Chapter Text
This story starts in a world of blinding light. It has always been here, and perhaps it always will be. It is long, endless hallways, and it is walls that stretch on for eternity. Every surface is polished to such a point that everything reflects back and forth forever. This is the side of Heaven you will never see. Perhaps somewhere far off, maybe even on a different plane entirely, there is an endless utopia. But that is not here.
Here is the land of angels.
This is where they toil away, forever guiding the world into the pure light. Every second was spent either working, and if they are not working then they are wandering aimlessly through the vast expanse of light. And yet, the halls are always so empty. Silent. Millions— billions, even— of angels toiling away, and yet they barely ever cross paths within this domain. Even if they did, what would they even have to say to one another? If one is working, they have no time to spare. Furthermore, many had assignments that felt worlds apart from one another. And if they are waiting, there are no thoughts to be had or shared.
Not all angels are built the same, actually. In fact, even in the ‘perfect’ realms of Heaven, you will find a hierarchy. For example, one might think that guardian angels would be highly regarded. After all, shouldn’t it be a noble and important goal to guide humans into the light, to save them from sin? The truth is, they usually aren’t that special or important. Time on Earth is so fleeting in the grand scheme of things. It was never intended for everyone to be saved in the end. Only the important ones mattered.
There is always a hierarchy.
Angels were not built to love, not like we do. To their credit, they weren’t built to hate either. Not like we do. But it certainly felt like they were, sometimes. Angels are meant to be objective, to think only of the facts and the end goals. Humans are such emotional creatures- it’s why our lives are like short bursts of energy in the eyes of those up above. But the angels are barred from such emotions. That’s why guardian angels seem so important to us. We think of them wise far beyond our years. They’re perfect reflections of the divine light of their creator. Mirrors that shine their light back upon wherever they go; a perfect beacon.
And as humans, we are so, so scared of the dark.
In the end, I can not tell you why things are the way they are. But what I can tell you is that even in the ‘perfect’ realms of Heaven, there are cracks. Not every reflection will be perfect; there is no light without darkness, after all.
Conviction. Determination. Reflection...
Let’s take a step back.
Omega. That was what he was labeled. The lowest of the low. Amongst all of the guardian angels, he was always the last picked; always received the last assignments. They usually passed through several hands, each one giving up and passing it onto someone beneath themself. His wards seemed to always be the most impossible people to save. He didn’t have the option to pass it on to someone else.
So many of them, damned to Hell.
It wasn’t fair.
He was off duty, which was never as relaxing as it sounded. It was torturous, really. He was like an empty husk shambling around. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had an assignment. He never really kept track; time hardly meant anything in the halls he wandered. All he could do was wait for another assignment.
The halls were always silent, not even his footsteps made a sound. If they had, though, they would’ve been slow and heavy— dragging along, even. He wasn’t very big by angel standards, and truly he looked just like everyone else. A face that only had four white eyes. A halo that grew out from his forehead and circled back behind his head. Crystalline feathers that covered his shoulders and covered large wings that sprouted from his back. An aching pain in his temple.
Ah. That was new.
Omega straightened up; his feathers ruffled a bit as he stood at attention. He turned his head this way and that, until the pain had (uncomfortably) settled itself behind his eyes. If he could, he would’ve taken a deep breath. He marched forward, using the pain like a compass.
His presence had been requested by his superior.
Omega soon found himself standing before another angel, one much larger than he would ever be. No words were spoken in any way as the larger angel passed a crystal to Omega. It fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, and was shaped like a flat star with seven points. Omega looked up to his superior, and was met with a glare. It seems this was another… difficult assignment. Not surprising, really. Omega turned and left, cradling the star gently in his hands. He approached the nearest wall and, with a single thought, an opening manifested and disappeared as he walked through. Important work like this required a more private space.
The room had a single pedestal, about as high as Omega’s chest. He carefully placed the star he was given on the pedestal, and with trained fingers he manipulated it into unfolding and revealing thousands of tiny facets that had been hiding inside of it. Within each of these facets was every possible path his ward’s life could ever take. This was Omega’s favorite part of the job— even if he was given the difficult tasks, exploring and learning about the lives of those he was meant to help left him feeling very … stimulated. Yes, that should be the word. Angels were not built to feel joy.
Omega leaned in close and peered into the crystal. His eyes were designed for this kind of work, and thus it was very easy to focus on each individual piece and learn all about his new assignment.
His name was Vincent, though someday that was likely to change. Born in LA and absconded to NYC. His birthday was February 14th, 1962. He was the bastard son of a deadbeat dad who ended up roped into a satanic cult. His mom did everything she could to love and provide for him.
He was studying film, but only because he made the choice to sneak into midnight movie screenings with his friends in high school. Eraserhead was life changing, apparently. He would become an alcoholic if he took one class instead of the other. Still again, he would turn to the bottle later at some point. He would try hard drugs, and depending on where he got it he might get addicted or he might never do it again. It’s unavoidable, it seems. Some paths are just less severe.
He was gay, and very stubborn. In no ending would he ever find a wife. He had brothers he wouldn’t meet until he was older. Some he may never even know of.
Omega narrowed his eyes in frustration. Too many of his paths involved his father’s cult finding him, one way or another. It could be avoided, but only barely. This man was hedonistic, strong willed, and determined. This man would likely dedicate himself to Satan— or, the concept of Satan. He would climb the ranks, with a passion that no one could get in the way of. That passion would burn out, though. Maybe Omega could work with that.
Omega continued to search through every possible choice he could— surely there must have been something here he could easily manipulate to keep this man in the light. And if he couldn’t be kept on the right path, maybe he could be redeemed later on in life. Omega searched through all the lives this man could live within the Satanic Ministry. He had to admit, it was quite a fascinating place. Certainly not awe inspiring, but it did pique his curiosity.
Quite frankly, it looked like shit. He was surprised it was able to enthrall this man in so many different potential lives. There didn’t really seem to be anything to be gained from such a place, but still this man tried. He gave it everything he could. It didn’t have anything to give back.
In that damnable ministry, every choice, every path, life, whatever you want to call it— they all ended the same.
Every. Single. One.
Dead. Disgraced. Damned.
If Omega had a heart, it would have sunk.
It wasn’t fair. It was never fair. He was always given lost causes, impossible tasks, and for what? What was the point of it all?
…
He would save this man. He would find a way.