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 12: Rushing Green
It takes time, like all things do.
When the autumnal winds sweep through their city for the fourth time since he had discovered the fate of his people, Gabriel awakens one blustery morning intending to collect seeds. Specifically from the dying lantanas one street over from their apartment. He's gathered a mere handful of them when a wild impulse grips him, born from the thought of planting these particular flowers in this particular spot for the twenty-fourth year in a row.
Instead of talking himself out of it, like he has every season prior, Gabriel darts back home, snags one of their many empty satchels from where V1 keeps them squirreled away in the lower kitchen cabinets, and departs for the Eighth Sphere.
It does not hurt to see the corpse of an unnamed Angel again, like he had dreaded it would. But he makes a point of keeping his back to it while he digs up as many lily bulbs as he can find, stuffing them into the fraying nylon bag. Once it's full to bursting, the archangel hauls his prizes back to the center of the Universe to plant them for the coming spring.
Five months later, when the tubers begin to sprout forth from where the lantanas originally flourished, Gabriel finds the courage to make another pilgrimage to the desolated Sphere, this time for everything that graveyard of a terrace had to offer. Magnolia and hydrangea cuttings, herbs and forget-me-nots carefully transplanted into little pots, even a few ever-ripe lemons, precious fertile seeds encased within their sour flesh. It will be more than enough to keep his hands and mind busy for the next several weeks.
At least, that's what he thinks, until he discovers a single snail that had hitch-hiked upon, and then subsequently eaten half of, the broad leaf of one of his shade-loving hostas three days later.
Not two minutes after sees him soaring beyond the walls of the courtyard to the nearest tilled field at the city outskirts, full to bursting with unattended, unpicked vegetables. It's not until he's home again, and the golden-black-shelled gastropod has accepted his offering of cabbage leaves and carrots in exchange for not damaging his plants, that something seems to finally click into place.
Nobody stopped him from taking what he wanted; not that time, nor the last three trips back. The Primum Mobile has been entirely abandoned of sapient life. Anyone who would have recognized him now lies within Death's embrace, or dwells tens of thousands of light years away from that grand necropolis.
The freedom of which he has been given, to finally accomplish his long-term goal of restoring his new home to its former glory, is staggering to experience all at once. There is so much he can do now; so much that needs to be done. Plants to dig up, saplings to start, microbes and invertebrates to introduce to the water and soil and sky—
But then Gabriel remembers that he has a promise to keep first, before any that can begin in full. He leaves the little snail to its feast, and hurries off to ask his partner if they had anything planned for tomorrow.
Early the next morning, he rouses V1 a staggering three hours prior to their usual time of awakening. It always earns him a glare, and this time is no different. But their grouchy disposition evaporates upon the reminder of yesterday's proposal. They all but fly out of bed in a blur of quivering hardlight blades, unburdened by the need to don armor and weapons 'just in case'. Perhaps approaching the matter of returning to his old haunts like one would a battle isn't the best way to do it, given than it's mostly for his own sanity than their safety.
The warmachine, on the other hand, treats this like they do any other outing to a new cluster of ruins or human-made landmark: with a satchel stuffed full of other satchels hung round their shoulder. They're practically bouncing on their heels when Gabriel finally finishes stepping into his greaves, trailing after them onto the patio and into the pre-dawn darkness. He sucks in a deep breath, gathers his thoughts, and lays out his one ground rule.
"If at any point I determine that we need to depart, we will do so immediately." The archangel tells them, and thankfully does not need to elaborate on why. "I highly doubt it will come to that, but in the chance that it should…"
V1 only nods once, and something within him shifts and settles and burns with newfound devotion. The machine slips into his arms as they open, optic sealing shut a moment later, though their wings still twitch with unspoken excitement.
For a moment longer, Gabriel holds them, grounding himself in the warmth of their plating and the thrum of shared blood. Then, in a flash of light and noise, he’s tearing through void and time, beyond even the familiar embrace of the Eighth Sphere.
When the blurring stars and winding roots all fall still, muggy air fills his lungs. V1 opens their eyes to the majesty of brilliantly verdant trees; kapoks and rubberwoods tower over them both, swathed in a perpetual mist. A silvery glow, brighter than the full moon yet far dimmer than a cloudy day, cuts through the gray. It is just enough light for an angel to see by.
He releases them in time to step out of range of their spinning torso, wings practically rattling in their pack.
“We stand now in the very heart of the Primum Mobile.” Gabriel explains, a weight upon his heart as he does, but his tone remains steady. “The land beyond the Fixed Stars you and I can see in the night sky; the realm I called home for so long.”
For five seconds, their auxiliary lens clicks in rapid-fire, and Gabriel takes a moment to drink in the heavy humidity. Flourishing undergrowth surrounds them, and cathedral vines cling to the branches above. The rainforest thrums with the calls of birds and insects and beasts from all directions, an achingly familiar symphony that, even now, the archangel is caught off guard by how much he had missed it's neverending ambience.
Just as quickly, they stop, attention snapping to the canopy above. And then it darts back to him, optic light burning into his helm. He offers them a hand and they take it in a hurry, scrambling up and onto his back. Their knees wrap tight around his stomach, and three arms brace themselves across his cuirass, freeing up the Feedbacker for communication. They still, and the arm slips into his peripheral.
“READY.”
The archcangel spread his wings, and rockets into the air.
Three powerful pumps bring him above the forest canopy, and a fourth above the blanket of mist that swathes the highest branches. Gabriel begins to gain speed, swiftly slipping into the void beyond the veil of oxygen. As they swiftly climb into the sky, it is immediately apparent that V1 is attempting to comprehend the sight; he can hear their neck joints straining as they swivel to take in the majesty of God's first kingdom.
An enormous tree towers over the newly-revealed Mobile for thousands of kilometers, its two main branches spanning millions of light years in either direction, and countless stars cluster around its emerald-green leaves. The verdant landscape sprawls below around it's mighty roots, from fields to greenwoods to mountains to tundras. Everything from tiny villages to grand cities are woven into it's beautiful scenery, built by many hands long fallen cold in death.
“That is the Tree of Life.” He explains, projecting his voice over the distant song of a nearby star, spiraling past them both as he carries them far into the void, above the span of this once-halcyon dominion that spanned almost all of existence. “It grew from what was once the very center of the Universe, and it is from its bountiful fruit that The Father had created all life."
He senses V1 suddenly start in his grip, their hand dipping into his field of vision to blot out his view of his old home.
“FRUIT? BLOOD?”
The latter word is what makes him come to a sudden halt, hanging in the empty air between the stellar remnants of a white dwarf and a brilliantly blue supergiant.
“What?” He sputters. “How the fuck do you--”
“HELL TOLD ME.”
Gabriel is struck dumb for a moment. The following emotion is something between exasperation and fondness.
“Of course it did.”
"TASTE?"
"I—you want to—" Why is he even surprised by that? Perhaps because all of Angelkind are forbidden from taking any fruit from the tree. Surely that… didn't actually matter now, did it? There's literally no one remaining to stop them. "Insatiable object… "
"BUT I AM YOUR INSATIABLE OBJECT." Their hand gleefully reminds him, and then, with a degree of optimistic caution. "IS THAT A NO?"
Gabriel only offers them an exasperated huff in answer, before aborting his intent to fly higher. All of V1's hands scrabble to hold on to his armor as he surges foward without warning, soaring towards the great tree. It's dreadfully easy to squash down that little voice wondering what on God's greening Earth has gotten into him.
But he knows well the conditions required in order for his machine to absorb blood; it's very unlikely they'll be able to consume it's life-granting nectar anyways.
The Tree of Life is the same as it always is. Dewdrops, bright with soulfire, glisten like diamonds on those lush leaves. His machine's attention is briefly captured by those shimmering not-flames, accompanied by the telltale click of their inner photographic lens. Gabriel floats closer and closer to the body of one of it's grand branches, and the fist-sized fruits that grow from it in thick, healthy stems come into view.
To their credit, V1 waits until he's landed upon the broad bough and let them down before they whirl around to face the nearest pome. A crack resounds through the tranquil quiet as their Whiplash yanks it from the stem, and into their iron grip.
And when they don't immediately crush the organ-shaped crop against their chest, he can't help a curious head tilt; a habit he's more than aware of having picked up from them.
"Something the matter, Machine?"
"COLD." They inform him, weighing the sacred fruit in the palm of their hand. "NOT WARM."
"Naturally. It isn't exactly pumping blood in it's current state." He's seen The Father use many of these fruits to create his countless siblings, the beautiful beasts that roam this land and, once before, the Earth. He watched it sink into dust to give birth to the first two humans. This appears to be dawning on V1. "The Fruit of Life can't grant it without a body to host it. Any blood in there is very likely to be entirely useless to you."
“HOW ABOUT A BET?"
All his eyes blink, glancing intermittently between the sacred fruit they hold in one hand, and the cocky lilt to their optic shutters.
“What exactly are you proposing?” He inquires.
“IF I CAN ‘EAT’ THIS, THEN YOU TAKE A BITE, TOO.”
Damn his competitive streak, striking him with the impulse to immediately accept, even as their absurd wager catches him off entirely guard. But many, many seasons have since tempered his patience against their vexing impossibilities. The archangel weighs the confidence in their stance against the morbid shape of the stilled-heart held aloft on their grip, thinking.
V1 had long since confided in him that they entirely relied on the blood ripped directly from flesh, hot and perfect, to be viable fuel they could absorb. This particular bearing of the Tree of Life has remained unused and unpicked since the days of his Father’s reign. Surely Heaven’s eternal stasis did not account for that sort of visceral freshness.
“Very well, Machine.” He answers, pivoting on his heel to face them fully, and ruminates briefly on his own counter-proposal. “But if I win… I get to take one of your arms, and do whatever I please with it, for the next month.”
A heartbeat passes, two, as their accelerated thoughts clearly contemplate the stakes that have been raised, before they confirm the wager with a firm nod.
“DEAL.”
“Alright,” He raises his gauntlets to the empty air in an exaggerated gesture of steadfast conviction. “Prove me otherwise.”
With little further fanfare, they promptly bring their Feedbacker, and its handful of unused flesh, right above their head. Optic fixing Gabriel square in the visor, V1 proceeds to promptly crush it in their fist. It paints their blue plating with a deep crimson, the excess of which rolls off their shoulders and onto their hips in thick droplets.
For a single second, nothing happens. Heaven hangs silent all around them, timeless as it's ever been. But its deathly silence swiftly shifts to a dumbfounded one as, just the same as it always has, the blood seeps into their systems, leaving only a few telltale smears behind. What remains of its morbid rind drops from their hands, which proceeds to pump thrice in their victory.
Gabriel, meanwhile, struggles to find any face-saving terms.
"But--I thought--you told me that--"
Irritation flares, hot on his brow and bared in his fangs. He so desperately wants to shatter the thin lens of their eye as it lilts with vindictive (and rather surprised) glee. In answer to his frustrated growl, another snap of their Whiplash fills the space between them, snagging a second fruit from its perch, and holds out to him with a mirthful whirr of their fans.
His first instinct is to back-peddle. But he's an angel of his word, and he'll be damned if he gives them the satisfaction of letting them in on his newly-bruised ego.
"Give me that." He snarls, snatching the offered forbidden fruit from their outstretched hand.
He’s witnessed the utilization of its purpose many times before; many a mortal life has been brought about upon the Earth’s surface beneath both his and his Father’s watchful eye. But never once before has he laid a hand upon it himself. Its flesh has an unsettling give to its veiny surface, in spite of its living counterpart's resilient cardiac tissue. A thick sloshing of liquid resounds somewhere in its rind. The sound alone both nauseates Gabriel, and piques his accursed morbid curiosity.
"Ugh." He grunts, if simply for pride's sake, and then, "Off."
His fingers are hooked beneath his helm before V1's light finishes flickering out, hanging loosely at his fingertips when it’s removed entirely from his skull. Even though they are blinded to his expression, Gabriel cannot help the wince that crosses it as he observes the morbid fruit he holds.
The archangel braces himself, brings it to his widening maw and glinting fangs, twisting with a reflexive grimace as he bites down and tears--
He's savored it countless times before, throughout the shifting seasons of his newfound freedom, but as the ichor within fills his senses with that familiar taste, Gabriel is somehow thrown back to the moment of his second loss. That symphony of pain gripping him as he reeled from his failure, how it left him flawed, and raw yet steeling him for the mortal reality that awaited him; the bursting of this iron ambrosia that all but surged across his refined palette that open his eyes to the icy indifference of the Universe. The rhythmic sinking of his teeth into the rind of the fruit is… not unpleasant to experience, and neither is it a repulsive flavor. Just a hint of sweetness experienced alongside the bitter tang of blood.
He swallows his mouthful down before that ever-persistent sense of restraint can kick in. It rolls down his throat and settles in his stomach with a strange, heavy feeling. One that only makes him crave the warmth of fresh bread and the sour-sweet nectar of a cherry tenfold. The irony of how this is the first thing he's eaten in a good number of years now is not lost on him.
"... I don't know what I was honestly expecting." Gabriel admits thoughtfully, staring down at his impromptu meal with a scrutinizing look. "Not… bad, but certainly nothing I'd consider trying again."
The archangel extends his arm to his right, and lets the remainder of the fruit fall from his grip, splattering upon the thick branch they stand upon with a disgusting-sounding plop. It rolls unceremoniously off the bark, and then begins the long, long fall down to the great roots below.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Gabriel readily slips his helm back on with a mutter of 'on'. The moment his machine switches their optic light back on is the moment they whirl around on their heel and throw their Whiplash with wild abandon, gathering as many heart-shaped pomes as their arms can carry.
"I hope you know that I will not be letting you make a habit of this." He informs them tartly. "I have more important things to do than let you pillage this tree of all it's bearings whenever it strikes your fancy."
They wave at him in vague acknowledgement as their Knuckleblaster tears apart the next fruit, but not all of it's bloody nectar is absorbed into their chassis. The excess drips off of them as the others they have are immediately stuffed into one of their satchels. Not quite entirely out of reflex, Gabriel heaves a long-suffering sigh, and begrudges them their heretical fruit-picking.
Still, it's as good excuse as any to make one of his favorite bathhouses their next destination. His muscles ache for the touch of hot water and fine, fragrant oils. Hopefully V1 will indulge him a few hours of soaking while they explore the surrounding city.
(Gabriel will take whatever comforts from home he can still get, after everything that's befallen it. Privately, quietly, it feels good to finally allow himself that.)
'You can't know somebody, I thought, till you follow them home'.
Out of all the countless books they've devoured over the decades, V1 keeps coming back to this specific quote each and every time they set foot in the vast Primum Mobile. Even devoid of it's original context, the short sentence had put a great deal about their lover into sharp perspective. And the more they saw of God's Paradise, the more things made sense in hindsight. It had only taken a week's worth of tagging along on Gabriel's many jaunts to the corpse-filled necropolises and fallen villas to come to a solid conclusion.
Simply stated: compared to the rapidly-greening Earth, and the scant few glimpses of the Lower Spheres they've been allowed so far, Heaven was really boring.
Their massive cities all looked the same from a distance, no matter how far or near to the Tree of Life they stood. The interiors of the buildings, the libraries, the concerto halls and the temples all shared the same deco styles. Gabriel's old bedroom isn't any different from any of the other personal quarters they've poked their head in. All of the useful items they had scavenged for their own personal use are virtually identical to the next five or so they uncovered later on.
V1 had once tried picturing themselves living here for as long as Gabriel had, and knew immediately that they would have short-circuited from the maddening monotony of it all within a month. It is of little wonder that Gabriel's seemingly insatiable appetite for bloodshed and sex and varied reading material persists, in spite of the sheer magnitude of time that has passed since their first fateful clash.
That particular revelation aside, the scores of gentrified municipalities were thankfully not the only thing the Primum Mobile had to offer. Gorgeous paintings and murals and statues, even human-made pieces, filled every gallery and garden. Gabriel had floored them with flawless performance skills on every instrument they found and set in front of him. The eternal stasis and perpetually perfect weather had proven useful in preserving their more time-worn books and makeshift technology.
And in sharp contrast to the Earth (at least, as of now), this timeless, endless plane of existence still overflows with life.
Leaves in every shade of green imaginable surround them, rustling audibly as V1 shadows Gabriel's footsteps across loamy, moisture-rich soil. A sunless sky, filtered through thick undergrowth and rolling mists, occasionally allows for a flash of ivory or a glint of gold. Even if his armor hadn't given him away, the racket he was making as they trek through this flowery, primordial rainforest would. But it's not like there's anyone within a thousand mile radius would've heard them in any capacity.
Long had Gabriel spoken of the splendors of the Paradise from where he hailed, and still can it's pristine, almost-too idyllic landscapes surprise them with it's diversity. They've taken an upwards of twenty high-res shots in the half-hour following their arrival already. The unendingly rich call of nature echoes all around V1's audials as they stroll down a path only their angel seems to know. Avians, insects, primates, even the rumbling of a prowling wildcat could be detected through the racket of rustling vegetation.
As if on cue, vibrantly hued feathers flutter down from the unending emerald forestry above, and alights on a low-hanging, mossy branch just up ahead. It draws Gabriel's attention right away with a noisy squawk. And in turn, their lover reaches up with gauntleted fingers, cooing a fond 'hello'.
"A fine day, isn't it?" Gabriel rhetorically asks the needy macaw, just like he does every beast they stumble upon or are approached by during their jaunts. He is answered with a throaty warble, most likely in response to the gentle stroking upon it's tiny head. The warmachine steps up right behind him, angling their optic up and activating their auxiliary lens, right as it's colorless eyes close in contentness.
It's need for scritches apparently satisfied, the bird flies off the moment Gabriel pulls his hand away, becoming a blur of red and yellow and blue as it vanishes into the greenery. A brief pang of wistfulness hits them, as it usually does when an opportunity to pet one of God's creature's passes by without fulfillment. But the archangel had mentioned wanting to surprise them with something tonight, so onward they press through the verdant jungle.
It's only another five minutes of leisurely walking before they reach their destination, and the suddenness of it's appearance catches them off guard for a moment. One moment, they're picking their way through heavy underbrush and shrubbery. The next, smooth ivory marble, the kind that makes up every single structure both standing and fallen in this abandoned realm, jumps out at them. V1 cranes their neck to see it rises high above the damp sod beneath their heels, higher than even the grandest of trees found here.
Gabriel, meanwhile, has taken a left turn along a well-trodden path, one running parallel to the outer wall. His hand trails along the side, seemingly searching for something. They're about to start scanning the polished stone when his palm pushes down on some hidden switch. There's a near-soundless ka-chunk of unseen, heavy mechanisms, before a large chunk of pristine limestone slides away to reveal a hidden entrance. The brief darkness within is immediately lit up by rows of blue-flamed lanterns, highlighting the glow of a sunless day at the very end.
It's only a short venture down that brightly lit passageway before they emerge into the humidity-heavy air again, but as it's vast, open-air interior sprawls out before them, they can't help the way their wings begin twitching in excitement. In contrast to the loose soils of the rainforest, the ground here is hardpacked dust, golden-white and decorated with footprints left long ago by sandals and greaves. Intricate marble columns hold up the stadium seats above, and beneath the overhangs of the arena that encircles their view, racks of ornate weaponry sit in their hooks.
Gabriel is already meandering towards one such arsenal, perusing the sharp implements that decorate it with a thoughtful air. He glances over to them, and V1 recognizes a challenge when they see it.
"Would you care to pick first?" His voice is far-too casual, but they've longed learned his tells. It's in the way his fingers flex, as if itching to grab one of those massive axes and swing it at them for a first strike; it's in the way he shifts his weight from one leg to another, like he's preparing to dodge out of the way of a single shot.
Unwilling to keep him waiting for much longer, V1 ducks into a short but noisy slide, sizing up the available armaments immediately as they roll into place beside him. A heavy-looking javelin, a small bow gilded with jewels along the limbs, a deadly morning star hung from a deceptively-delicate, auric chain…
And two short swords, sharpened to a razors edge, with their hilts much more simple in style than Gabriel's longtime companions in battle.
For a moment, the warmachine weighs their dilemma. Their chances of winning this proposed match are far greater with the twin blades, but oh, do they want to see Gabriel bleed from those nasty mace spikes. Gouge wounds into his onyx skin and drink deep from his injured flesh. Perhaps they can squirrel it away in one of their two empty wings and practice with it back home.
No sooner do they slip their weapons of choice into their hands, Gabriel goes right for the halberd that runs parallel to the top of the wooden armory, prompting a blink in surprise. Had he already decided on his weapon before they even made up their mind? Surely the axe or a ranged weapon would be of higher tactical advantage.
"I look forward to seeing you put into practice what you've retained from our swordplay lessons." Gabriel says to them, a grin apparent in his voice. It sparks a surge of determination, filling their veins with anticipatory adrenaline as it radiates out from their central processor.
Justice and Splendor are left resting against one of the columns as they make their way to the center of the coliseum, Gabriel idly swinging the spear in his palm as V1 recalibrates their pneumatics and updates battle parameters. Gabriel's trusty blades are far heavier and longer than the ones they currently hold; they can certainly afford faster movement without needing to compensate for balance.
On some long-tempered instinct, their paths part ways no sooner do they reach the exact middle of the arena. V1 counts seventeen paces to match ten of Gabriel's longer strides, and as one, turn to face each other.
"STANDARD RULESET?" They inquire, more of formality than anything at this point.
"With a simple wager:" Gabriel plants the blunt end of the halberd into the dust, leaning against it with a strangely indifferent air. "The loser of this match has to bottom next time."
Even as his words kindle electric-hot desire in their wires, V1 leers at him with unguarded skepticism. He's definitely got some kind of new trick up his sleeve. They're not sure what it is, but he's acting far too casual for such a high-stakes bet. Regardless of his wordless omissions, the warmachine nods in agreement to his addition to their usual terms. They readily pin their Whiplash and Knuckleblaster behind their back, and his bright blue wings remain entirely out of sight.
The warmachine mimics his display of skill, twirling the hilts of their swords one after the other, before falling into a battle-ready stance. Gabriel follows suit, rolling his weight onto the balls of his feet as he shifts the halberd to a two-handed grip. Modified calculations load out for both his choice in weaponry and the lack of their own, wings flaring outward in challenge, and then Gabriel surges forward in a blur of blue and yellow.
Naturally, their first order of business is to dash to the left, and swing both blades in an overhead strike down upon the metal shaft of his weapon. The thin armament does not snap beneath the strength of their blow, but it is enough to knock Gabriel's balance off entirely from the sheer strength behind their attack. Two quick slices at the thin gaps between his rerebrace and vambrace are all they can allow themselves before they jump backwards to avoid the worst of his counter. The razor tip of the spear still scrapes along their chestpiece, draining their fuel from ninety-nine percent to ninety-two percent.
Gabriel feints left, but they whirl around his false jab before delivering another vicious swipe of their own along his midriff, interrupting what would have been a follow-up to the right by forcing him into a dodge. Even as he ducks and weaves out of the way of each one of their strikes, V1 does not let up the pressure. Fine dust kicks up in the wake of their dancing duel, coloring the never-ending mild breeze with specks of glittering gold. Sparks fly from the clashing of star-forged steel as their blades come down upon the pole once again.
