The End Of All Known Land
Also heads up: decided to just get all the tags posted here to save myself some time formatting. Any additional warnings for the remaining chapters will be posted here as well.
Chapter 2: Cascade Nights
Treachery is more or less how V1 left it, when they finally emerge from the abyss below. They stumble out of the elevator shaft and back into the snow, the one big difference being that the blizzard has stopped completely. It allows them a clear view of the massive cavern that spanned for what must be miles. The icy air is cold, still, and quiet.
Or it could be that their audials are still ringing from the cacophony of a battle they'd just fought. When they strain the delicate circuits, sure enough, something of an echo lingers. They're not sure if it's from the dozens of pillars made of light, the ones that followed their every step, dash, and daring leap, or the enraged scream that had signaled their victory.
V1 is completely refueled, but they still feel something akin to exhaustion; the phantom burn of silicone joints and powerful pneumatics pushed to their limits. They're long overdue for a rest cycle and a disk cleanup. Not to mention a few hours of internal self-maintenance.
One would think the blood of the divine would be of special quality, maybe more efficient as a fuel source than that of most of the demons and husks that had (once) dwelt here. But in the end, it was all one and the same. All fleshy things bore the same blood: human, husk, demon, angel, and...
Well, at the very least, they had gotten a lot of fuel from the encounter, more than enough to tide them over for quite some time. Movement in general did not require that much fuel, not compared to combat and their self-repair system.
And now that there was nowhere else to go but back up, they were going to have to count on that.
It's easy enough to navigate their way back to the shores of the lake. As they slide down the slight, snowy slope, they do a rudimentary survey of their surroundings now that the air has cleared. Icy stalactites hang from above, sharpened into terrible spikes. The distant, giant figure in chains they had made out through the swirl of falling snow is little more than hanging bits of flesh, bones, and strands of hair. V1 takes all this in as they near the rocky shores of the frozen lake, where Gabriel had appeared to fight them for a third time.
... who is not where they left him.
The vague imprint he'd left in the snow is still there, they find. V1's foot brushes away some of it to find uselessly iced over puddles of blood, fused to the rocky ground. No tracks, but they hadn't expected any. Gabriel could fly, after all. It does mean that he's likely still alive, probably teleported off to somewhere warmer. Maybe back up to Heresy. There's a good chance they'll see him again on their way up.
Their list of directives appears on their HUD with a thought. No more transmissions are being sent from the floor below, so they've taken the liberty to start updating it themselves. Alongside their recently self-given, primary objective aptly titled "Get The Fuck Out", they log in an additional priority: "Find Gabriel".
The entire process takes only ten seconds. When V1 dismisses it, bringing their awareness back to their optics, audials, and sensors, they find the lubrication in their joints stiffening from the cold. They eagerly shake it off with a leap onto the icy surface, skipping once, twice, and then landing in a smooth slide, carrying them across the lake.
It was a long way to go from whence they came, and with far fewer fuel sources between them and the exit to safety than when they first came in this direction. But somewhere that way was an archangel, full of bloodfuel and a penchant for fighting like (almost) nothing else they've faced before.
Well, especially the former. He is the only living source of it left, now.
Despite the fact that they're on an unknown countdown, V1 stops to check the terminals first chance they get. It doesn't come as a huge surprise to them when all they can do is access enemy information.
The main server for their network, the Cyber Grind, the weapons shop, everything else, had been located below Treachery in the center of a massive platform. After reading the content made available to them on its screen, it had been crushed by a... well, V1 can recall it as a massive, glowing fist, appearing suddenly from the surrounding abyss with no warning. They were still having difficulty playing back the entire conflict.
More reason to relish in the single memory they have of his death throes, they suppose.
The terminals had been used, much like V1; a means to an end. All the "Tips of the Day" screens have been replaced with a colon and a parentheses, the two symbols mimicking a frowny face. The music has stopped, too. They seem to be all-too aware of their inevitable fate.
V1 cannot linger; they have to keep moving. Their own survival depends on it, now. But they stay just a moment, at each one, for they would not have made it as far as they have without them.
All they can offer to the doomed machines is a hand upon their screens; sparing a single, sympathetic moment in silence. And then they continue on.
Treachery and Fraud are easy enough to navigate. They expend minimal fuel in their backtracking given there's nothing here to fight. They are halfway back through Violence when they begin to see machine stragglers start to catch up. Stronger machines, but they still contain precious blood. All the battle data they've been gathering and refining is loaded out, making short work of anything that should block their path. They refuel every chance they get from their carcasses.
V1 does not find Gabriel in the abandoned chapels of Heresy, but they do find everything from drones to street cleaners, even a few Swordsmachines. There are no husks nor demons, even the lesser angels are nowhere to be found. More than once they stumble onto a vicious battle between the remaining machines, one they swiftly end for their own sake.
Blood is in limited quantity now, and it won't last a day at this rate. For the most part they try to avoid these conflicts for the sake of not wasting time nor precious fuel. But anything that attacks V1 is quickly killed, their supply of blood drained from their carcasses, and then left where they lay.
