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 4: Agrarian Zones
V1 is pulled from sleep-mode when the sun hits their plating at seven hundred and nineteen hours, on the dot.
The first thing they see is the cracked, faded wall beneath the window when their optics boot up. They push themselves upright on the old bed they had dragged to the furthest corner of the bedroom in this derelict townhouse, shaking out their left wing, then the right. The stiffness from having them tucked against their back for a few hours lessens. Dust particles dance in the beam of light, kicked up by their movement.
Another quiet morning, one lacking in the occasional burst of distant gunfire, screeching metal, and the rare scream of a human. It's something they aren't quite used to yet. The sudden onset of peaceful silence isn't necessarily a bad thing, just unsettling sometimes after close to a decade of the opposite.
It's almost too good to be true, sometimes. They spent the first few wakeful evenings on the surface with their back to a wall, closely watching the only entry into whatever ruined building they had holed up in simply out of habit. Sometimes they still forgo taking a rest cycle for the night in favor of watchful vigilance.
But slowly, gradually, they are adapting. Against all the odds, they have reached a point of stability in their existence. Neither running low due to going a few days without a source of fresh fuel, nor a violent battle they barely escaped, finally allows them to focus on other things. Namely, exploring the city. No more constant fighting, no more hiding in the dark waiting for prey, no more uncertainty of when the next refuel will be.
The world is wide open to them.
Their list of self-given priorities flash across their HUD once they get to their feet, and they let it unfurl in no particular hurry. "Find the art gallery mentioned on that poster", that was definitely something they wanted to get to today. "Organize findings"... V1 moves that to the secondary objectives. "Explore subway tunnels", they're pushing that to tomorrow after they've refueled. "Finish that book", perhaps after the sun goes down.
"Refuel from Gabriel by 1600 hours." They check their fuel gauge. Still above halfway, enough to get them through several more hours if they're not doing too many crazy maneuvers while they're out today.
They linger on the first directive when they reach the secondary list. The holo-pads they've uncovered in their searches these past two weeks were barely functional at best or outright destroyed at worst. A great deal of damage had been done to the world in the chaos from the culling of Mankind. Nothing yet has come of that particular search, whenever they feel like taking the time to search for any sort of functioning gadget amongst the countless corpses that litter this city.
V1 still isn't sure what it is that will come with successfully establishing clearer communication with Gabriel. Mostly because they're starting to think that the archangel might be deliberately keeping them at arm's length. Every time they've tracked him down for fuel, they would always see his stance tense upon sight of them. His shoulders stiffen, his voice takes on a subtle edge to its tone, saying very little to them, and he only allows contact long enough for them to drink their fill.
It's difficult to pin down the reason as to why, especially considering what had happened between them in the hours prior to their armistice. Does he regret their passionate encounter? Is there some other unknown factor to his behavior? They want to ask, but can't. V1 has never been bothered by their lack of a voice before now.
But regardless of these unspoken questions they are itching for an answer to, Gabriel is offering them fuel freely with no strings attached. Their truce is holding steady; this is a far more optimal situation than the last time they walked the Earth's surface.
(Even if they're starting to miss their clashes.)
In the end, they push away these recurring thoughts, like always, and return their attention to present matters. Lists sorted in an order that suited them for today, V1 heads out of the bedroom and downstairs, leaping over the upper edge of the stairs to the ground floor with an easy jump. Most of the furniture in the communal space just adjacent to the kitchen is broken, but the once stainless steel countertop in the heart of the tiled area is still intact.
On its edge is the large polyester bag they've taken to carrying around as they explore. With the recent addition of a solar battery flashlight to their sixth wing, they don't always have enough space to bring things they find back with them at the end of the day. They sling the strap over their shoulder and turn to leave, bypassing the growing pile of paper books, nicknacks, and other objects that caught their eye.
The warmachine ducks through the footless frame and emerges from their newly claimed abode. The sky is, as usual, completely clear, if still hazy still from the fumes that still choke it. Light reflects from the intact windows, catching on the still rising sun and washing away the many flickering neon holograms that are still perpetually running.
V1 slides down the street, expertly maneuvering past broken hover cars, chunks of buildings that have fallen down, and other debris strewn about the plexiglass road. Several of the holo-signs that give the streets their names are dimmed or flickering, and some are offline completely. It isn't impossible to navigate, even if they do have to stop a couple of times, either to review the picture of the grainy holo-map they'd taken, or stare at the glitching lights until they can catch the full name of the street they've reached.
It takes longer than they thought it would, but eventually, they come to a steady stop by a building that stands out from the steel plated high rises surrounding it. It's made of white stone, worn but still polished, instead of metal, with intricate columns framing its front. They hop up the stone steps, taking them in thirds, and find the glass doors miraculously unbroken.
Well, until now.
Upon slipping through their self-made entrance, courtesy of a charged piercer shot, V1 finds that that gallery lobby is well-lit thanks to the overhead domed skylight. There's a gift shop off to one side, lit by more holos, and the path further into the gallery on the other, blocked off by dusty, velvet ropes.
