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 9: Jurassic Beach
"-so get involved now, clean up our seas, and help educate others as we work to restore our planet. This message has been brought to you by The Department of Marine Sciences."
The scratchy echo of a recorded voice cuts away again into distant music, smooth and airy and almost surreal. It's not the crashing drums and screeching guitar riffs they like filling their head with; there's winds and synths, wound together around a light percussion beat. In the mere two hours they've been here, it's already starting to grow on V1. Any other time, they'd drop everything to locate the source; music and movies are finds much rarer than books in this ruined world.
Perhaps later, after they've mapped out every nook and cranny of this subterranean outlet.
When the storage room door they've located tugs open easily, V1 knows immediately that there's nothing of value to be found within. They poke their head in and sweep their flashlight anyway, just to be sure. A quick scan reveals it to be entirely empty, even of any work-related technology.
With an irritated huff from their fans, the warmachine shuts the door, spins on their heel, and makes the very short trek across the dusty carpet back towards the exit.
Like many of its kind, this little electronics shop, tucked away in a corner of this vast shopping center, has been almost entirely ransacked. The shelves are all but empty, save for a few spare cords, a crushed box with what looks like a set of VR glasses depicted on its crumpled surface, and a broken record player. The flashy advertisements, meanwhile, continue to operate just fine. Typical.
When they step out from the store and turn to the left, they find Gabriel standing just outside the vitamin shop he ducked into not five minutes ago. His back faces them, arms resting on the railing of the balcony, and entirely preoccupied with the onslaught of colorful lights that hang and blink in the empty air.
The neon shapes halo him in their glow, glinting off his armor at every change, every flicker, drenching him in all manner of colors. V1 stops, adjusts their lens, and the click of their auxiliary shutter is barely audible over the music. They'd take another from a different angle, but Gabriel is already turning to face them.
"No luck either?" His shoulders droop just the slightest as they shake their head. "Well, I suppose there's more to see, anyway. Shall we?"
V1's wings betray their excitement, nodding in affirmation. It isn't the first time in recent months that he's joined them on an exploration of the ruined world they dwelled in. But with the winter months settling in, limiting Gabriel's gardening endeavors to simple care rather than active replenishment, he seemed keen on getting to know the city.
And, well, if he's dead set on aiding them in replacing that smashed photocube, who are they to deny him? Nevermind the added bonus of covering far more ground in the daylight hours together.
With this in mind, V1 strides right past him, vaults over the railing, and plummets downwards, breaking up entire projections of products, people, and human foodstuffs as they fall. The sound that follows, as they slam onto tiled linoleum, echoes hollowly through the cavernous shopping center.
The first thing that draws their attention are the marble sculptures in the long-dried fountain, backlit with purples and pinks dead center of the main floor. They follow the surrounding line of burnt plastic palm trees to the nearest flickering screen, framed with glowing acrylic.
"Would you mind informing me the next time you plan on doing something like that?" Gabriel, his luminescent wings cutting through the light, sighs as he descends through the air. There's no bite to his tone, so V1 acknowledges him with an absent nod, hurrying over the map station.
With their current location on the ground floor identified in moments, it allows them to start getting a sense of what to prioritize next. They sense more than hear Gabriel hovering their shoulder, as they eye the index of stores throughout the various floors. The large cluster of shops to the south is the food court, the one to the east is a sprawling exercise gym, and the one to the south, a hardware department.
V1 points to the latter, and Gabriel's eyeless gaze turns away from the short historical summary of the mall, how it once had been part of an underground city hiding from the perpetual war above.
"There, then?" He hums, and silently follows after as they head in the correct direction.
While much bigger than most of the stores, it's significantly darker. Fewer advertisements dance through the space between shelving and ceiling, leaving the somehow-less-important overhead lighting to fall into disrepair.
The first thing their flashlight hits is a machine carcass, blood splattered all around it. A spare set of cooling fans, the frame cracked and useless, remains clutched in its claws.
"Another struggle." Gabriel comments with a hushed tone as they sweep their torch across the length of the front end. Several more machines lie dead, along with what looks to be a few unlucky human scavengers. "For the additional parts?"
The nod absently in agreement. Fresh fuel hadn't been the only commodity to grow in scarcity as the years passed. Functional components of all sorts quickly became a rarity in the endless fight for survival, right up there with the energy cells needed for weapon ammunition. While many machines adapted well enough to the onset of apocalyptic conditions, many others did not. Reminders of such make them all the more grateful for their self-repair abilities.
Regardless of the long-since settled chaos, there's bound to be something salvageable in this mess. V1 navigates their way around the corpses, and starts at the first aisle not toppled like a wayward domino atop the others. Gabriel's footsteps move in a different direction, towards the counter and whatever it is there that's snagged his interest.
Their scanning function saves them the trouble of having to dig through all the scrap; most are broken, decayed, and completely useless without precision repair tools. It is, once more, not an unexpected outcome, but the frustration they feel when it comes to this ruined world's technology nears its boiling point. Was nothing made to last? Perhaps Gabriel's occasional comments about humanity's materialism held water after all.
They follow the trail of ruined components and emptied shelves towards the back of the store, where two sets of industrial elevators take up most of the farthest wall. A direct link to the surface for patrons, perhaps, seeking to reach the lowest part of the massive shopping complex first rather than start from the topmost clothing outlet. Upended carts and containers of screws sit near its half-jimmed-opened doors. Their scans reveal a hidden panel for the custodial machines to use just to the right.
Gabriel, in the meantime, seems to have located something at the far end of the store. His wings shine bright, hints of gold at their edges, and guide them through the shadows to his side.
"-suppose humanity had no more use of these when the world began to burn." V1 catches him muttering, right as they register the shape of a shovel held in his hands. Instead of bright ivory trimmed with gold, the metal is steel gray with a simple plastic handle. "It will not last as long, but..."
He trails off when he registers their presence, ducking beneath his elbow to scan the untouched corner of the store. V1's keen visuals outline the shapes of hoes, trowels, rakes, shears, even additional watering cans and gloves sitting on the higher shelves. And as he said, of no use to machines nor humans back when the culling first began.
"Did you find anything?" He inquires, and lets out a sigh when they shake their head once more in answer.
They don't begrudge his attention as it turns back to his own salvage. At least one of them had gotten something out of this venture. Maybe they should give up on the search for the moment, and track down the source of the ever-present music. If nothing else, it would provide them with valuable sound-samples to play around with.
But then Gabriel's muttering continues, and it promptly derails their optimization-inclined thought process.
"Perhaps these could go in the shed by the temple." His free hand reaches next for a set of shears, voice echoing from a faraway place they've never been to before. "And if shrubbery can grow here, then so can trees-"
His outstretched hand is intercepted by their own, quickly turning it palm-up and tracing letters into his skin.
W-H-E-R-E-? They demand.
"What-" Gabriel stiffens, but only for a moment as he registers their query. "Oh. Oh! I never did offer an explanation for where I've been getting plants, did I?"
V1 shakes their head, tilting their head and adjusting their shutters. The resulting expression is one of intent, the closest approximation to an eyebrow raise they have. Gabriel is silent for only moments more under their scrutiny.
"It would be easier to show you." He says, but his tone brightens as he offers a compromise. "How about tomorrow? First thing in the morning?"
V1 nods eagerly in response, and Gabriel offers them only a soft huff of laughter. The shears disappear into the satchel they've given him, and he reaches next for one of the trowels.
(There's an antique shop on the seventh floor that houses a handful of books and a beautiful revolver from the beginning of the war; the music source is tracked to a dusty server in the security room on the top level. It's still a good day.)
He's nervous.
No one, aside from a native inhabitant or an ascended soul, has ever set foot upon the soil of Paradise. Mortal souls could not see it, nor reach out to touch it. Their devices only ever gave them glimpses of the barren planets and stars their cities orbited.
Gabriel shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the satchel full of tools threatening to slide off his broad shoulder entirely, and tries to swallow his fears down. Just as living humans had never made it past the orbit of their own world, no machine has ever been brought to Heaven proper by an angel before. He won't know for sure until he tries.
They at last appear from around the ruin at the edge of the street, right at the agreed upon time. Three bounding leaps land them a mere meter from where he stands, wings twitching loudly in their pack; a display of excitement, he's come to recognize. It makes the sting of anxiety all the more powerful.
"Good morning." He starts as they draw close, practically bouncing on their heels. "Are you ready to go?"
An eager nod, stepping close for him to easily get an arm around them. He wonders if they're remembering the first time they'd done this; pulling them from Hell's second Layer out of sheer desperation. Now, it's beginning to feel like he's taking them on a-
(He shakes that train of thought away with a mental slap.)
Gabriel pulls them closer, bringing them flush with his front. They get the message, and wrap their arms tightly around his waist. "Be sure to close your--eye."
It's all the warning he needs to give. V1's optic powers down entirely, shielding themselves from what is to come. How trusting they are; they don't even flinch as he moves his hand to the small of their back and holds them there.
He'll do anything to prove himself worthy of it.
Gabriel exhales silently into the chill air of the morning, and rends the air apart around them.
They are pulled through reality, hurtling across thousands of kilometers of the cold, empty void beyond Earth's atmosphere in seconds. The sound heralding their arrival cracks apart the quiet of Heaven's First Sphere as feet silently touch down into its loamy surface. V1's arms have his body in a vice grip, optic still sealed shut even as the racket of Light dies away into nothing once more. Gabriel's hand falls away from their back.
"You can look now." He murmurs, chest tight and breath caught in his throat-
Their shutters slide open into a squint, before going wide with wonder as they whirl away from him. V1 can see it; he knows not how, whether their optic allowed it, or all it took was simply crossing the veil. It does not matter, suddenly, as they hurry across the clearing of the courtyard to touch the trunk of a mighty oak. Wings flare wide when they look up beyond its branches, and a half-amused, half-relieved laugh escapes him.
"This is the First Sphere of Paradise." He begins, taking a few steps towards them. V1 then seems to register the temple of God just behind them, in all its stainless marble-white glory. "It is the very moon that you see in the night sky."
No sooner do these words leave his mouth do they zip right back up to him, wings twitching wildly. Their optic stares up at him with what could only be amazement. The last of Gabriel's nerves melt away, giving way to jittery warmth.
"This was once the resting place of humans who remained virtuous, even after abandoning their vows to The Father." He explains, gesturing for them to follow as he heads over to the wooden shed tucked away in the hall's long shadow. "But before that, it was simply the moon that orbited the barren Earth. I was only instructed to occasionally tend to the courtyards, at first."
"Then came the day The Father showed us the fruits of his experiment. A garden, with countless new plants and animals, and two mortal humans."
V1's attention seems divided between Gabriel as he speaks, and the temple that looms over them more with every step they take across the courtyard. It's likely going to be their first destination when they run off to explore on their own. The instinct to disallow that rises, but is brushed away just as quickly as it comes. It isn't like these marble halls would ever echo with hymns again.
"After Mankind had been banished from Eden, I was allowed inside to collect some of the flowers. The humans would never come back, and that garden was destined to be destroyed in the coming flood." Some part of him still longs for those idle days, before Hell's population exploded and warranted all its extra security. "Over the thousands of years Mankind walked the Earth, I continued to cultivate plants here, collecting seeds and cuttings of whatever I could find."
"The souls who once lived here have long gone; fled when Mankind's satellites first reached this place. The Council had not been happy about that." He huffs, reaching for the iron-wrought handle of the wooden door, and tugging it open easily. "Not that it mattered; for Mankind could not see beyond the veil of the living."
V1 ducks under arm and hurries inside before he can even step in, optic and wings illuminating the interior before he reaches over to flick the switch of a nearby sconce. A flame bursts from within, and casts everything in its warm glow: a smattering of empty pots, sacks of grass seeds, and the nearby barren workbench. Most of the tools that once occupied the hooks above it are gone, now on Earth where they are needed more.
"Regardless of all this, I became its sole caretaker, and in turn, it became my sanctuary."
Gabriel sets the satchel upon the wooden counter, the contents of which rattle loudly. First come out a set of trowels, followed by a hand-held hoe and the shears he picked up. V1 is at his side for just another moment more as he hangs them neatly on the wall, before he hears them head for the door.
A knowing smile blossoms across his visage; they can't see it, but it's presence leaks into his voice.
"I have something to attend to, but if you want to begin exploring on your-"
In a whirl of hardlight wings and blue steel, they're flying back out the door, skidding over grass and soil before the sound of metal grinding across brickwork follows.
"Watch your step while on the temple grounds, please!" Gabriel projects his voice, ensuring that V1 catches his words. The grating noises stop, and the echo of their footsteps ascending the temple stairs follows after.
Left to his own devices for the time being, Gabriel pockets a second set of shears, and ducks out of the shed. His wings swiftly take him towards the nearest lake, one directly south of the courtyard.
