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The last Circle of Hell had no warmth left in it. Only cold.
Across the frozen layers, pillars of jagged ice rose like the shattered bones of a cathedral. Beneath them stretched a vast lake of black glass, frozen solid, cracked in long violent lines where the battle had taken place. Snow fell slowly from the broken ceiling of the cavern above, soft, almost as if bringing peace along with it, but not quite.
The wind moved through the ruins, and the fight had finally ended.
Admist it all, Gabriel laid, snow settling on their body. Gold armor, once radiant, was split down the chest. Blood had spread outward across the ice beneath him, darkening where it froze. His swords, gone. Splendor, broken and lost. Justice was no longer in his hand.
It had been used against him.
Driven into the gap of his armor during a moment of weakness.
Driven there by V1.
The blade still rested there now, angled through the shattered metal.
Gabriel’s chest rose weakly.
The breath that left him turned to mist in the frozen air.
Several meters away stood the machine.
V1 had not moved since the moment the fight ended, its optic remained fixed on the fallen archangel. Processing.
The fight replayed in silent fragments through its systems.
Steel against steel. A thrown coin, a parried move. Wings cutting through the cold air. The flash of Justice’s blade. The rhythm of movement that had felt strangely familiar.
Because during the battle, their movements had aligned. Strike. Parry. Step. Turn. Again. And again. And again.
Like two halves of the same motion.
Gabriel had noticed it too.
He had studied the machine before this battle. Observed it across earlier encounters. Watched the way it moved, the way it predicted attacks before they were even made.
The machine learned quickly, but Gabriel had learned too.
By the time he entered this final fight, he already knew something.
He would not win.
The Father’s light had been taken from him long ago.
And the machine before him had grown stronger with every battle.
Yet Gabriel had stepped forward anyway.
Because the fight itself, it was more of a dance.
The machine that moved like no mortal weapon ever had, it was beautiful.
And for a few moments during the battle, their motions had synchronized so perfectly that the space between them felt... thinner.
As if their intentions were visible before the strike even began.
As if Gabriel could almost hear the machine’s thoughts.
Now the dance was over. Agonising for one, mesmerising for the other.
Gabriel laughed weakly.
The sound was rough, wet with blood.
"Machine..." His head shifted slightly on the ice until his eye found the glowing optic watching him.
Blood slipped from the corner of his mouth.
"What is it, that you truly want?"
The machine did not answer.
It had no voice.
But inside its processors, something continued to turn.
Something that had started during the battle and refused to stop. Something it could not control.
I want to be human.
The thought surfaced quietly.
I want to feel the way they do.
Gabriel’s eye narrowed faintly.
His lips curved upward in a tired, knowing smile.
"Still thinking," he murmured. He coughed suddenly, shoulders jerking. Blood spilled across the frozen surface beside him.
"..."
"You were always curious."
The machine remained still.
Its thoughts continued.
I want to laugh.
The wind slipped sharply through broken pillars.
I want to cry.
Gabriel huffed a weak chuckle.
"You fight like a god," he rasped, "and dream like a child."
Snow gathered across his armor.
The machine watched.
When I'm feeling scared like you...
Gabriel’s smile sharpened faintly.
“Just like me,” he said mockingly. The words were quieter now.
His strength was fading.
One of Gabriel’s hands shifted weakly across his stomach, pressing against the shattered armor where the blade remained embedded.
Justice.
His own sword.
Driven through him by the machine that had defeated him, once again. It was fated.
His fingers curled instinctively around the wound, gripping the armor as if the pressure could hold his life inside.
The machine noticed the movement immediately.
Its optic focused on the hand. On the way the fingers curled. On the way his body tried to contain something already lost.
I want hands to curl like yours.
Gabriel exhaled slowly.
"You really are watching," he whispered.
The cold wind brushed across the frozen room again.
Seconds passed.
Then the machine began to move.
One step across the ice. Then another. And one more. The sound of metal against frozen stone echoed softly through the cavern.
Gabriel watched it approach.
His eye tracked every movement.
"What now?" they murmured faintly.
The machine did not attack. It had no intention to. Instead, it lowered itself.
Metal joints bent slowly as V1 knelt beside the fallen archangel.
The motion was deliberate, careful, almost hesitant.
Gabriel blinked once.
"...Strange creature,” he whispered.
The machine extended one hand.
Its metal fingers hovered briefly above Gabriel’s shoulder, then gently settled there.
Cold metal against damaged, bloody armor.
Gabriel stared at it and let out a last laugh, blood dripping from his chin down onto his already stained armor.
Snow gathered along his broken wing.
The machine’s thoughts continued, faster than Gabriel's gushing blood.
I want eyes to cry.
It watched the angel’s face carefully, studying the slow fading of focus, the weakening breath. The calm that was slowly replacing the pain.
Gabriel’s gaze drifted upward toward the distant ceiling.
"The Father’s light..." he murmured softly. A faint smile touched his lips.
"...is gone. Was there any to begin with?"
Another breath escaped him.
"I knew... when I stepped forward."
His eye shifted back toward the machine beside him. They stared at the engraved "V1" on its metal chest.
"I knew I would not win."
His voice had no restraint to it.
"But I wanted the fight."
A weak, false chuckle followed.
"You are... a worthy opponent, machine."
His fingers tightened faintly once more against the wound.
Then loosened again.
"Perhaps the only one... left."
The machine remained beside him.
Its hand did not leave his shoulder.
Gabriel’s breathing slowed.
The cold crept further through their body.
Yet his expression was peaceful.
The fight had ended well.
"You move beautifully," he whispered.
"Even when you kill."
Another breath, quieter now.
"...Do not pity me."
Snow gathered along his armor.
"Death… is simply the end of the dance. Our dance."
His chest rose once more, then slowly fell.
Only silence followed.
The machine stayed kneeling beside them, its hand still rested against the angel’s shoulder.
Seconds passed. Then seconds turned into minutes.
Gabriel did not move again.
Frost began to gather along the edges of his armor and feathers.
The machine’s optic remained fixed on the still beside it.
Inside its silent processors, one final thought continued to repeat.
Curious and slow.
How does it feel...
The machine tilted its head slightly as it studied the lifeless archangel.
...to die?
It feared death, but couldn't help but wonder.
The wind moved softly and snow continued to fall.
And the machine remained there beside the body of the only opponent who had ever moved in perfect rhythm with it.