In the middle, lit by the late morning-sun and surrounded by plush benches, is a dusty, but somehow still intact statue.
V1 gets closer, circles it, and records the image from a few different angles with rapid clicks of their lens. They've never seen anything like it. Not even the Cerberus of Hell could compare. After a moment of searching, they find a plaque near the base, wiping away the dirt and scanning the title. "Theseus and the Minotaur, by Antonio Canova, 1782", it reads.
They glance back up to take in the finer detail. A man sits atop another with the head of an animal, a spear in hand, clearly triumphant. The aforementioned human had put a great deal of care into the features, from the way the cloth drapes over the man's lap, to the peaceful expression upon the ox's visage.
And the way the human sits upon their quarry...
Unbidden, a video clip from long ago opens up and plays on their HUD, cutting off their view of the statue. It's of a lab technician astride them, head thrown back in utter rapture and sweat pouring down his dark skin as he rides their dick with sensual fervor. One hand is on his own cock, desperately massaging it, and the other balanced on their knee. They pause the clip, but keep their video playback program open, ruminating on that encounter.
It's a memory they haven't thought about in years now. There hadn't been a need, nor a period of time, that had allowed for such reflections or physical indulgences. Not while their survival was on the line. But now they had all the time they would ever need to think back on those halcyon days, before their first taste of fresh bloodfuel.
Most robots before the fall of man, specifically, the more humanoid ones, were generally built with pleasure organs similar to that of their makers. It was a standard practice, and V1 couldn't even begin to fathom their reasoning for it, nor how it ever became a thing to begin with.
But truthfully, they don't really care about that either. Sex feels good, and they like doing it.
They had been built with such capabilities: two different replica organs mirroring that of what their makers possessed. The knowledge was, initially, rudimentary. Just know-how implanted into their data banks sometime before full activation. When the wars they were supposed to win all stopped, and their successor was rapidly being thrown together, they were allowed a greater degree of freedom to roam the labs rather than being confined to their quarters, the maintenance bay, and the battle-simulation chambers.
There came a night when a late shift technician had left their work station holos unlocked one evening. V1, with a rapidly developing sense of curiosity, couldn't help but take a peak. The web browser was still open, with some articles about the political ongoings of the New Peace, various shopping sites for robotic parts and upgrades, an email inbox, and a link to a video site.
V1 had clicked that one last, going down the line of webpages, either pausing to read the contents or outright skipping it. They came upon the end, by that point considering heading to their quarters and switching to sleep mode, and gave the video a passing glance.
And then their attention snapped right back to it, at the naked human and machine locked together in an embrace in the window.
They rewound it to the start and clicked play, recording the entire video to their databases. They still have that first clip stored somewhere. It's an enjoyable memory, one of several they have in a designated folder in their central data banks. Watching it again and again, their hand upon their own cock, having suddenly unsheathed itself as arousal washed over them. The feeling was unfamiliar, but heady and enticing, addictive, even, until they unraveled in the technician's chair and left a mess they did not regret making in the slightest.
It's just one among many others: of their encounters with humans from their days in the labs, recordings of more videos they've watched, clips of their own hands pleasuring themselves, going from stroking their dick to exploring their folds further down. V2 had even approached them a few times.
Somewhere among them are those few hours spent with Gabriel in that dusty apartment in Lust. It clings to their thoughts more than they'd like to admit. They rewind the video clip and hit play without really thinking about it, wondering what the archangel might look like in place of the human. Atop them, sweat and blood rolling down his body, shamelessly wanton as he takes his pleasure desperately on their cock-
V1's attention snaps back to the present moment when their fans abruptly kick on; their wires are rapidly heating up in their chassis. They shake their helm firmly, scattering the images before their attention strays further, and close their recording playback program. Not the time for that...
With one last glance at the statue, they head around it and over to the gift shop. The sheer amount of knickknacks quickly pushes any salacious thoughts from their mind. Art prints, holo-pad cases, clothes, among other things. V1 quickly drops the bag on the floor to be filled later, and hurries to the closest shelf.
The light of midafternoon shining directly upon the shape in the corner of the office is what draws Gabriel's attention.
He's reached the end of a trail of scorch marks, ones that littered about this derelict building in an irregular pattern. It's a common sight; machine corpses were just as frequented upon as human ones. But there's something about this one in particular that unsettles him.
Most of the cadavers he finds are either of shriveled flesh, bare bone, or metal scrap; each and every one has been torn to bits or grievously wounded. This Streetcleaner, head slumped upon its knee, looks like it's simply sleeping, and has very little in the way of any injuries or damage. It had clearly run out of fuel rather than perished in a fight for it.
The machine had somehow sensed death coming for it, and made its way to a dark, quiet corner to accept it. Such an action had been given birth by a sense of mortality, of looming inevitability.
He hadn't really been much different in his own supposed death throes.