While not the largest body of water upon the moon, it's served as a reliable source of such since the start of his botany endeavors. He hopes there will come a day the plants on earth need not rely on it anymore. Here, a small grove of willow trees shelter its grassy shores. The trees themselves are natives of Earth, one of the first kinds he brought to the garden. They rarely grew from seed, but there remained better, not to mention faster, options.
Gabriel ducks beneath the dark canopy of one such tree. One hand grips the shears, and the other feels at the thick stems. There's a slew of newly sprouting ends, leafy and fragile, but his search does not end until his fingers locate a stiff, if not flexible, branch.
The tool comes up, open, and then closes at its junction. Gravity, little as there is, readies itself to pull it down to the forest floor. His hand is there to catch it, lifting the stem to examine it in the light of his halo and wings.
Every leaf is healthy, and the cut is clean. With a little luck, roots would grow; roots that could take to soil, and one day shelter the earth from the relentless sun. This one gets dropped right into his satchel. It will be alright while he finishes collecting cuttings.
As he reaches for the next, his idle thoughts are promptly scattered by a violent splash of water somewhere down the shore. It overpowers the gentle rustle of willow tree branches, and draws his attention with a near-snap of his neck.
For a split second, he sees V1 crouched knee deep in the lake. Their body is coiled like a serpent ready to strike, their wings splayed like a hawk about to take flight. And then they leap, carried by whatever momentum brought them here so abruptly.
A startled laugh escapes him as V1's form soars away into the starry sky, backlit by the Earth reflecting the morning light. He had forgotten to mention the lower levels of gravity, but they seem to have discovered that for themselves. They certainly look like they're having fun. The machine eventually disappears below the distant treeline, inevitably pulled back by the weight of the moon.
When they rise again, the cosmos framing their splayed wings, he could almost mistake them for a fellow Angel.
(How he wishes he could take them to see the rest of Paradise, in all its beauty and splendors.)
When their feet touch solid ground once more, V1's eye opens to the sight of the street right outside their front door, and their audials reactivate to the faint rustling of Gabriel's feathers. The early evening glow lines the overhead clouds, and casts a soft gold upon the city skyline; they've been gone almost the entire day. How had the time gone by so quickly?
"I hope you enjoyed yourself today." Gabriel says as he releases their arms, and the brisk winter chill suddenly becomes stark on their plating. "I'd be happy to take you again, whenever you like."
V1 answers him with an eager nod. Their short-term memory bank is overflowing with snapshots of floating lilies, towering trees, the distant, lonely Earth, and the countless stars Gabriel calls home. They have so many more questions, too; they'll have to double their efforts to find a functional device to communicate freely with.
Silence falls following Gabriel's offer, and they're struck with a memory clip of a holo-movie they once watched. A human protagonist leaving a romantic interest at the doorstep of their home, bidding them goodnight, leaning in to-
Before they can do anything to shake it off, let alone temper the rising urge to invite him in, the archangel steps back, gold tinted wings stretching outward.
"Goodnight V1," His boots leave the ground, radiance cutting through the wash of the evening sun. "I'll be seeing you."
And with a powerful pump of his wings, he's gone, soaring over the buildings in the direction of his home.
V1 is left standing there with a sense of disappointment plaguing their central processor. They don't know why; there's no reason for irrational emotions after such a satisfying day of exploration.
But Gabriel is often the reasoning behind many of the unexplainable impulses they've experienced lately. They can't figure out what might be the source of it. Even if they had invited him in, it's not like his entire bulk could even fit on their thin frame of a bed. Any attempts at copulation would likely cause structural collapse, and they'd need to locate a new place to sleep.
They don't know why they're so hung up on this feeling. That Gabriel was willing to take them to see just a glimpse of his home in the stars is a huge leap from a few months prior. They had succeeded in picking up the pieces of their shattered friendship and putting them back together. They should be satisfied. And yet...
(And yet V1 feels something like hunger, but it has little to do with their recent refuel. It's illogical, persistent, and entirely directed at Gabriel. They already have his blood whenever they need, his violence whenever they want, his body, his companionship.
What more could they want?)
The warmarchine eventually shakes these thoughts away; standing around caught in a feedback loop of rationalizations never helps with deductions. When they come back to themselves, the clouds are tinted with pinks and purples; a clear sign of the coming neon night. They realize they've been standing outside for far longer than necessary.
The machine spins on their heel in a hurry, and ducks into their drafty townhouse. It's just as cold in here, too, and navigating the growing piles of long-since organized knick-knacks is always trickier in the dark. V1 nearly trips over a broken record player, hisses silent vitriol through their fans as their knee hits the shattered tail light of a hovercar, and leaps up to the second floor.
It's no better up here, even when they turn on their solar-battery lantern. Its warm glow feels almost empty against the chill of winter, casting long shadows over their thin mattress and the scavenged tools scattered on their workdesk.
... Gabriel probably wouldn't mind if they started bunking with him more often. At least, until the cold season is over with. It would save them fuel by keeping their body near a reliable heat source, too.
The first real spring is heralded by warm weather, sprouting tulips, a much-needed change in wardrobe, and a find that, naturally, happens when Gabriel isn't actively searching for it.
His next project begins with unearthing several sets of sheets from another apartment in the complex he's begun calling home. Each one appealingly light in color and spotlessly clean. When cautiously measured, most seem to fit his bulk modestly. It would only be a temporary solution; mortal-woven cotton didn't hold a candle to that of the textiles spun in Paradise. But he's grown tired of wearing only his armored skirt while tending to the reviving gardens.
Unsurprisingly, most jewelry stores have been cleaned out entirely; it forces him into the living quarters of the dead inhabitants of the city. He would either need a brooch, or a sewing kit, and a living complex just south of the underground mall proves promising.
It's where he finds a cube similar to that of V1's, sitting dark and dusky in the corner of a crowded kitchen. He plucks it off the cluttered counter with caution, as though it were thin glass rather than plastic. The object is bigger than that first one, but does not light up when he finds the switch and flips it.
He refuses to let that discourage him. It goes right into that little satchel V1 had given him, along with several jeweled pins uncovered throughout the day. While a bit excessive for his tastes, they are wholly functional.
The motions of putting on a chiton come easily, pinned at his shoulder, and tied together around the waist with a faded gold curtain sash. The sheet is shorter than what's usually worn in Paradise. Perhaps he'll find a larger set later, but for the moment, the navy blue bedsheet covers his knees, enough to comfortably kneel in the damp soil.
He's sowing the morning glory seeds he found recently, carefully recovered from a heavily-burnt bag on a rooftop, when a flash of yellow catches his attention. Gabriel stands, brushing off his soil-stained knees, and struggles to stifle his anticipation.
By the time they've reached him, he's drawn Justice. Their hands are tugging at his chiton before he can even pull the blade across his palm.
"What, must I wear my armor all the time?" He teases. In truth, the cloth is quite comfortable; he hasn't gotten the chance to wear one in years. At least, not an excessively lavish one solely for the purpose of grand parties and bountiful dinners. But he does not mention this, and instead opts to refuel his friend. There are other matters to discuss.
"I have something for you." He says, and smiles when their wings splay out with an audible snap. There is no better way to completely capture their interest yet. V1 trails closely behind them as he ducks into the shadow of the garage.
The plants down here had escaped the worst of the frosts, but are just now starting to perk up, and the grass is slowly recovering its healthy green. His find sits by the water trough, dusted and intact. V1 bolts ahead of him and snatches it up, wings twitching almost uncontrollably.
"It won't turn on." He informs them. "I'm not sure if it's because it's out of power, or simply broken, but--"
V1's hand takes his own, squeezes with fervor, and then releases. His grin widens. He'll trust his intuition that they might know how to get it working.
"You're welcome." A thumbs up is all that follows. Just as they turn to leave, Gabriel continues before his courage can fail. "One more thing."
A pause, before they turn their head an almost perfect three-hundred-and-sixty degrees to glance back at him with a questioning look.
"Not now, and... definitely not anytime soon, but I'd like to--to read The Father's words again, one day."
V1 blinks, halfway through a doubtful look before a twitch of their helm chases it away. Instead, they simply nod. Tension he hadn't even been aware of drains from his shoulders. He knows isn't ready for that; not now. But one day, he might be.
(They're rapping at the patio door by the next sunrise. He barely even has time to dress before they let themselves in. V1 rounds the bedroom door, takes one look at him up and about, and throws themselves on his unmade bed. His protests die on his lips when they plug the cube into their chassis port with a resounding click, and lights flood from the top to cut through the cloudy gray of an early spring morning. Text taken directly from a book scrolls across the grainy projection in a steady slideshow.
"Good morning, Gabriel.")
All it takes is a missed shot, and suddenly they're on the defensive.
Gabriel never hits to kill, but the solid slash he delivers across their chassis drains their fuel below the half-way point. Their intent to retaliate with a core-eject is instead substituted with a charged piercer shot, aimed at his exposed midriff. But the moment they release the trigger is the moment Gabriel vanishes in a pillar of light, appearing right next to them with a triumphant shout.
They meet him with the Knuckleblaster, and V1 uses the backwards momentum to take a flying leap backwards across three rooftops, punching shotgun shells to cover their retreat. Gabriel only barrels after them with a cackle, even as the shrapnel shreds his cuirass during his relentless pursuit. Fuel splatters upon the concrete surface in his wake, useless to them.
"Get back here, Machine!" He laughs maniacally, prompting their optic to narrow. "What are you, scared!?"
As much as they want to make him regret that, V1 cannot afford to fall for his taunting this time. They need an advantage, and quickly; remaining airborne like this won't do them any favors. A single side glance is all they need to gain their current bearings, and calculate a course of action.
The spearhead of their Whiplash burrows into the eaves one building over and allows them to change direction in a hurry, just as Gabriel closes in for what would have been a decisive strike. Once connected with the next wall over, they slam down to street level in a hurry, and toss two coins high into the air. V1's systems easily track their trajectory, counting down the seconds they'll need to move and land a Feedbacker punch. In the meantime, they can take advantage of Gabriel barreling out of the sky, firing a cannonball directly at him.
He pulls out of his dive a second too late, and the resulting blow not only stuns him, it scatters more bloodfuel. They absorb the falling droplets greedily, gauge ticking back up to marginally safer levers, and ready themselves to follow up with another blow from the Knuckleblaster-
Only for Gabriel's swords to suddenly rise up, crossing over one another, and shield him from the worst of it. He's still blown backwards, but they only have time to slide over to the first coin and send it flying into the air before he's rushing back over.
"Predictable!" Gabriel jeers, and the warmachine barely skates around the slash that follows. They dart from coin to coin in between shots, processors working overtime to keep up their juggling amidst Gabriel's relentless barrage of attacks. V1 flips the final two projectiles off their thumb, aiming their railcannon at the first one finally coming down-
The shattering of air splits their audio receptors. And then divine steel is slamming into their side, throwing them entirely off balance and down the street. Each wild roll drains them further of fuel. Finally, they come to a screeching halt.
They barely have time to even try to orient themselves before the deafening crack of shattering acrylic freezes them in place. It's Justice and Splendor, caging their thin neck between either end of their eternally sharp blades. Somewhere beyond the low fuel warnings, Gabriel's bulk blots out the sun, shaming it with his overwhelming radiance. Blinding gold, searing blue, and a growing blush of pink.
Hunger screams at them from every one of their subroutines, only to be silenced as Gabriel leans over them, his wet and ragged breaths fanning over their plating. Blood drools from every hole in his helm, dripping down his gauntlets and through the tears in his cuirass. His shredded thighs press down firmly onto their own, and the sudden rush of fuel even in this moment of defeat only makes them dizzier.
Gabriel swallows, thickly, audibly, and it takes all their willpower not to buck their hips up into his own.
"I win." He growls, a grin clear on his unseeable visage.
Where V1 is almost unmatched in their speed when it comes to close combat, they tend to lag when it comes to long-distance travels. On more than one occasion, he's easily beaten them to a familiar destination simply because he can. It made them huffy the first time they realized Gabriel still had them unmatched in that regard. More recent attempts at arriving at the library before them have begun sparking impromptu races.
The usual tells are when V1 has suddenly vanished from his sight, no doubt trying out some new route they've discovered to try and gain ground quickly. The flash of their blue catches his attention, disappearing over the eaves of another tall office complex. Perhaps they planned on blowing themselves up again for the sake of momentum.
A laugh puffs out his nose, and he surges upward, afterimages trailing behind him. He closes the distance in seconds, soaring high over the building and ready to overtake them in the air-
Only for him to barrel right past their frozen form, crouched at the far end of the rooftop.
Gabriel's wings twist to halt his momentum mid-flight, spinning around to confirm that they hadn't actually moved. They haven't even acknowledged him as he swoops a little closer, following their gaze out towards the northeastern reaches of the city, mouth opening to call out to them-
And then he sees it: the unmistakable flash of sunlight upon water, nestled between the distant buildings.
