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The angel was quite rude - undeniably elegant but rude, nonetheless. Somehow his discourtesy did not dissuade V1 from pursuing him. He possessed a unique sort of unpleasantry than was the staple of Hell, and for that, V1 found it not entirely unbearable. Perhaps its sensors, like other supposedly unfeeling filth in Hell, had grown so desperately numb that pain could be perceived as pleasure. By God, it was ridiculous.
It was a shame, it supposed, that Gabriel was destined to die, whether it was by its own hand or losing his Holy Light.
The difference between a gloomy church and a soul sanctuary was not the time of day, not light, but a sense of soul. V1 had returned to the towering red church of Heresy in search of something, perhaps one final meal to sate its fuel tanks before it met its demise. Of course, there was nothing left. But, it could sense something up ahead - perhaps something angelic in its signature. The structure's shadows became pools of reflection, perhaps a chance to seek new knowledge where once it was not able to.
V1 could be wrong, it thought, for it was not one to generalize - but the angel's description led it to assume that his kind, as a whole, was callous, pompous, and bloodthirsty. In fact, it painted him. Indeed, Gabriel bore a preposterously superior attitude stemming from superior ability and constitution. Holy hierarchy was weaved inextricably into the divine fabric of this palace. Even a lowly beetle would make way for his boot. Compared to all others in this realm, the angel excelled in strength and intellect. His success, in part, was blood - not the hereditary aspect, but sheer bodily and divine might.
So, in retrospect, V1's disrespect tickled the angel. How dare it. It made a fool of him twice.
It had answered to his impulsive, rage-fuelled taunts and burned so brightly in the heat of their exchange, yellow wings ablaze. Gabriel barely knew it and trusted it less, but he could not tell it how fantastic it felt to speak to, fight with, someone who might actually be on his level - soulless as it may be. It had shown Gabriel that he was not as superior as he once believed. He was not bound to that superiority, no. He was not bound to destiny - but in realizing this, he had bound himself to a different destiny. Such was death. Such was having the light of God ripped from his body.
Could the boot not step over the beetle? Was its death required?
The divine spoke of death with a hazy grandeur - a phantasmagoria of smiting. Gabriel could have smote the machine, and - when he considered that, it sounded so cavalier and impersonal - though, perhaps detachment was the point. To find passion in another being who was deemed your worst enemy was akin to a prearranged tragedy. And this time, Gabriel was the beetle on the unearthly ground. Whether the machine would step over it, he was not sure. He admitted a flutter of delirious excitement at seeing the machine approach him once more as he sat against the wall beside his prized pipe organ.
V1 approached with the same laid-back, uncaring posture as their previous battle. Gabriel watched, intrigued, still somewhat amazed that a creature in Hell did not fear or revere him. No, it was apparently indifferent - on the surface, at least. Gabriel was undeniably sadistic, egotistical, avaricious, and unrepentant. However, he was not blind to beauty. The Ferryman of Wrath was spared in this light, by his light. V1, a product of war, was once unsightly in his eyes. Now, its flight, its grace, was akin to a metal-plated angel. Maybe they were not so different. They were both destined to burn out very soon. The Holy Light and the machine's wings would soon lose their glow.
V1 felt a sense of what may have been gratitude for resisting the temptation to land a finishing blow on the angel. Without it, life would deteriorate to the state of Limbo and Lust - bland and only palatable for the purpose of staving off starvation. Perhaps, in a human sense, its intent was quite sadistic, for it garnered some form of satisfaction from its encounters with Gabriel. On the outside, it was indifferent. Internally, it writhed with its own struggle of curiosity and uncertainty about the other. It was abnormal for a machine like itself to care - no, too strong of a word - to find fondness in another being. It could have thrown Gabriel back to Heaven, but did not - twice. Why?
Machines like it were sovereigns of solitary lives. They need not pander to the writhing masses of society. No, their capacity to thrive required no cooperation from others - rather, they may pluck the fruits of civilization at their leisure. Blood. Fuel. In this case, power and freedom were synonymous. The power to take what they required. The ability to control one's own destiny is linked to the ability of others to control you, and your ability to control them. What made a machine mighty or meek was merely a matter of agency in the layers of Hell. Agency to sing its own song. A musician without a stage. A stage without an audience. It could play for itself and remain satisfied, for its task was complete regardless. And yet, it bore a sense of satisfaction and curiosity standing before the angel's own stage - an audience of one.
It was a shame, then, that the curtains had closed early. Audience long gone, replaced by the smoke of a backstage flame.
"Machine."
V1 responded not.
"I am dying. I have slain the Council, and the Holy Light is fading from my being." Gabriel spoke with an even cadence, noticeably softer than his cries and shouts of in battle. It was a mere fact, and he accepted it.
