Work Text:
Desiderium
They sometimes yearned for the time humans lived the earth.
Of course for the most part they didn't care, but when they weren't occupied disenbowling another prime soul or husk, or going down all the layers of hell, they tried to search memories, images, videos, a resemblance of the old life they had.
They were created for war, they were created with a constant insaciable hunger who would follow them until the last moments of their life. And although they didn't really care about it, they pondered of the times outside. The times were the blood seemed almost never ending, precious fuel almost gifted to them in a silver plate. The shining sun in their plating, human technicians uttering words they don't remember, and even times when blood was offered to them freely, voluntary.
All of the images of things they didn't care before, imputs of places and faces, almost all forgotten and deleted of their memory folder.
But it was just the husk of a memory, scraps of actions cast aside, countless of things they never did, and they never will do.
They threw 3 coins into the air, wondering if the light they provided would compare to the rising sun, and they shot.
What would you do if you weren't afraid?
"Come to me"
The tips of his fingers brushed the keys of the organ, while his wings were collected on his back. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
He had to prove his worth to the council, had to show them that his devotion to the father was absolute. He couldn't let a mere object get in his way.
He could not fail the council, he was an example for everyone. The rightful hand of the father.
And that machine wasn't even mortal, it didn't have a soul, and its death would end its existence. A monster with an insatiable desire for blood.
That machine... That horrible disgraceful Machine... How could a mere object defeat him so easily? What would the father think of him? Will he be able to forgive him for such a mistake?
Gabriel had never found an opponent who could equal him. Who could defeat him.
He only had to kill the Machine, he had to kill the machine, and then he could prove that his devotion to the father was never questioned.
Gabriel's fists pounded on the organ drawer, the moment he heard metal scraping across the floor.
Do you still remember?
He didn't hesitate when he brandished his sword against the King's body. When the corpse of the compassionate ruler of the Lust layer fell to the ground, as his people cried and weeped.
He didn't hesitate when he beheaded King Sisiphus, showing the leader's defeat to the rest of the sinners, suppressing the Sisiphean army, and allowing the cruel mutilation of their bodies, so that they would carry out their punishments for all eternity.
He didn't hesitate, as he promised the salvation of many, that if they prayed enough, God would listen to them, a salvation that never came.
How many innocents did he actually kill in the name of an already dead god? Blindly following a council that never believed in its people.
That fight had awakened something in him, the metallic taste in his mouth, the strange relief he felt knowing that he was also part mortal.
The Angels, the council, had never been better than mortals, just as capable of committing sin as the rest.
Perhaps they are the only ones Gabriel doesn't regret killing. Maybe he was a machine too. Following the orders of a dead creator, however while the machine followed instinct, survival, he only followed orders.
And although his time began to come to an end, as his guilt began eating him alive, his mind kept going through the memories of his fight with the machine.
He had to find them, once again. He needed to relish this feeling, perhaps the most genuine he ever felt in his life. He needed more.
....
He never felt so alive
The clash of swords against fists. The sound of coins being propelled into the air, and then being embedded in flesh. The constant movement between the two.
His body flowed with adrenaline, while his wings spread in his flight. Even when he heard the sound of a shotgun being pumped rapidly, and a shot ripped through his battered chestplate, he couldn't help but laugh.
Ecstasy. Pure ecstasy.
The blood flew newly from his chest, as a strong weight pressed him flat against the ground. Gabriel coughed while mechanical hands shaped freely the wounds of his flesh.
He was dizzy, but strangely giddy, pleased with mismatched calmness. His breathing began to echo with the walls as he shivered, and the hands reached deeper.
But Gabriel only began to feel the pain, when the machine began to rise, almost sated with their desire for blood. He took their wrist, pulling it close to his chest once more, and V1 turned their gaze to his helm.
Gabriel trembled, but did not lower his gaze. He lightly traced his fingers along the machine's hand, until he lowered his own hand to his cuirass, and then rested it on the ground.
An almost never ending silence could be heard in the room, if it wasn't by the now slow and calmer breathing of the angel, and the slight noises of mechanical fingers tracing bloody stains down a white cuirass, until they dug and sank into the open wound of a throbbing chest
Ruby colored blood flowed as their hand squeezed his heart.