Whatever he had planned on saying dies in his throat upon registration of the small, but smooth, blue surface mirroring the cloudless spring sky. Gabriel blinks once, twice to ensure it isn't some trick of the relentless midday light. But the sight remains, disturbed by winds that have yet to reach this part of the city.
In the corner of an eye, he distantly registers the searing gold of V1's optic turning to look up at him. Only to disappear from view as his body darts forward of its own accord, carrying him across entire blocks and spiraling past one of the many high-rises. How is it possible? Surely it hasn't rained that much over the past three years.
The answer becomes apparent as he lands right on its would-be shores, where jagged acrylic drops off into exposed rebar, stone, and churned earth.
It's more of a crater than anything else. Something had either blown outwards or collapsed in to expose the massive, but completely submerged subway platform beneath the middle of this intersection. Through the startlingly clear waters, he spots a mass of corpses on the landing by a stilled train, slaughtered during their daily commute. Several pipes stick out at the sloped edges, one of which gushes still with what must be the last of the rain from earlier this week, breaking the perpetual silence of the city. All that groundwater, slowly emptying into the subway after years of collapsing infrastructure clogged the countless tunnels that run beneath the ruins.
V1 catches up, at last, when the rattle of metal on plastic shakes the broken street beneath his bare feet. Rather than acknowledge this fascinating show of the Earth slowly, but surely, restoring itself in the absence of its original inhabitants, their footsteps march right up to his turned back. Hands slam against his cuirass in an attempt to shove, but he's ready for it, barely even budging from his perch. Gabriel does, however, turn around with a silent sigh, tucking his wings in to avoid nicking the machine with them.
"What?" He says to their annoyed look. They just roll their optic. It's times like these he's grateful for the necessity of his helm. If they could see his prideful smirk, surely they'd demand a fight to save face.
But that, and their library trip, will likely be taking a backseat today. For they slip right past him after an exaggerated eye roll, sliding down the slope to the shores of this burgeoning lake. Gabriel watches as they crouch at its edge, sticking their hand into the cool, unsettlingly clear pool. Just the sight of it felt unnaturally sterile, completely undisturbed by aquatic life, tangible and microscopic alike. Those streetcleaners had been destructively thorough in their purging.
But bodies of water large and small dotted the wilds of the First Sphere, full of hornwort that could oxygenate the water, that would, in turn, eventually be capable of housing microbes and algae. And why stop there? Water lily, arrowhead, cattails once the water stopped rising. Perhaps even someday--
His racing thoughts stop a second too late to register the light bounce in V1's knees. By the time Gabriel's recognized their intent, the warmachine's taken a flying leap into the crystal clear waters.
"V1, wait-" He calls a moment too late as the sound of their splash overcomes that of the steady trickling of water. The irrationality of it strikes him as they sink into the depths of the flooded subway platform. Air is not a thing they require; they're clever enough to find, or force, a way out if it came to it. They'll be fine.
Their distorted image moves about just below, along the top of the train, to the pile of corpses, even along the unoccupied tracks. But the glow of their optic does little to light the darkness beyond where the sun becomes shadow below the opening. He watches as they make their way back up, trudging up what little of the slope is currently underwater, and quickly surface as far as their thin neck.
V1's optic fixes on him; more specifically, on his glowing wings. Gabriel breathes out an audible huff through his nose.
"What am I, one of your flashlights?"
Their only response is to fix him with a cheeky look, but their twitching of their wings, disturbing the surface of the water below, betrays their excitement. He stares them down before, ultimately, resigning to indulging them in their endless curiosity. He highly doubts this little expedition would take up the entire day. He did not need air either if the situation called for it (breathing is more a reflex than a necessity), and it would save V1 fuel to simply teleport them out should they become trapped.
"Very well." Gabriel puts his thoughts of swaying reeds and heavy willow trees aside for now, and quickly disrobes, starting with the emerald green brooch with which he keeps his chiton together these days.
His robe and sash fall to the ground in a pool of fabric at his feet, leaving him clad only in his loincloth. V1's suddenly-intense gaze goes entirely ignored as he leaps from the edge of the street, pumping his wings once to clear their mostly-submerged form.
The cool waters embrace him as he dives beneath the surface of the growing pool, and something about it feels like a promise.
C-F-G? No, that isn't it. D-E-G? Nope. E-C-G? That first note sounds like it might be the correct one.
With a mental tap of a button, the playback program starts the memory clip over once again. A woman in a lab coat is tending to their arms, both removed entirely save for the veins stretching between their chassis and the detached limb, as they dangle from a maintenance hangar. The disconnect had not hurt at the time; Summer had always been one to ensure that.
As she works on their nonfunctional pieces with tiny tools and careful precision, music drones in the background. She's humming along almost absently to its tune. The song hadn't been to their tastes, and they'd mostly drowned it out while running the several required diagnostic tools.
Now, they listen closely to its six-note motif, repeated all throughout the song. As the main melody begins, V1 pauses the clip, and drags the progress bar back to the start.
Right before they can reopen their music application, an internal chime sounds off in their head, alerting them that the timer they had set is up. V1 minimizes the application, and turns their head about seventy-three degrees to the left. The air is thick with unseasonable warmth for early spring, and stiflingly silent.
Six seconds tick by in total silence.
In the micromoments before Gabriel's heralding light floods their optics, the air splits like lightning had struck the earth. Processing power is momentarily diverted to ensure a good recording.
As quickly as it had come, it disappears, the sound echoing into the distance before completely fading. An archangel is left floating in its wake, two large pots tucked under each arm. V1 slips the audio recording into their ever-growing project folder, to be sorted later into their sample folder. Meanwhile, both containers in Gabriel's hold go with all the others he's hauled from the moon, each one housing a leafy sapling.
"Two to go." He reports, stooping down to set with all the others he's brought from the moon. V1 just shoots him a thumbs-up, even as their wings betray their anticipation.
Gabriel vanishes in another echoing flash, and right after he does, V1 runs the start of the memory again. the technician starts to quietly hum along to the background melody, and they listen.
E is the first note; that drastically narrows down the combinations. The final note of the motif sounded like E, too. How they wish for a voice to hum along, hear it again for themselves instead of just going off a recorded memory.
V1 starts punching notes into the program once again. E-A-C? No. E-C-B? No, but now they know for sure A is the second.
E-A-G? No. E-A-B? Wait... E-A-B-E-A-E--that's it. They play it back thrice just to be sure, landing them a seventy-eight-percent match with the sound data from the memory.
Their wings flicker with excitement. The duration of the notes would have to be adjusted, nevermind the coming task of breaking down the rest of the melody, but it's given them vital reference for playing by ear.
And, while it absolutely isn't part of the original song, they wonder if they could slip in the audio clip of Gabriel's departure into the final product.
"How long has paradise existed?"
"For as long as I can remember." Gabriel says, this particular answer coming easier than the last few inquiries had. "The Father created my people from the stardust of the cosmos, and shaped us with His Will. It was His first Kingdom, the Primum Mobile, just beyond the fixed stars you see in the sky, and enclosed by the Empyrean at the very edges of The Universe."
V1's red hand disappears from Gabriel's immediate view, along with the holos of the projection cube, to no doubt compose their next question. The archangel shifts on the long double-couch he and V1 had pushed together by the window almost a year ago now, laden with cushions, and lets his attention drift back to the open book in his lap.
He remembers Minos telling him this tale, shortened for the sake of a brief meeting. There had been an offering of wine; Gabriel wishes he'd taken the then-Judge of Hell up on it at the time.
The book in question spins the tale of tragedy in a new light; it had often been a central focus in the stories told by the Hellenes, of flawed gods and their petty, human-like cruelty. Many a hero languished beneath the weight of their tasks, or the loss of a loved one. Once upon a time, Gabriel merely thought it a reflection of their society, heretical belief entirely absent of The Lord's love and mercy.
(How ironic.)
The cushions shift just behind him, and the holos appear again from around his shoulder. Its grainy light is starkly visible in the early evening glow outside, frozen on a single ink-printed word before flipping through the rest of the sentence.
"How old are you?"
"If you're looking for an exact numerical answer, I don't think I can give you an accurate answer." He replies, turning the page silently. "Time did not matter to us; at least, not until the Earth had been populated with mortal life."
"Best guess." Is what scrolls across the holos, like they'd been prepared for that possibility. Gabriel hums thoughtfully, and reaches for the very thin piece of flexible, colorful plastic he's been using as a bookmark sitting atop a tiny side table.
"Twenty thousand years?" Mankind had certainly existed for over at least ten thousand. "Perhaps less. As I said, time had never been anything more than a concept, in those days. The creation of mortal life changed that. It hadn't been until after He'd disappeared that Angels began... voicing their disdain for humans, and how they took up so much of The Father's attention."
A plaintitive whirr rumbles through their chassis and against his clothed back. Then they pull away, taking the holos with them. Gabriel is left to his own musings, suddenly not much in the mood to read anymore. He slips the improvised marker in between the pages and shuts the book carefully, running his hand over the fading cover.
Such tragedy, all because of a temporary creature more than determined to overcome its own intended faults. Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, Gabriel wonders what He had been trying to prove; Heaven's inhabitants and their love should have been more than enough, remaining unquestioningly loyal to Him even after His disappearance.
(Why so much fuss over a singular creature? What had even been the point?)
"What is paradise like?" is what snaps him out of his spiraling thoughts, as it appears just out of the corner of his eye. It's getting darker; the lights don't work here. He'll soon be relying on his and V1's wings to see.
Gabriel breathes through his nose, and searches for a place to begin.
"Well, you've seen the First Sphere; it's eternally verdant, a humble garden meant for reflection. The Second Sphere orbits Mercury; it is marred ever so slightly by sin, much like the first is, for the souls there do not embody the virtue of Justice. But it is a far more merciful resting place for a mortal soul than Limbo had ever been."
They listen intently as he waxes poetic about his home, recalling eternally verdant fields, glorious choirs, grand libraries and bountiful feasts. Galleries upon galleries of artworks by human souls given all the time they would need to create; endless books written by celestial and mortal authors alike. The vast, rich estates of the Sixth Sphere, his home in the Eighth Sphere, and the glorious cities of the Ninth Sphere.
How one day, the fiery Empyrean that had cradled the Primum Mobile went utterly dark, and the ever-present voice of God went silent.
Darkness gathers around them as the sun dips further behind the buildings, and Gabriel finds himself reluctant to speak of the chaos that followed. For, truthfully, he remembered little of it. What he did were merely snapshots of fear and violence. He senses V1 shifting, pulling away from his back, and leaving him distinctly cold. Before he can muster the will to grumble about it, their hands are back, gently grazing the top of his left wing. Two of them stroke his feathers, while the third and fourth dig their thumbs into the base of the gray-tinted appendage.
Gabriel tenses slightly, before melting into their touch with a muted whimper. Every firm press of metal and silicone into his shoulder unravels knots he had hardly even been aware of. At the edges of his peripherals, a feather floats to the floor, followed by a trickle of dirt, and several tiny, glittering shards of acrylic. Gabriel has to bite down the urge to moan. He can't recall the last time someone else had groomed his wings.
Some part of him will always long for his home in Paradise; to be far from the scarcity of this ruined planet, and the truth that cut him down to the core. But then he wouldn't be here with V1, with their silent support in this moment of weakness, and their hands smoothing down his secondaries.
"Thank you." He murmurs, when they finish with the first feathered appendage. Exhaustion finally begins to catch up with him. "Was there anything you wished to ask?"
A pause, and then fingers caress letters into the small of his back.
N-O, They answer. And then, H-O-M-E-?
"Not yet." He murmurs, leaning back just a bit more until the warm steel of their front presses to his spine. "A moment more of this, please?"
Their shoulders shake with light laughter, easy and detectable through mere touch. Their hands move over to his other wing.
S-U-R-E
(His hands linger on their plating when he eventually teleports them to the doorstep of their home, broken windows glowing with lantern light. Theirs squeeze his wrists before pulling away. Gabriel wants nothing more than to pull them into his arms and never let them go.)
V1 had all but forgotten about Gabriel's request; it's not brought up again until the autumnal winds sweep through the urban canyons for the fourth time.
"It's been on my mind more than I care to admit, but I kept finding excuses." He explains, examining a dried flower pinched between his fingers. It's carefully set in an adjacent pile sitting by his knee. "If I don't do this now, I doubt I ever will."
The warmachine's wings twitch thoughtfully as they watch him from their perch, just at the edge of the broken, worn-down acrylic that frames his dying gardens. Well, dying in a cyclical sense; whenever the flowers wilt, Gabriel is there to collect their seeds, to plant them again when spring returned. Just as many did not need care; the grass would eventually brown and die, but later revive itself with a bit of water and warmth.
They step across this stretch of slowly wilting groundcover now, planting a hand on his bare shoulder before their index finger moves across it.
E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G-?