Unnerved by this thought, Gabriel abruptly turns away from the sight, striding back towards the main hall. The flickering lights from the holo-projectors, sitting on rows of rotting wooden desks, spring up from the projection devices below as he passes them. The sound of his boots upon the laminated flooring chases him, a deafening racket that breaks the perpetual quietude that haunts these ruins.
He takes a moment to gather himself once he's out and beneath the hallway skylight, letting in the stark golds of afternoon sunlight bolstered by perpetual neons. These morbid thoughts follow him like a storm brewing on the horizon. Gabriel had known that this would be a likely outcome of his own self-imposed isolation, but he had gone through with it, regardless.
It's been two weeks since the morning of Hell's collapse, and he's at a complete loss of what to do with himself. Aside from wandering these ruins, taking in the monuments to humanity's stubbornness and eventual ruin, Gabriel is left with only the purpose of acting as a living source of fuel for the only other occupant of this earth.
He doesn't regret his decision. But coming to terms with everything that had occurred to bring him to this point was a much, much more daunting task. His entire existence has been dedicated to a plan greater than himself, to the higher power that created him. And even after being stripped of that, he was denied, twice now, the one thing he had wanted beyond it.
What's worse, this perpetual sense of aimlessness isn't the only thing haunting him.
Every time that he spots the brilliant blue of V1's plating, sees them leaping across entire blocks when they catch sight of him, the memory of those final hours in Lust would slam into him all over again. That throbbing heat, molten hot arousal, would linger between his legs for almost hours after.
The Father had proclaimed the act a sin amongst his Angels. The Council reiterated it tenfold. But never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that it would be like that. Hands over every inch of him, a thumb at the hood of his aching clit; a heated joining of bodies taking him to heights of bliss unheard of. He can only bury those thoughts for so long before they sneak back up on him. They leave him wanting, wet, and with a hunger he knows now how to satiate, but doesn't know how to ask for.
And most of all, it leaves him frustrated.
V1 has flayed him open in every way possible. Physically, emotionally, carnally, and left Gabriel with far too many questions he will never know the answer for. They haven't shown any indication or any interest in a repeat experience since, and he doubts they will again.
Gabriel shakes these thoughts away with a discontented growl. They disappear behind the looming reality of his current situation. Righting himself from the wall he'd rested briefly against, he keeps walking. Open or broken doors line this hall, and flashes of glitching displays within all vye for his attention.
Human corpses lie strewn about the floor. There's three of them by the end of the hall, near a door into the stairwell out of this place. A fourth lays prone on the concrete staircase leading downwards. And one floor below it is another machine carcass, riddled with bullet holes. Yet another forgotten scuffle, one that allows him to see more clearly the distorted reflection humans cast upon the machines.
The death of The Father had left Heaven in chaos for years, like the death of Mankind had left the machines in a panic until their demise. He still remembers the period that the Spheres had been wracked by conflict, terror, only ending when subjugated by those zealots parading as The Father's post-mortem mouthpieces.
Something Gabriel had helped bring about.
He vents the sudden surge of self-loathing with a vicious kick to a solid metal door at the end of his descent. The sound clears his head for a moment as it crumples under his strength, and clatters deafeningly against the plexiglass beneath. It echoes into the faintly lit distance of this underground storage area for human vehicles. It's just as dusty and ruined as the offices above.
Sunlight streams through gaps between the ceiling and the floor, but for the most part, all he makes out is darkness just stretching onward, with the occasional vehicle silhouetted against the reflected light. A few corpses sit in the closest one, visible through the broken windows. Nothing of use here, either.
Gabriel doesn't bother exploring any further. He keeps walking, making for the stairs at the center back out onto the streets. His boots raise a racket against the sturdy glass beneath, and the empty space returns it tenfold. It almost feels mocking. Another hour of doing nothing, of finding nothing of use in this derelict wasteland.
He's so wrapped up in his brooding thoughts, he almost misses it.
There are sections where the acrylic is broken, shattered into sharp chunks by battle or by falling debris. Underneath there's just sand and rock. Gabriel nearly stumbles into such a hole as he nears the exit, his greaves catching on a loose piece, and all his frustrations surge at once. He swings around to kick the offending chunk-
And then he freezes, stares, stumbles again when his balance almost gives out, just catching himself in time.
Between the broken pieces, poking up from the sand, is living green. It's small, newly sprouted, reaching through the cracks in humanity's ruthless engineering for the sunlight that washes over it. The deep, healthy color holds his attention, natural and soothing compared to the faded concrete and artificial neons.
He crouches at the edge of the broken road, wary of getting much closer, of crushing this tiny new life, pushing up from all the surrounding devastation, with his very presence. Little leaves cling to the stems, unfurling in the presence of the sun. It's a fern, and as he finally reaches to carefully trail a finger over one of its fronds, something within him calms. It feels so real under his touch, cool and lively.
And he'd almost destroyed it under his burst of directionless anger.