But instead of throwing Gabriel's rhythm off, he meets them head-on with his unyielding block, throwing all his might against theirs. Despite their superior strength, V1 starts to slide backwards, struggling to free their blades from the unexpected stalemate without compromising their defense. Simulations open and optics scan their opponent's stance and body in the time it takes for his bleeding heart to beat once, searching for an opening.
… what the fuck—
Gabriel seizes opportunity that very moment, surging forward and breaking their locked stance with a snarl. They don't regain their senses in time to avoid the worst of the blow, and the blade of his halberd cuts a sizable gash in their thigh. Fuel drains to seventy-six percent, and they rapidly hop backwards to gain much needed distance for both recovery and observation.
The archangel does not chase them, instead opting to straighten, swinging the end of his halberd into his own peripherals to idly examine the blood he's drawn from them. A single droplet falls from the tip, right past the sizeable tent in his skirt, and down into the hardpacked surface below both their feet.
That… had most definitely not been there when their spar started.
"Something the matter, Machine?" Gabriel giggles, twirling his weapon between deft fingers before pointing it directly at them. "Not like you to have such absent-minded moments during our battles. Forbid the thought that you're finally slowing down?~”
His taunt snaps them out of their stupor, and their optics narrow at him with a harsh puff of their fans. They switch-up tactics in the time it takes for them to slide back across the battlefield, swords at the ready.
V1 rolls swiftly beneath the broad swipe he throws at them, charges forward with a blast from their vents, and slams their elbow into his stomach. Gabriel doubles over with a choke, allowing the warmachine precious time to get their foot hooked around one of his ankles.
Legs mercilessly swept out from under him, the machine’s perverse gambit pays off with a humorously pathetic sight. Gabriel is flung towards the ground onto his back, allowing them a perfect view of what dwells beneath his skirt—
Only to promptly buffer at the sight revealed to them.
The telltale glow of bright blue hardlight gives shape to a decidedly phallic-looking object. It's narrow tip tapers into a flared head, thick ridges spiraling down the shaft. The base is attached to a smooth, ivory plate, kept secure to his pubic mound by way of an ornate harness reminiscent of his own armor. One of the leather straps is nestled in his glistening folds, sliding between his cheeks and to where the belt had been hidden beneath his skirt and tassets.
Holy shit, he’d been wearing that the entire walk here?
The resulting surge of heat they experience is enough to allow Gabriel a shot at retaliation. The warmachine barely dodges the broad swipe that follows, forcing them backwards and out of immediate range. Precious seconds tick by as their angel rolls to his feet, barreling after them with an faux-outraged bellow.
“YOU LECHEROUS LITTLE BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU?!”
Holy-forged metal jabs at them in rapid succession, forcing them to dance around each would-be blow with hard-ingrained reflexes. At the tail-end of Gabriel's final attack, another burst of hot air is all they need to bring them in close again, this time for a counter. The blade of the short-sword in their Feedbacker hand leaves a deep gouge in his side.
Before they can leave a matching wound with the one in their right, a fist sharply collides with V1's helm. Static bursts across their visuals in answer to the radiant pain, and clears to the sight of Gabriel bearing down on them, halberd at the ready. Gut instinct has their feet kicking outward, and by pure luck, their heels collide with his bleeding abdomen. They hear the breath being forcibly pushed from him as his momentum betrays him, sending him flying harmlessly over their supine frame.
A satisfying thud resounds somewhere behind them as they somersault to their feet and face their opponent. Before the blur of Gabriel's charge even registers, they flick their blade in an upward swipe just enough to deflect the point of his spear from embedding itself in their shoulder.
Gabriel's hot breath fans over their newly repaired lens, and in the microseconds they have to inflict damage, their traitorous visuals briefly glance down once more at his crotch. The hem of his skirt is caught on the thick, erect shaft, and for a moment, they picture precum beading at the slit and rolling down the head—fuck, they need that thing in them, but like hell they'll give him the satisfaction of another victory on his home turf.
Sealing their eye shut, V1 rears back to slam their optic helm into his faceplate. They're promptly interrupted by Gabriel's free hand snatching their thin throat mid-headbutt, squeezing it once to cut off the blood flow before they're tossed across the arena like a worthless rag-doll, chased all the while by his laughter. It's a move far more playful than determined but disorients them all the same.
V1 doesn't even have time to correct their balance before Gabriel is upon them yet again, giggling all the while as he successfully slices open a tube on their abdomen. In answer, they thrust their Feedbacker forward and bury one sword into the meat of his upper thigh, unguarded by the armored skirt currently riding up his dick. His manic glee pitches into a cry of pain, one exacerbated when they land a second blow on the still-healing cut on his side, rending it open anew.
Blood splashes onto their arms right before they hit the arena floor, giving them precious nanoseconds to drink until they're ripped apart by the collision, sent sprawling in opposite directions. The pair of them scramble to their feet as one, Gabriel brandishing his halberd with a guttural call of bloodlust.
V1 deftly spins the handle of one of their swords in their fingers in silent mockery, and then the other--
… that they apparently forgot to rip out of Gabriel's leg in the rush to refuel.
A single second ticks by in stillness and silence as the V1's fingers cease twist around nothing, right when Gabriel seemingly catches on as to where they left their other armament. Their golden optic wides in horror as his gauntleted fingers grasp at the handle and tear it from his flesh, carelessly throwing it aside. The warmachine's sword spins freely through the air as its trajectory takes it right into the audience-less auditorium seats.
The moment the rattle of a blade slamming against marble echoes through the empty coliseum, their angel rushes them yet again with a wild shout.
V1 retains just enough sense to raise their remaining weapon to block. They brace for an impact that never comes when Gabriel unexpectedly stops short not a meter from where they stand, polearm swinging at the ground and kicking up a thick cloud of dust, one thrown directly at them.
Thousands of tiny rocks blind them a microsecond long enough for the full weight of Gabriel's frame to be thrown at them, knocking them flat to the hard-packed dirt below. Their sword goes flying from their grip and blood-stained metal kisses at the vein of their neck. The Feedbacker is seized when a haymaker is defiantly thrown at his skull, wrist squeezed so tightly that the metal groans in protest and their synthetic nerves all sound the alarm.
"Yield." Gabriel demands into their right audial heatedly. His thighs pine their hips to the dust, dick grinding along their pelvic plating eagerly. V1 snarls at him through their fans, even as they feel themselves throb, legs flailing and so tempted to unlock their Knuckleblaster and nail him in the face with a concussive blast.
Their primary arm scrabbles for where their sword lies, straining in its socket to try and grasp at the just-too-short hilt. V1's middle finger uselessly brushes along the handle, and ultimately pushes it farther away.
“I SAID YIELD!”
A sting comes as the blade of Gabriel's spear presses onto the thin acrylic, drawing a bead of blood as their limbic system screams at the proximity. V1 makes one last show of trying to reach for their weapon, before finally falling limp beneath him. They accept their loss with a low, metallic growl.
The edge of certain death finally pulls away, allowing repairs to kick in and draining another three-percent of blood. Down to twenty-five units; the sting of defeat is smothered by a hunger both carnal and inate.
"My win, Machine." He states with no lack of smug triumph in his voice.
"DIRTY CHEATER." The warmachine shoots back at him, only for the world to suddenly whirl violently to the left, dust briefly clouding their visuals once more as they're flipped effortlessly onto their front. A clatter of metal slamming upon dirt follows as Gabriel hurriedly discards the angel-made weapon, his palm readily wrapping around their shoulder to keep them still. The other runs down their spine until it cups the back of their pelvic plating, groping at the metal there with greedy squeezes.
"It's hardly my fault you are so easily distractible." Damn him, his sultry tone of voice, and how it caresses their circuits in all the right ways. Gauntleted fingers trace the outline of their lower crotch panel. "Now, about my terms of triumph… "
V1 cannot get it to open fast enough, slick already drooling from their folds to sully the divine-touch land with profanity. One thick finger slips inside them immediately, a sharp squeal rattling from beneath their plating as it buries itself to the second knuckle.
"What is it about defeat that arouses you so?" Gabriel crones down at them, withdrawing his armored digit at an agonizing crawl until just the tip remains. "Knowing that someone can actually knock your ridiculous ego down a few pegs? Or could it be… something else?"
Something blunt pokes at the back of their hip, hot against their plating in a way their modest collection of worn toys back home are not. Their arms scrabble uselessly at the ground as Gabriel shoves his finger inside them again with force, the drag of metal rapidly pushing them to the brink of insanity.
Fuck, it's been far too long; their last scavenged strap-on broke from the sheer amount of use it had seen a number of years ago now, and they've yet to locate a replacement. Just how long had he been working on this in secret? And how soon can they show him the other shapes and girths from the snapshots of defunct sex toy merchant websites they have saved in their porn folder?
V1's unspoken queries are promptly filed away for later as their lover's hand strikes up a steady rhythm, quickly working them open for the second digit. The warmachine struggles to rock back against his grip as it joins the first, but Gabriel's iron grip is unyielding, thrusting into them without slowing down nor speeding upon. A rumble of perverse laughter resounds from above them, and they sense his weight settle on them more heavily.
"I'm sorry, do you need something, Machine?" A third finger slides home and their visual feed skips erratically. "You're going to have to do better than that."
"PLEASE." Their shaking Feedbacker implores, clenching around his digits and their neglected clit throbbing with need. "PLEASE—"
"'Please', what?" His fingers curl, digging into their upper walls, and their fans whine with shameless want.
"FUCK ME," V1 begs, internal dialogue translating thoughtlessly into rapid-fire fingerspelling. "FILL ME, I NEED YOUR COCK, PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE—"
Gabriel's hand jerks away, but they are not left empty for very long. A familiar click of a plastic tube opening (and where the fuck had he been keeping that?) resounds somewhere behind them, followed by the squelch of his homebrew lubricant pouring into into his palm. V1 catches the faint, slick sounds of him pumping his cock twice with an impatient growl.
And finally, without even asking if they're ready, the insatiable archangel lines himself up and takes them.
A rattling keen emits from beneath their plating, melding with his reedy whine as he thrusts in as far as he can go. It's—he's huge, thicker than anything they currently possess or have used before. And unlike the initial cold of malleable silicone and sturdy glass, the manifest Light is searingly hot against their throbbing walls.
"Nng, fuck, I swear I can feel you squeezing me." He pulls back until his thick head catches on the rim of their pussy, before gliding back in. "You're so—warm, and wet… "
He fucking—he can? V1 clenches down around him experimentally as he bottoms out, and the faint gasp it prompts from him is proof enough of this. He's always described his ability to conjure weapons--and now sex toys--out of thought alone as an extension of his will; that had to include some way of tactile sense for him to be affected like this.
And as the realization of this hits them in full, Gabriel begins to pick up the pace. His hips stutter back and forth unevenly, until it settles into a rhythm that makes their circuits spark in all the right ways. A hand alights on the back of their helm, huge hands all but engulfing as they're held firm to the ground.
Steel and silicone fingers dig into the dust in a vain attempt to hold onto sanity. A dazed giggle erupts from their lover, caressing their thigh before briefly pinching at the vein there.
"Look at you, taking me so well." He purrs into their audials, pausing halfway inside them to adjust his grip on their hips. The next thrust makes them see stars; bursts of RAM that fills their head with heady static. "Like you were made to take me."
God, they desperately want to think that they had; that everything they had survived and accomplished and learned had all been but a prelude to this very moment. On their knees in the dirt being fucked silly by Archangel Gabriel's hardlight dick, mind going pleasantly empty as the world narrows down to the fire coursing through their wires each time his curving tip spears them open anew.
So much, too much; not enough. V1 struggles to get their Feedbacker under them, scrabbling against the dirt and reaching for the swell of their pelvic plating. No sooner do they start to slide it beneath them does a vicious snarl reverberate through their titanium frame, and the angel’s ridiculous weight briefly lifts from them.
Their wrist is promptly snatched up by a bruising grip, before a flash of metal catches in the glow of the midday light of Paradise. The spear they thought he'd discarded farther away is burrowed into the ground between the splayed fingers of their other hand in unspoken warning. Fear only has a moment to register before its twisted into a bolt of heat that makes their neglected clit twitch.
"You'll come on my cock, Machine," Gabriel snaps into their audials, his rumbling tone leaden with possessive lust as he rams his hips against theirs, burrowing deep as he can go. "Or not at all."
Release slams into them like a core eject, hard and hot and catching them entirely off-guard. Static bursts across their visuals like a flower blossoming beneath the rays of the morning sun, radiating throughout their trembling frame with familiar fire.
Audio cuts in and out to the sound of Gabriel's sudden uptick in his breathing rate, his pathetic whines escalating into a guttural moan as he grinds himself inside them far as he can. V1 swears they can feel, for just a moment, liquid warmth blooming in their core as Gabriel unexpectedly finishes as well, and their imagination only serves to amplify their pleasure tenfold.
Cooling systems and lungs alike heave with exertion as the both of them come down; a hazy coda to their sinful symphony. Gabriel does not even pull out, the hard light spearing them open simply dissipates into nothing, and the sensation of it makes their fans practically jump out of their frames. They are eased to the ground, and in sharp contrast, their paramour simply slumps to their side with a satisfied grunt.
It takes herculean effort to angle their eye to face where he had fallen. By the time they angle their visual feed to where he lies, Gabriel has sliced a cut open on his hand, directly over the graying scars that decorate both of his calloused palms. The wound is offered to them immediately, V1’s conical head tilting upwards as it cups their overheated plating. They readily lap up his lifeblood with contented nuzzles, both to draw more fuel into their hungry systems and drink in his comforting touch.
"Are you alright, my love?"
Reserves swiftly hit full capacity, and V1 offers him a dazed thumbs up, hand flopping lazily back in the dust a moment later. Their lover chuckles softly in answer, stroking his fingers down the side of their head and painting their steel with unabsorbed blood.
“Heavens, I didn't think it would be that intense.” He admits with a mystified tone in his voice. “Well worth the effort and practice, I must say.”
“HOW LONG YOU BEEN WORKING ON THAT?”
“Some time now; I’ve been quite out of practice with leatherwork.”
As Gabriel starts to pick himself up working to pull his belt and skirt back on, V1 eyes the ensemble he'd put together. He'd somehow found little metal beads to decorate the ivory-bleached tassets, shaped like tiny golden hearts. The symbol of the ever-present Tree of Life on the horizon emblazons each one.
“WHAT ABOUT THAT DICK OF YOURS?” They don't need to see his wings to know he’s flushing. “DON’T THINK WE HAVE THAT ONE IN THE COLLECTION.”
“I ah, recalled seeing it in one of those filthy magazines you had scavenged.” Gabriel rolls to his feet, dusting off his armor. “From there it was simply a matter of willing it into existence; although holding its form took some hours of meditation.”
V1 briefly pictures Gabriel sitting crossed-legged before a floating, hardlight dildo, deep in concentration. It punches a silent chuckle from their fans as their lover reaches down to aid them to their feet.
“C’mon now, I know your legs didn't disconnect throughout all that. I have a few stops to make before we head home.”
“SURE, SURE.” The Warmachine rolls themselves to their feet, picking up Gabriel’s spear while he glides off to retrieve their discarded sword up in the seats.
Hmmm, do they still have that magazine lying around somewhere? Its contents were unfortunately part of their long-gone memories despite them having it listed in their supplies. The task of locating it is added to their never-ending list of things they eventually get around to, and slotted fairly high up on the prioritization list. Maybe they could try their hand at designing a few of their own should they succeed in tracking it down.
But that's a notion for another day, for the night is still young. Their lover is in the midst of retrieving his swords upon setting their borrowed pair upon the rack. V1 takes it as their cue to return his bloodied halberd.
(And if Gabriel sees them sneaking the mace into their wing for later use when his back is turned, well, he certainly doesn't say anything about it. They still have to practice with it first; by the time they take a swing at his skull with it, he'll likely have forgotten they had it in the first place.)
"—while many an artist were allowed temporary residency in the Eighth Sphere while on commission, there was great reluctance among the Angels that served the Saints to uplift the mortals souls they'd favored in life. But contact with the lower Spheres was not discouraged at the time, and his word was law, to be followed without hesitation."
"THAT CHANGE AFTER HE LEFT?"
"Unsurprisingly." Gabriel mutters, their casual stroll down the cloister slowing to an easy halt before another portrait. This one spans from floor to ceiling, depicting Joan of Arc holding an audience before The Father following her death at the stake. "The Council put a stop to those visits very quietly after they took power. I never did find out how the Saints felt about that."
Funny how that turned out to be for the best. While vastly dwarfed by the sheer amount of dead Angels, Gabriel has stumbled across the corpses of several of God's venerated souls across his many brief trips to the Fixed Stars. Each one had been subjected to brutal violence before their second deaths, and not by their own hand. The sheer distance between the planets and that field of cosmic dust had ultimately been what spared the mortal souls from sharing the same fate. He's yet to glimpse any amidst the surviving masses during his much more infrequent ventures into the lower Spheres.
V1 does not linger long before this particular artwork, giving it only a cursory up-and-down glance before pressing on to the next. Gabriel, in turn, steps into place beside them. He's seen these paintings before, admired them since they were first hung in this open-air gallery, yet cannot say this one continues to instill positive feelings.
"That said, not all Angels despised humanity's additions to Heaven's collection of works." He muses aloud, glancing across the pristine courtyard to the opposite loggia, where even more artworks hang. "In turn, they inspired our own artists; new styles, movements, methods of mixing colors and paints. Yet they were still kept separate, held in higher regard; Mankind's contributions were never fully acknowledged by my people."
"Truth be told, I think my people have always been… envious of our estranged siblings. Gifted with their creative spirits, allowed to fabricate things outside of The Father's glory, taking up so much of his attention. None would ever admit to it, of course, but… well, I suppose things have since changed for them; for all of us that remain."
A subtle twitch of V1's bladed, dusty wings is all the acknowledgement he is given to that, as their walk comes to another momentary lull. This time, they turn to face this painting in full. A rarer one, not pertaining to perceived holiness or the Primum Mobile's martyred souls. This one had simply been loved enough by Saint Valentine to be included in the gallery.
The main subjects are two Seraphim, their many arms entangled and their many wings outstretched to form the shape of a heart. They hover together just above a starry pond, dappled with different-colored water lilies. A cob and a pen join them in flight, each feather a careful brushstroke of white and faint grays.
V1 lingers here a long moment, before glancing over at Gabriel with a wide, curious optic.
"A gift to the patron saint of married couples." He elaborates, a small smile tugging at his lips as he draws their attention to it's fine details with flourished gestures. "Many of those in a union blessed by God reunited in the Third Sphere after death. The artist had captured the joyous moment these two souls had renewed their vows to one another, including many symbols found in Mankind's own mythos. The swans, for example, are indicative of their commitment of one another, for they mate for life. Constellations seen from Earth—Perseus and Andromeda— are reflected in the waters, harkening to a story of enduring love."
"And while flowers can take on many different meanings for mortals, a lotus in many of their cultures symbolizes eternity, and the marital bliss they had been promised Sphere of Lovers."
He moves his hand out of their peripherals, right before the continuous click of their auxiliary lens follows the end of his explanation. Gabriel stands patiently to the side, letting them absorb the intricacies of the piece at their own pace before their attention inevitably strays from its vibrant canvas. Onward they press, Gabriel's voice waxing poetic to his audience of one, the only sign of sapient life in this desolate paradise.
The two of them take in the portraits and murals of a time bygone for around thirty minutes more, perhaps in hopes that it will somehow inspire them in both their own works. But inevitably, it comes to an end a mere twenty minutes later, finding themselves right back by the entrance to this tucked-away gallery. Two satchels sitting by the pond in the antechamber, bulging with a few hours worth of scavenging, await their return.
Gabriel had not chosen this particular stop for just the exhibit on the works of mortals; just outside its walls is a rolling, marshy field of swaying grasses. Whenever the blue sky gave way to a backlit void, fireflies would gather to dance, igniting the rolling wilds with an electric-green glow. They flock to his hand when he outstretches it, trusting of him to what still, sometimes, feels like a fault.
While many simply flit about his pauldrons and wings, others still are readily coaxed into one of three large jars. They serve as safe enough transport to Earth. Once there, they will be subject to the cycle of time and their instincts; the need for sustenance and reproduction. It is a sacrifice he has long become willing to make, for the sake of the planet he has come to call home.
"There," He says with an easy finality, upon securing the lid of the third container. It's slipped into a satchel V1 always brings along on their trips, before he turns to face the machine in question. A number of fireflies have swarmed to them as well, alighting across their dust-covered plating and bloodtipped wings. They examine one crawling across the index finger of their Feedbacker, doubtlessly fascinated with it. "Ready to go when you are."
He's half-expecting them to want to stay a few minutes longer, but their gaze is immediately drawn to him. The tiny insects scatter as they hurry through the grass to his awaiting hold. His wings briefly flick to dislodge the remaining bugs clinging to his feathers, their eye closes, and the reality splits apart around them as they hurtle back home.
At the end of those whirling light years, his feet touch down upon grass, once more. Dewdrops glimmer in the combined blue-and-gold glow their wings, and in the gathering light of a rosy dawn. Waning nightlife surrounds them once more, utterly unbothered by their arrival. Crickets sing in the sloping fields to their left, amidst a wealth of wildflowers; somewhere within the trees of the vast forest to their right, hand-raised from cuttings and kernels calls a chorus of amphibians. Some part of him still swells in answer to its presence; he really has come to appreciate it all the more.
Gabriel sets his machine down, freeing up his hands to begin opening the clear glass containers. A cloud of buzzing wings and flickering lights pours from within, parting like a crashing wave as they fly away into their new surroundings. Years of rain and sowing and care have left this flowering edge of their city just as rich in color as the Heavens above, slowly growing brighter in the dawn gathering in the east. They will thrive here, and hopefully beat down a concerning number of snails and slugs in this part of the burgeoning wilds.
The final jar is emptied, and promptly swapped out for a trowel. There, between the daisies and a small cluster of lilac bushes, a spot yet to see any blooms. The dried outer shells of iris bulbs, accumulated at the very bottom of his satchel, crumble noisily in his grip as he grabs a mere handful of them. Gabriel drops to his knees with the ease of long practice, falling into the meditative rhythms of planting. A hole scored into the earth beneath a healthy carpet of grass, a tuber rolled from his palm to his fingers set within, and promptly covered.
A hint of rain can be detected on the cool, clean breeze, likely to arrive around the time the sun sets. He makes a mental note of ensuring the remaining bulbs are planted before the afternoon bleeds into another lazy evening.
When Gabriel finishes this particular task, he finds V1's attention is not on the cycles of restoration taking place. It is instead directed to the rolling hills, where the peaks of the high-rises are barely visible over their gentle crests.