Their self-given directives continue to spur them onward, upward. Wrath is a challenge, but not in the way of battle. The ship from earlier has vanished, its Ferryman nowhere to be found. They're forced to seek another path. At times they have to skip far across the writhing ocean of souls and hope they land on something solid. By sheer luck, they make it. Many of the decrepit homes still somehow stand despite the ongoing destruction, and soon, they only need to fight their way through the flooded caves.
Greed and Gluttony (Gabriel isn't there either) are much in the same vein, but every chamber overflows with other machines, battling one another with a fervor that borders on desperate. The still-active Night Mode aids them through the former, keeping them far from the clashes until they're close to the next elevator shaft. But the cramped chambers of the latter make it almost impossible to evade the fighting. V1 tears their way through, burning more fuel than they care too, but finally, they emerge from the rapidly rotting corpse of King Minos.
Here they find that Lust is where the worst of it is thus far. From their vantage point, they can see that chunks of the city below have been plunged into darkness. Many buildings are being consumed by terrible fires, ones that are swiftly spreading to the adjacent structures. Even from here, their audials can pick up the distant chorus of chaos.
For a moment, V1 worries what Limbo will be like. They aren't that low on fuel, but if they don't find Gabriel soon, they may not have enough to make it out before everything collapses.
Yet it's only a momentary worry. They've survived everything Hell had thrown at them thus far; they will survive this.
The subway tunnels are blocked by debris from their battle with the corpse king, forcing them to navigate across the rooftops with the aid of the Whiplash. It allows them to avoid the worst of the skirmishes below. They move towards the distant bridge, a striking silhouette against the swirls of violet clouds, growing closer with each leap.
Unfortunately, the open skies make them a primary target for the drones. They come across a veritable flock of them idling between a warehouse at the end of the shopping district, and what looked like some kind of apartment complex, spanning at least 30 floors from the street up. All their optics turn to them in a snap when they near the edge of the roof, weapons beginning to glow.
V1 fires the railcannon, and the ensuing explosion cuts them an immediate path to the other side. Chirps follow their deft movements as they leap high into the air, deftly dodging their shots as they reach the other roof. A core eject cuts their numbers down by half and the nailgun has the rest dropping from the air in all directions. Blood radiates from their crashing bodies, and V1 throws themselves backwards in the cascading drops of it.
And it does not refuel them as much as it normally would.
There's one survivor of their onslaught, attempting to flee. As soon as they land, V1 snatches the drone up with their Whiplash arm and pulls it in. Their fist plunges through it, thankfully shorting out whatever mechanism triggers the explosion upon death. And they find that the blood oozing from its mortal wound onto their absorbent plating is now only a trickle, compared to the ones they had faced farther below.
Time is running out. They need to find Gabriel, quickly.
V1 tosses the carcass aside, jumps back across, and rushes towards the opposite edge of the building. The elevator shaft that would take them up to the bridge isn't much further. They throw the Whiplash to the next one over, hook onto the eaves, and take a leap.
Their feet have barely left the asphalt when a barrage of glowing blue flies at them from below. The impact jostles the wire enough that the spearhead is knocked loose. For a second, they are in free fall as their self-repairs drain their fuel to a worryingly low level. Three swift dashes backwards return them to solid ground, by the skin of their (metaphorical) teeth.
V1 doesn't have to glance down to see their unexpected quarry, for they quite abruptly appear out of thin air. Still, the sight of them is enough to make their optic shutter narrow in annoyance.
Mindflayers.
Two of them, to be precise. The first one circles to the right, tendrils lashing but keeping her distance. The second breathes in, a telltale sign that she's gathering energy. V1 pulls out their shotgun, waits until she's winding up, and...
Kaboom, go the shotgun pellets they punch with malicious intent, and KABOOM goes the Mindflayer's attack.
This one expels a fountain of blood, and V1 darts forward to the edge of the roof to absorb it readily. To their pleasure, it fills their reserves nearly to full capacity, and then they dash back again out of the blast radius just as the machine blows herself up.
By the time they turn their attention to the other, she's become enraged, and a searing green laser is on its way to bore holes in their chassis. They zip to the right, pulling out the railcannon the moment they hear it's chime, and firing from the hip. The beam only grazes her side, and she lashes at them with a shrill beep. V1 slides under, whirling around for a counterattack-
When something else, something sharp, strikes the Mindflayer from above, bisecting her in one swift attack. Her body shudders, and then explodes. But before she does, they get a good look at what had struck the killing blow.
A pair of swords, blue and gold.
V1 immediately looks up, wings twitching into a full spread. When they have visual confirmation, their internal fans pick up speed briefly, mimicking a sigh of relief. V1 immediately checks one of their priority directives as complete.
Gabriel hovers some 20 meters above them, hand deftly catching his swords as they return to his grip. His form makes for a striking figure of red and gold against the deep violet skies. They can easily tell he's pissed. Most definitely at them.
Well, they did leave him lying in the snow when they ran off to plunder the last secrets of Hell.