"Everything. All of it." There's a surety to his tone, echoed in the way his hands steadily rise, shears poised to cut the next flower from the main plant. "I know there is more you wanted to show me."
Snip.
It doesn't take more than an hour to return to their townhouse and upload everything into the projector: the unsent emails, the Prime Soul battles, all relevant Terminal information, and, of course, The Father's Testaments. Strangely, despite the upgrade in storage, it still refuses to play the footage from prior to finding them. It's not relevant to the Testaments themselves, but they still find it odd.
(Especially since there are still some days, ones where Gabriel forgets to sleep or gets lost in his own head again, that they wish could subject him to their impromptu philosophy debate.)
V1 brings it to him before the sun goes down. His next query doesn't surprise them as much as the first.
"Give me two days." Is all he requests. They're a little reluctant about that part; the chances of him attacking over it again are abysmally negligible, but they're not keen on leaving him alone with his thoughts.
In the end, he gets his two days. V1 keeps themselves busy exploring the subway tunnels that have yet to flood, plucking anything useful that they can find from the corpses of commuters and machines alike. They bring home a satchel full of holopads in various states of disrepair, and start dissecting them for functional components with the near-complete set of precision tools Gabriel had found and given them last month.
Most are, surprise surprise, entirely useless from damage and time, but a few still had batteries that could retain a charge or possessed valuable fragments of data. Three-fourths of the way through the pile, they get a barely working homescreen projecting out of the one with the least amount of damage. Every available application is corrupted and crashes upon opening, but it's a start. All it needs now is a careful memory wipe, and fresh data from the library servers.
That gets logged onto their ever-growing list of priorities, and they spend the remainder of the night reading.
That next morning, en route, V1 tries not to let their persistent emotions rule their thoughts, especially when it's likely just needless worry. They trust Gabriel; they know he wouldn't do anything stupid; there isn't anything more upsetting in those files than the truth itself.
Rationally, they know that the worst case scenario is one where he's gone without sleep again. Their go-to remedy for that is a good spar, or a few hours rolling around in his bed. It's yet to fail in taking his mind off of things.
Irrationally, they burn several more milliliters of fuel than is optimal for a speed boost, all but rocketing off one of their designated grapple points. It cuts two seconds total from their usual time, but they're not dedicating any processing power to that at the moment. Because they're sliding down the adjacent street, bouncing off the overturned car, and--
There he is, sitting by one of the widening holes he dug out a couple years back, wings and halo colored their neutral blue. Gabriel is not moving, but it's not an immediate cause for alarm. As they draw closer, they watch his helm, tilted upwards to face the cloudless autumnal sky, turn to look at them.
"V1." His tone is subdued; not a good sign. V1 comes to a quick halt, looking him over discreetly and finding his spine and shoulders in that tense hold, like a soldier at attention. There's no indication of physical injury anywhere. In contrast, he holds the projection cube between loose hands, resting atop his lap. No visible damage here, either.
After a moment of silence, Gabriel lets out a long sigh, and gestures for them to sit. Worry persists, but it's more muted than it had been five minutes ago. They oblige his wordless request, tucking their wings against their back as they do so. Their shoulder brushes along his arm, and Gabriel's posture begins relaxing by inches, dispelling concern further.
He's definitely upset, that much the warmachine can tell, yet it isn't anywhere near the levels of despair that had all but consumed him before. That just their presence has a positive effect on his negative emotions is more than enough to reassure them that, eventually, he'll be alright. Maybe a bit more than before.
V1 waits, silent and still, for him to speak. The grass here is greener than that of the nearby meadow, loamy and soft beneath their feet. Most of the flora growing here have retained their verdant leaves, but it won't be long before the first frost kills off whatever remains. Come spring, they'll grow right back, spill over the edges of plastic like the iceplants and sedums do now, and the world will be a little greener than the last growing season.
"Thank you," Gabriel begins, finally, after several long minutes of silence, and drawing their attention. "For letting me use this."
He offers them the cube as he speaks, and continues only when they've plucked it from his grip and slipped it into their satchel.
"There was a lot more than I was expecting." He says slowly, at first. "And, I must admit, I'd forgotten some of the details."
Understandable. His initial reaction and subsequent breakdown likely aided in muddying his long-term memory of the affair. They hear Gabriel suck in a deep breath through his nose, and lean into them just the tiniest bit more, as if grounding himself.
"He was always very thorough, when it came to His Plan for Mankind. He knew precisely what was to come, and shared as much with those of us who were assigned to work with them." Gabriel's fingers pick viciously at a loose thread, fraying from the edge of his soil-splattered chiton. "I never asked why He chose me, a simple gardener, to act as His liaison to humanity. Why would I? I was good at it the moment I took on His new purpose for me."
A humorless laugh escapes him, and the cracks in his calm composure begin to show as he stares down at his empty lap, starting with his tone and spreading rapidly to his slowing hunching shoulders.
"Perhaps I was always too good at it, from the very start."
Ah. Gabriel seems to have come to a conclusion regarding why everything had fallen apart. It had happened to them on the shores of a serene lake, the distant roiling of an ocean in their audials and fish rolling around in the grass like deflated balloons. Of course, V1's initial reaction had been with far less existentialism; more that they harbored far more of a concern on how to put a stop to it for their own sake.
But knowing this now likely did make it hurt any less than the truth had.
"How many times has He done this, expecting a different result?" Gabriel asks in a whisper, to nobody in particular, for the only one who has that answer is now long-dead. "How many times has He made this Universe, and destroyed it when it wasn't perfect?"
"How many times have I... ?"
Gabriel does not finish, trailing off into a stifled silence. It's promptly broken by a faint rip as the thread comes free from the hem, tearing away quickly from his meticulous stitching.
V1 doesn't know where the impulse comes from; a glitch, a place of concern, desperation, maybe. Just that their hand takes his in a hurry, squeezing it tight. Gabriel sucks in a breath like he's been burnt, but he doesn't move to push them away.
A moment, two, and then he squeezes them back. As if he might lose them, too, to the indifferent cruelty of this pointless experiment. The very one that had prompted the necessity of their existence, and somehow brought them to the present day, alive and free from purpose.
It does weigh on their mind, sometimes, the possibility that an accident might occur as the decay of the city continues; that they might inevitably kill him during spar, or he'll kill them. But even if it came to pass, they at least would have had this. This very moment of Gabriel's fingers entwining with theirs, this comfortable loneliness spent with him on a forgotten world.
His hand all but engulfs theirs; has it always been this big? This... warm? Heated by bloodfuel given willingly, worn and scarred from blades and tools. It spreads up their Feedbacker through their wires like a rogue electric current, burrowing into their chassis-
"V1, might I bother you for a spar?" Gabriel's voice snaps them out of their feedback loop-induced trance. He sounds more like himself, at least. "I'd rather not think about this right now."
They answer him with a firm nod. His grip falls away, but not after a firm squeeze, as if grounding himself further before letting them go.
(The battle ends in a tie, and V1 spends the remainder of the day with the phantom touch of his hand, lingering in their own.)
The Father had put a great deal of thought, and careful precision, when it came to the crafting of life in a mortal world such as this one.
Everything played a part; the microbes, the plants, the creatures of the land, the very motions of sea and the elements in the air. Even non-living things, like the unseeable currents of the atmosphere that determined how the weather would behave, or the fires that burned away old growth, are things necessary to this vast equation. If nothing else, His design had been genius.
The fern Gabriel now waters is one such example, muddied liquid draining through the gaps in the faux wooden basket it sits in. As he waits for the excess to cease splattering onto the patio surface, he spins it gently by the hook. It eats, it drinks, it breathes. A plant is vastly different from a living creature, but the welfare of either still depends on one another, possession of sentience or not. It simply did its job, lived, and then eventually died.
Gabriel had known that Hell was alive. But he had always thought it alive in the same way this fern is.
A creature simply acting out its God-given purpose, adapting as needed whenever the world changed, whenever humanity changed, much like any of His creations would. As long as it carried out that purpose, punishing sinners for their transgressions, Gabriel had cared little for its methods.
That even the flaw of free will applied to it had come as little more than a small shock, in comparison to everything else. Sentient, aware, cruel even, more than just a cog in the grand scheme of the universe.
(Is that why He left? Had The Father been afraid?)
Gabriel shakes these thoughts away. It matters not; his wayward sibling is dead, along with their maker. The plant he holds has since ceased draining. The archangel turns on his heels, leaving such musings for another day, and steps back inside.
The fern is carefully hung on its designated hook, just to the right of the patio entrance, and out of the direct sun. It's one of many others that now decorate the apartment: little succulents sit in pots on a long console, pressed against the glass door they really never use, spiderplants cascade over the rim of the upper cabinets, and a healthy prayer plant now occupies the low table. Its leaves rustle in the cool breeze briefly flowing through the open door, falling still only when he shuts it tightly behind him.
To his left sits the machine, stretched out languidly on a massively cushy armchair recently acquired from another apartment. A chunky, cobbled-together device of technology sits, carefully balanced, on their abdomen. It's plugged into that little port they have hidden beneath their plating, the holos flickering in rapid succession.
There's an intense sort of focus to their expressionless optic as they move their left hand to match the shapes from the program.
"BLOOD." They spell slowly, and again just a bit more quickly than the first time. Then, right after, "FUEL."
"Are you hungry?" He inquires.
A pause as they glance up to him, and then, slowly, "NO."
"You're a fast learner." He compliments, taking a seat on the opposite couch. "But I suppose that goes without saying."
Their wings flicker against polyester before spreading outwards slightly, in a way he's come to know as a display of pride.
"THANK YOU." They enunciate. Heat floods his face unexpectedly.
"You're welcome." He mutters, still just a bit unused to their open gratitude. If V1 catches onto his mild embarrassment, they do not draw attention to it. Instead, they opt to continue practicing with their hands.
"GABRIEL," They spell with their blue hand, and with their green hand, "WHIPLASH."
"What's that mean?" He asks, and V1 stops in their tracks. They blink twice, as if realizing something.
They point empathetically to their green hand with their talons, blue hand spelling, once again, "WHIPLASH."
It takes longer than he's comfortable with to process their meaning.
"Wait," He says, confused. "You named your arm?"
"ARMS." They elaborate.
"All of them have a name?"
V1's optic narrows slightly, before spelling a retort with slow, deliberate movements.
"YOUR SWORDS HAVE NAMES."
"Oh. Yes, yes they do." They had him there.
V1 rolls their eye, and moves to sit upright against the back of their chair, waving their red hand at him and pointing at it with their Whiplash.
"KNUCKLEBLASTER." Their blue hand spells.
"It certainly does that." They've used it to slice him open just as often. That same leftmost blue hand comes up next.
"FEEDBACKER."
"I see... and how do you manage to parry almost everything with that?" He leans forward curiously. But there's only a pause as they examine it, and then they shrug dismissively. Gabriel bites back his mild disappointment, but does not press.
Finally, V1 spares a glance at their right hand, the one that usually handles their weapons. A cheeky expression blossoms across their optic.
"SEXHAVER."
"Machine!"
Really, they should have seen this coming. There are areas along their optimal travel routes that have been put under far more duress than the rest of the ruins on account of their acrobatics. Frequent bouncing on and off of them likely did not aid in prolonging the inevitable decay.
They are trailing behind the golds of Gabriel's armor, shining bright beneath the warm spring sun, when it happens. V1's feet connect with the thin plexiglass of a skywalk, and their legs fall into a swift crouch as they prepare for their next leap. But instead of the satisfying sound of plexiglass rattling beneath their jump, the telltale crack of shattering plastic fills the air around them. The world gives out beneath their legs, and Gabriel's delayed but startled shout follows them down.
V1 is in free fall for only a moment before their lower back hits the skywalk interior. They're halfway through throwing their Whiplash at one of the overhead support beams. Just as it latches on, the next layer of acrylic breaks apart beneath the added weight of debris plummeting after them.
Something, likely a chunk of plastic, jostles the wire loose, and that's when they realize they've somehow trapped the cable between the plating on Whiplash. Fortunately, the winchhead latches onto something else and stops them from taking an uncontrollable fall to the street below. Unfortunately, their inability to retract the wire causes their arm, and by extension, their whole body, to violently jolt when they hit the end of its current slack.
The world devolves into an out-of-control spin, until steady hands latch onto their body in a firm grip, and brings their spiraling momentum to a halt.
The entire affair lasts only seven seconds, but their delayed emotions hit them all at once as a result. Terror, followed by mortification, and then chased away by a surge of indignation at Mankind's infrastructure.
But then a sound hits their audials, and all of that is promptly discarded.
Gabriel is laughing.
Not those soft, fond chuckles whenever he's pleased to learn something about them, nor the manic, wild barks of elation whenever he's swooping in for a decisive blow to win him a spar. He is laughing, doubled over in the air, and clutching at his stomach with one hand while trying to keep them stable with the other. Loudly, unashamedly, and entirely at their own expense.