He's about to ask what's captured their regard when the bright, golden light of their eye turns to him, hand outstretched in wordless beckon. Gabriel takes it without a moment’s hesitation, and lets himself be pulled by the hand into a brisk walk. A sprawling carpet of forget-me-nots sits between the verdant slopes, splashed with the bright reds of poppies and the violets of feathery-clover.
He follows them to the top of the biggest hill, one that will eventually be hidden beneath stalks of sunflowers taller than him, and beholds the sight on the other side.
Daybreak strikes the shadowy mass beyond the ruins of the eastern suburbs, igniting one of its needle-thin high rises in a fiery glow. It is one of three that still stand tall above their decaying brethren, brought down by time and weather and earth-shattering battles. He can't quite make out the cascading ribbons of nasturtiums and morning glories that flank their surfaces from this distance. All had grown from seeds that he plants on the surface of the towers yearly now, their tenaciousness endlessly wearing away at steel frames and solid concrete.
The final few glimmers of the Fixed Stars fade away into thin gradients of rose and orange, bleeding down the curtains of greenery that swathe their silhouettes. And as one, they move, two of V1’s arms winding around his waist as his own tugs their shoulders flush to his side in a half-embrace.
H-E-Y, V1 scrawls into his side, drawing his attention from the brilliant morning coloring their home. When Gabriel glances down, their lower optic shutter has lifted in a show of delight, cheeky but sincere all the same.
"What is it, love?" He asks, humor beneath his tone. Gabriel is entirely prepared for some teasing quip about his sappiness about another day in paradise, or about their earlier defeat in the colisseum. But instead, their primary arm reminds him of their extraordinary time-keeping abilities, down to the very minutes of their shared existence.
"HAPPY ONE HUNDRED YEARS."
"… has it—really?" Awestruck, he turns from his machine to behold the cityscape with enlightened, rising high above his orchards and gardens. "One hundred to the day?"
"GIVE OR TAKE A COUPLE HOURS." A shrug, but then they cuddle back into his embrace with a firm squeeze. "FIGURED NOW'S A GOOD TIME TO REMIND YOU."
"I—wow." That day is still so fresh in his mind even now; their beginning together on the surface of this forgotten world, tentative but willing to work together to survive. The dust and ruin, harsh neons and broken glass and sun-faded corpses, given way to the building blocks of life taking root.
A breathless laugh escapes him as he embraces them anew, all but lifting them from the ground. Their optic squirms free from his arms just enough to press against his helm in a loving kiss.
"Happy one hundred years, V1." Holy steel nuzzles lovingly against experimental alloy, his still-beating heart full to bursting. "Here's to a hundred more."
A century ago, V1 had emerged from Hell's maw alive, triumphant in their lofty goal to survive the end of the all things, with a willing bloodbag in tow. A desolate world rolled out beneath their feet, limited in space yet infinite in possibilities. Bodies of both bone and metal lay puddles of dried visceral, the shapes of skyscrapers standing tall above a barren horizon, and the only splashes of color were artificial in all ways except in their vibrancy. They had set forth into that concrete jungle full of fuel with an almost manic excitement, ready to plunder it of all its secrets.
Now, with the rising sun to their back and soft, green carpentry beneath their feet, the warmachine is simply content to stroll home with their lover at their side at a much more leisurely pace.
The occasion calls for such reflection, prompting them to pull up photos taken of their city taken during the first decade. Suburban homes that once stood proudly have caved in on themselves beneath rains and winds and the sheer force of creeping roots; no longer does concrete and acrylic swathe their crumbled foundations. A sprawling orchard of fruit-bearing trees now shade the loam below, branches full of leaves, but only some are heavy with ripened poms. Peaches and nectarines, apricots and plums, lemons and cherries.
Intermittent lulls in their casual conversation come and go as Gabriel lifts from the ground where the bearings of his decades-long labor hang, gathering two or three each for a later lunch. The surrounding landscape is not the only thing that's changed; their angel has as well.
It was a gradual thing, beginning right after their first trip together to the Primum Mobile. While he swears up and down that nutritional intake is not something an angel needs to survive, Gabriel has readily taken to regular meals, sourcing foodstuffs from his gardens and Heaven's abandoned fields. It's led to the development of a small outdoor oven and firepit on the far end of their city block, where he bakes leavened bread rolls and fries rice grains with vegetables and sauces. The massive cooking pan hung over the sand-sunken hearth doubles for hearty-looking stews during the colder seasons.
As a result of all this, his frame has filled out appealingly, flesh plusher beneath their hands and periods of dejection declining in occurance. He more often than not carries himself with greater confidence, hits all the harder in battles, and his blood quantity has significantly boosted. V1 ogles at him openly as he plucks perfectly round peaches from the branches above, getting a full view of his golden harness cradling his ass and cunt. None the wiser to their lecherous leering, or simply not caring at all, their arms wind around one another when he touches down again, and onward they press.
Those rich glades soon give way lush alleys, full to bursting with shade-loving blooms and curtains of creeping vines, new growth overtaking that which withered this past winter. Hovercar shells, rusted and long-stripped of any useful components, are sinking into the soil, frame by frame. Only patches of sunbleached cement and worn polymer chunks remain, clinging to the edges of the city blocks as they are taken back by nature itself.
The lake comes into view when the sun has climbed halfway to it's zenith, wreathed by sunken buildings, grassy shores, and magnificent willows, and any further words have fallen to a comfortable silence. Gabriel's armor tumbles off his frame the closer they get, until he's down to just his skirt and the harness hidden beneath. He readily offers a hand out to them as he wades out into the cool waters; taking it in turn has become second-nature. V1 let's themselves be led over fine silt and smooth stones until they're waist-deep.
It's something of a ritual, scrubbing at the blood crusted on his feathers as his fingers rub the fuelstains off their plating. Tiny new scars have cropped up, criss-crossing the ones put there by them throughout their life together; in tandem, his thumbs swipe thoughtfully across the many little nicks in their frame, before moving on the next. A form of dialogue in of itself, they've always considered it. Perhaps he too is looking back on these wonderful years of existence.
By the time they've finished preening his feathers, Gabriel has cleansed them of viscera and fine golden dust. He then draws them deeper into the lake, until they're climbing up onto his torso as his legs swoop upwards from the surface below. V1 scrabbles higher up his chest, and they watch his wings splay in either direction. Balance found, they pump downward, just enough to bring them floating away from the shores.
A cloudless sky warms their back, the waters below cools their side. Somewhere in the middle, where their steel presses against Gabriel’s scarred flesh, they feel just right.
Lulled into a standby state, they slip into the annuls of their short-term memory, letting the everything they had experienced in the past eight hours or so upload into their solid state drives. Compared to the first twenty year of their time at Gabriel's side, it has become a more frequently-needed action. Simply due to the fact that a single, but ultimately harmless, downside had come with their life-saving memory upgrade:
Converting digital information into genetic format takes two-point-four seconds longer than it would copying it onto electronic-based banks.
For small amounts of data, the time difference is virtually unnoticeable, but for larger chunks, such as a day's worth of video and photos, newly updated battle data, and whatever musical compositions they've hammered out or edited, the extra seconds can add up very quickly. The change in processing time was, at first, a drastic adjustment, one they had to cultivate much more patience for than they think they would have during their period of hard-ingrained survival. It culminated to a day's worth of sleep mode the first time Gabriel brought them to the Primum Mobile, both worrying their lover and frustrating themselves at this time-consuming process.
They were being forced to, as Gabriel so eloquently put it at some point or another this past century, "stop and smell the roses".
Precious memories took longer to cement into their very foundations, books took longer to read, compositions several days more to bring to life. Data management to allow for optimal copying speed has been maximized; they can go no further than what their current settings allow for. But much like the prospect of this lifetime one day coming to an inevitable, bloody end, this does not bother V1 now as much as it had upon the initial realization. They had time to do all of this and then some. Time to experience this good, green Earth like they could have never imagined it.
(And.. well, what was the harm in taking things just a few minutes, hours, days slower than before. It's hard to believe, one hundred years after the fact, they've yet to grow weary of these halcyon days of seemingly endless bliss.)
It's only seven minutes to back-up the night's events, and another fifteen seconds to flush their short-term cache clean. They emerge from their inner workings to find that Gabriel has drifted towards the southern corner of the lake, primary feathers brushing along the aquatic plants that clustered upon it's sunny surface. One hand rests behind his helm in a picturesque pose of carefree contentment, and the other traces every ridge of their silicone spine with reverent touches. Lotus blossoms of every hue imaginable rise above the flat leaves, swaying merrily in the warm spring breeze.
From the shadowy underbelly of a forest of pondweed stems emerges the shape of a fish. They think it may be a bass, perhaps one they've caught and released before. V1 tracks its languid movements as it draws closer to the border between air and lake. Right above the stretch of rippling, sunlit water, a dragonfly ducks close to its surface, hovering with beating wings that are merely a faint scratch to their straining audials.
The surface tension breaks with a brief, audible splash as the fish darts for its would-be prey, only to miss as it darts into the air and well out of reach. Having survived an encounter with a predator, the dragonfly vanishes from sight and sound somewhere amidst the sinking high rises now cloaked in vibrant green. Its would-be devourer, meanwhile, lingers near the boundary between its home and the vast unknown, undeterred by the presence of archangel and machine in its never-ending quest for fuel.
V1 turns their attentions away from the ongoings of nature, and to their partner 's wings as they twitch into a different angle, lazily pushing them both farther out onto the lake. His soaked primaries brush along the lily pads just off the lakeside shore, dappled with delicate pink blossoms.
Impulsively, they disengage their Knuckleblaster from where it's wrapped tight around his waist, and pluck one such flower from its sunken stem. It's a perfect specimen, not a petal out of place; virtually indistinguishable from the ones spotted in Heaven’s courtyard ponds. Or in a painting done by an ascended soul.
They pull up their recent files, and find the high-quality snapshot taken during their brief venture into the open air gallery. Among the many portraits that had caught their interest, this one sticks out in their memory the most. It had not just been the careful brushstrokes and deliberate color-palette, nor a clear look at their lover's distant kin outside of what brief glimpses they've been allowed. Gabriel's long-winded explanation of preset symbolism, and how it tied in to the subject at hand, is what they sticks out to them in particular.
'"And while flowers can take on many different meanings for mortals, a lotus in many of their cultures symbolizes eternity, and the marital bliss they had been promised Sphere of Lovers."'
Eternity: noun, indefinite unending time. Synonyms: perpetuity, the life to come, everlasting life.
Isn't that what they had? Yes, one day they would die, but so would those Angels in the portrait. All this time at one another's side, how happy it made them, coinciding with the definition of the second word of interest in his explanation…
…hmmm.
The image is dismissed, V1 sets the blossom down upon the lake’s surface, and watches it float away, carried in the wake of each little wave left by their carefree drifting. They mull over their question for a minute longer than they normally would, weighing different ways to approach the topic, before ultimately settling on their usual blunt approach.
V1 taps a single claw on his sturdy chest. There’s a soft hum response to their touch as Gabriel’s hand pulls away from where it had been stroking their spine, coming up to cup their optic helm.
“Yes?” He asks, a drowsy lilt to his tone. V1 spells out their query in quick, practiced movements.
“DO YOU WANNA GET MARRIED?”
In answer to this, Gabriel unexpectedly, and rather violently, jolts beneath them with a sputter and a loud splash. V1 is promptly jostled from their comfortable position atop the archangel. Their optic is momentarily submerged in the cool lake, visuals blinding by churning water. They briefly catch the silhouettes of several fish, perhaps emboldened by the shade cast by Gabriel’s wings to grow close to the surface, darting in all directions.
It's only Gabriel’s hands, snapping to grab their shoulders, that prevents them from sinking like a stone into the lake. When they surface finally, Gabriel’s found his balance, and his answer starts and stops in single-worded stammers.
“I--V1, what--when did--” They’d find his nervous sputtering cute if irritation hadn't been the primary emotion currently coursing through their processors. “Where--where did this come from?”
They emit a soft huff; it sounds more like bubbling than whining as their fans swirl in the water. Their Whiplash rises from below the churning liquid to respond, a soft pink spreading down his drenched wings as they elaborate.
"THAT PAINTING FROM EARLIER." All that Gabriel says to that is a soft 'oh', before they proceed to make their case. "SO WHY NOT? WE FIT ALL THE NECESSARY SOCIAL REQUIREMENTS, AS DICTATED IN MOST HUMAN SOCIETIES."
“Well, uh--”
“WE SHOULD MAKE IT OFFICIAL.”
“How would we do that?!” His deflection comes far too quickly for their liking. “In the eyes of Heaven and--and in God, we… we could not…"
He trails off into a silence that rings loudly with unspoken shame, one that is entirely instinctive. Sometimes it shakes them still, just how far the scars of doctrine have burrowed into their angel's soul. The hold it's had on him has significantly loosened, but there remains so much still to uproot, even a century after he'd freed himself from the vice grip of its binds. They've likened it to new growth sprouting over dead vines; the withered leaves remain, but can be cut away with patience.
All the more reason to keep pushing him to untangle those deep-seated mindsets, one unorthodox idea at a time. And why not start with a hypothetical?
"HOW WOULD YOU WANT TO?" V1 asks instead of insisting. Sometimes that is all it takes is for Gabriel to get around something he is stuck on. This time is, thankfully, no exception.
"I… would want to wear something pretty." He settles on, surprisingly quickly. "And I would want you to dress up as well."
"DONE." Tiny waves lap at both their shoulders as Gabriel's wings tilt backwards, bringing his knees to bump against their own. "NOT SURE IF I'D FIT INTO ANY OF YOUR DRESSES, THOUGH."
"I would much rather make us something new to wear." They can't help the way that their wings twitch excitedly at the thought. V1 clambers onto Gabriel's broad chest as he leans back into the cool waters, aided by his steady touch, and then rests their optic back into the valley of his pecs. "I know you like longer skirts."
"NOTHING TIGHT."
"Of course, my love." A thoughtful hum follows. V1 can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he considers this theoretical possibility. "What would you want out of this?"
"I'D WANT A HONEYMOON."
That's what truly piques Gabriel's interest; they see it in the way his gold-tinged appendages lift just slightly above the water before pushing back down, sending them farther out onto the surface of the lake.
"Where would you like to go?"
"SHOW ME THE LOWER SPHERES; EACH ONE." Before reluctance can settle in, V1 offers a compromise. "DAY TRIPS, YOUR CONDITIONS, ISOLATED LOCATIONS."
"I… I suppose I'd be able to figure something out." Gabriel muses aloud, his palm slipping behind his helm once more, and it's like their momentary disturbance never happened. "I'd need time to plan for it, of course."
"ALL THE TIME YOU NEED." Water laps at the back of their thighs as they continue to drift across the lake, broken only by a twitching of their wings as they arrive on another idea. "HOW ABOUT A SPAR AFTER THE CEREMONY?"
"Naturally." Gabriel takes pause for a moment, as if the words are truly sinking in. "A ceremony with no witnesses; just you and I before an altar, dedicating the remainder of our days to one another… "
He laughs softly, a sound so light and devil-may-care it makes their reward center feel all fuzzy.
"Stars, where would I even begin to compose my martial vows to you?" The feeling is mutual; their fingers start to twitch into a verbal agreement when the thought is derailed entirely. "What if I tried my hand at forging you a ring?"
"I'D MAKE YOU ONE TOO."
"How?" The incredulousness in his tone only spurs them on.
"I'LL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT." V1 sets a simulation on that right away, more than eager to prove him otherwise. They bring their primary arm down to tease at one of the leather straps below his skirt for emphasis. "IF YOU CAN PUT THIS PRETTY ENSEMBLE TOGETHER, I THINK I COULD MAKE YOU WEDDING BAND."
"Ah, well, metallurgy is a bit different from simply sewing leather and attaching it to spare pieces of armor." A pause, and then they can practically picture the mischievous grin spreading across his face as he entertains another notion. "I think I'd like to wear this under my dress, actually."
"KINKY."
"What else… ?"
"PLACE?"
"Well, we have our pick of the planet's chapels—whatever still stands out there, that is."
"WHAT ABOUT THE MOON ONE?"
"… I could—I would be free to decorate it however I liked." There's an undercurrent of schadenfreude to his words that sends a shiver of delight down their spine. "Y'know what, V1? That sounds like a lovely idea."
They relish in it, sometimes; doing things with Gabriel that surely would have his long-dead maker spinning in his grave. Consummating their union on his old man's altar, staining it with blood and profane body fluids, would be their best one yet.
God made his angels with knowledge instilled into them at birth; 'pre-programmed knowhow', V1 had once put it. While Gabriel's specialties lie with horticulture and plant care, many other rudimentary skills had been included in the creations of his countless siblings. They had been birthed with their understanding of music theory and playing abilities, comprehension of the basics of cooking, and how to mend their own clothes.
The finest of the tailors and seamsters of Heaven had been employed under the Council following God's disappearance, no longer taking commission from the common masses beneath their unyielding rule. As a result of this, many of their tools, supplies, and the repertoire of written instruction for their craft had been allocated to the grand palaces, vast auditoriums, and highest courts of the Primum Mobile.
Including the one they had congregated at to announce his fall from grace that fateful, bloody day.
Rather than teleport directly to the laundry rooms, Gabriel's thunderous appearance brings him before a familiar, bloodstained balcony. Instead of a crowd stunned into a shocked silence, there are only a smattering of bodies slumped upon the seats, no different from any of Paradise's other countless necropolises. Doves still linger in the eaves of the columns, peering down at him curiously as he alights upon the railing. He does not linger on the grisly sight surrounding him, opting instead to stroll on down the steps leading to the antechamber with the same air of confidence he had harbored long ago, when he first set out to free his people from the chains of fear and tyranny.
It's only for old time's sake; taking this scenic route as an act of reflection. The fuel-splattered hall is the same as it had been when he had first brought V1 here: backlit by gentle lantern light, a cracked middle support column from the violence in which Gabriel had broken a spine against it, and missing the corpses of the ill-fated Heavenly Council. He can only conclude they had been moved to their final resting place in the courtyard by the guards before the chaos had overtaken his home in full.
His machine had not only taken the time to admire those particular cadavers, lined up in a neat row beneath the south loggia, but also taken him in this very hall. Specifically, against the pillar currently to his left, and then again on the long, crimson carpet running down the middle of the chamber. And one more time out on the balcony he had just left behind.
The flash of heat this memory brings about only adds a spring to his step, making his way over to the one servants passage in the far corner of the hall. It pries open easily, allowing him to duck into the shadowy shortcut. Three turns to to left and one to the right bring him to the exit nearest the entrance to the linens room. A sliver of light heralds his correctly chosen path, and he strides to the exit with a small burst of confidence--
--and his footsteps almost completely mask the audible creak of a door swinging open.
Gabriel freezes in place, a bolt of terror seizing him. He braces for the flood of light to hit him, but it never does. Instead, the padding of sandals can be heard, retreating in the direction opposite the passage exit.
Yet does Gabriel remain stiller than the corpses that decorate these once-zealously-guarded holy grounds, daring to not so much as breathe. His patience pays off, for scarcely two minutes later do the footsteps return, ducking into the unseen laundry room yet again.
The door is scarcely ten paces away from where he stands, but it's not until the latch clicks shut does he dare creep forward, silent as a stalking panther until he can peer through the crack in the servant's entrance. As luck would have it, the linens room is directly within his line of sight, easily visible from the safety of the darkness. While he waits for the unexpected presence to emerge from where his destination lies, Gabriel rationalizes.
One hundred years is not a long time for an Angel, and yet... has this not been the most he's ever lived? Freed from the tyranny of God's doctrine and it's remnants, one hundred years has already felt like a lifetime. Perhaps for all his other surviving kin, that is also time enough for old wounds to start properly closing.
It's only another few minutes. The ornate knob turns, and a Principality emerges from within. To Gabriel's great surprise, it is not alone. Two Virtues flank either side, hovering just above it's thin shoulders, bags stuffed full of linens and other textile-related tools held by their jeweled bodies through strength of will alone. None the wiser to the presence of Heaven's traitor, it turns and retreats back down the way it came, disappearing from his line of sight quickly.
As he crouches there in the darkness, waiting for the small group of Angels to depart the realm, he supposes it was only a matter of time before his people came here looking for salvageable supplies. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before the human souls came up to stand guard at their sides as they faced down the realities of their ruined home. Maybe even another hundred years from now would see them settling here in Paradise, exploring it's boundaries, increasing the risk of running into a particular warmachine. Gabriel hums in quiet worry. As vast as the Primum Mobile is, the possibility of being discovered puts an unwanted level of caution to be taken henceforth.
Thrice more do they return for supplies, and just as Gabriel begins to worry that they'll pick the room clean, a distant echo of thunder reverberates down the halls. A departure from this realm to one below, or elsewhere in Paradise.
Only then does Gabriel emerge from his hiding place, stepping lightly towards the laundry room, ears strained for any further footsteps. Nothing can be heard in this eerie necropolis, but the first thing the archangel does upon reaching the entrance to the linens room is prop the door wide open.
To his relief, the room is still diligently stocked, if not cluttered from prior rifling through. Bins full of chitons and chlamys and himations sit in the middle of the space, parallel to a row of ornate basins on the back wall, many of which hold clothing in varied states of clean. A small workshop composing of of thin needles, jewel-studded scissors, and fine floss in every color beneath the visible spectrum occupies the north-facing wall. Several drying racks sit opposite them, a suspicious lack of clean clothes on their hooks.
Fortunately for him, the dirtied clothes in the bins all range from smelling slightly sweaty to telltale splotches of dried wine. In his shifting through the collection of linens, he stumbles upon something even more vibrant than a juice stain.
A crimson stole sits in near the bottom of the first bin, silky material clean and the hue red as blood. Surely belonging to a Council Member, one that had inevitably fallen to his blades. He pictures V1 with this draped around their neck, a splash of ruby to go with marble-white and delicate golds, swathing their azure steel.
As Gabriel slips it into the empty satchel he brought along, he eyes the wall of floss, the sewing tools scattered across it's surface, a measuring tape and pincushion shaped like a succulent knocked to the floor.
Well, he would have to measure, attach, trim, and hem everything else first, but he's mended his own clothes for so long now that would only take a matter of weeks to have everything ready.
Perhaps, between his discreet trips to the Lower Spheres and vow composing, he might have time to try his hand at something new.
WARNING: LIMBIC NERVE-ENDS #15-87 DISCONNECTED
SELF-REPAIR NEXUS OFFLINE
RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE-
Yeah, yeah, they’ll turn it back on in a bit. They're busy.
Clearing the surge of blinking window boxes that had popped up on their HUD all at once, V1 diverts their attention to their set of precision scissors. One hundred and thirty-seven millimeters from the offending cut, V1 snaps the blades shut one again, freeing the length of delicate wire from their sensory network.
The warmachine sets the length of thin yellow thermoplastic aside, right alongside two others already removed from their delicate interior. Blindly plucking a replacement one for an adjacent pile of scavenged wires, it's swiftly placed where they had sliced out a part of themselves.