Regardless, this railcannon won't do them any favors until it recharges. They're in the middle of swapping to the nailgun when the telltale swish of hardlight wings sweeping through the air reaches their audials. They glance back up at their new quarry, Gabriel's battle data loading out in a second.
The last thing they expect is Gabriel dive-bombing them with a strangled scream.
V1 dashes to the left at the last second. There's a thud, followed by the clatter of debris. When the dust cloud following Gabriel's attack clears, a hole has been made in the rooftop surface. They don't yet move, listening to the clattering below their feet.
Gabriel pops up out of the crater, throwing his swords again with a furious roar. They deflect it back at him, and begin firing. Instead of trying to dodge the barrage of sharp implements, Gabriel charges right through, catching his swords as blood droplets spray in all directions.
V1 leaps backwards, but he doesn't stop, plowing into them with all the wild speed of a meteor and forcing them to the ground. The asphalt tiles shatter under the impact, and they both go tumbling down with the debris. The pair of them hit the floor below in a graceless heap.
Their sensors immediately register the hand clawing at their chassis. The Knuckleblaster comes to their rescue, rotating to the primary position and charging with a single thought, then burying itself into Gabriel's stomach. The ensuing shockwave sends them flying in opposing directions. There's another crashing sound, followed quickly by the smashing of glass.
V1 rolls into an upright position, taking in their surroundings in a nanosecond. It's the living space of an upscale apartment. Gabriel had been thrown through both the far wall, and what looked to be a cabinet that had stood on its other side. When he does not immediately reappear, V1 runs the recordings back, just highlights, but it's enough to see that there's something off about this encounter.
This is definitely not within the pattern of behavior they've discerned from him thus far. He usually spoke to them first from a distance, before declaring his intent to destroy them in battle. All throughout their fight he would shout taunts at them, and more recently, laugh with excitement. When he lost, he'd say more before disappearing.
Had leaving him before he finished whatever he was going to say in Treachery prompted this?
V1 does not have time to ruminate on that. Gabriel's up. They can see the glowing red of his form through the settling dust in the adjacent room. Blood, blood, blood pours from where the Knuckleblaster had torn his flesh. More flows from where he'd charged right into the nozzle of the nailgun; he dislodges the tack from his flesh and armor with an enraged shout and a burst of whatever power he possesses that keeps repairing it.
This is not an optimal place to do battle. Gabriel does not seem to care. He's coming right at them again, charging through the smashed wall and his swords glinting in the light from one of the windows. A wretched cry echoes through the apartment as he closes in for another attack.
A last second dash to the right saves them from being impaled, but the sword called Splendor does sever an exposed tube on their arm. Precious fuel gushes out in a glittering crimson arc before their self-repair system kicks in and cuts off the flow.
V1's optic shutter narrows with irritation once more. This was getting too close. They needed to get out into the open air for a proper battle.
There's an internal chime; they swap out to the railcannon immediately. But instead of firing at Gabriel, who is currently yanking his swords out from the wall after his attack had missed, they aim the electric blue muzzle at the still intact kitchen opposite of them.
Its piercing ray blasts through the walls, through multiple apartments, and out of the complex, leaving a sizable row of holes all the way down to the wall of the next building over. They swap again, firing off a shotgun blast at Gabriel, which throws him into the marble countertops adjacent to the newly opened route with a half-startled, half-pained grunt.
It's just enough of a distraction that they can slide swiftly across the apartment and leap into their self-made exit. They clear the first opening, skidding across kitchen tile before leaping over an untouched coffee table and a smoldering sofa. The next hole is just within reach-
Except they are intercepted, once again, by a body colliding with theirs, this time from behind. Gabriel grabs at their plating with vicious determination. His heavy, ragged breathing fills their audials before they're slammed down to the floor, which gives way under his raw strength again. Their fuel gauge ticks lower as repairs rapidly kick in.
They've had enough.
Mid-fall, they kick, and hear a wheeze as their knee collides with already tender flesh. Their Knuckleblaster smashes against his helm, and fires once more. Gabriel is knocked away from them again, but this time, they pick up the loud splintering of wood over his choked shout. V1 twists midair in time to land on their feet.
Yet another apartment, this time in a bedroom, with glass panes allowing the mixed ambience of still functioning neon lights to pour in. Gabriel lays crumpled against a battered wardrobe against the far wall, bleeding from several wounds onto the carpet. His golden wings are like a beacon through the wash of cooler colors.
The archangel rolls over onto his back with a hiss, and starts to pick himself up again in spite of his injuries. But they don't give him another chance at recovery. They pounce, Feedbaker grasping at his breastplate to push it down, while their Knuckleblaster and Whiplash snatch his wrists and slam them to the floor.
Gabriel writhes beneath them with a heated growl, trying to free himself. Blood oozes from the holes in his helm, and they are starkly reminded of just how low their fuel has become, spent through their vicious scuffle.
Their thighs immediately squeeze his exposed midriff, and siphon precious fuel from the torn flesh. They feel more than hear the snarl from his chest as he surges upward in another attempt to gain the advantage. His entire body jerks against their hold when that proves fruitless, nearly throwing them off.