They've never seen him laugh like this before; the instinct to take offense is completely smothered beneath this revelation.
"Are you okay?" The archangel chortles. His voice snaps them fully out of their daze, and V1 gives him the dirtiest glare they can muster. "Sorry, sorry."
Gabriel makes an effort to stifle his amusement before his arms pluck them out of the air, dragging them upwards to where their winch is embedded uselessly in the underbelly of the sky bridge. They have to take a few minutes on the street level to detangle the thick cable from its trappings, subject entirely to the occasional, muffled snicker Gabriel releases.
(And that sound alone should not make them feel so light.)
They have only one spar upon the surface of the moon, starting in an empty field that had once overflowed with dahlias, long dug up and brought to Earth.
Two minutes in, an explosion of sound from their Knuckleblaster sends them flying in opposite directions. When Gabriel regains his senses, he registers an oak tree sapling snapped in half beneath his back. He rushes back to their point of collision, swords at the ready, and finds that V1 is nowhere to be found.
It's not until he's directed his hunt for them above the treeline that he spies the glow of their wings cutting through the night sky, tumbling through the empty orbit of the moon at a terrifying near-twenty-nine thousand kilometers an hour.
He gets the machine down in a hurry, pointedly not drawing attention to how they cling to him when he catches them, nor the subtle shivers wracking their metal frame. The last time Gabriel had felt them shaking like this had been during their narrow escape from Hell.
"A draw?" He asks breathlessly as they approach the lunar surface, and V1 nods only once. They're out of his arms the moment he touches down, wings shuddering in their pack and striding away in a hurry.
Gabriel moves to follow, thinks better of it, and instead leaves them to collect themselves. They'll come find him when they're ready to head back.
With their spar cut short today, the archangel retires to a massive chaise in a courtyard gazebo just north of his usual haunts. There's little else for him to do here, as spring is looking to arrive late this year. The ground is still too cold for seeds; what few sproutlings and saplings that are ready for transplant will have to wait just a bit longer before making the journey to Earth.
The divan is angel-sized, allowing him to stretch out his legs comfortably on the cushions as he peruses a book V1 lent him. Perhaps he'll move it to the apartment, and toss out the couch with faded bloodstains. Sunlight shines off the distant Earth above, filtering in through the clear glass roof, and the thin shadows of delicate filigree twist across the pristine marble floor. It's the perfect reading light.
‘"The sun set. Venus opened her eye on the horizon. From where we sat we could see the Jemez range and the valley floor fifty miles to the south, its buttes and mesas still lit by a distant sun."'
The familiar grind of metal on stone dispels the rich mental imagery. Gabriel glances up in time to see them sliding up the short stairs and rolling to their feet, still just a head shorter than him even while he's reclined. They look far more composed than they had an hour ago.
"Ready to go back?" He asks, mentally noting the page number for later. But to his surprise, V1 shakes their head. They then proceed to step right up to the edge of the chaise, leaning over his shoulder to better read the neat rows of somewhat-faded ink.
Clearly they've lost interest in low-gravity antics, and redirected it instead to the hardback he holds.
"I thought you already read this book." He idly comments.
"GOT BORED HALFWAY." V1 spells with a shrug.
"So silent environmental disasters aren't your cup of tea, then." Gabriel flips the page, skims the text, and promptly flushes. Neither is nondescript smut, it seems.
There's a light nudging at his arm, and he lifts it absently to allow the machine to slip beneath it as they climb onto the chaise and into his lap. They are, as always, deceptively light, but every point of contact between skin and steel brings with it comforting warmth.
V1 settles against his front, and they slot together like the pieces of a human puzzle game. Countless times over these years they've pressed themselves to him, out of lust, out of hunger, in the heat of combat and in the quietude of slumber.
But something seems to click into place as they fall still, content to simply be here with him in this moment of shared silence. The light of Earth, their shared home, bathes them both in its silvery glow, and the shadows tattoo their plating. They look like a work of art; they are a work of art. Humanity's killer, their savior in death, offering them mercies that Heaven disdainfully withheld. Bringing him to his knees like nothing ever could.
He's snapped out of his reverie when their neck swivels back, optic tilting upwards to look directly at his visage.
"Yes?" Gabriel inquires, hoping the growing flush across his face does not seep into his tone.
"READ." They spell. He answers them with a head tilt of his own.
"I was doing that, yes."
"READ ALOUD."
"What?" He blinks. "I thought you-"
"I LIKE YOUR VOICE."
If they can detect the way his heart leaps against his ribcage wildly, they draw no attention to it.
"Right, yes." He clears his throat, opens his mouth to start at the top of the next page, and his voice fails him as flowery descriptions of physical intimacy bombard him once again. V1's shoulders shake in silent laughter. His reactionary ire is entirely toothless. "Is your intent to fluster me at every possible moment?"
They hold up their hands apologetically. A nervous chuckle wants to burst from his lungs, so he covers it with a heaving sigh.
"Alright, where did you leave off?"
A pause, and then they gently pry the book from his hands, flipping quickly through the pages. Not far back, it seems; just to the start of chapter sixteen. V1 offers it to him the second they hit the right page, and settles again. He swallows silently, and starts.
"‘At the first sign of winter, the trees began to die." He reads. "‘Leaves and aborted fruits fell in thick, brittle handfuls like the hair of a cancer patient.'"
Gabriel's voice is all but swallowed by the thin atmosphere of the moon as he relays the words from the book. Books are only little glimpses of the world neither of them really belonged to, but everything made by human hands had been made to outlast them, to be found, and wondered about. It's something he thinks the both of them will always share a fascination with.
At some point, V1's shutters close, and all the little ticks and whirrs of their body in sleep reverberate against his chest and into his heart. He tries to keep reading, silently so, but they clutch at his arm, somehow tucked around their waist without his knowing.
Gabriel thinks of little shards of colorful glass on a windowsill, of a ratty old mattress in a bedroom corner. He thinks of dusty stacks of books and messy piles of knick-knacks and the artwork they like that he helped them hang in the upstairs hall. He thinks of their efforts to communicate, of paving the way to bickering and conversing and an honesty he's shared with so few.
He thinks of metal hands on him, in him, entwining their fingers with his own and stroking his helm-
And he thinks-
He thinks he loves them.
It's not the sun, chasing away the colors of the dawn, that rouses V1 from sleep mode this particular morning.
Subroutines begin to kick on in full, bringing their awareness out of their memory drive and back to their entire body. Overnight diagnostic results scroll across their blackened visuals and conclude with system-wide nominal readings. The awakening stimulus is belatedly registered as Gabriel's wandering hands.
One traces a plastic vein, and the other rubs circles into the wires of their hip joint. The gentle, consistent pressure sends a trickle of reward signals into their central processor, oversensitive as it is. A quick glance at their internal clock informs them it's a good hour before they usually get up.
The machine stirs anyway, shifting beneath thin sheets and against supple flesh.
"Good morning." Gabriel's voice is husky with sleep, but there's a detectable undertone of heat in his words. For certain a side-effect of the previous night, when they'd been joined together until neither could stand it any longer.
The recently-recorded memories of their rigorous copulations only serve to wake them further; spur them to push their chassis more firmly into his touch. It only grows friskier, descending down their abdomen once more. The idea of just lying in bed all day is a very tempting one: rolled on their side, trapped between the warm mass that is Gabriel's broad chest and his muscular arms.
V1 briefly pulls up their priority list, skims the latest entries, and then dismisses it entirely when nothing in particular captures their immediate interest. Not like the prospect of continuing where they left off does now.
Meanwhile, the archangel's digits trail further downwards. It continues on right over their upper crotch panel and to the lower one. He traces the outline of the thin seam there with a muted, questioning noise; V1 slides it open with only a thought.
A faint hum escapes through their fans as their clit is stroked with featherlight pressure, and Gabriel answers it with a rumbling moan. Somehow, he presses himself even closer, supple flesh a perfect line of heat against their wings and spine. V1 finally dares open their shutters, and is greeted with the brilliant golds of dawn, pouring through the partially drawn drapes of the patio doors.
Gabriel works over the silicone nub until it's stiff and sensitive and slick soaks their folds. For just a moment, he pulls away; they don't even have time to produce a sound of protest before his arm is sliding under their leg. The crook of his elbow hooks around the back of the knee, and lifts it just enough to allow his other hand full access to their cunt.
Internal fans kick on as one of his deliciously thick digits slips between their lips, sinking into their pussy with ease. Static scratches at the edges of their video feed, and the groan of their shuddering plating shatters the early morning silence. He opens them for the next finger with slow but steady thrusts, the heel of his palm languidly rolling against their aching clit. V1's hips begin to twitch in time with each movement, hungry for more as the remaining throes of sleep are fully discarded.
There's only a hint of a burn when the second digit slides in, and then a third shortly after. The sensation of fullness leaves them dizzy, hungry for more.
Outside, the glow of the morning grows brighter. Gabriel's helm nestles between their shoulder and neck with another moan, hunger apparent in every panting breath. Their arm comes up of its own accord to wrap around his neck, holding on for dear life as his digits finally picks up the pace.
Electric pleasure pulses through their still-sensitive nerves, derailing every errant train of thought. Over the obscenely wet sounds of Gabriel's hand plunging into their soaked cunt, again and again, their fans start to stutter in their frames. They're close already; heat coils in their chassis, rising quickly to borderline uncomfortable levels, background processes freeze and crash-
And two fingers pinch at the plastic vein snaking down their outer thigh, giving it a firm tug.
The resulting onslaught of reward signals blind them, ecstasy spiraling through their wires with electric fervor. They are spirited away to the farthest reaches of the stars from where he hails from, and then brought back to Earth in a dizzying rush of error messages.
V1 has to drag themselves back to their senses, aided by the lingering touches and the ghost of Gabriel's breath on their shoulder. His digits slide from their abused cunt, throbbing around nothing as their leg is set down. There's a low scape of holy steel rubbing absorbent metal in their static'd audials; his helm, almost nuzzling them as they finally begin to recover. A jolt that has little to do with the aftershocks overtakes their frame.
(It awakens that hunger within them, the one that has little to do with blood or sex or the sight of flesh rending beneath their claws. Only when they're pressed to his flesh like this do its demands for his closeness quiet. They're starting to believe nothing short of fusing with him, flesh, steel, wire and bone, would finally satisfy it.
Where did it come from? What is this feeling?)
When they can run coherent thoughts again, V1 rolls over in his loosened hold. His laurels shine warmly in the morning light, and reflect off the gilded cross emblem upon his face-plate.
"Did you sleep well?" He asks, as if he hadn't just fingerblasted them until they couldn't remember their designation acronym.
Y-E-S, they write into his skin, accenting their answer with a knee pressing to his closed thighs. Gabriel hums and shifts, allowing them access. Y-O-U-?
"Well enough." A hitch of breath follows as they press their thigh against his cunt, his hips twitching along their plating. "Didn't you--mmm--want to show me something today?"
They had, actually; a long memory clip of a movie they had watched. It had received a thorough clean-up. The film not only looked better on a holo-projector, they had successfully removed most of V2's excess commentary throughout it.
Gabriel's active interest weighs heavily against the prospect of a hard-earned lazy day. They're still somewhat sore from last night's excessive activities, and the archangel is likely in a similar state. V1 would need to pace themselves to get the most out of this.
A gasping moan promptly details their thoughts. Perhaps later, after they've finished fucking him into mattress.
"Wide open again!"
In the corner of his eye, Gabriel sees realization dawning across V1's optic just a second too late. As the azure blade of Justice narrowly misses the meat covering his ribcage, the archangel lunges forward. The side of his foot slams into the joint of V1's swiveled ankle, and sweeps it out from underneath them.
Giving them no quarter for recovery, Gabriel's knee follows them down, pinning them to the dusty ground. Splendor's golden tip presses at the vein snaking up their thin neck, and V1's optic shutters narrow in answer.
Moments later comes the sharp whine of their fans as they display their reluctant surrender.
"You have to watch your footwork." He reminds them, once more, as he rises from their fallen form. "With only a blade to protect you, simply leaping around swinging it will amount to nothing."
For how adept they have been at learning, reading, and communicating, they haven't taken to swordplay well, despite their insistence on learning how to fight without the rest of their arsenal. Gabriel finds himself equal parts frustrated with their blatant disregard for form, and just as determined to help them master it.
The archangel at last withdraws his sword from their supine form, and extends a hand out to them. To his relief, the machine does not swat it away this time; instead, they take his offered help, and he hauls them upright with an easy tug.
(Gabriel tries not to let his touch linger, but their digits still brush along his own as their grip releases and pulls away. It feels like an open flame caressing his knuckles, and his heart jumps into his throat in a botched escape attempt.)
"AGAIN." V1 spells firmly once they're on their feet, tightening their grip on Justice's hilt.
