I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
The meticulously masoned stone of the altar is like ice beneath his bare back. In contrast, the surrounding air is warm, humid even. Gabriel lies somewhere in-between burning and freezing, living and dying, the weight of his actions and his newfound freedom.
The line of hot and cold blurs as the tip of the knife oh-so lightly glides across his naked skin, trailing fire in the wake of its icy touch. The flat of the blade shines in the eternal red haze of Heresy, and its edge, soaked in a color like the most full-bodied of wines, glistens with a flash of amber.
Gabriel swallows around the saliva pooling in his mouth and finishes his confession.
"I lied to them." He continues to the relentless glare of a single golden glow, floating high above him; Heaven's long-lost Light hovers just out of reach from where he lies in the darkness. "I told them all salvation was at hand, that fulfilling their... duty as Ferrymen would absolve them."
It hurts like some terrible, living parasite gnawing away at the very core of his being. It's always been there; a century now, he's ignored it. Here, at the eve of ruin, he's finally realized just how much of him it's eaten away at. There's little left except a regret poised to crush him in its entirety, and a burning desire to receive whatever absolvement he can grasp in his remaining hours.
"I swore to them their due would come. I told them this even after I'd exhausted every argument I could think of to The Council."
His eyes slide shut, and the words erupt from his throat in a hoarse whisper thicker than blood.
"I couldn't save them."
Mere moments after he ceases speaking, the knife presses in with just enough extra pressure to at last pierce his flesh. He bites off a groan trapped in his throat, and dares not move. Saccharine anguish blossoms in its wake, molten heat bubbling from beneath and spilling across his pec.
The blade wanders down his torso in lazy, serpentine patterns, crossing over cuts from only minutes ago and slicing open untouched skin. Gabriel lies obediently still as the sin is carved out of his body, fists clenching where they press down upon the altar.
The blade stops right at the center of his abdomen, lifting away and taking his repentance with it. Gabriel angles his head up ever so slightly to examine it. It's the longest one yet, weeping with fresh blood and joining with several more that swirl and meander across his body.
It's beautiful, how they hack away at once-divine flesh and paint him with the carmine pigments running beneath his skin. They have many hands with which to work, to tear him apart and rebuild him however they see fit for these final, hedonic hours of his life.
One of which snaps out and grasps the top of his helm, slamming it back onto the altar. He dares not push back against their silent command, but he cannot stop the hitching in his breath when their palm glides away, snaking down to his neck where it gently encircles the width of it.
A single claw thoughtfully presses at where his pulse flies, and plea's rise to the tip of his tongue; to beg them to flay open the artery there so he may choke on that bitter, forbidden flavor. But it pulls away, replaced swiftly by stained steel.
The loving caress of the blade's tip along his throat is what spurs his next confession.
"I once was... tempted by a human." He breathes out in a rush; his voice is so quiet but their head tilts in answer to this. "Minos. He was Judge of Hell before me-"
It's point presses harder down, in warning rather than in anticipation. Perhaps they know this story; perhaps he is wasting precious time relaying the details.
"I wanted him; even when I didn't understand what that meant." He admits in a broken tone, and a deeper part of him unravels with a grief long ignored. "Even after it was too late, some part of me always wanted him."
This cut comes harsher, swifter; a flash of metal slashing from his clavicle to the edge of his shoulder. He cannot help the rapturous cry that escapes him as wonderous pain radiates outward in a searing wave.
The tip does not pull away; it digs into the muscle, burrowing deeper. Bright lights burst across all his eyes and he can barely keep still. It's distracting enough from the hand that trails featherlight fingers down the length of his butchered torso. The light of his salvation leans ever closer, and the ringing in his ears stops long enough for him to catch the distinct, faint whirr of internal mechanisms he has no time left to fathom.
Those digits dance down his body, over where all the long gashes meet, wreathed with golden marks. He wants them to stop there, to peel away the ruined flesh and rip each organ out until they stain the altar forevermore, and he is but an emptied cadaver for them to fill however they please.
But they do not fulfill his unspoken desires; instead, those clever metal fingers continue to trail along his pubic bone. Lightly, teasingly, they circle his engorged clit. A whine escapes him; they do not punish this transgression of sound. Instead, they only seem to encourage it as they drive two of their bloodied fingers into his slicked entrance with a harsh thrust.
Gabriel's lungs shudder with a sharp gasp, his hips rise to meet their touch, but they twist the knife in dire warning, punching the air out of him in a filthy moan. A third hand presses down where all his wounds converge, liquid ruby bubbling up from beneath their palm and soaking his overheated skin. It hurts; the agony blinds him but he can urge them on with a breathless whisper of their name, bitter as blood and as sweet as wine.
He is in no position to ask for more than what they grant him. But the rising cries leaving him, pain blended perfectly with pleasure, only seems to encourage them to pump their fingers faster, push down on his injuries harder. The knife swivels again, and fire pulses outward from his core with a powerful throb as the jaws of anguish snap down on him.
"Please... " Gabriel all but begs as their palm digs into his clit. "V1, please... !"
He's so close; his ruinous salvation is at hand. That holy feeling he's denied himself for far too long crests like an ocean wave about to crash upon the shores, and then-
And then they stop, hand jerking away and pulling him back from a brief, glorious rebirth through ecstasy. Gabriel chokes back a sob, head lolling to the side as the blade pulls out from the meat of his shoulder.
Denied satisfaction, yet again.
But their meaning is clear. He has not yet earned forgiveness. There are many more sins still to confess.
His eyes open, focus narrowing on the distant light. Their slight frame is faintly outlined against the perpetual darkness of this hidden chapel at the edges of Heresy. After an eternity, the light moves, as though they were giving him a brief, encouraging nod.
Gabriel swallows, breathes as they lay the edge of the blade upon his skin once more, and continues where he left off.