In answer, V1's one free arm points their revolver dead center between where his eyes might be.
Gabriel freezes in their grip. They hold it there, glaring through their optic shutter in warning. They count to five. When he does nothing in response to this, their legs tighten around him again, pulling more hot, fresh ambrosia from his body for them to drink.
His lungs heave for air in response to the painful stimuli, but V1 does not fire. He's ceased struggling, submitting to their strength. They hold him there, attention rapt on their HUD as the low fuel warnings disappear, and their reserve tanks gradually refill. Below them, a strangled, frustrated noise escapes the archangel, and-
And his helmet presses upwards, into the barrel of V1's gun, with a faint clink.
It's their turn to freeze, for just a moment as their processors race to understand this. Silence, save for Gabriel's pained breathing. Their thoughts buffer, trying to parse what must surely be some catastrophic error of survival instinct.
They look back, not two minutes ago. All his attacks had been reckless, throwing himself into the line of fire with little care for self-preservation. Single-minded determination to destroy rather than a graceful, bloody dance of swords and burning lead.
Why?
They cannot ask him, only try to understand, but their processors have limited information to cross-reference. V1 listens to Gabriel's strained breathing as it begins to slow, running queries across their memory banks. They open the search to the data they had collected before Mankind's fall, but their attention is pulled away when Gabriel speaks, at last.
"Come on." His voice is hoarse and broken. It's the first words they've heard from him since the frozen shores of Treachery, calling out to them in a desperation they hadn't then recognized. His wings are changing color, but not to blue; to a muted gray. It is a light that gives off no light. The hue washes out even the neon glow from beyond the patio doors.
"What are you waiting for?" The words are biting, thick with anger, but his armor has long since faded back to silver. The only red left on him is his own blood.
"End this, now! Why do you continue to insist on toying with me, Machine!?"
V1 ignores his goading. They look down at the wounds that have fed their systems, at the cold, hard fact that their only hope of living beyond Hell's impending demise lies with him, and they come to an easy decision.
They move their revolver away, storing it in their wing. Gone for now, but would snap back into existence the second it was needed. Clearly this is not what Gabriel wanted to happen.
"What-" Gabriel's voice is but a whisper, rising into angered disbelief. "Again?! Mercy?! It's far too late for that, Machine! Hell. Is. Ending. Your kind have purged every soul, every-"
As he shouts, they dismiss their internal search and its meager results. Instead, a clipped memory plays across their HUD from the last time they had him pinned under them like this; upon ice instead of dusty, crimson-stained carpet. Gabriel had been drenched in his own blood, equal parts manic and grim, accepting of his fate as a source of satisfaction for their endless hunger.
Everything they'd discovered about him throughout their journey had unfurled across their visual feed in a slideshow of images and information during his little monologue. It had, at first, been from crunching numbers: Gabriel had survived every grievous wound they'd given him across three vicious battles, healing from them and coming back even more worthy of an opponent than before, all within a twenty-four hour period. He had survived when they fed from his injuries, just like he does now.
Their realization of a potential escape window, where once had been a growing acceptance of an inevitable demise, had flared into sharp relief.
Their bloodlust drove them to survive every battle they had ever faced, but that feeling when they had finished refueling... it had spurred them to try something other than violence, one last time. Even now, they feel it: a Soldier of God and a Child of Man, pieces on a chessboard moving against one another at the whims of their omniscient players. It hadn't been hard to match the feeling to a word.
Kinship: noun, a sharing of characteristics or origins. Synonyms: affinity, connection, relationship.
V1 reaches for him, once more, and his words cut off with an audible clack of teeth. They see Gabriel flinch as they draw closer, a low grunt rumbling in his throat. But they don't stop until, at last, their touch finds him again.
Gabriel freezes, lungs stilling halfway through a startled gasp. They move so slowly, yet confidently, cupping his helmet once again with their free hand, and gently sliding it down.
Silence, once again. The only sound is the faint hum of their internal fans, and the thrumming of the angel's heart that pushes crimson fuel through his body. V1 watches, waits.
Their patience is rewarded; they get to see the moment Gabriel breaks.
His reaction is one of wounded desperation. He leans into their touch with a shuddering gasp, subtle tremors wracking his frame. They hear a faint whimper somewhere beneath his exhale. Slowly, by inches, Gabriel's frame sinks into the plush carpet. His halo and wings gradually fade out of existence, leaving only the light of the city outside.
Once they're sure he's calmed down, V1 slowly releases one of Gabriel's wrists, the one encircled by their Knuckleblaster. When he does not immediately struggle, they trail their talon down his armor curiously. Along his vambrace, his pauldron, and then lingering upon his breastplate with the Feedbacker. They've never gotten such a clear look at him.
Their gaze falls further down, leaning back for a better view of the two exposed curves of gold trailing up and under his armor, somehow untouched despite the staunching wounds that litter him still. They wonder if more such markings exist. Were the pieces even removable, or merely an extension of Gabriel himself?