The archangel appraises them silently; there's a telltale tremble to their hands, a sign that they're starting to get hungry. But they're steady on their feet, and determination shines through their limited expression.
"Very well."
Gabriel rolls his weight to the balls of his feet, lifting Splendor once again. He hears a muted push of air from their fans, almost like an exhale. This time, the machine falls into a defensive position, locking their two spare arms tight behind their back.
Good.
Gabriel takes the initiative, charging across the dusty crater to take a swipe at them. They dodge easily with the use of their vents, but their return attack, and each subsequent one after, is swiftly blocked.
"Is this the best you've got, Machine?" Gabriel sneers, but they don't fall for his taunt. V1 ducks to the side as he lunges for the exposed vein on their thigh. Rather than following up, they dart backwards, stopping just out of range of his sword.
Sweat rolls down his body, staining his belt and skirt, irritating the thin cuts decorating his body. The clear winter skies above reflect the chill in the air. It feels good going down his throat and filling his lungs, grounding his focus as the machine's wings flick downwards.
V1 darts right at him, feints to the left, and then jabs for his side. Gabriel deflects it in time, but the force of their stab disrupts his balance momentarily. By the time he's out of range, they'd cut a thin but long gash across his pecs.
"You'll pay for that." He snarls, coming at them with relentless slashes and forcing the machine on the defensive.
V1's taken his advice to heart, footwork improving drastically from the last match, and successfully blocking most of his aggressive attacks. Those that land heal quickly, draining them further of fuel, and driving their growing hunger into the strength of their ripostes.
"Getting hungry?" Gabriel jeers, earning himself another glare as they dash backwards, narrowly avoiding an upwards swipe. "Well, come and get it."
V1 darts forward, Gabriel rears back, swiping at their exposed chassis-
Only for them to dive beneath his blade, tuck their shoulder in, and slam it into his side with ruthless determination. The dusty, partially sunken pit that had once been a corpse-ridden intersection surges up to meet him. A blur of gold and blue descends upon him, and Gabriel's reflexes kick in just in time. Right as Justice's tip lands upon his pulse, threatening to flay it open should he even twitch, Splendor's blade comes to rest upon the joint of their neck.
V1's wrist flexes, and the golden blade presses just a little further into the vulnerable flesh of his neck. Gabriel swallows, struck momentarily breathless by the sliver-thin point of his own sword digging into his jugular.
Despite their tie, V1's wings flare with pride like they'd won the match anyway. Even as a sound of reflexive exasperation at their showboating escapes his throat, a fond smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
(Gabriel finally understands that love weighs nothing. Every fight becomes a compromise, every drop of blood spilt a means to live. It's their touches, painful and pleasurable and comfortable; it's their company, their kindness, their bloodthirst and curiosity.)
"Again?" He pants.
"FUEL FIRST." Their Whiplash, peeking up over their shoulders, spells swiftly. "THEN YOU LOSE."
Gabriel grins at them, teeth bared mockingly beneath his helm.
"Oh, I'm just getting warmed up, Machine."
(And in spite of all this, he doesn't know how to tell them, let alone feel brave enough to even attempt it. The last time one had revealed something to the other, it had almost cost them their friendship before it could fully blossom.
No, better to swallow his words, simply be happy with what he has, and climb to his feet for their rematch.)
"I'm sorry."
V1's only response to that is to huff audibly through their overworked fans, sending hot air flowing onto Gabriel's sweat-soaked skin.
His wide hands grip their thighs just a bit more firmly, jostling them into place along his back. One heel digs a bit harder than necessary into his abdomen, and that petty part of them relishes in the hiss of pain he releases in answer.
When he's sure they're secure, Gabriel takes flight, ferrying them away from their sparring grounds. Evidence of their clashes over the years has left it half-destroyed. Entire streets smashed open, littered with the frames of blackened cars whenever a stray core-eject misses its teleporting target. The buildings are pockmarked with holes, and one unlucky office complex had finally collapsed into rubble just last year.
It's only natural that something like this might have eventually happened, for how often they battle. They know he hadn't meant to; the tactical error they had made mid-fight was the fault of their reflexes alone. He had been aiming for the vein on their leg.
It had cost them their foot, chopped cleanly off.
Gabriel had recognized the damage done before V1 had. By the time the pain had hit their processors in full, he was already easing them down onto the ruined street. Somewhere between that moment and a complete blackout of their senses, the archangel had already brought the appendage back with, looking back on it, trembling hands.
This isn't the first time they'd lost part of a limb outside of stress testing, but sometimes they forget it remains a possibility. As soon as the agony had died down to manageable levels, anger was the logical follow-up emotion. Their self-repair systems had swiftly reattached the joint of their foot to their leg, but hours of calibration are now required to make it usable again. And Gabriel seems keenly aware of this.
"Does it still hurt?" He asks over the steady beat of his wings, quietly keeping them airborne and in the direction of respite.
V1 pushes their fans in an imitation of a displeased sigh, puffing out over the taut muscle of his neck.
N-O, they write into the bare skin of his collarbone.
His shoulders relax, marginally so.
"Good." He sighs. "Just hang tight; I'll get us home."
Home. What a strange thing to call it; but what else would it be? In more recent days, they've woken to the weight of his arms around them, their own clinging to his back, or nestled atop his pillowy pecs. They're hardly ever at their townhouse now; only when they need to find something, or add to their ever-growing collection of human items.
Gabriel says nothing more, carrying them southward on steady wings. The warmachine tightens their grip around his neck, optic fixed firmly on the colorful cityscape rolling by. The fading late-summer evening glow ignites the system of clouds rolling in from the east, accompanied by a distant rumble of thunder.
It must be monsoon season again. How many years has it been since that day, when the rains first returned and this... friendship they've fostered almost fell apart? They know they can just check their internal calendar, but does it even matter now?
They feel more than hear Gabriel stifle a sigh; V1 already knows they're going to forgive him for it. Eventually, inevitably.
(But they're definitely kicking him out onto the living room chaise tonight; he can stew in his guilt for just a tiny little longer.)
The lake stops growing one day. A thin stream of water has begun to steadily overflow from its rocky shores. The head of the flow starts to find its way south. A spring shower, like the one that hangs high above his head, would only further its ambitions to find the sea.
With time, and a bit of help, it could one day be a river.
For now, Gabriel scatters cattail seeds in the mud, right alongside the tufts of shoreline grasses he transplanted a week ago. He looks out onto the waters, and sees the mass of waterwort and coontail beneath its surface. Rising among them are thin stalks of growing lily pads, and the single species of lotus that grew in the waters of the moon. Algae thrives in the lake bottom and on the chunks of asphalt and cement at its shores.
Ripples began to blossom upon the waters, distorting his view of the aquatic plants that hide the flooded tunnel below their feet. He brushes the last of the cottony seed from his palm, and lets it drift down into the mud below. They would grow on their own, and quickly. His hands briefly dip into the water to rinse the dried dirt from beneath his nails, before heading back up what's left of the sloped street.
There's an intact awning, part of a restaurant of some sort, directly opposite where the lake overflows. A number of things have been accrued here: a small chaise scavenged from the interior, several potted succulents on the remaining dining stools, two tables with some of V1's recent finds scattered atop, and a lawnchair that the machine in question lies upon.
Despite the sudden onset of precipitation, V1 makes no move to get up from their spot. In two hands, they hold a book, and in another, their talons delicately fidget with a reflective glass shard. They've been entirely engrossed in the task of reading through it the past two days, sometimes even stopping to write down notes.
"You look like you're enjoying that." Gabriel comments curiously, taking a seat in the adjacent chaise. V1 glances up from their paperback, wings twitching against the thick, bright orange polyester netting. "What's with the mirror?"
"PUZZLE." They spell, before turning their attention right back to the book. The shard is set against a box of text that, upon closer examination, seems to have been flipped, rendering it only decipherable through reflection. Many of the pages he's glimpsed have similarly strange layouts.
Other questions arise, and are silenced when they flip the page. He'll inquire further about it when they've finished it, and decide if it's something worth reading himself.
A comfortable silence follows; Gabriel reclines the best he can on the cushioned back of the divan, gazing out upon the churning waters. Ripples become tiny waves, lapping at the edges of the collapsed street, and wearing away at the stone little by little. There would one day come a river, and one day come a time when the lake and the plants could finally support more complex life. Insects and fish would be the logical next step, balancing one another's existence.
But to accomplish that, he would need to make several trips to the other Spheres, and Gabriel remains reluctant to do exactly this for a myriad of reasons.
Procuring some of God's simpler creatures from the ponds and lakes that decorate the estates of the Sixth Sphere would not be a difficult task, but doing it in discretion will be. There is no way of knowing how his people perceive him now, following the final severing of God's Will. He might be marked for death on sight for his Treachery, feared for the Violence committed against his own kind, hunted down for his acts of Heresy.
As far as his people know, Archangel Gabriel is dead. He would prefer it stays this way.
(But deep down in his worn-out heart, he is simply afraid; afraid of knowing the full weight of the consequences his actions had wrought for his home.)
Such somber thoughts are gradually pushed away. Whatever fate has befallen Paradise, there is very little to be done about it now. He instead favors a discrete glance to the right, half his eyes fixed on V1 through the veil of his helm.
He catches the object of his affections in the act of closing their book, slipping that mirror of theirs between the pages. It's set carefully upon a nearby stool, the matching pot having since been relocated to the ground upon arriving here this morning.
V1 sits up, stretching their wings and spine languidly, and fixes their optic out towards the lake. It tilts one way, and then the other, before they go eerily still, an intent sort of focus to their posture.
All except their three of their fingers. One after another, they tap in slow succession against their thigh. There's no sound except the white noise of rain, but they move with rhythm: six beats, a pause, and then they start again, over and over.
Almost as if there's music, somewhere, that he can't hear.
Maybe it's just a logical cumulation of their frequent interactions, necessity, recreational, and enjoyable alike. Maybe it is just a glitch in their system. And maybe it's been inevitable from the start; from the very moment they had battled in the heart of Gluttony, brought together in an unavoidable clash of opposing goals.
They're sparring; it's no different from every other time they've done this. Buildings and streets and faint neons whirl by as they follow the steps of this shared dance, weaving between slashing blades and firing bullets and nails and shrapnel in answer. The gruesome sounds of tearing steel and echoing gunshots could almost be music. Gabriel comes in close and they duck beneath his wing to deliver a cannonball at the back of his chestpiece, leaving a massive dent in it's surface.
So, really, it isn't any different at all.
Except for the baffling, nagging feeling in their chassis that refuses to be dismissed; except for how processing power keeps being diverted to background simulations rather than the fight at hand; except for the excess heat below their plating that just won't go down no matter how hard their internal fans blow.
It's likely because Gabriel's radiance ignites the sky, stained already with the late afternoon light, heavy with heat and laden with gold. Just like his wings as they twist to shoot him towards their position at breakneck speed, swords held at the ready. They move backwards just a second too late, unable to prevent his blade from slicing a gouge in their arm, draining their fuel for instantaneous repairs.
In a matter of microseconds, V1 becomes aware that they're losing. That isn't an uncommon occurrence either. In fact, it's something of a running guideline for future spars. Gabriel figures out a way to counter their latest endeavors, V1 loses, they challenge him until they can reliably overcome this newfound setback, and then they enjoy a new streak of triumphs once more. Then the cycle begins again.
But these long seasons of crunching calculations and adapting their battle data, time and time again, could have never factor in for this moment; trapped somewhere between Justice and Splendor and the empty air. It's an assurance and a thrill, a surety and an unknown; it's something between the bark of his laugh, the thrust of his sword, and his shadow against the sun as he meets their Knuckleblaster punch head-on.
‘What is this feeling?'
Worry and care, elation and irritation, fight and flight, thrumming through their pumps and taking up all their RAM space when they need it most. Their fingers twitch with the phantom feeling of his own in theirs, the sting of a long-healed wound from over five years ago now, and the weight of his arm around their waist just this morning.
...is this--
Concrete hits their back; they'd forgotten to account for their trajectory. The battle at hand comes rushing back to the front of their artificial consciousness. Reflexes kick in; they fire a parried shotgun blast but it does nothing to slow him down. Gabriel's swords bury into the wall flush against their wings, pinning the hard light projections with the flat of the blades and trapping them with his bulk. In a flash, his hands have their primary arm and Knuckleblaster in a vice grip, rendering them useless beneath his iron strength.
They've lost again; suddenly that does not matter to them at all.
"My win." He proclaims with a huff. The warmachine remembers themselves in a heartbeat, and covers their lapse in judgement with an irritated whirr, carefully exaggerated but not entirely toothless as they concede to his victory. If they lose the next spar, the archangel will have broken his last winning streak record; they'll never hear the end of it.
"Good fight." He praises, releasing them. Justice and Splendor pull from the concrete with a screech before the former vanishes into its sheath, and Gabriel offers them a hand. As V1 takes it without thinking, the tangled ball of emotions that cost them the spar comes rushing back.