As soon as they twist the copper strands together, self-repairs are at last allowed to kick in, draining their fuel by a mere two-percent of its current total. Tacky-looking magenta plastic is knit meticulously into their sensory network, and the tingling, numbing feeling plaguing their right thigh at last dissipates.
Three down of their selected five cuttings of wire they'd deemed sufficient sacrifices, with two to go. All things considered, their recently-compiled blueprints were coming along quite nicely. Not every DIY project of theirs went according to plan upon first draft. Emboldened by their success, their optic swivels to their Feedbacker, where their upper bicep plating has been pried off. A single red wire sticks out amidst the white, the one that's critical for their parrying ability.
There really is something to this theory about colors clashing and blending, if the near-century they've spent watching Gabriel create aesthetically-pleasing landscapes of flowers is anything to go by. It's just one of many aspects to take into consideration, run against the deeper meanings that the world before them gave to the countless hues of the visible spectrum.
This crimson strand is a given, naturally, for the lifefuel that binds them. The deeper shade of yellow for his armor and inlaid tattoos, green for the world their love sprouted upon, blue for their plating—they sadly do not possess one to match the vibrancy of his own wings. Yes, there is a closely-matching one in their scavenged collection of replacement wires, but they are loathe to add one that did not originally come from themselves.
It wasn't until after they'd searched through their memories, and landed on the hour of their first copulation together, that they'd settled for a vibrant violet, one buried deep in their mechanical brain. That had been a harrowing removal that briefly terminated access to their short-term memory. In comparison, the rest of their improvised maintenance has been a relative breeze. Enough so that a background process can look back over the lengthy paragraph they typed up last night before bed.
Maybe too lengthy, now that they've brought it into immediate focus. V1 diverts repairs to the length of bright blue wire—might as well incorporate that one—they've set in the red one's place, and toggles the notepad file to their HUD. Hmm, well, they're keeping the line about how much fun they've had cohabiting together. But the flowery opening can probably go.
They very well could be overthinking this whole thing; the one human-sourced file they'd dug up on wedding-related oaths made it seem more complicated than it honestly should be. But knowing Gabriel, his own avowal to them will probably go on for a couple minutes at minimum. And frankly, finger-spelling something that long was not an appealing thought in the slightest.
But it's not as if anybody or anything will be waiting on them at the altar. It can be whatever they want it to be. And what V1 wants, more than anything in that future moment, is to concisely-inform Gabriel just how much he means to them.
"WHAT WERE THEY DOING THERE?"
"Searching for supplies, much in the same way you and I do." Gabriel steps around to their other side, rolling the end of his measuring tape between his fingers in thought. "Hold that pose a moment longer please."
Hardlight wings twitch with evident impatience, but V1 remains still as a statue as he drops down to his knees again, bringing the end of the tape from their shoulder to the opposite hip. Sliding his thumb to the edge of their plating, he mentally notes the diagonal measurement to about sixty-one centimeters, before lifting away the tape to do the same with their other side.
Outside their apartment, a rumble of thunder cuts through the steady ambience of a spring storm. Days like this would see them both in another part of the world, or in the Primum Mobile for a spar. But knowing the risk kicking up such a racket could now create, he's been forced to rethink their approach. V1 seems to share a similar line of thought when he finally pulls away to scribble down this set of measurements on a scrap of parchment.
"SO. NO MORE SPARRING UP THERE?"
"I never said that." Gabriel states, leaning back over to wrap the tape around their three-jointed shoulder. It's significantly broader than the one arm they have on their right. "Only that we will have to exercise greater caution."
"UGH."
"'Ugh', indeed."
A whirr of resignation accompanies his low, contemplative hum, briefly pulling his focus away from his anthropometry to observe his fiance. The archangel pictures them clad in whites and bits of golds and a streak of red, and hopes they would find themselves as beautiful as he does.
"There yet exist many places that would hold no interest to any Angel, and are far from the cities and fields," He reminds them. "All I would need to do is warn the creatures dwelling there to avoid the area from now on."
His proposal succeeds in brightening his machine up a little more, their stance relaxing as he rolls up the measuring tape around his palm, finished for the time being. They're in the midst of a response when a soft sound cuts through the silence of their finger-spelling.
As one, their gazes both turn to the point of origin: the coffee table just to his left and V1's right. On the parchment Gabriel had used to write down the length's and widths of their various body parts, a single, fat droplet of water sits in the center of the page. It's beginning to seep into the paper. No sooner does this register does another appear upon it, right above the first.
Both helm and optic snap to the living room ceiling, and dual sounds of exasperation escape them at once.
"Oh, for fuck's sake… " Gabriel grumbles in answer to the gradual pooling of rain in a hairline crack he hadn't noticed until now, splitting the inoffensive white plaster. He snatches the parchment away before the next drop can fall, leaving it to splatter on their sun-faded furniture. Behind him comes the sound of V1 padding away, followed by their rummaging through the cabinets in their kitchen. "I suppose that was only a matter of time too."
One hundred years since he himself had taken up residence here, following that first violent storm. Many of humanity's monuments have fallen into ruin, and despite their efforts at upkeeping this humble space they share, it too will one day crumble to dust and decay. No different from the parking garage where he had raised his first flowers on this once-dead earth, now crushed beneath the collapsed concrete from the floor just above.
A small container is slipped in the spot where the water is dripping, and then four arms wrap tight around his shoulders. Warm steel presses all along his spine as he leans into V1's embrace with a tired sigh.
"AFTER OUR HONEYMOON," The machine's Knuckleblaster says, "LET'S THINK ABOUT MOVING."
"You would want to leave this city?"
"NO," A thoughtful whirr follows as he reaches up to touch the arms that hold him. "WHAT IF WE BUILT A NEW PLACE?"
"You are vastly overestimating my carpentry abilities." He teases flatly, but nonetheless imagines a place out in the fields beyond the city. A humble house of sturdier wood, made to weather the elements and far easier to repair any. Maybe one just at the edges of his orchard. "By the Father's Light, when did the two of us become such boring homebodies?"
They shake with laughter, squeezing his shoulders in a hug and putting all their nonexistent weight upon his back. He wants to wake up every morning he yet lives to their affection.
"WHEN YOU FIRST DECIDED TO KEEP ME ALIVE, YOU SILLY ANGEL."
"Careful now," Gabriel purrs, "One of these days, I may yet still regret that decision, my insufferable machine."
Being subject to the passage of time and all its consequences have taught V1 many things about its effects: most notably, the cold hard fact that nothing would truly last forever. Plants rose from the ground and then eventually withered and died, the steel frames of high rises would inevitably disintegrate into dust, the Kingdom of God was always doomed to consume itself without his presence.
That first townhouse, where V1 had first curled up in the corner of the upstairs bedroom, tentatively hopeful that their truce with Gabriel would last but unwilling to take any chances, is another such example. With Gabriel's aid, they had successfully moved everything they had deemed practical to their everyday whims to their shared apartment. That had taken place sometime after his initial confession, and their countless piles of trinkets had been left to endure the turbulent weather patterns that followed.
Now, nine decades later, some part of them is kicking themselves for not relaying everything else within to a more sheltered location.
"What did you call it, again? 'Resin-something'… ?" Gabriel calls from near the collapsed back wall of their former living room. Rather than pull their head out of the overcrowded kitchen island cabinets and interrupt their thorough scanning, the warmachine lifts their Whiplash high as they can and hopes he can see their hand.
"EPOXY RESIN." They spell. "SHOULD BE IN A CAN."
"And what do you need it for?" The rustling of leaves and snapping of vines resumes, followed by the clatter of various plastic and glass knick-knacks.
"A SURPRISE."
A huff emits from their lover, prompting them to roll their optic instinctively. It's not like he hasn't been keeping the design of their own wedding dress a complete secret these past few weeks.
"A fair enough answer." They can hear the smile in his tone regardless. "I do doubt it's the only existing can of the substance in the world, though."
It most certainly isn't, but they know the one buried somewhere in here is still sealed; they just never bothered digging it up before their move-in. And if it could still somehow be cured, then their marital gift to Gabriel would last far longer than just a few weeks wrapped around his ring finger.
Bracing their raised hand upon the ruined marble counter top, V1 ducks in deeper, pawing at old pots and pans they never removed, slimy bottles leaking unknown liquids, a moldy road atlas who's contents had been long-scanned and squirreled away within their memory banks. Odds and ends they don't even remember scavenging tumble out onto tiles broken up by strands of ivy and sprouting shrubbery. How the fuck had they accumulated this much junk in the first place—
"Ah-ha!" Comes Gabriel's triumphant call from across the room.
Immediately slipping out of the dark interior of the kitchen island, they poke their head out to see their fiance picking his way through the overgrown living room towards them. That single container of precious thermoset polymer is clasped in one hand, and something else evidently curled up in the other.
For now, V1 prioritizes the finding of their sorely-needed item, rounding the counter to grab it when offered. To their relief, it remains sealed. It's well past the best-by date, but everything in this forgotten world is. As long as it can still set when they expose it, and their scavenged silicone mold, to their selected source of dry heat…
Gabriel hums aloud, but it's not a sound directed at them. When they look, he's staring at whatever else it is he's uncovered from their trove in the palm of his other hand, deliberately angled away from their immediate view. V1 takes a subtle step to the left, and Gabriel's fingers smoothly close around the unknown item.
"Was there anything else you required from this place?"
"ONLY WHAT YOU'VE GOT IN YOUR HAND."
"Whatever for?" His fist readily moves behind his back as V1 moves to the right. They so desperately want to pounce, break all his digits prying them open to see what he's found. But they've got other priorities and 'stealing back their shit' ends up fairly low on the list when put into perspective. "I do distinctly recall that you once told me I could 'help myself to whatever you left here' before you moved in with me."
"ASSHOLE."
"And yet you're marrying me anyway."
"NO, YOU'RE MARRYING ME."
Silence, and then a cheeky, lovestruck giggle bursts from him. Their pumps thrum all the harder at the sound; they don't think they'll ever get tired of hearing it. V1 covers that internal burst of sticky-sweet emotions with a sharp whirr of their fans.
"WHATEVER; I'LL JUST FIND IT AGAIN WHEN YOU'RE NOT LOOKING." As they turn to depart, the itemized notion is nudged just a bit high on the docket. And when Gabriel's laughter follows them to the borders of their fallen home, it goes right to the top out of spite.
"I'd like to see you try, Machine."
It’s not often V1 aids him with his restoration efforts. Outside of stocking Earth’s ponds and lakes for later sport, the warmachine has exhibited little interest in the horticultural aspect of his work. But once upon a time, they had taken a shine to collecting as many varieties of thorny roses that could be found in Paradise. Those cuttings have since grown upwards along crumbling concrete walls not far from where the library once stood, now almost twice his own height.
Amidst all the yellow-golds, peach hues, and vibrant sanguines, is a single shrub of pale pinks more wide than it is tall. Expert fingers carefully pinch at the stem of a perfect bloom, holding it steady while his shears close around it. Without looking, Gabriel drops the delicate bloom into a wide-rimmed basket sitting at his feet, already half-filled with of white ranunculus and fragrant meadowsweet.
It’s as sensible a selection as any for their chosen venue. He still needs to gather hydrangea blossoms to round out his arrangements and put the finishing touches on his own bouquet. V1, meanwhile, has opted to give no particular input nor insights on furnishings. Quite frankly, he is more than happy to take full control over the decor, especially given his fiance’s attention is currently directed elsewhere.
Following the discovery of that human-made chemical, he’s been all but ordered out of their aging apartment from morning to evening the past five days. What they are doing with it is a total mystery, for their living space looks no different upon his return. Gabriel regardless begrudges them the time apart, for it allows him to turn his focus upon the remaining preparations.
Their ceremonial garbs are finished, save the stole he filched from the bygone Heavenly Council’s laundry. The ornate, bloodied carpet he'd cheekily stolen from the scene of their massacre still needs to be rolled out along the interior of the temple and lined with his floral arrangements. Just the other day, he brought a tall, wisteria-draped archway to stand just at the entrance, flowers preserved from the moment of their cutting by the stasis that grips Paradise’s First Sphere.
With all this in mind, the archangel snags one final bloom from its mother plant before reaching down to grab the thick wicker handle. And no sooner does he lift it from the blanket of grass below comes the faint, familiar crack of the Whiplash’s winch burrowing into cement, just around the south corner of the overgrown block.
“Finally emerged from your grotto, have you?” He teases through a brief projection of his own voice. There’s an answering slam just behind him, and he instinctively floats over the shockwave it produces. “Just as well; it’s a lovely day for a walk. Would you care to join me?”
Gabriel turns to face his to-be-spouse, and finds their expression alight with what can only be barely-restrained smugness. Their hands lift not to greet, but to inform.
"I'M READY WHEN YOU ARE."
The meaning behind their cryptic sentence takes a few long seconds to fully sink in. Gabriel does not mean to start, but the senseless bolt of panic that strikes him nonetheless spurs a physical reaction, all the feathers on his wings puffing up with surprise. His machine’s shoulders shake with amusement at his fluster.
"Already?! It's only been—I am far from prepared, V1."
"NO HURRY." V1 reminds him, stretching their mismatched arms over their head languidly. As if to relish the warm, mid-spring sunlight bathing them both in its glow after several days cooped up inside. "WE GOT ANOTHER HUNDRED YEARS IF THAT'S WHAT IT TAKES."
"Well, forgive me if I'd like to tie the knot sometime in the next century." Gabriel scoffs, but as they turn to stroll down the rows and rows of rose bushes they planted together, he regardless lifts his free arm as they sidle up to him. Their unyielding steel presses flush to his bare side and all his anxieties are quelled immediately. “But… thank you, anyway. I don’t have much left to work on, fortunately.”
It’s true; there isn’t much left to do. But he certainly commits the entire following day to stitching bright colors into richly dyed maroon, hunched over his needlework in the northern gazebo from the abandoned temple of God. On the opposite divan sits their completed ceremonial garbs, two carefully crafted wedding veils, and his lucky find from their old home wrapped in a spotless handkerchief. It had been brought here as an extra measure against their threat of eventually tracking it down.
There they remain for another two weeks. When the refreshing chill of a spring breeze begins to bleed into the warm winds of summer, he stows Justice and Splendor within the interior of the tabernacle, awaiting the moment of their lifelong vows. His completed bouquet rests in an amphora on the wooden floor of the pavilion, tied together with a shimmering ribbon.
Everything is ready except the stole. Embroidery has never been one of his frequent pastimes outside small additions to his everyday garments of old. A critical eye regardless spurs him to add an extra leaf here and petal there. Before he knows it, he’s added an especially bright green color to the focus of the needlepoint, ripped out five stitches and replaced them with four more. Afternoon shines upon the distant, ever-greening Earth before he finally forces himself to stop.
As he examines his honest attempt at creation, Gabriel thinks of the clumsy first thousand songs he has heard V1 play; how charming they were regardless of their at-the-time skill in composition, shared with him regardless of their own nagging inner critic.
And he firmly tells himself, "Good enough.”
Countless trips across the Universe have all but desensitized V1 to the racket Gabriel kicks up whenever he teleports to or from Earth. This time around, the thundering echo of his return, rattling the foundations of their shared apartment, all but splits their head open.
V1 belatedly realizes they completely forgot to shut off their audials before attempting to sleep off their headache. That is immediately remedied before the pain-inducing sound even fades into silence. But the damage is done, and as the gore in their helm throbs in time with their primary pump, the warmachine burrows deeper into the extra-heavy blanket sprawled atop their shared linens.
Tactile sensors pick up the moment Gabriel steps through their since-replaced-but-inevitably-gone-cloudy sliding glass patio door, the timbre of his tone projecting through the space they've claimed for themselves. Every thrum of their especially-sensitive optics reverberates with each step their fiance takes towards their bedroom, until it, and his unheard words, come to an immediate halt at the open doorway.
V1 counts the seconds until he's at their bedside, sticking his hands under the many layers of quilt and comforter. Gentle hands find heated plating encased within a pocket of warmth, and they stir instinctively beneath his touch. Internal settings are adjusted before they bother switching on optics and audio, just barely poking their helm out from out between two downy pillows. Gabriel had once likened them to a cat being disturbed from a nap, although they're sure no feline they've met has ever experienced a migraine like theirs before before.
"Hey." He greets, leaning across the mattress to look them in the dimmed glow of their eye. "I'm ready when you are."
Information input buffers for another three-point-four seconds before it is processed. Some distant part of them jolts at the realization, but it's heavily dampened by the increase in agony from the reactivation of visual and sound feeds. Both are promptly shut off again before it can escalate, but they still manage to will their fingers to trace the back of Gabriel's hand in acknowledgement.
T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W-?
A pause, before his own fleshy, battle-worn digits move to trace letters into their half-curled palm in turn.
T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W I-T I-S
Fine silken sheets both fitted and loose encase him as their angel climbs into a heaven-made mattress, already sunken somewhat to embrace both their shapes. V1 molds themselves against his comfortingly warm mass, plush flesh against their alloys, and lets the silent beating of his heart lull them into a proper rest cycle. Almost fourteen hours later, in a rare switch up to their usual rhythms, the warmachine somehow awakens to a deep rumble emitting from Gabriel's chest.
Overnight diagnostics roll out before all their other senses go back online. Their internal clock was off by about four minutes and twenty seconds (fixed immediately), pneumatics still need recalibrating (updated successfully), and disk cleanup never hurt after a day cut short by their chronic headaches (stupid glitch). By the time they have the whereabouts to lift their head from within their comfy cocoon, Gabriel still slumbers on, helm perched comfortably on all the pillows he pilfered from Paradise's emptied homes.
His free arm is sprawled out on the covers loosely, broad chest rising and falling in time with each audible snore. Just the sight of him resting tempts them to rejoin him in sleep; there's a minor twinge behind their lens that will more than likely fade to nonexistence in the next hour, but wouldn't it be nice to just have an especially lazy—
Oh fuck, they're getting married today.
It's this thought that has their attention snap to their shared dresser stretching along the opposite wall. Specifically, the lower leftmost drawer V1 had long claimed as a place to squirrel away odds, ends, and one thing they didn't want in Gabriel's immediate view. Their wedding gift to him, yet undiscovered and untouched by its intended recipient.
Atop the well cared for surface sits two satchels that had not been there yesterday, alongside a narrow, ivory amphora with gold trimming. A bouquet of flowers sits within, deliberately arranged to bring attention to the blood-red roses as it's centerpiece.
Gabriel's voice, stating 'well, if I could pick one human tradition to follow…' plays in their inner audials, and then the panic starts to set in. The text file containing their refined vow to hims pops up with a thought, skimming it in a hurry once, twice. The warmachine reads it through over and over, poised to tweak and nitpick and alter it for what must surely have been the hundredth time since the first rough draft and… actually, it's fine.
Huh.
V1 still closes the box window before any doubt can creep in. It's fine; the most important part of it all is currently buried within one of their personal drawers. Time and time again has Gabriel shown he cares little (outside of light ribbing of course) for their creativity-related missteps and personally-considered flops; if they stumble over their own wedding vows, he wouldn't bat a single eye.
And it's as soon as this thought crosses their mind do they sense him finally stir, right on time as the sun begins to peek through the eggshell-blue, late-spring curtains covering the other wide windows. They watch in their peripherals as his helmet lifts from it's cushioned perch to fix on them, and his shoulders lift with barely-restrained excitement.
“Good morning, dear. Feeling better?” He asks, drawing their attention with a snap of their optic. A minute wince crosses their lens as it sparks a minor ache down their thin neck, but it dissipates in the next moment, allowing them a firm nod. “Then shall we start?”
He’s scarcely finished the sentence before they fly out of bed, making for the bulging bags full of mended fabric on the other end of the bedroom. The first thing their hands find upon eagerly dipping into the smaller one is soft, organic material. Fingerhold pressure adjusts immediately, and from the depths of the satchel, V1 lifts a freshly-woven crown of lotus blossoms, petals colored with hues of pink and purple and blue. Fine, iridescent lace dangles beneath the flowers, and they can't help the way their wings shudder in their pack with unspoken excitement as the bedframe groans behind them from Gabriel's shifting weight.
"That goes on last." Their spouse-to-be informs them as he climbs out of bed and follows them to the culminations of his efforts. The headpiece is set aside immediately and carefully on the desk. “But if you'll allow me to start with you…”
It's nothing particularly fancy; the simple exomis he tailored to fit their frame is eased around their erratically twitching hardlight blades. Deep slits have been cut into the sides of the skirt, keeping it loose around their thighs while also modestly low enough to touch the joints of their feet. A single sleeve rests on the right shoulder, neither constraining nor too shaggy. V1 is about to whirl towards the wall-mounted, body-length mirror he managed to fit next to their messy workdesk a number of years ago, when Gabriel turns back towards the bag designated as theirs. They watch as Gabriel's bare shoulders lift briefly with a deep breath, before he reaches inside once more.
"I have a few accessories I picked out for you to wear today." He explains, withdrawing a bundle of deep red fabric from the rapidly-emptied sack. "This one is admittedly the reason behind the hold up, yet I find myself glad I committed to it's completion."
It's some kind of simple, closed wrap, draped around the machine's opposite shoulder. They catch a glimpse of silver and blue upon the fabric before Gabriel urges them to turn to face their reflection.
And on that thread-woven image, stitched meticulously onto the blood-deep surface, is Gabriel's best approximation of their Marksman Revolver. Vines adorned with periwinkle flowers weave around the grip of the gun, each leaf, petal, and stem composed of delicate floss. Brilliant red spider lilies sprout from the barrel and cradle a single bullet, four coins frozen mid-spin placed artfully at the end of his attempt at depicting their favorite weapon.
All their fingers trace his embroidery with voiceless, awestruck fascination, almost afraid of ripping loose one of the thin threads with the joints of their digits. Belatedly activating their axillary lens, it snaps in rapid-fire to immortalize their dressed-up frame. In the polished surface of the mirror they watch Gabriel's hands come up and place themselves on their shoulders, and their shutters lilt with the warm emotions swelling in their central processor.
"IT'S BEAUTIFUL." They finally remember to say, tilting their head ninety-degrees up to face his downward angled faceplate. V1's Whiplash starts and stops with everything they want to say before finally settling on, "THANK YOU."
"You're very welcome, my love." Anticlimactic as it is, Gabriel seems satisfied with their response, squeezing them once before swiveling on his heels once more. "And I have one more thing for you, but you'll have to close your eye first."
V1 isn't entirely sure what they're expecting. But while their optic is sealed shut, standing blindly before the mirror, they picture Gabriel embroidering all their other weapons on his chitons and himations. They're contemplating the benefits of trying their hand at needlework themselves when his touch returns, briefly wrapping around their neck. The clack of polished stone against steel hits their audials as something settles on their chassis.
"On."
Memories are fetched the moment they lock visuals onto their reflection, and only a single match comes up: an old catalogued file of items they had uncovered that closely matched lifefuel in hue. They don't recall when or where they originally found it, nor which pile of junk they ultimately had dumped it in. But here, now, the glistening rubies stand out in the growing sunrise, layered artfully to resemble a pleasant gash across their plating.
