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Angel doesn’t see the world as a good place. He’s pretty sure that most devils would agree with him.
Angel, however, is a little unique in his view of the world. It’s not good, obviously, but it’s not horrible. Angel, as a whole, views the world as just alright. It’s as cruel as it’s meant to be, and as good as it can be. It balances out to be just alright.
—
Angel’s earliest memory is of waves lapping against a sandy beach, heat pounding down on his dry back while a soft breeze blows his hair behind his shoulders.
It ends there, and his next memory is the feeling of grime and sweat sticking to his skin as he stares at a black stone wall. His hands are chained together in metal cuffs, balled up and cramping. A thick chain connects his ankle to a metal hook in the ground.
A few minutes pass and the silence is broken by the sound of soft, echoing footsteps. They stop outside of his cell, and the door creaks loudly as a woman presses it open.
She smiles, looking down at Angel as she steps inside of the cell. “You’re rather calm, aren’t you?”
Stone scrapes against his bare legs, and Angel draws his knees up to his chest. Head resting on his knees, he shrugs. “I guess.”
The woman walks closer, plait perfectly still behind her. She stops right in front of Angel, and crouches. “I’m Makima.” She introduces herself, taking a small key out of her breast pocket. She unlocks the chain around his ankle, and it drops to the floor with a thud. “You work for me now. Do you understand?” Makima’s eyes bore into his, her unmarred hands gently lifting his chained ones.
Angel thumps his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “I do.” He answers. Makima’s smile is calm, as always.
—
Life couldn’t be worse. It also couldn’t be any better. Angel is fine with this.
Makima brings him to the ICU to sap the remaining lifespans of the unlucky humans unfortunate enough to be put on end of life care. Most of the time, they are alone. This time is different.
It’s a nice day outside. The sun warms the window, its rays landing on the face of a young boy. He doesn’t really look like a boy. He doesn’t really look like a human. It’s a miracle he isn’t already dead. Despite his painful, small wheezes, it’s clear that he will never wake up.
Half of his face has caved in, and the skin that Angel can see is burnt, bubbling and falling off of his body. His mother clutches his hand, sobbing into his mangled flesh. He smells like rot and infection.
Glancing at Makima, Angel grimaces. Makima, for once, doesn't smile. She’s frowning, watching the young mother.
The boy is twelve years old. Caught in a devil attack, cutting what should have been a long life short.
Angel sits across from the young mother. She doesn’t look up at him, face hidden beneath stringy, greasy black hair. His hand shakes as he brushes the back of his knuckles against the young boy's exposed shoulder. It takes half an hour for the boy’s heart monitor to flatline.
His mother looks up. First, at the monitor, then at her son. Weakly, she whispers, “He looks peaceful,” Staring down at her son's face, she clutches his hand harder. With a sob so violent it shakes her body, she chokes on her words. “It’s… As if he just fell asleep.”
With those words finally torn from her throat, the woman throws up on her lap. It’s a bit chaotic from there. Makima directs him out of the room without a single word as the woman screams.
A doctor bumps into him on his way out of the room. A day of the man's life is stolen right from underneath him.
At the hospital's entrance, Makima stops. Her expression is neutral, and she stares at nothing. “Did it feel like you killed that kid?” She asks.
It’s a weird question, especially for Makima. Almost vulnerable. “No.” He admits, “I feel like I did something good.”
“You did.” She responds. Makima fixes her already perfect collar. “It was the kindest thing you could do for that woman and her son. He was never going to live.”
“You won’t be going here anymore.” Makima declares, final.
—
Angels main use is making weapons. On the few occasions where he is paired up with a human for a mission, it ends badly.
Hinata was a devil hunter. A good one, too. Unfortunately for Hinata, she wasn’t exactly gifted with intelligence. It’s this fatal flaw that has Angel crouched beside her dead body.
As idiots tend to do, she ignored her colleagues' warnings of getting too close to Angel, constantly requesting him as a buddy and attempting to make conversation with him. For such a bright and bubbly girl, you would’ve thought of her as capable of listening to her friends advice.
They were facing off against the claustrophobia Devil, and as you can guess, it put them in a tight space. It was as if they were trapped in a two by two box that kept getting smaller. They were completely pressed against each other. Angel still tried to stay as far away from the girl as possible. The most he could do was tilt his head slightly downwards.
It was dark in there, and the only light available came from his halo, crammed behind his head. The minimal light allowed him to see the sweat pooling on her young face as she muttered to herself, increasingly frantic. With no space for his halo to stretch out, any attempt at summoning a weapon would kill them both.
Not a single attack of theirs had worked. The Devil stuck true to its nature of being born from a concept, hiding in dark corners and crowded spaces, appearing as more of an image than any physical ‘thing’. It was impossible to locate, and when they, or more accurately, Hinata, finally did locate it, the Devil stretched out its hand, and closed them in its fist.
The seconds were passing quickly, and the distance between them was no more than half an inch wide. Chest heaving, Hinata said, “Kill me.” Panicked, she added, “I’m not dying like this. Kill me, and use my lifespan to make a weapon.”
Angel almost didn’t want to. The fear in her eyes convinced him otherwise.
He grabbed her face, the only part of her skin in reach, rolling his head to the side so his halo could wedge out from underneath him. He used one year, biting his lip so hard it bled.
The sword pushed through his halo in a manner that felt achingly slow. It pierced through Angel's hand, pinning him to Hinata’s face as she gurgled, blood dripping down his wrist.
Stabbing through the Devils hand, or whatever the fuck that space was, Angel heard the Devil yelp with pain. It released them both, and Angel fell to the floor with a hard smack.
Before it could release its physical form, Angel pulled his sword out of his hand and Hinata’s face, killing it with one furious stab.
His hand stitched itself back together as he waited. Hinata’s corpse grew cold beside him.
Once he was picked up by some grunt from public safety, he was immediately dropped in Makima’s office.
She never seemed sad when she found out about a worker's death. At least, not in front of any of the Devils or fiends.
Makima doesn’t look up from her work as Angel reports the incident to her. She takes a sip of her coffee, and sighs. It seems detached. “That’s a shame. Hinata was quite nice, wasn’t she?”
Angel shrugs. “She was kinda loud.”
Makima huffs, amused.