Work Text:
The small group of cherubim cluster around the Councilmember, tiny hands clutching their vestments and each other. Before them in the training field, two armoured angels brandish their Holy Blades and bow at each other, their wings spectacular bursts of light behind them. The cherubim flutter their little feathered wings in excitement. Today, they would see what a Superior Angel, a Holy Defender does.
Friendly taunts are thrown between the fighting duo as they dance around each other, dashing and slashing and clattering against each other. The younglings cheer their names, and are quickly shushed by the Councilmember when they become too rowdy. It's only a matter of time before one succeeds over the other, sword against armoured throat, and the words "I concede" being said.
As the Defender pulls their associate to their feet, the Councilmember carefully herds the cherubim over, commending them on their form and abilities. One laughs heartily, while the other is bashful, still recovering from their defeat.
A youngling blurts out, "Can I touch your sword?" , and shrinks back under the gaze of the Councilmember, feathers puffing out.
The Defender who laughed carefully brandished their sword in front of themself, held aloft for all to see. "Who wants to hold my winning blade? Perhaps, if you are Meant To Be, the Light will aid your attempt! It is rather heavy, after all."
Hands immediately shoot upwards, waving along with pleads of "Me! Me!! No, me!" , until the other Defender points out a singular cherubim, standing calmly with their hand held high. The Councilmember ushers them forwards, the youngling's wings ruffling with nerves. They hold out their hands and bow, and the Defenders chuckle lightly, impressed by the respect and confidence within this newly-made angel.
The sword is pressed into the youngling's hands, one on the hilt and the other supporting the blade. They stumble a little, eyes widening — then they slide a foot out across the soft sand, trying to copy one of the fighting stances the Defenders had shown off. They wobble slightly, trying not to grip the blade. All their fellow cherubim hold their breath, watching carefully as they ease the sword's weight into one hand, then two, and tries to raise it. Gasps raise from the little crowd as their form wavers heavily, and they stumble–
And swings the sword around, using the momentum to find a better stance and hold the sword aloft. A poor copy of a defensive motion, but a copy nonetheless. Terror crosses the cherubim's face in the silent moments that follow, horrified that they may have done something wrong. But no punishment follows. Instead, a pair of armoured hands clap, and another, and then the younglings join in.
The Defender gently takes back their sword, laughing in delight and congratulating the young angel for their powerful display. "What's your name, little one?" , they ask, while their associate helps the Councilmember calm the others.
"It's… Gabriel, sir." They respond, now bashfully playing with the hem of their tunic.
"Well, Gabriel. If the Father commands it, I believe you will make an excellent Defender of the Light some day. I'll expect to see you on these training grounds again!" They pat the youngling on the shoulder, then gently pushes them towards the rest of the group.
Gabriel's wings stretch out and flutter as their fellow cherubim gather around, basking in the gentle glory of adoration.
~
"It is time. Rise."
Heeding the direction, Gabriel stands from his knelt position in front of the altar, his pristine wings folding neatly against his back. For a moment, he stays still, a hand clutching the cross about his neck. Then, he turns, following the armoured angel out of the chapel.
The sky burns Bright and Holy as they ascend to the main quarter, a crowd of Defenders of all experience circling the Councilmembers gathered in the centre. Nerves coil under Gabriel's ribcage as he walks. He deserves this, for all the work and pain he has done and given in the name of the Lord, in the name of containing Sin, in the name of Judgement and Justice.
In front of the Council, he kneels, head bowed in respect and wings spread low.
"There is no Faith without Sacrifice. Are you, Gabriel, prepared to give yourself to the Father, so that He may bestow upon you the great gift of Holy Light?"
"I am."
The answer comes to him quickly and easily, despite what he knows is coming. He has heard the explanation before. He has heard other Angels speak of their experiences, their Enlightenment.
They say it only burns for a moment.
Two Councilmembers flank Gabriel, holding a chain between them. Blinding, burning hot Light flows across the metal links. He can almost hear them crackle with heat.
This is nothing compared to the fate of Failing. This is nothing compared to the fate of Falling. This is nothing compared to the fate of Cowardice. This is nothing compared to the fate of Heresy.
Gabriel chants these words over and over in his head as prayer spills from his lips. Of duty and new beginnings and sin and light. The Father's Word shall be his Salvation through the Pain.
The chain splits the air, and carves through feather, flesh and bone with the same ease as a knife through water. Blood soaks his white vestments for only a moment before the wounds cauterise. A cheer rises from the crowd, admiring the Strength and Resolve of their most Powerful Superior, admiring how Gabriel had barely made a noise despite the searing pain wrecking his body.
Attendants are swift to move in, pulling away bloodied fabric and bringing in pieces of armour. Gabriel knows what is next, too, and he fights to stay conscious, gritting his teeth. This is nothing. This does not hurt. This will not hurt.
The Council begins a prayer as armour is pressed onto and strapped to Gabriel, a steadily growing light beginning to emanate from him. And it burns. And it is Holy. And it is Good. And it burns. And it feels like he's being torn apart at the very seams of his being, vitality and life and strength and blood and burning and pain and oh God please save me from this pain I can't take it any more—
Slowly, before the Council, the Judge of Hell rises to his feet. In a blinding flash of light, a pair of brilliantly blue wings unfurl from the space just behind his back, a curved Halo stretching upwards from around his head.
Another Superior Angel has been created.
~
"That's kind of fucked up."
Gabriel exhales a laugh, resting his chin against his folded arms. "It is how I was made, machine. Do you want me to find your creator, wherever they are, and tell them however they made you was fucked up?"
"Mm. No. But it'd be really funny." V1's optic closes halfway in an imitation of a grin, setting it's fishing pole to the side. A gentle whirring emanates from it as it lays back against the deck, swinging it's legs off the edge.
Gabriel can feel it's gaze on the heavy scarring across his exposed back, and while he should be self-conscious about displaying such an intimate and Holy thing, he finds that he doesn't mind so much. He shifts to curl around to the side a little, to watch it with his Eyes. V1 is thinking deeply about something, that he can tell – or at least, he's incredibly sure that he's correct in suspecting that, considering the amount of time they had spent together.
"... If you want to touch it, machine, you can. Just be gentle."
"Oh thank fucking christ I thought it would be really weird to ask."
Gabriel huffs gently, trying not to laugh as he turns to stare back out at the lake waters around them. Meanwhile, V1 sat up, crossing it's legs as it shuffled closer. The anticipation of being touched makes him flinch a little as the mechanical hand graces his skin, and he swiftly mumbles a reassurance and an apology.
Carefully, it traces the tiny, fluffy feathers of down that still remain around the symmetrical scars, careful to not trap any between it's finger joints accidentally. Then, as gentle as it can manage, it traces the left shoulder. Down the length of the scar, across the width, carefully circling the slight divot where muscle and skin had grown over where the bone was dislocated.
A sigh slowly escapes Gabriel, an unease and tension he didn't realise that he was holding seeping out from his body. V1 must have noticed, in some form, as it carefully slid its hand up over his shoulder, holding it there as it laid next to him again. It's head nestles on the crook of Gabriel's elbow, orange optic and white eyes glowing softly at each other.
Words did not need to be shared.