Gabriel sighs, and stands up with a straightened back. His head is clearer, but malcontent still simmers just below the surface. He realizes with a jolt that he misses having something to fight. The thrill of swinging swords, the rattle of gunfire and flying coins, the joy he'd felt struggling against an equal-
An idea forms itself quickly from his ill-informed nostalgia, tempered by his restlessness and forged by his mounting stress. For a moment he wars with himself about going through with it, but ultimately, his frustrations get the better of him. He is sick of being idle.
But before he departs, Gabriel picks up the glass pieces still in the sand around it, and chucks them all into the surrounding darkness to give it the room it needs to grow.
By fourteen-hundred hours they've taken a snapshot of every conceivable angle of the artworks they liked, picked up a copy of the seven books that didn't immediately bore them, and ripped up twelve different shirts trying them on. Most didn't fit over their wings, and even when tucked away, any movement from the hardlight blades usually resulted in a tear. V1 still sticks a couple in their bag; the material is soft and they really like the painting depicted on it.
It's nearly full already. Not heavy, but cumbersome; they know right away it's going to make sliding further down the street a bit more difficult. So, they make the return trip more leisurely, taking in the way the blue sky reflects off of the unbroken windows higher up the structures, snapping a couple images when a wispy cloud, the first they've seen, breaks up the wash of azure.
V1 stops at an intersection, by one of the more erratically glitching street signs, flashing shapes and symbols and broken binary. They crouch, angle their optic so most of the sky is in view, and wait as it cycles through an unknown, decaying program.
The moment the full street name is visible, they snag the image before the word flips back to redacted font. V1 straightens back up and examines the picture. "Agon St.", electric green letters stark against the endless blue sky. They're in the middle of deliberating on a name for it when they notice something in the corner of the shot.
There's a distant shape hanging in the air, by the top of a high rise just peeking up from the bottom of their view--Oh!
Swiftly, they dismiss the image from their HUD and look back up. Dropping the bag onto the street, they slide over to where Gabriel is landing near one of the smaller buildings. There's barely a sound as his greaves touch down on the dusty acrylic.
"Machine," he greets when they come to a smooth stop, tone neutral and betraying nothing. Like he hadn't sought them out for reasons yet unknown to them. "Good to see you are well."
V1 nods, but then let their hands come to their hips and their optic tilt to the side. Really, at this point, it's a shot in the dark whether or not their unspoken question comes through their posture.
What do you want?, they ask through their body.
"I have a request." He answers, surprising them just a little. Maybe they were both getting better at this. "You are one of the greatest opponents I've ever faced. I've battled demons, Prime Souls, even fellow Angels, long ago. And yet... all of them pale compared to the thrill I feel during our clashes."
Yes, they've gleaned that. What was he getting at?
"I want to duel with you again," Gabriel says, then quickly adds, "just a spar; not to kill or maim. I wish to test my strength against yours, once more."
They stare up at him, almost disbelievingly. He wants to fight them, just for fun. Something in them ignites, something that feeds into the desire to see him bleed; to see bloodfuel ooze from his torn flesh and in little rivulets from the holes in his helm.
With a thought, their wings snap back out into a full display for instant weapon access. They nod again, quickly, and watch as Gabriel's posture goes from rigid to fluid, clearly having understood their mutual agreement.
"Very well, then." They can hear the eager anticipation in his tone. Good. Perhaps he was feeling more himself finally; more in line with the behavior patterns they were most familiar with. This is a much more optimal state from which they can gather data on him.
"Oh," Gabriel starts suddenly, pulling Splendor from its sheath to draw its blade swiftly across his palm. "Before we begin... "
This little ritual is familiar, comforting even, to know they can get fuel so easily after struggling for so long to stay alive. But there's a tension now; an invisible charge in the air between them that's been absent the past several times they've done this. V1 can see it in the way Gabriel's fingers curl, just a little, against their chassis as his palm feeds them precious blood.
When they're completely refueled, the machine gives him a thumbs up. Gabriel does not seem to notice for the first two seconds, but then his hand snatches away like he'd been burned.
"Right." He takes several quick steps back. "After you."
Not to kill or maim... they pull out the revolver for starts, marksman form. Their shotgun should work fine too, and maybe the rocket launcher should they start to lose ground. They nod at him, and leap backwards to give themselves some starting distance as he draws his other sword.
They load out his battle data for the first time in two weeks, the blaze of their wings twitching in anticipation. Their surroundings are analyzed in a blink. Places where they can gain an advantage are briefly highlighted, patterns to throw coins calculated in a nanosecond. Gabriel is the picture of grace, much like he'd been before their battle in Treachery, taking slow, measured steps, this time upon sturdy glass instead of smooth ice. Even without seeing it, they know his gaze is fixed squarely upon them.
The archangel moves first, leaving afterimages in his wake. They dash around him, swivel around, and fire. The bullet glances off his pauldron, and they skate across the acrylic road as his sword swipes where they once stood.