Without much preamble, V1's claws find their way to where the light of its optic currently rests. As they carefully trace the marking, they note the way the muscles flutter under the contact, followed by an uptick in his breathing rate. They glance back to his helm, still held by their free hand. His head is lifted just a bit, enough to look at them.
Gabriel swallows, a sound they almost miss, but their optics track the motion of his exposed throat.
In the darkness of the apartment, the light of their eye dims. The colors of the neon pouring over Gabriel's armor and their own plating dye them both a deep blue and a delicate violet. A long dormant subroutine begins the process of redirecting power elsewhere. Cooling fans kick on, and the sensors in their thigh plating hum pleasantly where their legs are still wrapped around his middle, sticky with unabsorbed blood.
This feeling they are more than familiar with. V1 had learned about it long ago, when knowledge was more readily available, and when there were others readily willing to teach them even more. There hadn't been any time to scratch this particular itch, between hunting and scavenging and surviving.
One of their claws follows the curving mark peeking just above the line of his belt. They've seen it bleed before; they want to make it bleed. V1's talon gives it enough pressure to draw a very thin line of blood, the crimson blossoming like a flower against auric. The cut itself is only superficial, but Gabriel's reaction confirms what they've suspected since their second clash.
He likes pain.
The unraveling of the last lie the Council had told Gabriel had been his breaking point.
All those vile deeds done in the name of a god long dead threatened to crush him under their weight. Nothing else awaited him but a torturous shell of existence, like he teetered at the edge of a yawning abyss with no end in sight. Lightless, purposeless, threatening to swallow him whole.
Everything after that terrible realization had been a blur. He'd left his sanctuary, and frantically scoured Hell's layers for that damnable machine. It hadn't been a newfound passion for struggle that drove him. No, this was something else; something steeped in a nameless, looming fear.
When he had found the machine at last in the upper layer of Lust, it spilled over like a dam bursting. Bloodlust consumed him in a merciless torrent, demanding either his own gorey demise or the machine's. He cared not what the outcome be. To become food for the machine was a far better fate than to let the guilt continue to eat him alive.
In spite of his anger-fueled attacks, Gabriel found himself on his back, once more, with the machine atop of him. The infernal thing that had, in a matter of hours, undone centuries of dogma and left him starved of purpose. They had aided in Mankind's extinction, and now Hell teeters on the verge of collapse.
And then, as if to mock him in spite of all of that, it spared him. Again.
Why him?
Why him, and not the countless other humans who deserved it more? How could they offer him, out of all the creatures that once populated this world, mercy? After everything that they had destroyed, all the horrors he committed, all he had done to try to rend them to pieces... why this terrible mercy?
Now, he is stunned silent by their touch, once again. Some small, resigned part of Gabriel urges him to leave. V1 is not going to kill him; that much they had made clear. But then they move with that same slow, unearned tenderness from before, trailing their metal palm along his covered visage.
And then that bereft, hungry thing he'd sealed away an eon ago breaks free.
The unbreakable bars of its prison, a feat made possible over several lifetimes worth of discipline, are shredded like paper under the strength of its desperation. It pushes away his despair, flushing his system clean of everything but want; burning, aching want.
Gabriel presses himself almost frantically into the machine's touch, hungering for this semblance of affection. Any fight he has left flees him; his anguished thinking coming to a scrawling stop. For the first time in what seems like an eternity, his thoughts have quieted.
He simply lays there, soaking in whatever comfort he can from this as a different hand continues to move across his body. Each touch against where his skin is exposed leaves trails of addictive warmth in its wake. These hands that had nearly cut him to pieces are now so bafflingly gentle.
It lands on his abdomen, right above his belt, and the contact there has his mouth watering. He swallows it down without thinking, the sound loud over his own breathing, and watches as the light behind V1's optic goes duller--no, just less light; less searing yellow and more a muted gold.
Then there's a faint sting along his exposed stomach, as one claw from their red hand trails his skin, and Gabriel cannot help the way he reacts, arching into it with a shuddering inhale. The pain coils, becomes heat, and pools into his abdomen.
He'd felt the same thing, during their battle in Heresy, and again in Treachery. Like growing flames, fed by the sharp edges of physical agony. Gabriel had forgotten about it in the whirlwind of events that followed. He struggles to identify it; he can't place where such a feeling would come from when injured.
One of the machine's hands has moved to touch other parts of his armor, seemingly searching for something. They wander along the top of his cuirass, where it opens to his neck. Just a single brush of steel along his collarbone is enough to leave lingering heat, gently burning the flesh there. Gabriel faintly wonders if they're aware of what they're doing to him, but then he hears the distinct sound of a leather strap snapping.
"W--wait."
Miraculously, they stop, dimmed optic turning upwards to look at his visage. Cautiously, he lifts the arm they released. They don't try to pin it again. With a degree of freedom to his movements at last, Gabriel's hand slips down to where the remainder of the straps holding his armor in place hide, unlatching them swiftly from their hooks.