"I FORGOT I HAD THIS." V1 admits, their Knuckleblaster claws touching the droplet-shaped gems strung around their neck. "IT'S PERFECT."
"I'm glad you think so." Gabriel takes their Feedbacker in one hand, slipping one golden bangle over their jointed wrist, before placing another two around their primary arm. He finishes it off with a single, faux kiss atop the curve of their helm. "I came upon it while we were searching your original haunt, cleaned it up, and ferried it away to the First Sphere to keep it a surprise."
"SHOULD GO BACK AND LOOK THROUGH THAT PLACE AGAIN." The machine contemplates as Gabriel moves away once again, making instead for the satchel presumably containing his own ceremonial garbs. "ANYTHING ELSE UP YOUR SLEEVE?"
"Perhaps." He opens the top drawer where he normally keeps his armor piece, and from it comes that gilded harness, already missing it's ornamental tassets. He peers coyly at them from over his shoulder long enough to make them shiver in anticipation, before making for the doorless exit out to their kitchen and common room. "No peeking, now!"
"WHAT ARE YOU, SHY?" They shoot back at him uselessly and toothlessly, for the moment he steps out of the room, V1 makes a silent beeline for their shared dresser. It's pried open as quietly as possible, but even if Gabriel had heard them, it's not like their marital gift will remain a secret for even another hour.
For the most part, it's become something of a disorganized precision tool drawer. Gabriel as never once opened it without their prompting, and usually only when they needed him to grab something. What little is left of the epoxy resin sits in the corner, along with a barely-working hairdryer and the small mold they shaped themselves. Atop this mess sits a velvet bag, and the precious item within is immediately dumped into their Knuckleblaster palm, curling their claws securely around it.
And just like that, they're all set, save the headpiece, but they think they'll leave Gabriel to put that on them as well. Something like excitement starts to course through their veins, mixed with an uncharacteristic sense of anxiety. Jitters, they think a long-extinct human once described it in a book. Won't be much longer now.
Then they catch the clink of his harness being pulled on, salacious heat filling their thoughts as a result. It strikes them with a last-minute idea. Judging by the sounds of rustling fabric that follow this, Gabriel is still changing. They should have time for one last addition to their outfit.
The compartment directly next to their designated 'junk' drawer is mostly V1's, home to an assortment of dildos, old vibrators in all shapes and sizes, and their designated charging cords. Gabriel had added a few of of his own over the course of the century, but the mesh zip-bag shoved in the very back corner of the repository had yet been opened since it's original discovery. The warmachine runs a lightning-fast simulation, and quickly unzips the top. They find the correct piece of the skimpy ensemble immediately, swiftly slipping it out before stuffing the bag back into the repository without sealing it again.
From there, it's a simple matter of stepping into the leg openings and shimmying the garment up their thighs. Their foot slides the drawer shut as they hook the delicate waistband over their hips, snug against their plating but easily hidden beneath the fabric cascading down their frame. Perfect timing, for Gabriel's approaching footsteps resound through the doorway.
V1 forces their posture to relax, tucking their Knuckleblaster hand behind their other arms as subtly as they can manage. The warmachine sucks in a deep, needlessly grounding breath through their fans—
And lets it out in a stuttering rush as their fiance rounds the corner, coming to stop before them in all his two-point-one meters glory.
He's already donned his own mantilla, the iridescent material veiling his helm from clear view. Lavender and chamomile, intertwined with magenta-blush peonies, rest on his laurels. The cowl-necked bodice of Gabriel's shimmering, sleeveless wedding dress settles loosely around his collarbone, while the barely-decent-length skirt just covers the tops of his thighs. A layered, ruffled half-cape cascades down from Gabriel’s left hip, fine floral lace hemmed to the edges. His high-heeled sandals, in contrast, are much more ornate, calve-height straps interwoven with golden filigree. A shimmering, auric sash is tied around his waist, and if they look closely enough, they can just barely make out the outline of the under-harness beneath the fabric.
But what really grabs their attention is the stocking band stretched around his right thigh, blood red silk and lace settled just below the hem of his dress, and held there by a thin ribbon. A small, heart-shaped sapphire faces them, catching in the waxing light.
System warnings about climbing internal heat levels pop up on their HUD and are dazedly dismissed. Gabriel's fingerless, satin-gloved hands clasp behind his back as he deliberately leans forward, letting the slack neckline fall just enough for a peak at the lacy brassiere cupping his plush chest.
“Well, what do you think? Or am I so beautiful I've finally robbed you of all your words, Machine?~”
It startles a laugh out of them, and they remember themselves in time to double-check that their recording function is still online. Willing their systems to calm down, and desperately hoping Gabriel can't hear the uptick in their cooling fan speed, they easily deflect his teasing.
"YOU WISH." They reply, and, without missing a beat, “FUCK, YOU'RE DROP-DEAD GORGEOUS."
A flush runs down his wings, and they reach up to brush their thumb along his helm through his veil.
"YOU ALWAYS ARE, BUT THIS IS… WOW."
"I—thank you." They hear the smile in his voice and desperately wish for a mouth with which to kiss it. "Goodness, all these years between us both, and you can still make me blush."
"I CONSIDER THAT AN ACCOMPLISHMENT." They chuckle. "READY?"
"One last thing… "
Gabriel scoops up their own mantilla from where it waits on the dresser. There's a white ribbon attached to the underside of their own, tied deftly into a tidy bow to keep it secure to their helm. They peer up at him through the layer of fabric, and almost cannot believe this is actually happening.
"Now, I do believe we are ready."
For only another few minutes do the promised pair linger in their home, letting V1 snap as many photographic memories of themselves and Gabriel in their ceremonial outfits as they desire. Then finally, when they offer him one of their arms, a sense of childlike giddiness fills him as he loops his own around it.
As one, they step from their bedroom, Gabriel plucking his bouquet from the amphora along the way. The gentle scent of roses and fragrant gardenia fills his senses, centerpieces interwoven with fuchsia-hued carnations, delicate evening primrose colored a pale apple-blossom pink, and ornamental bebe's breath. The sun has climbed well into the sky by the time they emerge, and the moon itself hangs bright and pregnant above their city.
Shadows swathes its cool surface when they arrive, however, only lit now by the brightening Earth, and a backdrop of the distant cosmos. Gabriel’s feet don't even have a chance to touch down upon the loamy ground before he is being tugged towards the abandoned temple, the one he spent the better part of the past week decorating. A soft laugh escapes him as V1 hurries them both to where the altar awaits them.
Soil becomes ancient brickwork becomes a bloodied runner spilling from within the chapel. Side-by-side, they stroll up the carpet-covered steps. More clicks from V1's internal lens accompany the muffled tapping of his heels as they pass beneath the floral-woven archway into the high-ceiling hall, once meant to amplify many angelic voices in worship. Lining the route to the tabernacle of God and the smooth surface of the altar are eight marble columns, each adorned with gold and blue ribbons and crowned with a vase of his painstakingly put-together floral arrangements.
All his eyes stay fixated on their wonder and excitement as the soon-to-be-wed couple approach the end of the aisle. Once there, they part smoothly, and turn to face each other other's veiled gazes. There are no spectators, no guests; there is no priest or authority-of-the-cloth to unite them in the eyes of a long-dead deity. It is only them to bear witness to their marriage, however they see fit.
Needless to say, vows had seemed like a good place to start. V1 had requested to go first. Where their many arms had been tucked to their sides throughout their walk down the aisle, now fluidly unfold and begin to speak.
"GABRIEL," There's a lovesick-lilt to their shutters as they stare at him through their mantilla, shimmering in the combined light of their wings. "NEVER IN ALL MY EXISTENCE HAD I EVER CONSIDERED LOVE TO BE SOMETHING I COULD KNOW, BEFORE I MET YOU."
"YOU OFFERED ME KINDNESS EVEN WHEN ALL I HAD KNOWN WAS VIOLENCE; YOU PROVIDED ME WITH A LIFE I COULDN'T EVER FATHOMED HAVING. YOU…" A pause, a whirr of their cooling systems that sounds almost damp with the tears they cannot conjure. "YOU CHANGED ME, FOR THE BETTER; EVEN IF MY NEW EMOTIONS WERE HARD TO HANDLE SOME DAYS, NEVER ONCE DID YOU TAKE IT AS REASON TO DENY ME FUEL."
"I AM HERE NOW BECAUSE OF YOU, LIVING LONG PAST THE DAY I THOUGHT I WOULD DIE." Their Knuckleblaster rotates into the primary position, and the bangles around their weapon-wielding wrist clink faintly as they reach to take his right hand. It's pried loose from where it clutches the stems of his bouquet, metal digits pinching at his fourth finger from left. Gabriel feels his heart begin to beat in his throat. Their claws roll something small and round to its sharpened tips, and Gabriel cannot stop the shocked gasp from leaving him as it is crowned with their wedding gift to him.
"I SWEAR THAT I WILL LOVE YOU WITH EVERYTHING I’VE GOT, AND LIVE BY YOUR SIDE AS YOUR SPOUSE, FROM NOW TO THE DAY WE SEE FIT TO FIND ETERNAL SLEEP TOGETHER."
Clear, thin silicone encases five thin wires, twisted carefully together. Red, gold, blue, green, and a richly-dyed purple. It settles there like it's always belonged, and Gabriel belatedly notices the tears that have begun falling from all his eyes.
V1's fans stutter like his breath does, and they finish their vow with a gentle squeeze.
"UNTIL DEATH DO US PART."
"I… you…" He swallows thickly, struggling to keep a grip on his composure as his watery vision fixates on the hand-crafted wedding band. "It's so beautiful—how long—are these your wires?"
"YEP!" The machine replies with a prideful flourish. "TOLD YOU I'D FIGURE SOMETHING OUT."
"Goodness, I—" Gabriel sniffles, fighting the urge to reach up beneath his helm to wipe his many eyes. "I'm going to have to 'up my game', as you like to put it."
"HEY, YOU WRAPPED MY WEDDING GIFT UP PRETTY NICELY." V1 comments, and makes a point of glancing him up and down with a shutter-waggle. "CAN'T WAIT TO OPEN IT."
A wet laugh bursts from him. As much as he wants to continue admiring his marital band, it is his turn to swear himself to them.
“V1,” The archangel starts, tone taking a rough edge at first from the overwhelming emotion he feels, but confidence dispels it the more he speaks. "A century has passed since our first battle, setting my life on a course I could never, in the millennia I had existed prior to that day, could have even imagined taking. Let alone even a modicum of the happiness and joy it would inevitably bring me."
“You've given me so much: a purpose, a struggle, a reason to keep trying in the face of adversity. Those first few weeks of true freedom were terrifying; that I would have to face all of eternity one day at a time, bereft of the doctrine that had defined my being since the day I was molded from stardust." The reflexive squeeze of guilt encircles his heart with this admission; he knows it always will, but its grip has worn down so much that it doesn't even hurt anymore. "But here we stand now, with the remainder of our lives before us; good days and bad days, sparring matches and lazy afternoons, with you at my side as my wedded spouse.”
V1’s wings flutter, and his stomach seems to do flips as the word leaves his mouth.
"I vow to bleed for your insatiable hunger every day, to push you beyond your limits in honest combat, to make music for you and sing for you and love you, every single day there is still something the two of us find reason to continue to live for."
He smiles sweetly down at them, and they in turn through their veiled optic. Gabriel thinks he might be the luckiest living thing in all the uncaring Universe.
"Until death do us part."
Vows affirmed by virtue of their own company, the pair turn to face the tabernacle. Gabriel sets aside his lace-bundled bouquet on the altar (and removes his spotless gloves) before prying open its silver-filigree doors. Where once where housed artifacts meant for rituals of praise now instead rest his swords. V1 takes Justice's golden hilt in their claws, and Gabriel in turn takes Splendor's azure pommel.
In previously-discussed synchronicity, his machine pulls the sword from her sheathe, raising their right hand as he lifts his left. For a heartbeat, they go eerily still. And then, with a steady, deliberate hand, they bring its blue edge to their palm, and drag it sharply across its length. With a brief screech of holy metal upon manmade steel, they've cut it open.
He’s made them bleed countless times now, but their remarkable healing abilities make the affair far too brief. Tubes sliced in half never lost more fuel than what was visible, and what blows he’s inflicted before seal quickly. But now, simply by delaying whatever program triggers it, the wound remains open, oozing sluggishly with his blood; their blood.
Gabriel follows suit, Splendor's auric blade making quick work of his flesh. The motions come like a second-nature; done to sate their endless hunger for fuel, like they do for his unquenchable desire for battle. He looks up, sees their perfectly mirrored cuts dripping with crimson droplets.
As one, they reach, meeting in the middle just as they have so many times before. Fingers of metal and flesh entwine as warm blood spills from where they are joined, drizzling down their arms.
"GABRIEL," They ask with their Whiplash fingers. "DO YOU TAKE ME TO BE YOUR WEDDED SPOUSE?"
"I do." He manages to answer in a voice that is only slightly choked. "And do you, V1, take me to be your wedded spouse?"
"I DO."
“Then with no witnesses to our union, under no word of God to tell us otherwise, do I declare us married by the terms of our own machinations."
A grin splits his face, and his heart fills with a light that would shame The Father's if any of it did somehow remain.
"May our days be many, and our woes few."
Justice and Splendor clatter to the floor unheeded as they hurry to grasp hold of one another's veils. Gabriel's fingers tremble as he lifts their mantilla up and over their woven wreath, but it's alright, for theirs are as well as they surge upwards in answer to his declaration. The moment his blusher is out of the way does their bezel all but slam into his helmet in their passionate approximation of a kiss.
Their hands unlink in a mad scramble to get their hands on one another. Once, twice, a third time they press their helms together during their desperate clamber up his body. His bloodied palm swiftly finds the underside of their thigh, lifting them clear off the ground. All their other arms clutch at his shoulders as they rock their weight into his hold.
"Off." He tries to growl but can only pathetically mumble. No sooner do their optics flicker into dark is his helm halfway over his mouth, lips pressing to their bezel with a frenzied hunger over and over again.
Saturated iron spreads across his tongue as it laps gently at their lens. Their blood; his blood. This forbidden fruit that tempted him into falling, once upon a time. But how wonderfully sweet the taste of sin is, drawing him in for more.
He crowds them against the still-open cabinet in a hurry, the ornate doors slamming loudly against the wall as they bodily collide with it. V1’s legs throw themselves around his waist, pressing back against his mouth and hands squeezing every inch of his bare skin they can reach.
Much as he’d rather continue kissing them until they near a heat crash, Gabriel gradually relents to allow them the return of their visuals; they’d certainly like to more clearly recall the commiseration of their marriage. There’s only a faint whine of protest from his spouse as he tugs his helm back down, shielding his face from the naked eye.
“On.” Dimmed optic lights switch back on, shutters partly-closed in a seductive-looking expression. The machine shifts an arm backwards to grab hold of a shelf, bracing themselves solely to drag him in closer by the hips.
“Greedy thing.” He huffs with vague disgust, and grins wildly as a subtle shiver rattles their plating. Gabriel grabs a handful of their cotton skirts, rucking it up their thighs and hips. “So desperate to take my cock--”
Whatever else he had on the tip of his tongue shrivels into an incoherent mumble, just as surprised as it is hungry. For stretching across their pelvic plating is saffron-hued silk and fine mesh. Simple blue flowers are stitched into the transparent material, allowing just a peek at their already exposed, slightly-swollen folds beneath the gusset.
“... don't tell me you made this, too.” Gabriel blurts for a lack of any other words he could possibly conjure, for his mouth has begun watering all of a sudden. V1’s shoulders shake in silent laughter, assuaging his shock with a negative motion of their Knuckleblaster.
“WAS SAVING IT FOR A SPECIAL OCCASION.” V1 admits, staring up at him in sensual fervor through their half-lidded eye. “FIGURED TODAY WAS A GOOD TIME AS ANY.”
“I couldn't agree more,” The archangel's free hand shifts to grip their thin hip, marveling for what must be the thousandth time at how his palm engulfs their plating. “And ah, speaking of ‘special occasions’... “
He’s been practicing this newfound ability since it's first debut; all it takes is picturing it, now. Brilliant blue light, an extension of his will alone, shimmers into existence beneath his dress, pushing the hem up. The thick, curving head of his dick grinds against the joint between their cunt and their thigh as it’s spun into being. A manic giggle escapes him as their optic widens with shock.
“Is something the matter, my love?” Gabriel purrs, rolling his hips forward with a hitch of breath. While this projection wasn't especially receptive to tactile touch upon first conjuring, he could still, somehow, detect the warmth of their metal and the soft material covering their silicone lips. “I thought you were always up for trying something new.”
“BIG.” They spell a little dumbly, gaze fixated on his heavy tip resting atop one of their exposed veins. And then, in an almost dazed sort of manner, “NEED THAT IN ME NOW.”
“Do you, my Machine?” His other hand wanders down to the crotch of their panties, swiftly shoving it to the side with his thumb. Their clit twitches against the cool caress of the lunar atmosphere, swollen folds glistening with slick. “Well, since you asked so nicely… “
Internal fans shriek with surprise as two of his fingers split them open, plunging into their pussy mercilessly. They curl upwards to rub firmly against the upper wall, relishing in the way V1 contracts around his digits and slams their optic back against the almost-emptied shelves. The small vial of lubricant he’d stowed behind his swords nearly rolls off the edge, stopped only by the vice grip their Feedbacker fingers have on the ageless wood. He keeps one eye on it as his hand strikes up a steady rhythm, working them open at his own pace.
They’ll take him; he knows they will. Damn him if he’d like to spoil them a little on their wedding day.
It's like second nature now, knowing where to curl his fingers, when they loosen enough for him to slip in the third comfortably. V1 pushes back into his soaked digits the best they can with the ironclad hold he has on their frame; only a fraction of his weight is needed to keep them pinned to the tabernacle. Gabriel keeps the pace controlled, only allowing them to take what he offers.
It's only a matter of time before they tremble with a metallic squeal, fingers stumbling over their letter-shapes as they begin to beg.
“PLEASEPLEASEPEASELEASEPLEASPE--”
“Goodness, you're insatiable today,” He murmurs to them sweetly, removing his fingers and watching breathlessly as their hole clenches around nothing. He scrabbles for the vial, flicking the tiny cork off with his thumb and emptying the contents onto his shaft. “Let me take care of you.”
Gabriel massages his length with quick, practiced strokes, hips twitching into his own grip as he experimentally squeezes on the next downward motion. A bolt shoots through his groin and spirals up his spine, and he barely stifles a whimper before it can slip free. Grinding his swollen clit into the electric-heat base of the hard-light phallus, woven through the golden ring in the center of the harness upon creation, only amplifies the sensation. Then he lines himself up, pressing himself against their needy entrance.
“Let me make you mine, forever.”
For just a moment, there’s resistance, but then V1 opens for him beautifully. Choking back a moan, the angel grits his fangs as heat slowly engulfs him. V1 is so agonizingly hot and wonderfully wet, engulfing him in their searing heat. But as he glides forward another agonizing inch, their primary hand shoots out and latches onto the arm holding them up by the hip.
“SLOW DOWN, SLOW DOWN!” Gabriel freezes partly buried in them, but before a concerned query can be brought forth, hot air gushes from V1’s with a mimicked sigh of relief. “GIVE ME A SEC.”
He’ll give them a whole day if they need, despite every instinct Gabriel possesses urges him to move, to thrust, to fuck. Heavens, the thought of denying himself for their satisfaction, making them come over and over again while he languishes at the edge, begging for mercy all the while--
“OKAY,” He sees, snapping him out of his fantasy; a sordid thought for another day, then. Gabriel proceeds, pulling out slightly more before pushing himself inside them a few centimeters further.
It's a perfect sort of torture, moving only on V1’s commands of ‘STOP’, and ‘GO’. But finally, finally, he is buried inside them to the hilt, a shuddering mess of a machine clinging to his back and shoulders. All his senses are positively smothered by their heat; the head of his clit is at once pushed flat against the phallus base, and being entirely swallowed by the there-not-there feeling their cunt clenching around him reflexively.
“Goodness,” He pants, bracing one hand on the tabernacle frame so that he does not topple over immediately. “Perhaps this was one size up too far?”
F-U-C-K N-O, They write into his neck with a huff, and then, M-O-V-E
Gabriel obeys, watching as they twitch and shake when he pulls out to his thick, rounded head, before sliding back inside them smoothly. His breath is all but punched out of his lungs as he's sheathed within them once more, artificial slick oozing out from around his girth to soak into their shoved-aside lingerie.
He starts slow, if only for their sake, setting a languid pace reminiscent of waves breaking upon the sandy shores of their favorite beach. All his eyes are rapt upon their expression with every forward rock of his hips, optic shutters nearly sealed together in a squint before flying back open as he slides home again. The golden glow of their dimmed light, warmer than Heaven's missing flame could ever have hoped to be, flickers every time he hits the end of their canal.
Vain of him, perhaps, to have specifically willed this particular peg to fit inside them perfectly lengthwise, but with a thicker girth to stretch them to their limits. He does not care any longer for such notions; not when it prompts such delightful reactions from the machine as he slowly fucks them looser and looser.
The first thrust, with real force behind it, is accompanied by a rattle from beneath their plating, and the creak of wood threatening to snap beneath the strength of their Knuckleblaster talons. An urge grips him, one in part due to where they are now: newly married, consummating their union where once he would have fallen to his knees and venerate a God listening no longer.
He wants to make it a place of worship anew, break the wood of the sacrament house, mark it as the sight of their marital act. It's this thought that drives him into them harder, faster, watching his spouse--stars, his beautiful, wonderful spouse--start to fall apart beneath their wanton lovemaking.
"You make such a gorgeous sight, like this." He croons to them, pressing one thumb down onto an exposed acrylic tube poking out from their abdomen and briefly cutting off the blood flow. His machine clamps down around him in response, and Gabriel's breath catches in his throat as they squeeze him relentlessly. "So lovely, you're—mmph—perfect for—for me, all for me…"
A finger trails from the vein to dig into the gap of their pelvic plating and leg, finding that one wire of theirs that makes them see white. As his hips rail them into the sanctum over and over again, he gives it a firm tug. All their arms flail to try and grab hold of him, holding on for dear life. Ancient, timeless wood finally cracks somewhere beneath their arching back as he grinds his clit desperately against his own Light made manifest.
Heat begins to coil in his gut, something beyond the rubbing of that fleshy pearl or the ramming of their dick against his insides. It’s like--completion, or a damn near thing. All Gabriel can think is to chase that sensation, poised to consume him with ruinous redemption, flame made manifest simply through their shared fervor.
Y-O-U-R-S, Y-O-U-R-S, Y-O-U-R-S, they trace over and over into his shoulder as he takes them again and again; and then, as they start to seize and buck and their lights briefly plunge into darkness, F-O-R-E-V-E-R.
The intensity of his release catches Gabriel off guard; he throbs with a debauched cry, rutting into their core as his hand mindlessly tugs at that thermoplastic strand. He swears he hears it snap loose as they too, find their climax, jerking violently against him as fluids drool out of their pulsating cunt to drizzle obscenely onto the consecrated stone below.
