
With an arm holding the fussy baby and the other hand being held up so he can gently trace his fingers over those chubby little cheeks, his head slowly looms to the side. Yeah, the baby's still dirty but he doesn't mind. He came into this world tainted, he'll leave this world tainted. He grins. Freedom is finally on his hands. The Devil's delighted laugh is quiet.
He stares at his son as he walks away, ignoring the call of a nurse. As soon as said nurse rounds the corner in alarm behind him, she blinks. Then looks around frantically. The panic sets in. Oh god, she better not get fired. She yells for security.
And after a long search, the man is nowhere to be seen, even on the cameras.
He has never been there to begin with.
~•°•~•°•~•°•~•°•~
As he buttons up his white shirt again, it looking as good as new, his eyes focus on his movements through the mirror. The satisfaction is hidden by a swirl of arrogance.
"You are not supposed to be here," echoes behind him. The devil glances at the angel through the mirror, quirking one eyebrow. He smirks, too smug for his own good, shrugging. He fixes the collar of his button-up shirt, folding said collar back down once his blazer is shrugged on, turning to look at the woman and crossing his arms with a head tilt. The shown smugness on his face grows.
"Nor are you," he hums. The possessed woman's body remains still, her eyes a bright glowing yellow all over.
"It is not time yet," is said through gritted teeth. "You are not supposed to wander through Earth!"
The low chuckle that rumbles deep on his throat is followed by him uncrossing his arms and padding up to the motionless angel. He sighs. Staring right into the eyes of someone who once was family but now so easily peers at him like he's less makes something ugly bubble on his chest. His eyes change. The smugness within melts faster than ice within the plasma of rage, said fire taking over as the once light green irises become darker and darker, veins inside the orbs bleeding out until the whole eyeball turns a bloody red.
"But it is time," he speaks softly, the toothy grin becoming unbearably wide. It's a warning snarl.
"Soon enough all of this will burn the fuck down. None of you will be able to stop it and I'd love to see you try."
His smile is wicked. There's a rumble resonating inside the angel and the skies.
But he gives her no time. His entire body flexes and the angel tenses, confusion brimming within as he starts running; it's not towards her, he's running to the side. He's not charging at her but towards the wall and it confuses the shit out of her because she's here with the intent to kill and she could feel that he, too, has said intent boiling over but instead he's doing the unexpected; he's running away.
Her eyes fall within the window. And it's seconds before she slides her sharpest claw down her vessel's arm, aiming the blade straight onto his back and she throws before he can jump out of the window.
She throws it too late. He jumps and the window shatters with him and the blade grazes his thigh before both plunge down from the 19th store.
The frustrated growl leaves through gritted teeth before she slides up to the window, making eye contact with the devil as he turns until he has his back towards the ground. His smirk never leaves his face, though. He waves once. His body crashes onto the ground, breaking through the concrete of the building's entrance cover, leaving a big dirty fog mess to everyone that's around. There are horrified gasps and rushes of people so desperate to peer over a dead body.
Much to their disappointment, once the fog is down, they all get pretty confused, wondering what the hell happened then.
There's nothing on the ground but the broken concrete.
The angel narrows her eyes, gripping the window tightly. The shattered glass in there cuts through the skin. She doesn't seem to feel it cutting through the bone.
So it starts, then.