Distantly, he wonders what in the actual fuck has gotten into him, but a larger part of him is beyond caring. Not when the machine's wings seem to flit subtly with clear anticipation as they pull his chest piece off, throwing it somewhere well out of reach. He hears the sounds of unseen internal devices whirring, building up swiftly to a low, droning hum emitting from their body. It brings faint vibrations that Gabriel is well too aware of against his stomach.
Without a single bit of warning, the Machine's hands are upon him, tracing the gold patterns, the gilded scars beneath his pectorals. Gabriel bites back a whimper that threatens to bubble up his throat, but he can't stop his body from needily pushing up into the machine's touch. The warmth, the pressure, the relief just their hands bring him keeps his attention from tumbling back into his despair. He cannot believe he's craved this so desperately.
Finally, their winch arm releases him, and the first thing Gabriel finds himself doing is working on removing the rest of his armor. It's like his thoughts are still stuck on the moment of that first, soft touch. His movements are unmoored, unhindered by resolve that has long since crumbled. The machine leans off of him, settling between his legs, when he sits up just a bit to reach for the straps of his cuisses. The motions, even from this angle, come to him with the ease of long practice.
It's only when Gabriel is left in his belt and skirt does the situation begin to catch up with him. He becomes conscious of the machine's gaze upon him, roving all over him. The old instinct to get huffy at them briefly flares up, but is immediately tempered when their red arm places itself on his sternum. It pushes him down steadily until his spine and elbows are flat upon the floor. The pleasant pressure does funny things to his head, and drains any protest left in him.
Four different hands touch him in four different places, and Gabriel's senses can barely keep up. There's one wrapping around his bicep, another tracing the oval of gold upon his stomach, a palm squeezing the meat of his thigh, fingers cupping the shape of his pec. V1 touches with exploratory purpose, each firm knead of his muscle and light caress filling him with a lightness and warmth he'd been lacking most of his life. He struggles to keep anything louder than a whimper from escaping.
Until claws catch on the edge of one of his healing wounds, timed with a slow drag of fingers up the underside of his thigh.
The fire winding in his core suddenly spills over, timed with a heated throb that has an undignified yelp leaping from his throat. All his eyes widen in belated horror, realizing at last what this feeling is.
It's lust.
He'd condemned so many to this layer for this very sin he was committing now. The long-belated guilt starts to creep back up on him, like ragged nails scraping at the edges of his awareness. Minos' final, pleading words to him press down upon his eardrums and-
And then his skirt is gone.
It, and his belt, are both tossed somewhere into the violet accented darkness of the apartment, leaving him in just his loincloth. Gabriel hadn't even realized they'd figured out how to remove it. His skin prickles with heat as they stare down at him, optic fixed on where he's becoming unbearably wet.
Then it moves up, back to look at his visage directly. V1's head tilts to the side, and an unspoken question hangs in the air between them. Gabriel has a good guess as to what they silently ask. He should leave, flee back to the First Sphere and wait until this increasingly intoxicating feeling dies down.
But a larger, louder part of him wants, in any way they can give him. To part from the machine now would wound him more deeply than any punishment Heaven could have ever conceived of.
And so, Gabriel nods, just once, before he can try to talk himself out of it.
That seems to be all the permission V1 needs. Their claws tear the remaining fabric off of him with surprising precision, and then he's completely bare to their hungry gaze.
Gabriel instinctively attempts to close his legs, but he can't; V1 moves two of their hands and holds them apart. The sudden rush of embarrassment alone is almost too much for him to bear, head falling back onto the carpet and an arm slinging over his faceplate with a faint groan.
This, unfortunately, does not do anything about his ability to feel.
And feel he does, as the other two of their free hands start to glide down his inner thighs. This is too deliberate a movement; they know what it is they're doing. He can hardly believe he's allowing this, after a lifetime of dutiful celibacy. But what was one more sin, right along with the violence and treachery he's committed?
Gabriel lies still as their hands creep ever closer to where his arousal pulses, silent mortification throttling any desire to move. One twists up and arrives at his hip, the thumb rubbing firm circles into the bone. It's pleasant, distracting enough that he barely notices the machine's fingers reaching his folds.
A shudder passes through him as they slip downwards, gathering slick. He's so sensitive, even the lightest of their exploratory touches makes him tremble. The machine's fingers move confidently, two petting his folds in a gentle motion while their thumb glides up and presses down-
Oh.
When the first faint moan leaves him, it's like a dam breaking. Suddenly, all the tiny, breathy whimpers and soft grunts kept locked behind gritted teeth begin to slip free from his throat. That clever digit presses firm circles into his enlarged clit, every pass feeding the fire that's searing him alive.
His hands scramble to latch onto something, anything, to stay grounded, and not lose himself completely to this feeling. Gabriel's fingers dig into the bloody carpet, hearing the backing beneath it start to rip. A fog begins clouding his mind, but it is nothing like his bloodthirsty attack upon this machine had been. It's heady, warm like the cherry-glow of fire coals, and any more reservations he may have had about this start to melt away.
For a moment, they pause, and Gabriel feels words of protest on the back of his tongue. But then they're swallowed by a sudden, soft "oh fuck".