Gabriel comes down to the feeling of sweat rolling down the supple flesh of his trembling thigh. A moment later, V1 is nudging at him insistently, and he slips out of them with a reedy whine. Their archangel at last allows his concentration to lapse, a sensation akin to unclenching a tensed muscle. It's a relief when the hardlight disintegrates, leaving only the sense of his nerves alight with persistent arousal, his sensitive clit pressing to the smooth ivory of his harness, and his knees digging into the unyielding monument--when had he climbed onto the altar to fuck them so feverishly?
He reaches beneath his dress and undoes the golden buckles on either his hips, letting the straps fall off his frame. The ivory clatters noisily to the ground and nearly takes his garter with it. V1, meanwhile, seems to have recovered enough to reach for where the smooth ribbon bow keeps it tied around his leg, hooking their Feedbacker finger around the ruffled, bright red lace.
“SLOWING DOWN ALREADY?” They tease lightheartedly. V1 shifts their legs down from around his hips until they're touching down upon the flat altar surface. All the Universe spins with a lilting haze as he is drawn into their many arms, pliant and content to let them mold him as they please.
"Ahh—heh, please." Gabriel's heavy frame is guided to lie back against his Father's shrine, legs falling open despite his steadfast verbal defiance."You couldn't keep up with me on my worst day."
They take his bait for what it is; a challenge. The raw strength of their knee pins his left hip to the cool stone, wrenching his dress up until his throbbing clit and drooling folds are highlighted by unrelenting gold. A pause as they contemplate how best to take him, before the whirring of panels cuts through the song of their heaving fans and his heart pounding in his head.
The only warning he is given is their Knuckleblaster's claws delicately plucking at the ribbon of his garter, the tie coming loose in a hurry. The blunt head of their cock, weeping lubricant, prods at his hole once before thrusting home in one smooth motion.
God's long-dead Will cries out in reverent agony, pain and pleasure sinking their fangs into his blood-warm flesh as V1 spears him open. They don't give him even a moment's breather, drawing back to the tip before sliding back in.
Claws and fingers brace themselves upon his thighs and waist as they find a rhythm to their debauched dance. That familiar, heavy-hot glow of smoldering, oversensitive coals in his gut is stoked with every downward roll of their hips. The sting swiftly melts away into a heady ache, mindlessly bucking his hips up in a valiant struggle to match their pace.
(Even now, he still thinks back to that neon-lit moment; experiencing firsthand what that doomed city had been built upon. He had been reborn that day, through a baptism of blood and euphoria and selfish intentions. Such an innocent, saccharine sin, one that could turn even the eyes of God away and become his salvation.)
A sound rattles out from beneath their plating; their closest approximation to a possessive growl. Talons dig briefly into the meat of his hip, accompanied by a delightfully sharp sting, before their mismatched hands glide up the back his legs to bear their weight down on his inner thighs. All of Gabriel is laid bare for them, moaning incoherent praise to them as they drive into him as deep as they can go.
“Ohfuck--yes, yes.” His helm throws itself back as their rhythm grows faster, fucking themselves into him with all the brutality of a sex-starved beast. “Give it to me, Machine--use me, ravish me… make me yours--until the stars fall from the sky!“
The archangel's hand finds his clit in a hurry, rubbing at it in desperation as their hips stutter in rhythm. A full-body shudder engulfs them as heat coils in his gut, poised to release. Their optic light plunges into darkness with a muffled pop when he calls out their name in worship, and--
Gabriel burns. Rapture consumes him in its cleansing fire, stoked into a roar by their profane ritual. Once more does ecstasy surge from his core and blossom across his body, lights flitting at the edge of his vision. And with a shriek of their fans, V1 tumbles over the edge too. Liquid flame spills inside him, flooding into his core.
He cannot recall anything immediately after, crashing back down onto this planetoid with a force that gravity has little to with. Sweat and cum roll off his thighs and ass in thick droplets, staining this once-sacred shrine with undeniable evidence of their union. The hiss of steam floating from his spouse's vents accompanies his ragged gasps, and their overheated steel sticks to his bare skin.
All his eyes gradually pry themselves open as V1 pulls themselves out, peeling their bodies apart with an obscene sound. The clack of their hands landing on what scant space on the altar his bulk allows follows. V1 looks very much like they'd like to flop themselves down on him and nap, but instead their attention is fixed on part of his dress, bunched up around his waist.
“WHOOPS.” They spell, and Gabriel’s vision lands on the bright red splotches marring the perfect white. “DIDN’T THINK I WAS THAT ROUGH.”
“You weren't.” He assures them in a tone still husky from sex. “It's alright, love. I wouldn't have worn this dress if I hadn't planned on letting you fuck me in it.”
“YOU’RE SUCH A FREAK SOMETIMES.”
“You love me for it anyway.”
“I DO.” They say, and then again, “FUCK, I REALLY REALLY DO.”
They duck in for another kiss, long and sweet and intermittent with gentle touches. Their digits trace his biceps while his hands wander the spine. He feels the weight of the ring around his finger and something clicks into place.
“Love you.” He says, putting all the passion he possesses into two words. V1 responds with talons upon his clavicle.
L-O-V-E Y-O-U T-O-O
A laugh erupts from him, brief but elated, and he holds them all the tighter. He feels left utterly breathless by this encounter; whole, complete. For however long they have left, be it a day or an eternity, he is bound to them, body and soul.
“Now, how about that spar?” He can manage, so overwhelmed by emotion he is. V1 only manages a nod in turn, a sentiment shared.
It is still another five minutes before they can bring themselves to peel their forms apart. By then the blood has dried; by then, the headiness of his afterglow has given way to his persistent hunger for struggle. But before then, they simply lie together, relishing in their union, all the time they could ever hope for to do whatever they desire for the remainder of their long, long lives.
Strange, how they can look at the same stars over and over again, but every new angle makes them look so different; be it from their original vantage point on the Earth's surface, or even on the Moon. Compared to how they are here in the void between the Fifth and Sixth Sphere's, they might as well be seeing a completely different sky. But in a way, it's still the same. Nothing but tiny lights in an endless void, one that cradles the Universe in absence of Divinity.
And how little that has ever mattered compared to the way they twist in a cosmic swirl as V1 flies across that cold expanse, legs bracing for impact as they touch down upon a silicate and iron-nickel compound surface with a muffled crash. Gabriel's wings are a blaze of glory and love-sick mania against the black, heralding his wild charge.
In the moments they have before he makes contact, they swap to their Knuckleblaster, and just as they feel the heat of his bloodied body, they fire.
What would have been a cacophony of sound in the confines of Earth's gravity is promptly swallowed by the void of space. But the sheer force of the blast ripples across their plating as their husband is violently repelled. As he spirals up and away in an uncontrolled spin, V1 launches themselves after him with all the strength in their legs.
Four coins are sent spinning through the emptiness, entirely uninhibited by air molecules. Their Railcannon's charge hits full with an internal, crystal-clear ping, and long-ingrained reflexes have them firing at the nearest one from the hip. By the time that electric-blue surge has passed through Gabriel, and promptly extinguishes itself on a nearby planetoid, V1 is upon him. Their claws rip precious fuel from him as they hurtle through space, flush against his bare midriff to soak in his blood while it's still impossibly warm and rich. Any droplet they miss spirals out into infinity, frozen in strangely-shaped droplets and clumps by the bite of the Universe's cold fangs.
They get up to seventy-five-percent before Gabriel finally recovers from their ruthless stun, about zero-point-eight-three-seven nanoseconds sooner than they're prepared for. His fingers latch onto their wing, and he spins around, a cackle bursting from him as he swings them wildly into the surrounding blackness.
Their helm promptly hits a passing chunk of space debris. Visuals go out and swiftly clear to a Universe spinning out of control. They don't know where they are relative to the nearest heavenly body nor their proximity to its solid ground. But their North Star dives from the sky, all brilliant-gold and rose-pink and gentle-blue, and they know exactly where they are.
They wait until their wife ducks close, arms reeled back to pummel them into next week. V1 braces, calculates a counter right before the hilts of the angel's blades come swinging down, and their Feedbacker reacts entirely on instinct. They see the flash of their parry, feel the bite of his other sword on their thigh, and then he's—
—catching them as they twirl into his arms, right before he is being lowered backwards towards the untouched ice beneath their heels in a flourished dip. Silent laughter puffs from their vents, and Gabriel answers in turn with a blissful, lovesick sigh.
His hand, alight upon the small of their back, braces against them as he is tugged upright. Gabriel takes the lead, guiding them back towards the line of picture-perfect pine trees, draped with heavy skirts of snow. Somewhere near that frozen shore, the six-eighth’s of a song, crackling from an eroding speaker, is heard all the more clearly. His lover leads their arms up until he can tuck and twist in time with the swelling of a golden trumpet, gliding gracefully back into their hold.
The song fades into but a whisper as their carefree dancing brings them closer to the frozen edge of Saturn's rings, where far beyond that graceless tumble into blackness spins that idyllic Sphere. Gabriel commits to memory how they look against that celestial backdrop, wings splayed and twitching with wordless endearment. As he brings right to that icy precipice, to where falling water remains locked in stasis, V1 falls backwards until their spine curves a deep arch, supported only by his palm.
There they hang as the song slows and stops, leaving naught but the quietude of the snowy taiga, where snow drifts down from the cloudless, wintery skies. V1 cranes their neck upward to gently bump their bezel against his helm in a tender kiss. And without even a bit of prompting, their eye flickers cold with sightlessness. Gabriel responds in turn, lifting them from that hungry void as he slips his helm from beneath his chin.
All their arms throw themselves around his cuirass and pauldrons as he swoops in for a passionate press of his lips against their darkened lens. Gabriel lets them fall forward, relishing in the rush of gravity as their entwined bodies promptly change vectors, bringing them upright upon the underside of the rings.
His helm is tucked back under his chin by the time their feet touch the ground again. His machine switches their sight back on to a newly discovered landscape of distant glaciers across a picturesque tundra. Snowflakes do not fall on this upside-world, instead giving way to the lights of the auroras in every color possible.
A chuckle escapes him as V1 starts at the unexpected change in scenery upon switching their golden eye back on. He is struck, for but a moment, with the vivid memory of them standing over his broken body in Treachery. Gabriel has lived for so much longer than the mere one hundred years they have known each other. And yet, his life before this, before now, is suddenly so distant.
It's a notion to let go just as soon as it comes. The archangel begins humming the melody they left behind on the surface of Saturn's rings, pulling back just enough to coax them back to their easy waltz. Together, they continue their celebration of this new chapter of their lives together, as spouses bound by their own means, in this private corner of Paradise.
"'And by this shore so pure and blue, now do I know our love is true'." The faint scritch-scratching of a quill tip upon parchment follows this amended vowel-chime, floating from somewhere to V1's left over the gentle splash of water against smooth wood. "'Come, rest your weary head upon my chest, and let us watch these clouds gathering in the west.'"
A faint mechanical hum emanates from them, in part of their processors running the notes through their composing program. The warmachine plays it back in their head in melodic piano keys, then converts it to electric chiptunes. After a second re-listen, they come to an easy conclusion.
"STILL LIKED THAT FIRST RHYME BETTER."
"Goodness, you are hard to please." Gabriel gripes, and then shifts to get somehow even more comfortable on the three downy pillows he brought along on their fishing trip. It causes the narrow boat they lounge in to rock back-and-forth for a moment, but goes still as soon as he settles. Their wife's rock-hard calves, slung across their lap and draped with a blue cotton wrap, uncross themselves and then recross without a care in the world. "I think I'll keep that one for now."
V1 is on the verge of coming up with a retort when another bite tugs at their line; the fifth in the past hour. The fish at the end puts up very little fight as they reel it in, holding it up to the directionless visible light that permeates (almost) all the other Spheres. It's small, like many of it's shallow sea brethren, but so much more intensely colored. Brilliant blue, subdued shades of tangerine, yellow-green scales filling in everything between. They snap a single photo, and then deft, practiced fingers untangle their blunted hook from the creature's little maw, slipping it back into the ocean with barely a ripple.
The topic of critiquing Gabriel's amateur poetry-composing skills is dropped in favor of snagging another nightcrawler from the small bucket they've set at their end of the pirogue. The time between catches, compared to the wildly variable fish that inhabit Earth's seas and angel-made lakes, averages around fifteen to twenty minutes. They're not quite running low on live bait, but they most certainly will by the end of this particularly lazy day.
An expert flick of their wrist casts their line out once again, far out into the tiny waves that lap at their legs, thrown over the lip of their small canoe. Maybe after their next catch they should forgo tempting the fish with wriggling worms, and see if any of the content critters that dwell in the placid reef below would simply bite out of curiosity. Gives them plenty more RAM space to both poke good-natured fun at their spouse's wordsmithery, and take in the celestial scenery of Europa's grand, placid oceans.
Islands dot the surface of this brilliant moon, from tropical archipelagos to mountainous, silent volcanoes, dappled with rainforests. The thick clouds of a sudden squall swathe the peak of one such distant isle, yet the winds remain perfect at sea level. And their view of Jupiter is unparalleled, climbing steadily from where the jewel-bright blue waters meet the sunless skies of Heaven. They've yet to cease taking pictures of it's journey, tracking it moment by moment as it slowly ascends the horizon.
They can hardly believe Gabriel agreed to this, as bustling with activity some parts of the solar system still are. But whatever intuition he's following, guiding them along these routes, it's kept their daytrips to the lower Spheres clandestine. Sure, they've spotted other angels throughout their permitted explorations, but it's always been at a distance.
It's hadn't come as a surprise to learn that some parts of these planetary paradises are simply void of angelic inhabitants. Even barring the occasional withdrawn Angel that copes with the fall of Heaven through semi-solitude, it almost felt at times as though Heaven was built in mind to one day inhabit far more human souls than it ultimately did. Especially in these higher ranked Spheres, where entire manors and palaces meant for virtuous souls sit empty.
This line of thinking is logged in an ever-expanding folder related to the remainder of the Universe, but not lingered on. For Gabriel's thoughtful tone pipes up again from the other end of their free-floating fishing boat.
"'See how these rusting spires reach for the sunrise, their skirts of emerald and floret ribbons shimmering with dew'." This has no melodic alliteration, simply colorful words strung in flowery free-verse. "'Scents of iron and gardenias, bitter and sweet, forbidden fruit and the aromas of summer's peak…'"
A pause as he writes all this down, and the mental imagery of a verdant dawn, creeping down the decayed high-rises of their home, derails any critique the warmachine might've immediately responded with.
"PRETTY." They finally settle on, to Gabriel's evident pleasure. And then, "MAYBE YOU JUST SUCK AT RHYMING."
Their quip earns them a retaliatory but playful kick to their abdomen, forcing all their arms to different parts of the boat to keep their balance as it wobbles from the momentum. They've half a mind to upend the boat entirely in response, but then their cast-out line tugs insistently once again.
Maybe they are getting old in some ways, that their first instincts for violence can been dampened simply by the prospect of reeling in another catch. It doesn't stop them from making a mental note to push Gabriel into the next body of water they pass by on their daily explorations. Gotta keep him on his toes, after all.
There is nothing natural about the blue of V1's plating. It is an artificial color mixed by unknown pigments, and stained upon experimental steel. The sharp, golden glow of their wings and eye, the veins of red exposed along their thighs and back, only serve to accent that stark cobalt.
Gabriel decides to try anyway, and finds it is not as difficult a feat as he thought previously.
This particular sapphire he thoughtfully rolls between gauntleted fingers comes appealingly close. While V1's back is turned, doubtlessly snapping countless photos of the magnificent geode spanning half the cavern they stand within, he holds it up to compare it to their thin frame. Clear, white flames burn bright in their lamps, strung from the ceiling on silver chains. It allows the true brilliance of the countless crystals and gems that jut from stone in all directions to be appreciated in full.
His find is just a few shades deeper, but cutting and polishing might bring out the vibrant ultramarine hues to a close match. Gabriel looks away for a brief moment to slip the little stone into a sachet strung from his belt, clattering faintly against all the other potential candidates he's scavenged during their explorations of this moon. When he glances back up, V1 has already moved to the other end of the gallery, and is prying a chunk of garnet from the base of the massive specimen that spans half the wall.
"ARE ALL GEMSTONES CLASSIFIED AS 'PRECIOUS' FOUND HERE?" V1 asks without looking at him, too busy admiring the many rough facets of their find in the light.
"As a matter of fact, yes." He stoops for a moment to pluck a shard of loose lapis lazuli from the pathway. "Some were already formed here before God terraformed this moon and made it a part of the Sixth Sphere. I… suppose he wanted to add the rest for visiting ascended souls to admire."
It's interesting how an outside perspective could give him clues and insights of The Father's designs, especially when it came to the lower Spheres. Where the surface of Ganymede was simply a mountainous conifer forest, dotted with temples and villas for souls to worship and lounge within, the gem-studded tunnels that run below the moon are its true draw. Bits and pieces of their original home—at least, the parts that wouldn't invoke memories of the suffering that came with mortality—could be found everywhere one looked.
Perhaps it was meant to come from a place of kindness; Gabriel cannot help but wonder if the remaining souls would agree with such philosophy. None the wiser to his internal musings, V1 begins picking their way towards the passage leading further into the network of wonders.
"GONNA FIND ONE OF EACH." They state with an air of their usual confidence, one Gabriel cannot help but tease at anyway.
"Best of luck with that, my love." He turns his attention to the scattered stones beneath his sandals. "There are over two hundred varieties of stone found in this tunnel alone.”
"BET."
"… what—what does that even mean, Machine?!" He exclaims, but it echoes emptily as his spouse vanishes from his sight a moment later, descending deeper into the underground.
Where in this grand, pointless Universe do they even pick up these strange, human-origin lingo quips that vex him so? With a rough shake of his helm, the archangel firmly puts it out of mind. He has his own ulterior motives for bringing V1 to these sprawling caverns; sight-seeing and rock collecting merely being the chosen distraction for a more… proper wedding gift to them. Specifically, one to match the gift they gave him.
Certainly not for the first time that day, and far from the last, Gabriel's attention is drawn to the delicate band of wires and resin crowning his right ring finger. He cannot stop admiring it; the craftsmanship, the thought and care behind it's creation, how snugly it fits, like it was always meant to be there. He wonders… should he brush up a little more on his blacksmithing skills, cut his chosen treasures into a size suitable, would it even match the inherent intimacy behind his own marital band?
Perhaps not; but he wants to try anyway. V1 has yet to turn down anything he's ever offered them.
This part of the caves yield little more in the way of azure-pigmented gems, save for a chunky ruby closer in hue to blood than the one he found two caverns behind them. Into the pouch it goes, and then Gabriel finally departs after his wandering spouse.
He's barely even halfway down to the next path when comes the unmistakable sound of a gunshot, followed by shattering glass. Gabriel's heart drops into his stomach, and he desperately tempers reflexive panic.
"V1?" He calls down the bejeweled passages, lit by flickering flame and radiant wings.
A pause, before comes the hurried, distinct rapping of metal knuckles upon crystal. He lifts off the ground and darts down the tunnel, afterimages cutting through the air as he hurries to where the sound had come from.
He finds his lover not hiding from any nearby souls nor angels, but instead is crouched upon the sandy floor, their back to a lustrous emerald that madkes up part of the archway to the fifth grotto. Their eye is sealed shut in a way that harkens to a pained squint, an irritable twitching to their wings and their pistol in their hand. Further down, a shattered lantern lies in pieces on the cave floor, plunging the room in a blanket of comforting shadow.
"Ah." He realizes aloud, and drops out of the air to kneel by their side. "How bad?"
"WILL BE PRETTY BAD." V1 signs in his direction, fingers moving somewhat stiffly from the rapid-onset of a headache.
Gabriel can't quite smother a sting of disappointment. They haven't even seen the heart of the moon: a vast cavern with every color of crystal imaginable, let alone heard the music tones they could produce when struck in harmony. But his arms immediately slide beneath their bent knees and around their lower back, lifting them from the stone-scattered ground and holding them to his chest.
"Home? Or elsewhere?"
"ANYWHERE DARK AND QUIET." V1's optic settles on his chiton-covered pec, seemingly more than content to ride out their impending migraine in his hold. "DON'T CARE."
For a moment, he wants to ferry them back to their apartment. But it will be deep into the dark period among the Fixed Stars by the time they successfully navigate out of these caverns, the streets unlit and no moon to reflect the sun's glow.
"I know just the place."
The first halcyon evening Gabriel had brought them to his original quarters in the Eighth Sphere, V1 had made it a point to eventually fuck him on every inch of floor, wall, mattress, table, and other assorted furniture pieces available to them. Following the end of their debilitating, nine-hour migraine, the warmachine had set their sights on furthering that long-term goal. They gain a whopping eight-percent of the remaining one-third of varying surfaces they still needed to christen by the time the pair of them run out of steam.
As always, they recuperate from their copulating in his ridiculous vast, almost too-plush bed. Gabriel's firm abdomen, comfortably cushioning their helm, rises and falls in easy tandem to their low-spinning fans. A calloused thumb lingers on the plastic of their thrumming vein, tracing it back and forth like a steadily-swinging pendulum. It's enough to lull them to a half-aware idle mode, contentness seeping into every wire, every circuit.
Their index finger finds a scar just below their wife's collarbone, tracing its length in turn. V1 had put it there themselves with Splendor, right before his fist had all but shattered their optic lens. All traces of that blow have disappeared, but there remains a tiny nick in the edge of their Feedbacker plating, where he had pinned it to a wall with Justice.
Scars from a hundred years worth of spars, arguments, conversations. V1 wonders if they'll both become unrecognizable a thousand years from now, warped from countless marks of violence.
“Query.” Gabriel murmurs suddenly into the starlit darkness. Two-point-eight seconds pass before V1 can even fight through their self-inflicted sense of laziness to respond.
Y-E-A-H-?
"If you were to kill me tomorrow, how would you do it?"
The warmachine stills for a moment, contemplating this unexpected question. Bloody digital dreams and sordid waking fantasies come to mind immediately, of splitting open onyx skin and crimson muscle to reveal ruby-stained bone. Seeing for themselves the wild dance of cardiac muscle, thrumming frantically in its collagen cage, before—
"I WOULD RIP YOUR HEART OUT." V1 informs him with their raised Whiplash, slipping their primary hand up the valley of his pecs to rest over where it beats steadily in his chest. "AND THEN HOLD IT OVER MY HEAD AND CRUSH IT LIKE A ROTTEN PIECE OF FRUIT."
The aforementioned organ notably picks up in rhythm following their candid answer. A shiver of excitement wracks their frame as Gabriel's fingers shift to land on the small of their back, the rugged pads trailing up and over their wingpack towards their shoulders.
"How greedy of you." He sneers playfully, a husky edge lurking beneath his drowsy tone. "Not to mention dramatic."
"YOU'RE ONE TO TALK." They push their fans into a fond huff. "AND WHAT ABOUT YOU?"