A second shot finds its mark. Gabriel growls, ducks into a lunge when the third just misses his leg, forcing them into another backwards dash when the very tip of Splendor scraps along their chassis, marring the paint.
"What's the matter, Machine?" They hear his voice rising in pitch as they retreat backwards, a tone of his they have grown very familiar with. Their wings flutter in their pack excitedly. Good. He's getting cocky, clearly reveling in their dance. The trimming of his own wings are starting to turn that searing golden glow. "Getting rusty?"
Their optics narrow, they switch to the shotgun, pull the trigger, and the Feedbacker collides with the shells as it exits the barrels, meeting his sudden charge halfway. The explosion doesn't knock him back, but it stuns him long enough to allow them to regain ground, darting in close with the Knuckleblaster at the ready.
The arm collides with his breastplate, charged, at the same moment the flat of Justice's blade lands upon their bicep. It doesn't cut, but they still register the broad stroke of pain. The stinging flare that arcs up their limb to their sensory receptors just makes them more determined. They fire, cherishing the shocked sound Gabriel lets out as they separate. It's followed by a laugh, and his wings beating furiously to catch himself.
"Now this is what I've been waiting for!"
They flip a coin, dashing backwards continuously as his laughter chases them, swords swinging eagerly as he attempts to land another hit. And then they fire, watching it split. The left burrows into Gabriel's back, but he doesn't slow. Meanwhile, the latter shot hits something else, and by the sound of crumbling stone, they guess it was the side of a building.
"That's the best you got, Machine?!"
Dodge, parry, fire, coin flip, fire, a quickdraw that almost sends him colliding into the shell of a scorched car sitting on the side of the road. They pursue each other up and down the street, the chorus of chaos echoing across the empty city. The symphony of their battle rattles in their audials, almost as addictive as the feeling of bloodfuel upon their plating.
Gabriel suddenly vanishes in a burst of light, cutting through the sky. They have a split second to react when they detect the sound of his reappearance directly above them. Instead of trying to aim, they throw the Feedbacker hard in a merciless uppercut, and feel it as it slams into his stomach.
The attack prompts a wheeze from the archangel, but instead of backing off, his hand snatches their shoulder, lifting them off the ground and tossing them bodily towards the complex across the street. His cackle follows them. Their balance servos come to their rescue, righting them so their feet slam into the concrete wall, clinging for just a moment. Gabriel is seconds from being upon them.
"COME ON, V1, DON'T YOU WANT SOME BLOOD?"
The machine throws themselves down, leaps off the building wall, and their stored slam sends them flying up. They twist midair, switch to the rocket launcher, S.R.S form, and as Gabriel rapidly changes direction to follow them, they fire.
Stone collides with metal in a cacophonous blast of sound, right as V1 veers back to land gracefully on the rooftop. They hear Gabriel collide with the ground below.
V1 readies their Whiplash, intending to end this fight and taste his blood. A second passes, two, and instead of beating wings, the air rends apart behind them with a deafening shatter. They dash to the left, just missing a slash, and throw the spearhead. It snags his leg, and V1 pulls in, shotgun at the ready, pumping once, twice, as much as they can before imminent impact.
The sound of their collision echoes across the gullies that lie between the manmade structures. A good chunk of fuel drains to rapidly repair the damage they sustain. They watch the smooth stone crack beneath Gabriel's body as it smashes down, with them slamming right on top of him a moment later. The revolver jams firmly against his helm, and any further fight the archangel has in him abruptly bleeds out.
"I yield." He exhales in a breathless rush. V1's wings flare in triumph, satisfaction flowing through their wires. With that, they put away their revolver, drop to their knees, and lower the claws of the Knuckleblaster to his exposed midriff. Their optic fixes on the droplets of blood already adorning his skin from where shrapnel tore at his cuirass. Gabriel nods faintly. "You may."
V1 slices through Gabriel's flesh, listening to his pained grunt, and they eagerly burrow their fingers into the newly opened wound. Quickly, the flow of blood-blood-fuel is absorbed into their systems, interlaced with every choked groan and agonized whimper that escapes from him. Their fuel gauge gradually ticks up to full, but they linger for a moment longer with their hands in his wounds. They had missed this as well, the searing warmth of fresh ambrosia, of the archangel's lifeblood upon their hands and viscera pressing against their palms.
Gabriel, for his part, keeps still until they remove their invading digits. They watch him shift under them, and become aware of their knee digging into his inner thigh. The longer they look down at him, the heavier his breathing becomes. Unusual, given there's no further exertion. V1 pulls back to examine him, curious. He isn't that badly injured and their hands aren't digging into his wounds any longer--
Oh.
Is he... ?
Here, they stop. Watching, waiting for him to make a movement, or give a sign indicating what he really wanted. But after a moment of staring at one another, the archangel glances away in a hurry.
"Machine, I... " they hear him swallow, thickly. He shifts like he's going to get up."I really should be--"
Boldly, they press their knee up into his skirt, and an obscene wet noise is heard over his stuttering excuse. Both of them freeze in place. Gabriel, from clear mortification, and V1 when they confirm their suspicion.