This... word hadn't even crossed their mind until just a year ago. But since then, they've been compiling a new folder from which to draw: observing their own behavioral patterns and researching relevant human media. They plugged it all into a recent simulation, and the most likely explanation rocked them to their core.
Nevermind that almost every available definition could be applied when taken into context.
Their internal dictionary pops up with a stray thought, left open on that very page. V1 had never once given thought to the possibility. They had long-since become familiar with the emotion of affection, but they hadn't ever anticipated it to become this powerful. How had this happened without their noticing? How can they know for sure-
"Are you alright?" Gabriel's voice cuts through their roiling thoughts. In reality, it's barely been even three-point-seven seconds since they had been hauled to their feet. V1 only just remembers to nod in answer, minimizing the dictionary window with an audible huff.
The warmachine's feet take them to the edge of the rooftop, sitting with their legs thrown over the lip of concrete. Behind them, a faint hiss cuts through the warm winds rushing over their plating. Gabriel's bloody palm lands on their shoulder, and they press into it hungrily as he takes a seat beside them.
The sunlight is stark upon the still-functioning neons and the wash of pale concrete. A sure-sign of the oncoming late summer season. The rains will soon return, blessing the Earth one more, and nurturing the thin, but solid, layer of green that has begun sprouting all across the city.
Gabriel's periods of obsessive sowing and the steady years of precipitation have had an interesting impact on the environment at large. The air is cleaner, the storms come more frequently and the overall humidity in the air persists across seasons. Winter nights are warmer. V1 identifies a willow to the northeast, thriving by the lake that's long flooded the old town square and significantly broken down the surrounding concrete. Greenery sprouts from cracks and craters in the sidewalk below, persisting even here where their battles become their bloodiest.
Their presence, both through Gabriel's intervention and their occasional clashes, have obviously allowed for the process of restoration to hasten. Even if they hadn't escaped the Inferno's death throes, or had killed each other early on in their truce, the planet still likely would have healed on its own. But they are here, in spite of all that, idling the time away with blood and sex and pastimes.
V1 had finally chanced a glance at their internal calendar, and solidified what some part of them had suspected already.
It's been ten years since their emergence from the decaying mouth of Hell and into these silent ruins. Ten years since Gabriel's careful hands began coaxing life from the barren dirt beneath their feet. Ten years since the day he learned the truth.
Ten years since Gabriel's hand first touched their plating, dripping with warm bloodfuel, and every intention of helping them survive. Just like he does now; just like they know he will until all the Universe finally comes crashing down around them.
The window pops back up, and V1 stares at the definition with equal amounts of anxiety and fervent dizziness.
Love: noun, an intense feeling of deep affection. A feeling of deep romantic and sexual attachment to someone. Verb, feel deep affection for (someone).
Is this love? Are they conflating their endless hunger, and their attachment to a willing source, with such a devastatingly human emotion? How would they know for sure with such little first-hand experience? Is it something they're even capable of feeling?
(Then again, they had thought the same about care; that singular emotion that has persisted over all these years, even through anger. From the day of the truth, to the most recent one, where V1 spent an entire three days fuming at him in their townhouse. The aftermath of a fight feels less like a tightrope and more like the first shaky steps back towards equilibrium.)
"It's almost monsoon season again." Gabriel says quietly, snapping V1 out of their silent spiral. His hand is gone and their fuel gauge is full. It always will be; all they have to do is ask, now.
The warmachine glances at him, and gets momentarily distracted by the way his laurels glint in the slowly sinking sun at their backs. His visage then meets theirs, ever expressionless, but there's a strange, giddy sort of nervousness underlying his voice.
"I've been thinking: when the rains return, the gardens will not need much attention." He explains, and with a deep, steadying breath. "I'd like to take you somewhere."
V1 blinks. Their hand comes up in a hurry.
"WHERE?"
"Anywhere you'd like." He simply elaborates, and their wings twitch with barely-constrained excitement at the thought. It's a welcome distraction from their emotional quandary.
In nanoseconds, they've compiled a list of places they've seen, both from their days wandering the Earth for blood, and in flickering holo-advertisements. They'll have to narrow it down drastically, more than likely to the ones with recognizable landmarks and the names of places.
"GIVE ME TIME."
"However much you need."
He's happy; exceedingly so. The difference between the Gabriel of now and then Gabriel of then is so stark now, and just seeing it is infectious on its own. There's a laugh beneath his tone and gold at the edges of his feathers. They buffer at the sight, and something clicks into place.
Something like anxiety and giddiness hitting them all at once, but it's so warm, and bright and-
Love.
This is love.
It's how Gabriel looks alive, laurels glinting in the sunlight. It's how his blood flows through their veins, given unconditionally. It's the way heat blossoms throughout their chest as his wing comes up to curl around their shoulder. It's the mutual respect that had first laid the groundwork, giving way to touches, to care, to trust.
It's every moment they've spent sparring and fucking and building their home, together.
The instinct to argue with themselves rises, leads a panicked stray thought to open their simulations and start rationalizing. But the program window is closed just as quickly as it opens.
They're in love with Gabriel, and it's very likely that they have been for quite some time now. Numbers are entirely inapplicable to this too-human emotion that leaves them both parts wanting and apprehensive and raw.
But that only brings them a much more difficult question: how to convey this to him. Should they tell him outright? Through more frequent gestures of affection? How would he react to any of this?
(... would he even consider reciprocating?)
Like all the Angels who worked with humanity, Gabriel is innately familiar with every inch of Earth's surface. Time, weather, and wars have altered it drastically, but he can still recall where, exactly, the first garden once was. The archangel knows which deserts and mountains and tundras once housed the other mouths of Hell, and can identify the single, barren field whose soil had tasted the first droplets of Mankind's blood.
When V1 shows him a video clip of an idyllic resort town, Gabriel recognizes the stretch of shore, rather than any building.
There are several notable differences that are immediately noticeable when they arrive that morning, the first being a distinct lack of green surrounding the coastal town. It's a significantly smaller city than the ruins they called home; no steel high rises spiraling into the sky, just whitewashed buildings with faded blue trimming clustered together.
And, as is likely going to be commonplace with everywhere they go, sunbleached corpses of both machines and humans litter the streets.
"Well, at least the residents here appreciated subtlety." Gabriel comments as the pair of them walk the sloping brick street of the main dredge. There are lots of working holograms here too, but most of them are simply projections of static dining menus or store signage. None of the looping videos, nor any especially flashy advertisements.
Several meters ahead, V1 dances between slipping into the open doors of shopfronts, to picking over any carcass unfortunate enough to be holding a bag. Gabriel shoulders his own, packed with blankets and a pillow, along with two of his chitons and the brooches he's collected over the years, and a book for good measure. Perhaps he'll loan them the bag once they find a place to camp on the beach.
The machine suddenly pokes up from behind a cluster of corpses, reminding him all the world of a filching magpie. There's something in their hands as they come running up the bloodstained bricks to where he lingers by a souvenir shop.
"Did you find something?" He asks, only to have an assortment of seed packets thrust at him. "Oh! Thank you!"
His eyes hungrily scan the faded images on their fronts: columbine, jasmine, geraniums, a mix of poppies. Many such flowers are now found only in the highest spheres of Paradise. Gabriel shuffles through them with barely contained glee. When he glances back up at them, V1's optic is mirroring his veiled expression, and his traitorous heart leaps wildly against his ribcage.
He almost says it, then and there. It rises to the back of his throat, sits poised on the tip of his tongue to leap out into the unknown, threatens to give voice to his truest desires for his greatest foil-
And then V1 turns away, ducking into an alley that's backlit only by an excess of working shop logos.
Gabriel swallows his words back down and firmly extinguishes the spark of disappointment, instead opting to follow after the almost-musical tint of glass crunching beneath their feet.
When they disappear into a shop near the corner, he appraises the furniture of a nearby cafe. He's been looking for something nice for the patio, and the ivory-painted, wrought-iron-filigree of the outdoor tables reminds him of the gardens in Heaven's courthouses. He makes a mental note to return for it once the week is up, and silently mourns the only bookshop adjacent to it, blackened from within.
There's a deafening crash from behind. Just as he whirls around, V1 reappears at the empty frames of the glass door, a thin titanium rod in hand. At the end of the nylon string, hung loosely along the underside, is a colorful lure.
As things turn out, fishing on the surface is a vastly different experience from fishing in Hell. For starters, tossing bait into the sea does not attract fish; it just ‘wastes good fish bait' and makes one particular archangel pissy about it.
V1 withdraws their fishing line from the churning waters for the third time, and bites down the urge to hiss at the endless ocean from their perch at the end of the marina. Not even a nibble in ten minutes.
As they cast out another line, their ever-persistent logic, sounding suspiciously like Gabriel's tone of voice, is eager to remind them that this had been a likely outcome of such an endeavor. Almost everything on the Earth's surface had been dead at the end of Mankind's slaughter, and the denizens of its seas likely suffered the same fate.
They refuse to entertain this line of thinking, turning their attention instead to the horizon. Clear, blue-green waters blend with the cloudless midsummer skies, sunlight dancing upon the tiny waves beneath their dangled legs. There's a glass structure to the southwestern outskirts of the town, partly sunken into the sea and shining like a beacon. To the north is an endless stretch of white sand, strangely absent of any form of beach-goer corpse or machine.
No matter; Gabriel had mentioned wanting to camp outdoors tonight anyway.
As if on cue, a shadow falls over them, and V1 tilts their head all the way back to see an armorclad archangel. A moment of exasperated silence passes, and then his hand comes down to eye level, with another small glass jar carefully balanced in his wide palm.
"I'm not getting you another." He says pointedly. V1 snatches it out of his palm in a hurry. This time, they pop the seal off, yanking their line from the ocean once more. It's easy enough to handle the hook, and snare a few bright red, squishy bait pieces onto the sharp tips.
Gabriel takes a seat beside them as they throw their lure out as far as they can get it, shoulders relaxed in spite of his earlier irritation.
"I didn't know you were familiar with fishing." He comments, but there's nothing but curiosity in his tone. "Where did you learn of this?"
V1 can only respond with a shrug. The fact that they still can't get the video footage of Wrath's fishing hole to play on any other device, even after multiple reformatting attempts, is positively mystifying. It can be explained in verbal detail, but it's frustrating not to have playable video evidence to back up their claims.
Gabriel, miraculously, accepts this for an answer at the moment, and falls silent. Down below, the water laps at his shins; up above, his shoulders are relaxed, posture entirely at ease, simply content to be. Their optic helm falls upon his armored bicep, sun-warmed and sturdy, and they let out a content sigh through their fans.
How do they express this newfound love that occupies their every waking thought? It threatens to boil over with every lingering touch, warm and real and distracting. They've poured over any and all romantic human material they could get their hands on in the past week, searching for ideas. Most are completely useless; grand gestures committed during dramatic, fictitious moments, entirely inapplicable to the situation at hand.
(Should they just tell him, outright? Even if he did not reciprocate their affections, at least he would know that he is loved, in spite of everything that still haunts him.)
Their thoughts are promptly derailed by a jerking motion in their loose hands. Instinctively, their hands tighten around the foam grip of the fishing rod. It spares them the grief of losing it as the flimsy metal bends like a willow branch. Something in the water is pulling on it almost insistently.
"What-" Gabriel starts as they rise to their feet, hurriedly reeling in the slack. There's an undertone of disbelief to his voice. "Did something--surely it must have caught on a-"
Bracing their feet on the treated-wood surface, V1 snatches the grip of the rod with their two remaining arms, and gives it a vicious yank. Something solid bursts from the surface with a loud splash, scales and seawater glistening like jewels in the summer sun.
A shocked silence falls over them as the little creature, dangling at the end of their line, writhes in the empty air, choking on sharp metal, and desperately alive.
When the war began, Earth's oceans were the first to be poisoned. Mankind's chemicals and pollutants drained from the land and into the waters, accelerating the suffocation of life until it was almost snuffed out entirely.
Their efforts to restore the planet had been admirable. They managed to clean the air and their water sources, eventually restoring even the forests and fields. Drastic actions taken to purify the planet's seas had been a focal point of many such operations.
Gabriel had thought it all for naught, when their final extinction began. But in spite of everything, life persists; sprouting forth from the Earth, swimming in its waters, and walking upon its surface.
Keen eyes watch as tiny shadows flee from beneath V1's splashing steps, carrying them out into the shallows until the waves lap along their waist. They rear back, and toss their line out into the early evening light. Their lure catches the golden sunlight as it flies over the water and vanishes beneath its surface.
Gabriel shuts his eyes for a moment, picturing the vegetation that once grew thick at its borders, ears straining for the now eternally-absent call of laridae. But there only comes a splash as V1 pulls something out of the the water and him from his brief, but silent, reverie. Gabriel looks; flying along the end of their line is yet another rusted, mechanical piece of debris.