Gabriel wastes little time finding a single bundle of wires, lying just beneath where their three other arms are joined to their upper torso.
"I'd strike this spot first, cut off the power to all your infernal extra limbs." Touches from their husband's other hand scamper down their hip to stop at a single acrylic vein, disappearing into their abdomen. "Then I'd slice right here, here, here, and then finally, here."
Spine, waist, their thin neck. Simulations give them a statistically high chance of total shutdown should he stun them long enough to accomplish it. Anticipation wracks them as the described scenario is fed to their imagination. They would lose blood flow to most of their vital components, blinded and helpless while Justice and Splendor come down to strike them down for good.
"And then I'd disembowel you, tear every circuit out of your chest to keep that blasted healing ability of yours from kicking in."
"HOT." V1 spells absently, and the body beneath them jumps with a carefree chukle. A rush of affection floods their processors; how the hell did they get so lucky?
"I don't know what sort of response I was expecting from you." He teases as their claws come down to start scratching at his hip.
They angle their conical head up to look directly at his helm, the light of their eye igniting both the gold of his cross and the too-ornate headboard of his old bed. V1 suddenly wants to fuck him against it so hard the timeless wood snaps in half.
"DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE TIRED OF LIVING ALREADY."
"Far from it." Gabriel assures them, a soft moan rumbling up his chest as one of their own hands wanders down to his pubic mound. "But I'll be the first to admit I've put some thought into it."
V1 imagines waking up in the morning to bloodstained sheets, and hanging them out on the balcony just like he had his wedding dress when they had arrived home from their ceremony. Any scavenging angel could see it; proof of their perfect union. A shuddering gasp bursts from his lungs upon burrowing the sharp points into his flesh.
"SAME HERE." They confess easily, lifting themselves to straddle their wife as his hips rise to eagerly meet their touch. "I'LL BE SURE TO MAKE IT FUN FOR YOU."
"You—mmhhph—spoil me in all the—the best ways… ahhh … !"
As promised, Gabriel shows them bits and pieces of the Paradise he can now hardly call home. Slowly, carefully, keeping to the outskirts of angelic civilization as its wonders unfold before his robotic spouse.
A blissful month goes by as they wander between the estates of Jupiter's kingly homes, hardly occupied as what remains of humanity are inevitably drawn to the comforting glow of the Sun. They take long, languid strolls through the rolling savannas of the Seventh Sphere, greeting every animal who grazed there with enthralled enthusiasm. The grand, unattended collisions of Phobos and Deimos are sullied with spilled blood as they spar with every weapon conceived by hands both mortal and divine.
And there’s still more to see in the occupied worlds of the solar system, but the bodies beyond Saturn's verdant valleys and pristine taigas draw no more wandering eyes, nor starstruck visitors, beyond their first viewings. Therefore, it is silent out here between the Seventh Sphere and the Fixed Stars, at the edge of gravity that surrounds this outlying planet.
Rings encircle it, thinner than that of its Heavenly counterpart, and the darkness of the void swallows all sound softer than his own voice. But Gabriel knows V1 is snapping countless photos of Neptune's ultramarine storms, and its distant sixteen moons, from where their knees dig into his shoulders and hold their weight against his pauldrons.
He hovers in the icy emptiness until they climb down to cling to his back, rapping their heel against his midriff to signal their readiness. No sooner do their arms tighten around his frame does he pump his wings against the void, surging forward at great speed. Larger and larger does the distant planet grow until he's cutting through the barrier of it's thin atmosphere, and sound becomes marginally more tangible.
Gabriel dives towards the perpetual storm until the very last moment, pulling up enough to glide parallel with the churning blue vapor. Out of the corner of his eyes as he glides just above the line of sapphire clouds, Gabriel watches V1's Feedbacker reach down to trail their fingers in the frozen crystals and hydrogen sulfide. The smooth surface parts beneath their touch like a knife through flesh; perfection disturbed by humanity's long-lasting influence.
B-E-L-O-W-?
"Nothing you nor I could put our feet down upon." He replies to the query traced into his bare side, just the same as he had the one for Uranus. His wings beat twice to keep them from dipping below the eternal windstorm of this distant heavenly body. "The Lord did not designate this world worthy of being a part of his kingdom's expansion."
"THE LAST TWO SPHERES ARE GAS GIANTS JUST THE SAME AS THE NEXT TWO." The Whiplash that pops into his periphery points out. "WHY WERE THESE NOT MADE INTO SPHERES OF HEAVEN?"
"I don't know." To his own credit, any words that would surge in defense of The Father's design are only a momentary impulse. He pretends to be distracted by the sight of V1 attempting to fruitlessly gather the dense mist in their palm. "And I'm certain never will, so there's no point in asking."
"MAYBE HE RAN OUT OF VIRTUES TO ATTRIBUTE TO HUMAN SOULS."
Their jest takes a moment to sink in properly, and when it does, a startled laugh bursts from him, one bright as the distant sun yet as cold as the dead planet below. Perhaps because it is more than likely true. For all of God's genius when it came to designing how life would work on a macro and micro scale, meshing together like cogs in a machine, the true matters of the soul eluded his grasp until the very end.
"I suppose I'll have to settle for that as an explanation." He sighs, half-humorously and half-tiredly. Sometimes he still feels foolish for ever thinking them a mere object, and not a fellow soul of blood and fire and sin much like he is.
The archangel changes the topic readily; little point in dwelling on the thought processes of his dead Father.
"Would you like to see the moons before we press on? There are many more dwarf planets on the edges of the Sun's pull to see; thousands, even."
"YES!”
Later, they'll show him all the pictures they took of Neptune from the surface of Naiad; of his own armored frame silhouetted against the stars, and the gorgeous celestial body the Lord had forsaken as it sank below the rocky horizon. He'll wonder if The Father had gotten so lost in the bigger picture to the point of missing these little moments of wonder in this clumsy dance of life.
It only inspires a momentary sting of pity, before it is dismissed entirely.
And to think they might've gone their whole existence without ever knowing of this.
One-hundred-and-ten hertz worth of vibrations quake against silicone and metal, prompted entirely by the nonstop raking of their metal fingers down impossibly soft organic fibers. It burrows down into their processors and reverberates in their audials with an unending rhythm. There's no line of code nor dedicated subroutine relevant to their intended functions that signifies this rumbling should be satisfying or pleasing, but it does anyway. What do they care for the logistics of it so long as it doesn't stop?
Burrowed into their thin neck is another happy little ball of fur, not purring but napping contentedly. A third has snuggled into the crook of their Whiplash and side, resting its tiny chin on the strip of light beneath their designated moniker. V1 swears it's smiling in its own way, amber eyes shut and long, tipped ears twitching in answer to Gabriel's meticulous piano tuning not five meters away.
The one they shower with attention is longer and bigger than any of the others cuddled up to their warm plating. Many animals of Paradise had been born in this ageless realm, but many more had once spent a lifetime on the mortal Earth. Funny, how the flow of time could change the appearances of creatures based on habitat and climate. How it could bring about a breed of feline so… majestic compared to their not-too dissimilarly patterned ancestors.
Fluffier fur, more shades of gray in her stripes than sandy brown, a sweeter face and longer whiskers. Is it possible to fall in love with something so quickly? V1 almost wants to resume their persistent campaign to bring one home with them, but the weight of the care Gabriel possesses for the avians he is, slowly, reintroducing to Earth yet overpowers their desire for a housepet.
With mortality comes hunger, comes the cycle of feeding, comes the cycle of violence and death. A single cat could easily wreck havoc on the delicate ecosystem currently holding their home planet's life in the balance. For now, they’ll have to settle for the temporary company of Heaven's resident beasts.
It takes far too long for them to realize Gabriel has since finished his preparations. An idle glance over to him, perched upon the cushioned bench, brings their visuals directly aligned with his veiled gaze. Their husband's elbow rests on the frame, helm balanced upon the heel of his hand, and they know right away that, beneath the cross of his faceplate, he's positively grinning.
V1 is reluctant to respond with a head tilt of their own, so they settle for a half-squint, as to not disturb the feline stretching languidly against the joints of their optic frame.
"Are you ready? I'm done with the tuning."
V1 thinks about this, weighs the pros and cons of getting up, and cannot settle on a decision. The warmachine is not left in choice paralysis forever, thankfully, for Gabriel rises from his seat to walk over to where they lie on the carpeted music hall of this abandoned lounge. Five sets of slitted eyes in varying colors open all at once and turn towards his easy approach. Not for the first time, they marvel at this mastery their Angel holds over God's creatures.
"Time to move." He tells them, not unkindly. "Let them up now."
At his urging, their new friends lift themselves from their frame, stretching their furry little bodies languidly, before stepping off their warm steel. It's hard not to mourn the departure of their company, but the wistfulness is a brief thing as they roll to their feet, following Gabriel back to the grand instrument.
Seating themselves with a flourish of their four arms, V1 runs their many fingers across the keys. It's a short but complex downbeat melody, and serves its purpose in checking Gabriel's work for themselves. At the end of the bar, they deem the instrument tuned to their liking. Their lover takes a seat to their left, facing parallel to them. His arms reach for what they've taken to calling The Contraption, perched upon a wide-topped, cushioned stool.
It hardly resembles a holopad anymore, instead a hodgepodge of computing parts, growing ever more cumbersome to carry around as the years went by. Some are upgrades to V1's original device, but most are replacement pieces, scavenged years ago from an ever-shrinking pool of Earth's technological resources. Heaven's time stasis, thankfully, has kept its current condition intact, at the cost of needing to remain here for… well, quite likely the rest of its existence.
A shame. Their holocube is on its last legs; they're going to miss watching porn on it with him.
Holos flare to life with a press of a button, Gabriel taking that same hand to a digitized sound panel. Having since familiarized himself with the programs contained within, he needs only fiddle with the digital knobs for but a moment. Power is diverted to their fine-tuned audials, cranked to their highest setting, and set to record. The Knuckleblaster lifts briefly from its position, and gives him a quick thumbs-up.
A flick to the right brings the translucent screen to a keyboard composed of light. He flicks a switch, and the easy rhythms of gentle drums and vibrant synths pour from the speaker. Gabriel's hands expertly dance across a keyboard composed of light, emitting a distorted, darker echo of their improvised melody.
And like that, they're off, filling the empty lounge with calls and responses, arias and minuets, melodies and motifs. A careful blend of acoustic notes and synthetic timbres spirals to the curved ceiling above, entertaining a crowdless hall full of lazing cats. They pull him in with deftly improvised serenades, and he pushes back with a much lower octave.
Dialogue without words, a battle with no stakes, the act of creating sound simply for the sake of it. The weight of his shoulder settles on their own, before pressing onwards into an upbeat rhythm, bridging them into the next song. One faster in cadence and yet hauntingly beautiful--
"Mrow!"
It's all the warning V1 gets before weight touches down in their lap, and the curled tip of a raised tail crosses the bottom of their field of vision. Their optic drops down swiftly to meet brilliantly amber orbs, staring up at them imploringly.
To Gabriel's credit, he makes not a peep as his shoulders heave with soundless laughter. It takes all their willpower not to respond with a sharp huff of their fans.
(Their Whiplash hand is sacrificed to keep her content, laid upon her back as she rumbles with an audible purr. V1 resigns themselves to the tedious process of editing it out later, and keeps on playing.)
"DID YOU EVER GET BORED OF THIS PLACE?"
Gabriel’s heaping mouthful of rice and sauteed vegetables come to a stop midway to its destination. One eye is fully directed to V1's Whiplash as it spells out the tail end of their question. His fangs click shut as he considers their query; one of many existentially-curious hypotheticals since they first vowed themselves to one another forever. Ultimately, Gabriel’s fangs close around the end of his wooden cutlery and the tasty morsels it carries.
Salty-savory flavors burst through his mouth as he chews, suddenly not in any particular hurry to swallow. Just behind him comes the sound of a blade cutting through a fleshy rind, followed by the trickle of liquid into an ornate, crystal goblet. Gabriel contemplates their question with a thoughtful hum, bringing his attention to the achingly familiar scenery that surrounds their gluttonous picnic.
It almost feels… dreamlike, in a way, after a century upon a planet left to die. The surrounding hills are decorated with an endless carpet of bluebells and bergamots, hyacinths and narcissus, amaryllis and allium. The scattered stars at this very edge of the Universe hangs just above them, farther away than one might think for their gemlike glow. There is no sun to cast an evening glow for this seven hour sunset, but it is imitated for the duration, shaping the shadowy mass of the primordial woodland.
It thrums with slow-waking nightlife. First begins the tune of happy crickets, and into another two hours, amphibians will arise to meet their song. The fireflies will not begin to dance until the final half-hour to a dark period, backlit by the distant glow of the Tree of Life, swathed with stars just as it always has.
All in all, it looks the same. But it’s still changed, irrevocably so; just as everything inevitably does, by will of survival or fate of death.
But that doesn’t mean it isn’t still, in some sad way…
"No." Gabriel finally answers. "This place had been my home for eons; I only ever left on The Father's orders, and then later, the Council's. It was always an adventure—at first— to see the other places below the roots of the Tree of Life, and yet still a relief to return to these realms when the work was done."
“HUH." There’s a brief pause before their answer, a telltale-disinterested flourish to their spelling. Their hand and the attached winch slip out of his line of sight immediately after. He senses their weight settling more heavily against his back, followed by a contented whir. Right after this comes the splatter of liquid drizzling upon their alloy, like an especially haughty sip of fine wine.
Rather than further prod into their thought processes, nor care about his machine’s unorthodox consumption of indulgence, Gabriel chooses instead to also lapse into a comfortable silence. An age and then some have passed since the archangel could last recall allowing himself such carefree indulgences: good food and chilled wine, idle conversation with good company, and a backdrop of breathtaking music.
The somewhat-jazzy tune that had popped up on today's playlist fades into an easy silence, broken by the crunch of breadcrust, browned to perfection and oven-warm within. The tingle of peppers and flavorful cheese spreads across his palette like an old friend, and calls for a hearty swig of liquor.
As he reaches for his own glass, the next song swells from the adjacent speaker. Right away, the archangel realizes he has not heard this one before. The simple chimes of crystalline synths begin, gradually joined by a swelling melody of instruments both traditional and electronic. Drumbeats accompany the final few moments of its opening; a perfect backdrop to a gentle, but embarrassingly simple, five-note piano medley.
"... I played this for you so long ago now." He realizes, referring to his first clumsy attempts at composing his own music to go with their snazzy, on-the-fly compositions.
“REMEMBERED IT RECENTLY.” He’s informed, off-hands still hard at work to drain their next fruit into their oversized glass. “I LIKED IT.”
“Ah--thank you.” A flush crosses his visage, and he finds himself grateful they cannot comprehend it. “Well, what do you call this one?”
"RUSHING GREEN."
Gabriel listens to the call and response of the main melody; ivory keys and artificial chimes dancing with one another. And oh, as he looks down the verdant slope they sit perched at the top of, decorated with a wealth of wildflowers, stars hanging loosely above them…
As his lips touch the rim of his drink-leaden goblet, they split into a fond, content grin.
"Fitting."
The adherents of sloth gradually descend upon them both after their shameless display of excess consumption. It urges them to lie side by side upon the grassy knoll, empty goblets and cleaned food platter lying forgotten nearby. Their idle conversation swiftly gives way to companionable quietude, lulling him into a light, contended doze.
Gabriel does not quite know when their carefully curated playlist falls into silence, nor when the glow of evening descends into a rich, violet-hued twilight. All his eyes blink open to behold their half-lidded optic, deep within their own thoughts. Just past their reclined frame, the endless, colorful horizon is poised to give way to night.
While he is in no particular hurry at all to get up, they do have somewhere to be tomorrow. Specifically, one of the vast mountain lakes hidden in the temperate northern pole of the Second Sphere. Alpine tundra and boreal forests, displays of aurora dancing in the night sky, and bodies of water teaming with char, pikes, and salmon.
It would be a simple matter to get up now and set up camp for the night on the shores of that pristine taiga lake. The mornings often bring rolling fog and vibrant birdsong, made all the better with the merry crackle of a newly-stoked fire roasting cherry tomatoes and frying a chicken’s egg, charcoal-warmed bread slices soon-to-be slathered with butter and blackberry jam. And wouldn’t it be nice to boil some tea to go with a hearty breakfast--
…
Gabriel blinks, helm lifting from where it's cushioned on their cream-dyed picnic blanket. There's something moving towards them. At first, he thinks it is one of the great birds of prey, soaring lazily over the vast field on its way back to a nest.
Until the wings span far too wide on the next pump, and the neutral bright blue of a halo can be made out against the haze of ethereal white staining the horizon.
While his ever-perceptive spouse catches onto his shift from tranquility to panic in a matter of microseconds, they are entirely unprepared for how he grasps at their shoulders and launches them both backwards across the sloping meadow. In one moment they are lazing about Paradise-spun linens. The next, they are crashing gracelessly into the shadowed safety of the dense woodland. Extra limbs and hardlight wings flail with shock as they break through the branches and shrubbery, the crunch of breaking branches and rustling leaves almost too-loud even beneath the swelling of singing insects and amphibians.
They're halfway through a silent curse when Gabriel hushes them harshly, optic shutters blowing wide from their previously pissy, squinted expression. In an instant, the light of their bladed wings and eye dim to the lowest possible setting, flattening them against their back as they press low to the loamy ground. The archangel slowly, cautiously, peers out at their spread blanket, empty platters, and the bulky, nondescript hunk of human technology.
It's (mostly) a sight that wouldn't be out of place in the ruins of Heaven; the onset of violence came quickly and mercilessly for his doomed people. But should it swoop in for a closer look, surely it would take suspicion with the shredded rind of the Fruit of Life, let alone—
But the wandering Angel does not stop at their picnic to gawk at the bloody goblet and scattered breadcrumbs. There’s a terrifying moment of fearwhere the light of its wings are directly over their abandoned picnic. But then the rhythmic beating of its wings is passing directly over where they both crouch in the undergrowth. Gabriel catches a glimpse of its halo as it soars over the top of the canopy, and then presses on none the wiser to their presence.
As it fades into the calls of nightlife, a puff of cooling fans coincides with his sigh of relief.
"SHOULD WE GO?" V1 asks him, their eye brightening just a bit more against the deepening darkness in this quiet edge of the Universe. They should; he’s already had one too many a close call as it is, back in the auditorium. And where there is one, there is bound to be others.
He’s about to agree, ready to risk running out into the open to grab their music player, when something else occurs to him.
"What's an Angel doing here?" He questions aloud. "There is nothing to be found out there; just empty altars to The Father."
No cities to scavenge for supplies, no homes to plunder for fabric and tools, no fields in which crops grow unattended and unpicked. There's only this ancient wilderness, ringing round' the end of Primum Mobile, and the fathomless void of the Empyrean beyond. It’s dangerous to even consider; Gabriel is unarmed, clad only in a deeply v-necked beige tunic and black trousers, but V1 is most assuredly not.
Yet something about the presence of his kin here, at the end of existence, piques his curiosity in a manner he would surely have scolded V1 for a long, long time ago.
His gaze meets his spouse's, who only asks their wordless query with a slight tilt of their shutters. Gabriel weighs the dangers for only a moment longer, before he rises to his feet, and beckons them to climb onto his back. Maneuvering his way above the branches the moment their weight settles on his hunched shoulders, he easily spots the traveling Angel on the darkened horizon, and and silently follows after.
The blue dwarfs and red giants that decorate the swathe of night behind them are left behind, and the very borders of the Universe are plunged into choking-cold darkness. As a result, that Angel is not hard to track against the eternal black where once colorful fires danced since time immemorial. Nor, strangely enough, is it in no particular hurry to reach those worthless shrines.
He senses more than sees the very edge of the Universe draw near; that oppressing nothing between existence and void. It is there that his distant kin tilts its wings downward, disappearing beyond the horizon line. The archangel remembers it as a once-popular shrine, where many an Angel could present offerings to the Lord.
As soon as his wayward sibling vanishes from his sight, so does Gabriel dive back below the thick branches, hoping that the unending call of nightlife will mask their descent to the forest floor.
"YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?" V1's Feedbacker questions as he touches down upon another stretch of loamy undergrowth. He can barely see their hand in this unending night, let alone the old-growth ferns and mossy tree trunks. Somewhere behind him, golden wings glow just a bit brighter. "USUALLY I'M GUNNING FOR DANGER, NOT YOU."
"Of that, you are correct." He says in a low tone of voice, finally letting them down onto the ground. V1 takes the opportunity to give him a long look, halting him in his tracks before he can even start towards where Paradise falls off into emptiness.
"WHAT ARE YOU EVEN HOPING TO DO IF—" They glance in the direction of where the Angel had touched down. "THERE'S NOTHING THERE, RIGHT?"
"… no, there isn't. The Father only left this void in his wake."
He doesn’t want to consider it, truly. But If his kin has come here to do what he thinks it might, then he will not interfere.
Regardless of the dark direction this train of thought has taken, Gabriel leads them the short walk to the final treeline, helm held high and his footsteps light. Secretly, shamelessly, he braces himself for anything. For a weeping Angel to throw itself off the edge of the Universe into darkness, blood pouring from its sliced neck like the corpses in the cities, for no one to be there at all—
A crackle of thunder splits the quieude, and the sudden weight of V1 leaping onto his back causes him to stumble. By the time their arm is thrust over his shoulder, shotgun in hand and aimed at the direction of the sound, the racket has faded into nothing.
He and his spouse share a shocked, knowing glance. Another Angel has arrived here, where there is nothing to be found. And this, more than anything, gives Gabriel the courage to press on the rest of the way. Every external light goes offline immediately, plunging them both into camouflaged silence, and their almost nonexistent weight slides right off his back. They do not tread farther than the safety of the forest, but from their vantage point in the shadows, the Archangel beholds a sight he is not expecting.
Perched there, upon that unkempt marble rim that drops off into infinity, are more Angels. The first one they’d followed, a Dominion, converses animatedly with a handful of Providences, too far to make out its words to their tightly knit flock. Several Virtues hover around two Cherubs, who stand guard beside three willowy Principalities. A single Seraphim stands apart from the group, silently staring out into the rolling void where God once dwelled.
Very slowly, V1's primary hand creeps into view, spelling out a word he does not catch; for the distant sounds of speech are once again interrupted by a flash of light and sound. Another Principality arrives, with a few more Dominions and a single Virtue fluttering about the shoulders of their leader. Linked limbs all release each other in the wake of such a jump from one part of the Universe to another. And just as they do, that mortal soul, whirling around with an unnameable emotion in its ring of eyes, departs from that precipice in a hurry.
As the nameless Seraphim embraces its estranged kin, something shifts in the group. Rucksacks he had not yet registered, full to bursting with unknown items, are hefted onto shoulders both thin and broad. Many eyes meet none or one or countless more, and hands reach for one another, clasping and squeezing with unspoken assurance. The Seraphim and the Heaven-born soul bump heads for a brief moment, before a nondescript helm brushes against the edges of spinning gold. It’s a display of affection so rarely seen even in Heaven’s heyday. But the couple partakes in it regardless, without shame or fear.