He's soaking wet, slick seeping right through the fabric of his loincloth. How long has he been aroused for? Since the start of their fight? Earlier? They can't ask these things, but it's not really relevant to the moment. Gabriel still won't look at them.
They reach out, one hand turning his visage to face their optic. As they do so, V1 leans over him, Feedbacker making its way to where they remember the straps of his chestpiece are hidden. Their hand stops right at the open seam, and they ask their silent question with a head tilt.
After a few tense moments of silence, Gabriel drops both his swords, the divine metal clattering loudly to the cracked concrete below. His hands then scrabble for the latch of his belt. Deftly, their fingers begin unhooking the leather straps, peeling the armor piece from his skin in a hurry when it at last comes loose.
They get as far as devesting him of his pauldrons before V1 loses patience. Their hands go right for his pecs, at once squeezing the firm flesh, and pushing him flat to the ground. Gabriel had been attempting to remove a vambrace, but their Whiplash hikes his skirt up his hips and draws his attention right back to them. The Knuckleblaster, ever handy, makes short work of the slim barrier of fabric between them.
V1 presses their thigh against him and slowly drags the length of it up his dripping cunt. His gasp fills their audials, and the effect it has on them would be worrying in any other circumstance. Gabriel, in turn, shamelessly rolls his hips up along the metal. Moans interlace with each breath, growing deeper with each desperate cant of his hips.
... Alright, maybe they're pretty pent up, too.
Just the sight of him humping their leg, glistening folds leaving shimmering slick upon their plating, sends coiling heat spiraling deep into their pleasure centers. Cooling fans kick on as internal switches redirect power downward. The plating on their crotch slides away automatically, pressurized cock all but forcing itself out from its sheath and leaking precum onto his open thigh.
V1 moves quickly, hands grasping at Gabriel's waist and flipping him onto his front effortlessly. The confused sound he emits quickly morphs into a whimper when The Knuckleblaster reaches to push down between his shoulder blades, claws pressing just so into the exposed flesh. Their other two free arms slide down to his hips, quickly pulling him up on his knees. He moves so willingly with their silent demands.
Gabriel's body jolts when their dick rubs once, twice along his folds, relishing in the slick warmth. It's all the warning they give him before they begin to steadily ease inside him. Immediately, his walls squeeze them, molten hot and silky smooth, and the signals that shoot through their body makes their wings twitch erratically. His groan is like music to their delicate audio circuitry.
V1 realizes that they've missed this, too. When they're fully sheathed, they grasp his hips, grinding inside him slowly as they savor the pulsating heat. Their optic rolls up his debauched form: his ass in the air, hands scrabbling against the ground in eager anticipation, and his wings-
... that haven't yet dissipated from view.
Their attention snaps to them as they flap uselessly against the cracked concrete. Just below the golden trimming at the edges, a soft shade of pink begins to overtake their usual blue. It washes maybe an eighth of the way down before the colors seem to bleed, dampening its hue into a pleasant gradient.
V1 quickly captures several images of them, hips finally beginning to thrust. Gabriel's helm buries itself into his arm, but it does nothing to muffle the sounds that pour so freely from him. It occurs to them that they've never once touched those appendages, all throughout their past encounters, clashes and tentative contact alike.
But it's a thought for later, for Gabriel has begun to push back into them. His rhythm is irregular, yet still so eager. They squeeze his hips, and begin to guide him with slow but steady rolls. Right away everything begins to feel hotter, wetter, better. They are fixated on the way his wings beat aimlessly against the ground, body jerking in time with each soft cry that leaves him.
"Mmh--Machi--V1," Their movements stutter unexpectedly at the utterance, turning their gaze to where his helm is hidden in the crook of his elbow. They lean over his arching back to trail their claws along his spine, at once an acknowledgement and a promise. "More!"
The warmachine obliges, raking their talons down the length of Gabriel's arching back mercilessly, scouring the archangel's flesh as he yelps in pain. They begin to piston their hips at a punishing pace. The thin but deep scratches pool with blood, a guttural moan rumbles from his chest as his other hand scrabbles at the stone beneath him for purchase.
They switch hands, dragging their Feedbacker through the crimson and painting him with his own blood in aimless, looping patterns. His searingly hot walls flutter around them each time their touch passes over the long cuts. It only pulls them deeper into the throes of pleasure.
Flickers of static begin to overtake their optic as V1 pushes their hand onto his back, talons grabbing at his hip and doubling over his writhing form. They fuck him with little mercy, chasing their pleasure, driven by all the desperate wants that have plagued them these past two weeks. They rapidly hurtle to completion, towards a much-needed release. Their name cascades from Gabriel, over and over, and they can hear its faint echo through the empty city around them.
"V1, V1 please, please, I--I can't-" he's cut off with a sharp gasp as they drive themselves as far into him as they can go.