The archangel had spotted a number of machine corpses, scattered beneath the waves, on his initial flight along the coast. Almost like some battle had taken place here long ago. But now, fish shelter in their hollow carcasses, crustaceans scuttle along the sandy shallows, he had even seen the bulk of a stingray farther out from the shore.
A sharp, frustrated whine of their fans cuts over the lapping waves, tossing out the line again. Gabriel's gaze drift back to where his own tracks mar the smooth stretch of sands. The resort town is a fair distance behind them now, and the half-sunken building flashing with the growing evening colors.
"We should find a place to make camp." Gabriel reminds them. V1's wings flicker with barely-veiled irritation, but when their line comes back with a chunk of plastic, they chuck it over their shoulder. It lands in the sand with a dulled thump, well out of reach of the waves. He'll have to remove it, and everything else inanimate that they've fished up, tomorrow.
They don't walk far before he spots a decent enough place to set his bag down, intent on retrieving the firewood he set aside by his shed on First Sphere. There's cluster of fist-sized rocks sit higher up the shore, framing what looked to be an old walkway down to the beach. Strange, sometimes, to see these smaller reminders of Mankind so far from their monuments. But the stone would work well for the borders of a fire pit.
He glances back to call out to V1, but the words die in his throat as he spots them lingering several meters back, fishing rod held loosely in their grip.
The machine gazes out at the sun as it slowly approaches the edge of the horizon, somehow unbothered by its relentless glare. Waves lap at their sandy feet, following along his footprints before they can disappear beneath the endless cadence of the tide. Swathed in golden light, they could be mistaken for something divine.
And when they turn to look at him, their shutters close slightly over their lens in an expression of content, dare he say happiness. All of Heaven could be crashing down around them, and he wouldn't even notice, dazzled by how the sunset stains their plating.
(He's reminded of those fateful hours in Lust, where V1 took his helm in their hands, and showed him what that doomed city had been built upon. Passion without restraint, a dance of hips and hands rather than gunshots and blades; how it had made him forget his fear and despair, until he could remember how to stand back up.)
The sudden bout of dizzying affection consuming his very soul is dispelled when V1's fingers inch towards their wing, optic tilting in obvious invitation. Gabriel many eyes travel up and down the beach; over the stretch of sand and the barren hills that flank its shore.
"Here?" He asks.
A nod, the barrel of their revolver sparkles like a star in the early evening light upon being drawn, stabbing their fishing rod into the sand like a one would banner of war. In turn, he sheds the bulging satchel of linens from his shoulder. Gabriel draws his swords with an eager, unseen grin, wings spreading wide.
(He will never tire of it; the thrill of a hard-fought battle, the rush from seeing them bleed, the joy of having a better, an equal. When the lines of pain and pleasure blur into one perfect feeling; their claws tugging at his wounds and his fingers burrowing beneath their wires. It should be senseless to love anyone this much.)
V1 spins the trigger guard of their gun on their index finger, and golden discs fly into the air. When Gabriel springs into the air, a fine cloud of sand erupting behind him, he goes right for the nearest one-
Only for red-hot pain to burst through his abdomen before he even closes in on the spinning projectile. The coins had been merely a feint, and are followed up with a cannonball flying right for his helm.
Undeterred, Gabriel tears through the veil of reality, aiming the tip of his sword at a vein on their exposed back. It instead scrapes along their arm as they dash to the left just a second too late. A laugh bursts from him, and given a brief, but sharp, blast of metal tack for his troubles.
Archangel and machine chase one another up and down the beach, sand and saltwater kicking up in their wake. V1 pushes him towards the hills and Gabriel pulls them towards the sea. Bullets and blades dance through the air, echoing into the dying daylight above.
At last, they find one another again somewhere in the middle, Gabriel's back to the land and V1's to the waves. They'd gone for his swords, pitting all their strength against his own, but Gabriel towers over them, steadily gaining ground as they start to slide backwards into the sea.
"Did you really think you could defeat me with my own blades, Machine?" Gabriel snarls at them, a wild grin stretching across his unseen visage. "What a paltry trick."
V1's optics narrows. Their Knuckleblaster releases its grip on his wrist, and their revolver lands right in it. Before he can react, a talon pulls the trigger, and strikes the hand that holds Splendor. His grip loosens with a yelp of surprise, her blade flashes with the light of sunset, and is snatched out of the air.
White-hot pain bursts from his gut, radiating through every inch of his body. He chokes, lungs momentarily deprived of air and robbing him of the ability to scream. They stutter in an agonized gasp as he hits the ground.
Gradually, the icy flames recede along with the waves, before rushing past his fallen form in a gentle crash. Blood oozes from where Splendor bites into his side, trickling into the waters below. V1 kneels over him, wings flared triumphantly against the brilliance of the sunset, a hand wrapped around the spiraling hilt and pinning him to the Earth.
He's lost; he doesn't care. What did it matter, when he could still pick himself back up, and someday try again? They had given him that chance; taught him how to live again with touches both gentle and violent. And here they lie now, on the shores of a slowly reviving world, bound by the ichor that stains the sea with crimson.
Lost in the throes of pain and ecstasy and the light, light, light that swells from his heart, Gabriel cannot stop those words from finally slipping free. They bubble up his throat, and stain his tongue with the iron taste of blood.
"I love you."
A beat of stillness follows as his words float between them, broken only by an audible snap from V1's wings, shutters vanishing into their helm. The sound jolts Gabriel out of his daze, and the echo of his own words ring, belatedly, into his eardrums. Mortification burns his face like it had been struck with a fiery brand.
"I--wait, I hadn't meant to--shit!" Gabriel has no means of escape, pinned by his own sword and his growing terror. Another surge of coppery liquid coats his palette and drips down the corners of his mouth. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't--ugh! Dammit, why did I--"
Before he can shove his foot any farther in his mouth, the machine finally moves, a hand yanking Splendor from his side and tossing it carelessly to the side. The sting makes him hiss in pain, strangling his half-formed words. The other two struggle to write coherent letters into his chestplate. He can't interpret them through the torn metal of his cuirass.
"V1, what are you-" Before he can finish, their palms take his helm in a hurry.
His breath stills in his throat, and they dive over Gabriel's prone form to crash their bezel right onto his helm, just below the emblazoned cross. The hollow echo of their collision is muted by another rush of waves, dancing around his fallen body.
Gabriel does not notice it; his thoughts keep starting and stopping, jumping from panic to confusion and then, at last, realization.
V1 pulls away, fixing him with a look that borders on desperate. His heart thrums, rabbit-fast, against his ribcage.
"Does that mean... V1, do you really feel... ?" His throat closes around the rest of his sentence. He cannot speak it aloud, for fear of shattering whatever dream he might have just woken up in-
Instead of words, V1 merely traces around his wound, painting a symbol on his skin with the fuel that still oozes freely from the cut. He knows that shape; he would recognize it anywhere. It's one of sincerity, had been sprinkled about Minos's long-gone city, and now, it stains his flesh in the brilliant red of his own blood.
Gabriel's hand reaches for theirs of its own accord, grasping it as tight as he can without hurting them. One of them is shaking--it's likely him with how giddy he suddenly feels, the reality of their actions at last striking him like a well-placed gunshot. V1 tugs at his trembling limb, easing him in a sitting position, before rising up on their knees. All four of their hands grasp at his pauldrons, and pull him down for another firm bump of their helms.
"I--oh stars, V1," Gabriel clutches at them, suddenly starved for their affection; hunger claws at him with a vengeance, awoken by the saccharine-sweet taste of their kiss. "I never thought you might... fuck, I love you, so much..."
He feels faint and frightened and foolish, all at once, having taken such a daring leap into the unknown and found stable ground regardless of his unintended venture. The emotions crowd into his swelling heart and then settle, here to stay for as long as he bleeds.
When the machine finally pulls away again, he almost misses the letters they write into his spine, spellbound by the way the coming twilight halos them.
H-O-W L-O-N-G-?
"Years now." He admits, hands finding their back and grounding himself in the thrum of their exterior veins. "I wasn't sure how you'd react; I-I didn't want to risk ruining what we have again."
V1's optic tilts with a disbelieving look, before it's rolled with slight annoyance.
"I know, I know." The sudden onset of hindsight only bolsters the sheepishness he feels. A whirr leaves them, it's at once fond and exasperated, and the last dredges of panic finally drain out of him when a hand comes up to frame his helm. Warmth buzzes all throughout his body as he sinks into their touch.
"And, uh, how long have you felt this way?"
They pull their hands from his shoulders, spelling out their own answer.
"SINCE LAST WEEK."
"What?" He starts. They stop halfway through another word, and begin again.
"REALIZED LAST WEEK." They elaborate, and then glance away for a moment, as though embarrassed. "LIKELY LONGER."
"Oh."
V1 kneels there a moment more in silence, before their hands come back up to wrap around his neck, stroking at the skin. As they move in for another press of their bezel to his helmet, Gabriel stops them midway, mind's eye suddenly alight with romantic scenes from holofilms they've watched over the years.
And the one thing that they all had in common.
"V1?" He asks, anticipation seeping into his tone. They stop inches away from his faceplate. Gabriel takes a deep, steadying breath.
"Your eye, can you close it? I want to--"
Their optic powers off before he can even finish his sentence. His helm reflects in their darkened lens, washed with violet as the last rays of daylight drains from the sky.
The archangel's hands come up to grasp the underside of his helmet. After a moment's hesitation, it's lifted away, and set carefully in the wet sand. He reaches for their darkened optic, and wonders if they can feel how his fingers still tremble as they brush the back of their helm. V1's wings quiver, eagerly following his touch across what little distance remains between them.
Gabriel kisses them with bloodied lips. When he finally draws away, he's struck breathless by the bright red imprint of his mouth upon their bezel. He's only given a moment to admire it, before V1's hand finds the back of his neck, and pulls him in for another.
Somewhere in the surrounding darkness is the steady breaking of ocean waves, washing over them like white noise. Somewhere to their right is the erratic crackle of fire and the sudden, gunshot-sharp pop of an ember. Beneath their back and wings is the texture of a thick blanket, one brought along to use as a makeshift bedroll.
Everywhere else is Gabriel.
Hands, thighs, lips, teeth, nipping at their plastic veins and thick wires. He takes to this newfound angle of sex with an eagerness bordering on hunger, and V1 stumbles blindly after. Wet warmth presses kisses along their optic, drags down their plating, nips at exposed wiring. It swallows their cock until they spill down his throat, and laps at their folds until they border on overheating.
Through all this is the senseless emotion of love; sucking them into its blood-sweet adherents with a strength like the very forces of gravity itself. V1 has denied themselves it's warmth too long, and finds themselves utterly incapable of escaping its pull.
They finally open their eye to find that the fire has dimmed to mere embers. Gabriel's helm glints in the glowing coals, wreathed by a canopy of stars. They pull him down to press their bezel to where his mouth might be, dizzy from reward signals and the delicious overstimulation as he rocks himself, slowly, along the underside of their repressurizing shaft.
"Beautiful, perfect machine," Gabriel murmurs when he sinks down onto them at last. It sounds like prayer; maybe this is what worship is supposed to be. "I love you. So--mmh--so good to me... "
V1 whispers it back with every graze of their fingers along his spine, every minute roll of their hips, every nuzzle of their helm along his faceplate. They draw shapes and letters into his shoulders, and hold him tight as he finally begins to shake apart.
They don't remember switching into sleep mode, far too preoccupied with the maze of Gabriel's back beneath their fingers. But then they open their optic to a dawn-tinted sky, staining the ocean waves a milky pink.
Gabriel's chest is all but plastered to their front, thighs tangled and arms still clutching them close. His pulse beats steadily against their audials, nestled comfortably in the crook of his neck, and his snores rumble into their very frame. V1 doesn't yet feel like moving, preferring to simply watch as the sky lightens and the ocean continues its perpetual churning.
Strange, to think that life teems below its surface, ripe for discovery. V1's water pressure resistance is significant enough to allow relatively safe exploration of the shallow seas. In the far distance, the half-sunken shoreside structure glows like a beacon in the morning light; almost beckoning them to come explore.
Maybe later today, they'll traverse the mysterious building, see more of the beach, perhaps scatter grass seeds onto the surrounding hills and let the rains mend the earth. But right now, Gabriel is stirring in their arms, mumbling a muffled morning greeting into the sandy pillow, and pawing at their silicone spine.
Or, V1 thinks as broad hands clutch at their ass and bring them more firmly against his naked flesh, maybe they'll get around to it tomorrow. There's no rush, after all. They have time, now, to do whatever they want. To spar and fuck, compose and garden, explore and read.
Time to live, against all the odds stacked against them; and time to love, until the day his blood ran dry, or creation falls to pieces all around them.
Come what may, they'll face it together.