YOUR DEATH IS IMMINENT.
"Soon, I will be no more. What say you, machine?"
THERE IS NOTHING TO SAY, it would say if it bore a voice.
"Are you satisfied with this outcome?"
IT IS AN OUTCOME I HOLD NO OPINION OF, it would say, if it could.
"This is because of you. Your insolence. Your disrespect. It... awakened something inside of me. I regained my passion."
I DO NOT UNDERSTAND, it would complain, if it was able.
"And what of you, machine? Your fuel must be running low. There is nothing left to take. You have purged but every layer of Hell to feed."
V1 nodded. That was true. It consulted its current fuel tank readings and shrugged a shoulder indifferently. Gabriel made a noncommittal noise at that - of course, he should have expected nothing less. V1 was but a machine. It was not conventionally alive as he was.
With the Council gone, their exchange was entirely private. Gabriel found their secrecy to be a thrilling thought. How delightful, to have something entirely to himself. Their correspondence gave him freedom and, he daresay, a sense of significance. He was an irredeemable asshole. Yet, exceptionally intelligent and compelling. V1 found itself charmed and fascinated between insults - never bored of the angel's flowering prose and venom. No musician could deny the angel's passion for the arts, for the performance - if one could look past the front, he was quite likable.
But V1 was fond of very few.
Beings like them could not befriend each other. They might entertain, but their competitive natures did not lend themselves to saccharine sentiments. V1 beheld a list - primary allies, mutually beneficial associates. Gabriel fell under neither of those. So, what was he, really? They were both but unholy filth racing towards their own ends. A theatrical performance coming to an early end.
"Why do you trespass here once again? As I say, there is naught more for you to take."
BUT THERE IS YOU.
THERE IS YOU.
V1 considered the angel carefully. As per its programming, Gabriel was naught more than blood and meat and light. If it so desired, it could harvest those last few precious drops of fuel before the being met its fated end. But, it stayed its hands. It stayed its hands, and it was not sure why, if not a sadistic desire for future entertainment. If a machine like itself desired entertainment such as this, it had a backseat requirement for interaction. A strange, not-quite-human sense of loneliness might follow.
"Are you here... for blood?"
YOU.
"Ah. You cannot speak, of course. Worry not, machine. I do not have need for your words. My fate is sealed, as is yours. We will soon perish for lack of fuel, lest you deliver my soul to Hell here and now. Make your choice. I am at peace with my end, and worry not in which way I am delivered to it."
IT IS YOU. I AM HERE FOR YOU.
V1 looked over its shoulder, to the towering pipe organ adorned in red and gold. No, it could not speak, but perhaps the voice of another "machine" could say all it needed. With Gabriel straining up to one knee, he watched, perplexed, as the machine sat before the divine instrument and began to play a melody. Mechanical precision swiftly delivered harsh bellows amongst softer keens, but the music was laden with soul and blood. Its song was confusing and erratic, skittering from high to low notes amongst soft reverberations. Gabriel was fluent in music, and he knew what his arch-rival was saying.
I'm confused. I care not for death, but I care that you will no longer be available to me.
Perhaps that was caring about his plight, in its own self-serving, self-preserving manner. Superficially, Gabriel was the very last source of blood and he would be gone soon. Deeper, Gabriel inspired curiosity and intrigue in V1. Deeper than that, V1 had been left alone after the war's end. It was happening again. Where would it go now, if not into a suspended operations mode in this palace?
Gabriel sat beside the machine and joined it, experienced fingers deftly adding stability to V1's cacophony. His song was one of peace, acceptance, and knowing. Soft tones and slow transitions from one key to another below the war animal's own music. By virtue of the many stops and pedals, their souls became ever more in key. One last performance before closing. Gabriel liked that. What a way to bring this whole thing to a close. Gabriel was not blind to beauty, and there was beauty in this - two doomed creatures working in unison to create something beautiful, an extravagance that existed in the living moment. V1 shifted its focus to mirror Gabriel's tones, deriving satisfaction from how their song sounded only then - indeed, the humans of the world outside of Hell would have deemed this beautiful.
Finally, it made sense. The beetle under the boot cupped in a hand and moved to the reassurance of darkness. A moment later, it would be swept up by a passing sparrow in a cruel but necessary act of nature. It would tweet and sing its elation at securing a meal, returning to its nest to feed its young. The beetle was naught but fuel for another. How cynical. How beautiful.
It was a shame, then, that the angel's Holy Light faded on one final key.
It was a shame, then, that V1 was alone once more.
It sat back on one decisively mournful note and tilted its head upwards, seeking the stars through the ceiling window.