Fuck, just a little more. Say their name again; they're so close already-
"V1!"
Their orgasm catches them off guard with its intensity, cascading over them in a blinding rush of reward signals. Fuzzy white noise washes across their visual feed. They can feel their internal fans shuddering in their frames, and Gabriel's gasping moan plays in their head over and over, like a skipping vinyl record.
When they come down and their optics clear, Gabriel is shoving himself backwards onto their oversensitive cock. Sound rights itself in time to catch his needy whimpering, mixed with the scraping of metal against stone. V1 straightens back up, tightening their grip on his hip with one hand, talons digging into his flesh, while the other snakes down his pubic bone.
"Hhah!" His entire body spasms in their hold as they rut harshly inside of him, rolling his neglected clit beneath their fingers hard and fast. "Oh God, please, pleasepleaseplease--FUCK!"
His body throbs around them and their optics experience another stutter from the oversensitivity. They relish in the echo of his debauched curse tumbling into shameless moaning, his voice carrying far into the distance. Glowing wings beat against the ground, and for a moment, the pink at the edges gets deeper, more intense, flashing a brilliant magenta.
Then he crashes, going almost completely boneless in their hold. Slowly, they pull out, and ease him to the ground, the thumb of their right hand rubbing circles into his hip. Their Feedbacker peels off his skin, the plating sticky with dried blood, coating their palm and fingers. Their gaze flits back to where it had pinned him to the rooftop.
V1 marvels at the bright red shape of their own hand, printed upon his flesh alongside the two curving, auric lines snaking up his back. Streaks of drying blood accompany the gold markings, in bold swirls and strokes. Their lens snaps once, twice. The image goes right into a recently made subfolder they'll definitely spent a lot of nights making use of.
Immediately after, they let themselves slump atop his broad back. He grunts in subdued surprise as their body presses down onto his still healing wounds. But then he seemingly settles, sinking against the stone. His entire body thrums beneath them, rises and falls with panting breaths, coaxing them to relax and cherish their afterglow.
The shadow of a nearby high rise has drifted over them completely since their spar came to an end. But Gabriel's body radiates heat, a nice contrast to the sudden chill of the shade. Meanwhile, V1's gaze remains fixed on his left wing, watching how the colors are, gradually, fading back to blue.
Their curiosity eventually gets the better of them, and they reach to touch the nearest edge. Almost immediately their sensors detect something soft, fluffy, yet with edges like steel. At the same time, Gabriel's head shifts to the side. They don't miss the way his body tenses a little under theirs.
"Machine," Gabriel says, cautiously, the appendage twitching under their administrations. "What are you-"
They run their thumb curiously along the grain they feel, and immediately Gabriel sucks in a quiet breath, not one of pain, but of surprise. It's not just hard light, V1 realizes. A nanosecond later, they've pulled up their list of available optimizations, locating their visual settings and cranking the rendering up as high as it can go.
The world flares into sharp relief. They can see every pebble on this roof, and make out the rivulets of sweat and patches of dried blood lingering on Gabriel's skin. Fainter scars litter his shoulder blades.
But standing out the most to their upscaled attention, spanning the length of his entire wing, are the feathers. Transparent, yet glowing. V1 can see the outline of every one, from the long primaries brushing the ground to the lesser-coverts lining the top. Their hands are upon the medians just below.
And now that they're looking closely, they note that several of them are in disarray, either bent, snapped, or crusted with dried blood.
The wing suddenly flicks away from their touch. They're tempted to chase it, but Gabriel's shifting under them, pushing up with a grunt. V1 quickly rolls off of him and settles with their legs crossed beside him, watching his every movement.
He sits up, clearly attempting to shake off his post-orgasmic daze. His new position gives them a perfect view of his spread legs. More specifically, of the mess between them, glistening slick coating his inner thighs and their cum oozing from his fucked-out pussy in thick, lazily rivulets.
(Their lens silently clicks again.)
Naturally, when he notices, the archangel pulls his skirt back down in a hurry, legs crossing and blocking their view. V1 feels mild amusement at this; they'd seen him far more debauched than this. Gabriel shuffles awkwardly, his throat clearing.
"Machine, I enjoyed our spar. You fought well." He starts, and straightens a bit more. "If--if it's all the same to you, I would enjoy another. Some other day, of course."
They nod readily in agreement. Regular battles would be a welcome addition to their expeditions, a way to keep themselves sharp. And, well, they like battling Gabriel. He fights like (almost) nothing else they've faced before, with everything he had; their clashes are a dance of holy blades and burning shrapnel, pushing them to be faster, stronger. And bloodfuel tastes all the better after a struggle.
"And, as well as-" They hear him swallow, and he gestures vaguely between the two of them. "I wouldn't say no if you--should you maybe--"
V1 only tilts their head in response. Gabriel stares at them for a beat of silence, before they see the feathers on his wings suddenly fluff up, their tips taking on the faintest hint of honey-gold.
