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The Treachery layer is wrong.
Not silent, Hell is never silent... but empty in a way that it had never been. The rivers have dried. The scent of iron is gone. The air feels thin, like something has already been taken and used.
Gabriel stands in the centre of it, armor discarded somewhere behind him like a shed skin. Without it, he feels... lighter, exposed, in a way he hasn't before.
He feels afraid.
He buries that thought quickly.
"Machine," he says, voice echoing too far in the vast, bloodless room.
"Come forward." V1 does, slower than before.
There is no relentless hunger in its movements now, no violent urgency. Its frame trembles. It's... failing? Starving? Dying.
Gabriel watches it approach, something sharp and unfamiliar twisting in his chest. Not pity, something else.
"I understand why you’re so lost," they murmur, quieter now.
The machine stops in front of him. Its head tilts, slightly. Curiosity, like always.
Gabriel exhales, almost a laugh, though it lacks humor.
"Your God is gone," they continue. "Yours... and mine."
His grip tightens around the hilt of his blade, and he pauses. A long pause.
Then, softer:
"But worry not."
He steps closer, closing the distance himself this time.
"I’ll give you something to worship."
V1 does not move as Gabriel lifts a hand and, almost gently, presses down on its shoulder as a command.
"Kneel."
As the cold air hits him, a low voice from the back of his mind surfaces.
What are you doing?
This is beneath you.
This is wrong.
For a moment, nothing happens.
Patient, Gabriel repeats themselves.
"Kneel."
Then, slowly, mechanically, the machine lowers itself, and Gabriel’s breath catches.
There’s something intoxicating about it.
Not dominance alone, he has known that all his existence, but this... this willingness. This absence of resistance.
This trust, it's waking up feelings inside of them.
"Look at you," he murmurs, circling it. "Stripped of purpose. Reduced to nothing." Their tone should be cruel, but it isn’t.
There’s something almost fond beneath it, something he doesn’t quite recognize.
V1’s head follows them as much as it can, waiting, learning and watching as always.
Gabriel stops in front of it again, blade shining faintly in the dim light.
"No more blood left in Hell," they say. "And yet you still persist."
He stares directly at the machine’s glowing optic.
"...Impressive."
Then, without warning, he presses the blade to their own chest, holding "eye" (can I even call it that?) contact.
There is a flicker, just for a split second, of something like hesitation.
Fear.
It rises sharp and cold in his chest, but they crush it.
The blade drags across his skin. A long, deliberate line. Red spills where Hell could no longer provide.
Gabriel inhales sharply, body tensing. A shudder runs through him, not entirely from pain.
"...Ah."
The sensation blooms, hot, boiling his insides. His lips part slightly. They do not pull away, instead, they look down at the machine, something almost proud in his gaze.
"Well?" he says, breath unsteady. "Go for it."
V1 hesitates, but just for a fraction of a second, then it leans forward.
The contact is sudden, desperate-like. Its head presses against the wound, absorbing, taking, like it was made to.
Gabriel jerks sharply, a broken gasp catching in his throat as pain spikes(his cortisol levels/j), but his hands move faster than they can think. One grips the back of the machine’s head, and the other wraps around its frame, pressing it fully against him, almost crushing it in his need to keep it there, to keep it close.
"Don’t..." he exhales, voice strained. "Don’t stop." His fingers tightened.
The pain is sharper now, and he wants more.
The fear tries to claw its way back up, something whispering that this is wrong, but, again, he pushes it down.
Replaces it with the heat, the control, the righteousness of the moment.
"Good," he whispers, almost to himself. They exhale sharply, breath hitching.
It’s filling something in them, too, something that had been empty since the Holy light disappeared.
V1 stills for a moment against him. Its movements shift, subtly, less frantic now. More deliberate. Curious.
Something softer.
Gabriel notices.
Of course he does.
A faint, almost disbelieving smile touches their lips.
"Learning, are you?" he murmurs.
Then, without a warning they lift the blade again, and drive it across the same wound.
Deeper.
The pain is immediate. Blinding. His body jolts, breath hitching violently, but he laughs.
A quiet, breathless whisper leaves them.
"Yes," he exhales. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
His grip tightens again, pulling V1 closer as more blood spills.
"Take it."
The machine does, but slower, careful, almost.
For a fleeting, impossible second,
it doesn’t feel like feeding.
It feels intimate.
Gabriel’s head tilts back slightly, eyes half-lidded, breath uneven. The fear is still there. Buried, but they don't look at it.
He looks at the machine instead.
At the way it stays, at the way it doesn’t leave.
"...There is nothing after this," he says softly. His hand rests against the back of V1’s head now, no force behind it.
"So," he continues, voice quieter still, "you may as well take advantage of it."
His fingers curl slightly.
"...Stay," he adds, barely above a whisper.
This time, V1 does not need to be told twice.