The first finger slips in without resistance, sliding back and forth, slowly, and deeper with each pass. A second joins it after a brief period of these minimal movements, and for a moment there's a pinching discomfort. But it's one that begins to fade when the machine's thumb begins massaging his clit once more.
The tightness and pressure as they stretch his walls gradually gives way to a need. A terrible, wanton need that washes all other thoughts away. Gabriel's hips buck up into the machine's hand as it works its way in deeper, the burning stretch eased with each rub. His head begins to thrash this way and that, breath growing laborious and chest heaving for air.
Where had they learned such an act, to do this with such straightforward confidence? He hears the subtle shift of metal plating, feels the two other hands lifting off his thighs. He opens his eyes (he hadn't even realized he'd closed them), to realize V1 is leaning over him, watching him as he slowly succumbs to this taboo act. Their optic shutter is halfway closed, but they pay rapt attention to him, fingers fluttering back and forth inside of him, slow as each languid thrust of their hand.
A third finger soon works its way in as well, causing the archangel's body to tense once more. His head lolls to the side, a groan erupting from him. Such an intense feeling, to have something inside him like this, caressing his inner walls, observing every reaction as if they were enjoying this as much as he was.
Without warning, their pace picks up. Gabriel's hand instinctively latches onto the nearest solid thing, which happens to be the machine's shoulder. They let themselves be pulled close as he clings to warm metal, heated air pouring from every gap in their armor. His unintentional forwardness is rewarded with a rough thrust, and Gabriel sees stars.
"Machine... " He barely recognizes the sound of his own voice, debauched and husky. "Machine, please--I... I... !"
He doesn't know what it is that he's begging for. Only that the fire in his center is coiling, winding tighter within him like a serpent ready to strike. Higher and higher, hotter and hotter. The cries escaping him with each plunge become stronger. Gabriel's fingers dig into the gaps of the machine's plating, scrambling to hold onto something; his legs fall open wider and his hips surge upwards, seeking more, more, more.
Just as he thinks he's going to die like this, be consumed inside out by these hungry flames and become but an ashen cast of himself, V1's fingers drive in far as they can go, thumb working rapidly against his clit.
Gabriel's body seizes with a ragged gasp, back arching into the metal frame above him. V1's red arm wraps around his waist, pulling him close; the heat from their plating burns his scabbed-over injuries, and their talons leave little pinpricks of delicious pain embedded in his flesh. His hips grind into their touch mindlessly, and then-
And then-
Rapture.
Ecstasy, blinding hot ecstasy, flooding out from his core. It spreads over every inch of him, and an unrestrained, filthy moan washes over the darkness of the room. Lost in the throes of pleasures, he writhes in V1's hold, riding out each heated pulse.
For a fleeting eternity, this is all that exists.
He comes down from it in a silent crash, collapsing back into the plush carpet. His own limbs feel too heavy for him to handle, slipping off of the machine's body and flopping down to the floor. Dazed, fatigued, and unable to do anything save release a faint mewl as V1's fingers pull out of him. As his heart rate finally slows, Gabriel drifts.
He feels so... light, content, everything else save this gentle warmth evaporates into nothing. His thoughts have slowed to a crawl, leaving his mind blissfully empty. Distantly, he registers a hand caressing his side, coaxing him into relaxing further.
Gabriel somehow feels renewed, like a patch of dry earth that's finally been blessed with rain.
Over the sound of his slowing pulse, Gabriel hears a click, followed by the whirring of mechanical parts far beyond his understanding. He thinks little of it, at first, as V1 leans back over him, hands taking either side of his midriff.
But then they pull him close enough for his thighs to drape around those of metal, their hips suddenly press down against his own, and blunt, curving pressure nestles into his folds.
Realization hits, cutting through the glow that encases him. Gabriel opens his eyes in time to catch sight of the machine pulling his right leg up and over their shoulder, wings tucking away behind them. His gaze swiftly drops down to center on where their hips meet.
Oh merciful Heavens, their creators gave them that?
Gabriel shudders with a sharp gasp, both parts scandalized and enraptured, when their hips roll forward. Smooth metal and soft silicone slides across his swollen slit. The sound is salacious over his labored pants and the thrumming of internal mechanisms, now higher in pitch. He can only lie there, helpless, as their dick grinds back and forth across his dripping cunt.
Even after that final surge of euphoria, Gabriel's body remains almost obscenely sensitive. Each movement drags along his engorged clit, and just the motions are enough to rekindle the searing hot coals within his gut, the edges of pleasure somehow sharper than before.
V1 pulls back, just a bit, and Gabriel instinctively tenses when the tip probes at his entrance, catching the rim of his pussy yet stopping just shy of penetrating. Their free arm, the blue one, touches his stomach, caresses it lightly. He breathes in, exhales, and gradually sinks back into the carpet.
Apparently satisfied with his submission, V1 proceeds. There's a sting for but a fleeting moment as their tip stretches him; it's thicker, more solid than their fingers had been. But then he feels his body open, and V1 slides inside him, sheathing themselves completely in one smooth thrust.