"You're really going to make me spell it out for you?" He growls, arms crossing with clear indignation. Their shoulders shake with silent laughter, optic shutter rising halfway from below and fixing him with a playful expression.
All at once, his irritation seems to melt away, thawing rapidly into curiosity. They see it in the way his shoulders lift, and his wings lower, primaries and medians flatten suddenly.
"V1, are you--are you laughing?"
Further amusement pulses through them. Of course they were. Then again, they don't recall any past interaction they've had with him where an opportunity to express their amusement arose. But he was quick to identify it.
Perhaps the archangel could learn with time, and with further interaction.
"Huh." He murmurs, in response to their answering nod, and seemingly to himself. Their audials just barely catch it. "Well, you--you really wouldn't mind, then?"
Oh, about the sex? They certainly wouldn't. But had he thought they weren't interested in more? Perhaps that was the root of his distant behavior these past two weeks. V1 straightens, fixes him with a steady look, and nods a final time, to leave no more room for doubt.
They'd definitely like the chance to fuck him again. Maybe more of that would allow them to learn more about Gabriel.
The silence of the moon's thin atmosphere is broken by the surge of crackling wood as another log is tossed onto the burning pile, the flames roaring as it consumes the fuel. Gabriel dusts off the bits of wood clinging to his gloves before taking a seat on the fallen column with a silent sigh.
He hasn't been back here since his death sentence passed over him like a storm that never broke. Now, the familiar shape of the surrounding trees, silhouetted by the gentle light of the distant cosmos, are a welcoming sight compared to the endless flickers of neon and the endless wash of dusty concrete.
Now, he stares into the bright flames as a burst of embers climb into the air, and stews in an irritation more directed at himself than anything else.
For the first time in two weeks Gabriel feels like he can think clearly. Unseen tensions have sloughed off his shoulders like snow melting away under the spring sun. The surge of adrenaline their battle had brought him flushed his system clean, reignited his passion for the thrill of a good fight, and then made way for the burning desire that seared him alive once again.
He feels like he should be angry that sex has had this sort of effect on him. But he can't. Not after all of his other frustrations have momentarily evaporated into nothing. He's no closer to solving his dilemma of what to do with himself, but it's not really on his mind at the moment. The unexpected onset of borderline tranquility allows him to turn over the events of the day in his head, at no particular pace.
Gabriel arrives back at the memory of their copulating, of coming apart beneath the machine again, losing himself to their union. The pleasure made all the more delicious when laced with the pain of claws drawing blood, and the rush of warmth in the minutes after. Their overheated plating against his back, warm like a sundrenched stone and absorbing any leftover tension...
True, some small part of him still feels like he should be ashamed: fallen to the temptations of the flesh so easily and willingly. But Heaven had been lost to him long before his celibacy had. Treachery, Heresy, Violence. What was one more; one that had been just another lie?
The pair of them had parted ways shortly after the end of their encounter, but it had still been a moment in time spent in one another's presence without slashing swords and flying shrapnel. After Gabriel had gotten up to collect his discarded armor, they were off again in a blur of hard light and blue plating.
The archangel had headed here as soon as he was sure they would not hear him teleport away, back to this quiet grove. One away from the growing complexes of his new life on the ruined Earth. He would remain for just the night; V1 has yet to come feed from him after dark.
Gabriel's head tilts back, away from the hypnotic flames, his gaze traveling up to the distant planet. Darkness swathes the continents, much like it once had before mankind harnessed lightning. Some cities are still lit, even as entire grids shut down as the years passed. But they are few and far in between.
From the view of Earth, the moon would be close to half-full tonight. He's been watching it slowly wax these past two weeks. The lilac bushes at the edge of this vast forest would be drenched in the distant rays of the sun by now. They have adapted well to this perpetually mild climate, from back when he transplanted them as burgeoning shrubs from the Seventh Sphere. That had been thousands of years ago now-
The archangel stills, turns his eyes from the scorched planet above, to the forest floor below. Nestled at the roots of one of the olive trees is a fern, fronds long and healthy. It's one of many that dapple the Earth's only satellite, amongst countless shrubs that border the walkways of the temples to The Father and the flowers that sprawl across the meadows to the south of here.
Gabriel remembers the open gap between an acrylic road and the expanse of cold concrete, and the sunbeams that had streamed through it at the height of the day. How it cradled the only spot of green he's seen throughout his wanderings through humanity's ruins. How, in spite of all the destruction and pollution and the terrible scorching of all that was good and green, something still survived.
If done correctly, then maybe, just maybe, other things could grow in that barren soil. The soil of the moon had once been just as sterile, a lifetime ago now. But with attentive care, and the miracles of The Father's Light, the forests flourished.
The archangel rises to his feet, looking one last time at the distant, dead Earth, the first tentative sparks of determination settling in his chest. This may not work; perhaps the damage it suffered is too great, perhaps the chance at repair and regrowth for The Father's beloved mortal world has long passed by.
But now, he knows it wouldn't hurt to at least try.