Gabriel's keen melds with a faint, metallic whine. His head is positively swimming with the myriad of stimuli: the heat from the machine's plating pressing into the curve of his ass, the sweet, sharp pain of their talons digging into his thigh once more, and the sheer feeling of fullness that bleeds into a delicious ache. He isn't given any time to adjust to their girth before they draw out, and then slide back in.
At first they go at a steady rhythm, optic now resting on Gabriel's helm, watching him as he squirms beneath them. Lowly moans pour from him each time they roll their hips forward. His hands scrabble for purchase, for grounding, anything to keep himself from drowning in the roiling waves of pleasure. They end up on the broken dresser he'd crashed into earlier, and Gabriel braces himself against it.
How had anyone ever considered this anything less than holy? This heavenly bliss that pulses over every inch of him, melting into every nerve and every cell; a union of bodies and passionate fervor. All he had ever known of this was it was a sin to indulge in the temptations of the flesh. Not that it felt like... this.
Their pace abruptly shifts from easy and languid to forceful and rough. The hands on his waist and hip squeeze his flesh until he's sure it's going to bruise. But it's such a faraway thought, one driven away by the flames searing his body. Gabriel can only lie there and let them take their pleasure, take him, mark him irreversibly.
Absolutely debauched moans pour from him, escalating into undignified shouts, calls for a God long dead. V1 leans over him once more, as if to better hear the sounds betraying his enjoyment of this. Through the constant jolts that arc through him with each iron thrust, their gazes meet once more. V1's eye is a gentle gold; a stark contrast against the blues and purples that bathe this doomed city.
"Machine," He whimpers; the reverent tone in his voice alone would've been grounds for death. And then, unbidden, "V1!"
Another low sound emits from somewhere within their chassis, not too unlike the one he had heard when they first joined. It's paired with the delightful sting of talons scratching at his side, irritating one of his wounds from earlier. Gabriel's body jerks in their grasp. He can feel the molten hot flames rising to engulf him once more, growing with every rough thrust.
It's too much. It's not enough.
"V1, V1 please... " They don't respond; they can't. But somehow, they know what it is he pleads for.
One hand releases his hip, slipping in between their writhing bodies. Their fingers quickly land back on his abused clit, rolling it in swift, tight circles. His body seizes, back arching off the floor with a debauched gasp.
"HEAVENS!" He cries, voice breaking as the burning euphoria crests again like a towering ocean wave. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
And with a choking sob, molten ecstasy surges over him once more, twice as potent. Every nerve ignites with glorious heat. His vision flashes white, and his mind is briefly wiped of all other thought.
He comes back down to a change in the machine's pace. Their frenetic thrusts have become uneven, but somehow harder. Gabriel squirms and whimpers under the onslaught, overstimulated but too dazed to push them away.
They ram themselves into him, far as they can go, a stuttering, high-pitch whine emanating from their chest. As they feverishly rut inside him, something hot spills into his core. He'd be embarrassed by the sound that escapes him were his attention otherwise occupied with the feeling of it painting his insides.
V1's movements slow, crawling to a halt. A subtle tremor wracks him as they pull out, and something thick and wet drips from his abused cunt. Only distantly does he register the moment their strength gives out and both their bodies slump to the floor.
He's drifting again, floating on some faraway current that presses in and mutes every sense he has. V1 has settled against him; they're so light for something of such terrible strength. Gabriel lies somewhere between a dull ache, throbbing pleasantly across all his muscles, and this glow; this bright glow that brings a calm relief he hasn't felt in ages.
The faint clink of metal fingers against his helm prompts him to open his eyes once more. V1, nestled atop him like a big, content cat, watches him through a still dimmed optic. They've reached for him once again.
Their thumb idly strokes where his cheek would be, in a slow, tender motion. Gabriel relaxes into it with a deep sigh, still relishing the afterglow. And he hears the pace of the unseen mechanisms within them rise, and then fall, as if in answer.
They lay there for some time. Gabriel doesn't know for how long. He just lets himself breathe, listens to the whirring sound die down. His eyes fall to the patio windows, out into the gradient neon lights that drench their bodies still.
He's nearly recovered when V1 moves again, lifting themselves from atop him. Their hands wander once again, palms gliding over every inch of him they can reach at their own pace. Gabriel lets them, the touches are soothing; somehow his body still hasn't had its fill of these gentle caresses. One is idly rubbing his knee, another at his waist, a third thumbs at a scar across his shoulder, like they'd just discovered it.
He's comfortable enough to feel just a bit drowsy, but before he can let himself lean into the feeling, V1's hands pull him across the carpet until they're flush against one another again. With that endless strength of theirs, he's rolled onto his side, jostling him out of his stupor. The other leg ends up slung over their shoulder as they run the tip of their dick along the mess they left on his swollen cunt.
He can't manage much more than a faint groan when V1 pushes back in, eased by how slick he's become. The different angle, how full it makes him feel, already has him clenching around them with eager anticipation, and he feels warm metal plating tremble against him in answer.
Gabriel comes again in under a minute, and it rolls over him with such violence, that for one brief moment, the world goes blissfully dark.