They linger like this only a moment longer, before turning towards where the others are gathering, side-by-side and hand-in-hand, at the very end of the Universe.
And then, they take a single step forward, out into the unforgiving emptiness.
Gabriel is struck with the terrible urge call out, to scream 'no'; to stop them from their pointless suicide. It's only the sudden pressure of V1 gripping his wrist that stays his voice. But the longer he watches, the more he realizes that they do not fall, do not descend into the darkness. Instead, they fly away into that nothing, like a family of birds roaming south for the cold season.
Like they know, on some instinctual baseline, that they have somewhere else they need to be.
It's not until the echo of beating wings is swallowed by the soundless dark that he finds the means to speak again.
"What—why would they—" He stands, means to stumble out from their hiding place, but V1 is shock-still at his side. The grip they have on his hand is ironclad, keeping him from stepping any farther. It is all that tethers him to this reality, stopping Gabriel going after them in a bid to put a halt to this unprecedented madness. "What do they even hope to—"
An insistent tug finally breaks through his swelling fears, and when Gabriel finally looks to his spouse, he sees they are not watching his kin depart. Their optic is fixed on a point out in the endless darkness, and no sooner does he realize this do they point emphatically into the depths of that fathomless black.
He looks, and then cannot look away.
For out where the fire had long gone out, out where the Light of God had extinguished beneath the weight of its sins and the madness of an experiment doomed from the start, is the faint, but unmistakable, glimmering of distant stars.
“--as we continue to embrace more sustainable practices of environmental conservation and restoration, many up-and-coming research institutions have begun turning their eyes to the stars above. Initial proposals for the satellite’s construction had all been turned down immediately following the establishment of the New Peace. But following improvements in resource allocations, and the chance rediscovery of late 19th and early 20th century astronomy knowledge, including the calculations for stellar parallaxes, Mankind may yet see--”
The news article is dismissed when the relevant search term is not further elaborated on, but V1 thinks they’ve pieced together enough information regarding their small shock from three days ago. The shift from heliotropic views of their spinning planets and stars, the distance of light years from one star to another within the confines of what Mankind had come to call the ‘Milky Way’, and when they finally peered beyond those spinning fields of cosmic dust where The Father’s fire once filled that darkness.
Humanity had discovered that little nugget of knowledge right as the war escalated, and the instrument that had accomplished this was promptly deprived of its funding. It had fallen into ruin long before the New Peace began, but the data gained from its operations had survived the centuries of conflict regardless. At first overshadowed by climate repair efforts and alternative fuel source initiatives until stability had at last been achieved, interest in the topic inevitably saw resurgence by a new generation of starry-eyed cosmologists.
A simple, thoughtful whirr escapes them as they lean back in their designated patio chair, clearing away any irrelevant essays and digitized thesis papers from their HUD. It’s organized into a visible slideshow, some of the smaller fonts copied and pasted onto a doc with a bigger letter size--their falling-apart photocube will certainly not make it to the end of this coming winter. But for now, it should still do the job catching Gabriel up on these latest revelations.
As the warmachine rises from their sun-warmed seat, for a moment, they imagine The Lake Green Project being realized. Humanity, rather than probes and satellites, touching down on the moon with the intent to terraform its seemingly-lifeless surface. Perhaps that would have finally brought Heaven's wrath down on them before their fated extinction event.
Armed with these human-sourced revelations, and holding their holocube in the same manner they would one of Gabriel's weathered, fragile books, V1 vaults over the balcony railing. Their landing is muffled by the grassy knoll below, lined with rows upon rows of late-summer blooms. Small piles of nutrient-sucking sprouts and stray clumps of clover sit alongside the curated beds of coneflowers and anemones and hollyhocks.
V1 follows their wife's warpath to where he kneels by the fragrant hibiscus on the westward-stretching bed, partaking in what they can only describe as very aggressive weeding. His shoulders tense up as they approach, but he does not look back at them, nor does the rhythms of gardening cease in any capacity. V1 eyes the end of the flower bed, approximately four meters from where he currently kneels, and ultimately decides that is the limit they are allowing his chosen distraction.
Not even two minutes tick by before Gabriel abruptly heaves with a sigh. Their husband cranes his neck to the Heavens like he were asking it for patience, and then speaks for the first time since their return from the very edge of the galaxy.
"Whatever it is you have to say, please just get it over it."
Having learned by now not to take his directionless frustration to heart, V1 opts to step into his immediate line of sight. Gabriel's dirt-coated gloves rest on his knees, clenched into fists. After a moment of weighing their selection of possible responses, the warmachine settles on the most harmless-sounding one.
"LOOKS LIKE MANKIND KNEW ABOUT THIS FOR SOME TIME NOW."
"Of course they did." He hisses quietly, and rolls himself to his feet in one smooth, graceful motion. "Of course they would be the ones who—"
A frustrated growl tears from his throat as pivots on his heel to face the opposite direction. He takes ten agitated steps away from his starting point, and then marches right back to it, muttering all the while.
Patience is a skill V1 has found necessary to cultivate throughout their life, as much as their nature would dictate otherwise. But when it came to these kinds of moments—when Gabriel's wounds have been unceremoniously reopened in ways neither of them could’ve possibly anticipated—forbearance is critical in stopping that metaphorical blood flow. They stand stock still, watching him pace and awaiting any moment their interference might be necessary.
"Couldn't see his light, they were not worthy—" Eight, nine, ten, pivot. "—but they could still see beyond? And why would any of us have—"
In a way, it's rather funny to think about. From the surface of the Earth, unable to discern God's Light that once cradled their Universe, the light of those other star clusters would have inevitably been visible to mortal eyes with strong enough magnification. From the edge of the Primum Mobile, it still would have taken time for that same glow to reach that abrupt drop off into the void, not until long after the blazing fire that filled it had been snuffed out.
Gabriel stops five paces from the flower bed, staring down at his sandal-clad feet and the flattened grass below. His fists clench and unclench, shoulders heave with another long-suffering sigh, and then seems to settle on some sort of conclusion.
"I suppose he would've had to come from somewhere."
Now that just raised more questions than answers, and their fans kick up a notch from merely contemplating some of them. If he indeed hailed from another nebula, then why not just leave this place behind when it became apparent he couldn't destroy Hell? Why go through this neverending cycle of the same experiment if the result was the same every time, when there could be better opportunities found elsewhere? Was this ‘genius design’ Gabriel previously praised him for even his to begin with?
… were there others out there just like him, who might have found success where he did not?
"It doesn't matter now." Gabriel says softly, and then sinks back down to the ground, legs crossing beneath him neatly. A sound that's between a scoff and an empty laugh escapes him, and they take that as a cue to crouch next to him, placing their Feedbacker on his arm reassuringly. "It's… not hard to guess as to why he would have kept this hidden from us."
The more V1 bears witness to Gabriel unraveling this eons-old doctrine stitched into the fabric of his very being, the more they wished they could go back in time, and make The Father's death at their hands hurt. But given that's not possible in any capacity, all they can settle for is aiding one of his favorite creations in healing from it, and continuing to exist in ways that would surely make him seethe.
"How exactly did Mankind figure it out first?" Gabriel asks, rousing them from their racing thoughts. "I know they eventually advanced enough to launch devices out towards the Spheres, but the one they sent for the Fifth Sphere was the last prior to their extinction."
"GOT IT ALL RIGHT HERE." Their wings twitch as they hold out their old holocube; despite the gravity of this discovery, the history that led to it was fascinating in of itself. The tension leaves his shoulders by inches as they plug its fraying cable into their port, pulling up the relevant information as he leans back on his palms comfortably. "SO, IT STARTED WITH A GIGANTIC TELESCOPE…"
It isn't lost on Gabriel that V1 has been present for almost every life-altering experience he's been put through in the past century. Most of them have been a direct consequence of their own actions, after all. But if anything, their presence has also doubled as something that keeps him grounded following such a drastic revelation. The warmachine is more than happy to act as an outlet for all his gut-reaction emotions, chipping away at his old habits and thought processes until they are manageable, processable.
And Gabriel likes to think he's learned to, as his spouse once put it once, 'roll with the punches' after everything they've been through together.
Usually a good fight or a long romp are his go-to distractions; this time, they let him put the remainder of their honeymoon on hold, in interest of throwing himself into his work for a near-week straight. Two days in the gardens doing what he was originally built to do, a day harvesting bamboo root balls and transplanting them in time for fall, and the final two over a sweltering, dwarf star-powered furnace. It's just the push he needs to commit to the completion of this particularly-prioritized project.
Metalwork is not something Gabriel had ever considered to be a highlight of his particular skill set, regardless of having been present for the forging of his own armor and swords. But after weeks of planning and clandestine practice, he now holds malleable, holy gold to a multi-colored flame. Smaller fragments place there quickly melt along carefully cut gemstones to lock them in place. Emerald, topaz, ruby, sapphire, and a violet spinal permanently embed into the golden band one by one; a perfect match to the silicone-sealed wires wrapped around his fourth finger from the left.
Once removed from the brilliant, concentrated heat flickering in the heart of the furnace, it quickly cools, allowing the archangel to drop his work from the ash-stained tongs into his battle-calloused palm.
As Gabriel turns his work over in his hands, he lets himself come back to their recent discovery. Thrice now, of his own accord, has he gone back to the edge of their reality for brief visits. Thrice now has he beheld the far-away glow of newfound stars and other—galaxies, perhaps ones much like their own. Thrice now has he had V1 calculate the time frame of how long it would have taken for that light to reach the end of the Primum Mobile, to be grasped by eyes both immortal and mechanical.
Mankind had grasped this knowledge long ago, refined their understanding of it once the dust of perpetual war settled to clarity. Scarcity, fear, hunger, offset entirely by the determination to rebuild after a life of war and death and inherited hatred. Is it any wonder that they looked to the stars for answers once more when it became apparent that Hell would not grant them what they needed? That they would clasp hands in the face of adversity and try to press on despite the blood that stained their hands? That even so long after the fact, they would inevitably be drawn once more to the terra-incognita, in faint hope that fire burns elsewhere?
(Had Gabriel not been the same when he cut his chains and sought a perfect death at the hands of that same thrilling unknown?)
One last time, he holds his creation to the light of the flame, all his eyes examining his own handiwork. It's not perfect; there's a barely-noticeable bump along one of the topaz's facets. But just the same, there's a single copper strand barely sticking out from where the blue wire in his ring had been soldered to the others. He isn't sure if V1 noticed, or if they had, and silently hoped he hadn't. But if they can turn a blind eye to a single detail, marring that impossible standard of perfection, he thinks he can as well.
With this in mind, Gabriel rises from the stool he'd been hunched over on for the past several hours, slipping his gift into the palm of his hand securely. All it takes is a flip of a switch to cut the furnace from star-sourced heat, significantly dimming the lighting in this abandoned ironworks. But Gabriel no longer fears darkness nor the absence of light, confidently striding to the exit.
The streets of Paradise's largest city are exactly as he left them; achingly empty of all but silent corpses and idle birdsong. Sometimes, he cannot help but long for the days when they were filled with laughter and music. But it is only a passing fancy. It does not hurt like it did the day he returned since his unexpected rebellion; in fact, he finds he's got something like a skip in his step as he passes by his fallen brethren to where he last left V1 hours ago. Maybe this too, is something that shall some day pass.
His machine has set up something of a workshop of their own not four blocks from the smithy. A library with nothing in the way of cadavers, just compendiums about the Lord's obsolete Word and countless collections of hymns. V1 had found these entirely uninteresting, but the surplus of tables chairs, and shelves (emptied of their original contents) have turned it something of a sanctuary. Not for themselves, but things brought from Earth; items that they had deemed too valuable to lose to its relentless passage of time.
Novels factual and fictional, scavenged motherboards, solar batteries, tools for both precision and general-purpose, have all found their final homes here. Gabriel has claimed an alcove of his own for seeds he planned on eventually germinating, among other human-made manuscripts, and the few pages of Thoughts on the Rain Season that have yet to be reduced to faded parchment scraps.
As the weather altered and changed with their planets revival, the wearing away of Mankind's remnants had accelerated significantly. One day, it, and their collection of spare parts, would run dry entirely. But as he approaches the heart of the mess, where his spouse still sits at their favored desk, he thinks neither of them will be too broken up about it.
A wing twitch is all the acknowledgement he gets as he approaches where they're perched in their very cushy armchair, meant for an Angel and not a short-limbed warmachine. Holographic screens flicker just beyond the wide back of the seat, starkly artificial compared to the natural ambient light of Heaven pouring through the arched windows up on the second floor.
Gabriel steps up just behind them, and chances a glance at what currently holds their attention. Blueprints for a small, square device, broken down into several tiny components, most of which he recognizes as ones they already possess. Their Feedbacker arm is carefully rolling a very tiny speaker cone between its index and thumb, while their Knuckleblaster restlessly taps a single claw upon the smooth mahogany surface of their commandeered desk. An inquiry regarding this particular project is on the tip of his tongue when their primary arm lifts to answer him before it can even leave his lips.
"MODIFICATION FOR MYSELF." They spell, prompting a curious hum from Gabriel as he leans onto the studded top of their chair.
"I was under the impression you had no desire for a voice of your own."
"NOT A VOICEBOX." V1 elaborates with a pensive whirr. "JUST A SPEAKER."
Gabriel looks at their gargantuan chunk of technology projecting their drawn-up plans, how cumbersome it is to carry around and the likelihood of it suffering damage in the process; at the cobbled-together speaker that allows him to hear their carefully-crafted compositions. He thinks of how their arms, despite not being part of their frame originally, still repair with a bit of blood and effort.
To be able to sing for him wherever they go when their avenue for conversation inevitably breaks apart someday…
"Whatever you're missing to make this a reality, I'm more than happy to help you locate it."
"I KNOW," Their conical head angles up at him to shoot him an expression of gratitude. "THANKS."
His free hand takes their raised one, squeezing tenderly before turning his attention back to the reason for his extended absence.
"Speaking of personal projects, I have finished with mine."
There's a mechanical rattle as their wings all twitch with that relentless curiosity, optic widening with wonder as he shifts the hold he has on their gun-wielding arm to their fourth finger, pinching it just below the knuckle.
"I know it's a little late," Gabriel says, "Took a bit more practice than I anticipated to cut the gems into something more suitable for what I had initially planned, but… "
With little further elaboration, the archangel slips his final marital gift onto his spouses metal digit, and to his delight, it fits perfectly.
"Now we finally match."
V1 all but rips their primary arm from his grip to behold the wedding band encircling their finger. It glimmers beautifully in the combined light of their eye, the glow of an emptied Paradise, and the blue-tinted flickering of holo-light. For about five seconds, they do not move, but the pitch of their fans kick into an audible whine as they process the sight.
Then, almost faster than he can track, they're scrabbling to their feet atop their cushioned seat, and all their arms throw themselves around his neck over the back of the chair as their wingpack shudders erratically with unbridled joy.
I L-O-V-E I-T, they spell into his bare shoulder over and over, and theirs a minute quiver to their touch.
A laugh escapes him, squeezing them back until he can lift them from their perch, and he can't help but twirl them around once. V1 leans back in a hurry to look at their ring again, prompting Gabriel to shuffle his left arm under their legs so that he might lift his right hand up to hold to theirs. Clear resin and holy metals, colorful thermoplastic and sparkling gemstones; a marriage of hand-forged materials to bind them for as long as they yet live.
"THANK YOU." V1 leans in, and he cranes his neck forward to meet their kiss. "LOVE YOU."
"Love you, too."
Despite its further proximity from the Fourth Sphere, Venus' atmosphere is no less sunny-skied and perpetually mild than that of the Second Sphere.
From this distance, the sun makes for a brilliantly-orange blossom in the endless blue during the daylight hours, with the erupting hydrogen reactions looking all the world like shifting petals on a zinnia flower. A single bloom hanging between the marble cities that decorate the skies, perched upon floating hunks of rock. Waterfalls of all sizes and intensity drizzle off their cliffs, breaking up into thick mist before it can reach the roiling ocean below. The visible spectrum of colors are on full display at those points between the H2O molecules and the unending light, casting dozens of fragmented rainbows below the disjointed metropolis.
V1's thousandth photo of the hour, capturing this particular phenomenon, is interrupted by a piercing squawk, a blur of black-tipped wings diving into their line of sight just as their auxiliary lens clicks. Their shutters reflexively blink in delayed surprise after, irritation stinging at their circuits as they pull up the ruined high-res photo on their HUD.
Turning to glare at the laridae in question, it's already made itself comfy in the cupped palms of Gabriel's hands. His thumb comes up to stroke at the swathe of white-grey-black feathers, prompting throaty-warbles from its thick neck, one that would still be easily snappable beneath the strength of their grip--
V1 shuts down that impulse with a silent whirr, a little unsettled by the violent thought in a way that they're still not used to grappling with. In contrast to their sudden onset of bloodthirst, Gabriel kneels down to coax the bird into a large, wooden crate, one nearly filled to the brim with others of its kind. Something about the gentle way he handles the flying creature dispels their momentary shame over it.
They know they’re long overdue for another spar, nevermind Gabriel's persistently melancholy mood since the day at the edge of the Universe, witnessing what they had. They decide right then that, once they're done with this, they'll propose he take them back to the asteroid belt for another fight. They've crunched the numbers since their last zero-gravity battle; a loss is sure to both knock him out of his funk and kick his ego back into full gear.
With this in mind, V1 returns to the task they'd been assigned prior to getting distracted by the heavenly scenery. As Gabriel softly calls out to the seagulls that roam these shores, they kneel to examine one of countless tide pools they'd passed by during their stroll along this rocky coastline. Scans identify the colorful creatures within seconds, highlighting dozens of starfish, urchins, anemones, spiral-shelled snails, and clumped-together mussels beneath the surface.
Visuals hone in on movement below, prompting them to dip their primary arm below the water to hold out their hand in offering. They are no Angel, but the critter responds as if they are one. It climbs readily into their palm, and remains perched there as they lift it from the pool, seawater trickling off their plating until their wedding band sparkles in the glow of the sun.
Beady little black eyes stare up at them with equal amounts of curiosity, red-striped claws clicking shut once as it shifts slightly to the left on all eight of its legs. Similar to, yet so far from, the spiders that keep pests off of Gabriel's favorite flowers. He had told them long ago that God's creatures could sense one’s intentions through various means, and something inside them soothes even further at this reminder.
After a moment's thought, they drop the little crab into the water-filled bucket they've been dragging along for the better part of the day. A quick check on the contents within let them know they're probably hitting the limits of what they can bring back home with them. According to Gabriel's prior, secretive trips to this particular shoreline, starfish and shellfish can be kept safely together in a smaller space, but beings like urchins and anemones needed to be transported on their own.
The click of a latch upon a cage heralds the fluttering of fabric. By the time they're secured their Knuckleblaster claws around the handle of the bucket, Gabriel's hefted the crate between his muscular arm and side, the hem of the blanket he's covered it with trailing upon the sea-spray soaked stone.
"READY TO GO?" They ask, sending one last glance to the floating cities and the angels that fly to and fro from their spiraling towers.
"I believe so." He follows their gaze, trailing into a silence that doubtlessly means he’s thinking about his kin; the ones who escaped the fall of their kingdom to take refuge among the mortal souls that rest here. V1 does not bring it up, instead opting to tuck themselves beneath his other bicep. “Hold on, then.”
The ride back down to Earth's surface no longer phases them in any capacity, but despite the precautionary measures, the laridae within the covered crate make their displeasure about their trip known the moment they touch down. V1 steps out of Gabriel's hold readily, leaving the task of calming the agitated seabirds to him. Twelve paces away, to the north of this rocky shoreline cast in the immediate aftermath of a cloudy sunset, is one of the tide pools they know Gabriel has been painstakingly restoring.
Compared to the gulls, the crab seems to have handled the disorienting experience with a greater deal of grace. They fish it out first, and hold it in their palm a moment longer for one last photo. It scuttles away the moment they set it down, beelining for where the ocean breaks against the stretch of stone. V1 watches it go, and promptly dumps the rest of the contents of their chosen vessel into the isolated pool.
They turn around again to check on their spouse, who stands beside the crate with one hand settled atop its solid surface. Between the thin wooden bars, they can see the crowded, feathery mass inside shift about in restless agitation as long-suppressed instincts begin to kick in.
V1 thinks they can understand them; how the call of an open sea and endless skies can be just as powerful an inclination as the siren song of bloodfuel. But Gabriel does not yet open the cage, even as his fingers slide across the roof of the cage to the simple latch at its edge.
"Extraordinary, isn't it?" He ponders aloud. "Even after spending so much time in a place without want or need for anything, they all somehow know exactly what to do when brought here. How they can change to suit their own needs as the world demands, given the time; how they can adjust regardless of the hardships thrown at them."
"I wonder, sometimes, if it truly was his will for them to survive in this way, or the will of life itself that drives these adaptations. This… inability to be contained in any capacity."
V1 only whirrs softly in answer. A red-tipped beak worms its way through the bars, calling irritably out to the archangel, eager to be let loose upon this wild green world. Gabriel does not yet let them go free, instead silently gazing down at the creatures, newly subject to the laws of time and mortality.
Far from the first time since that day at the limits of their galaxy, they wonder about his wayfaring kin. If their search for fire will someday lead them to a place where life could take root elsewhere, far from the painful memories of their fallen kingdom. If there was already life out there, even.
"… I don't think I can bring myself to hate him, even now." Gabriel admits, even as bitterness bleeds into his tone. His shoulders heave and sigh with an age-old exhaustion. "He was a fool to the very end; no different than I had once been."
Agree to disagree on that. V1 would gladly challenge his maker a hundred times over if it meant their husband could be truly free of his lingering shadow, looming in every imaginable way over all creation. But maybe that also made them a hypocrite, too; for it had been out of their own interests that led them to pursue The Father into his hiding to begin with.
A long time ago, the old warmachine had set out into a dying world with the directive to survive regardless of cost; doomed to consume themselves just the same as every other machine built by Mankind's heretical designs. It had taken so much blood and so much violence and so much death for them to one day realize that, no. It didn't have to be that way; not when the choice of kindness and compromise could be offered in its stead.
Both of them had learned that hard lesson with time, with mistakes and setbacks and the metaphorical pulling of teeth, and yet do they persist. V1 is fairly certain their capacity for change, for adaptations, will never cease. Lines of code altered by a single symbol or contextual event, subroutines averted elsewhere depending on the day's proceedings. Perhaps that is just how it is to be a thing given life and thought and will through blood. To be achingly, vulnerably, and irrevocably human.
(And they know now, more than ever, that they'll someday die happily that way.)
"GUESS THAT MAKES ME A FOOL, TOO."
"… hehe." They've since accepted that they'll never get to see Gabriel's face, but it's moments like these that they desperately wish to be able to see the smile that decorates his tone. "If there ever was a greater fool than he or I, it would certainly be you, my love."
"NAH, THAT TITLE STILL GOES TO YOU," They joke, shoulders shaking with silent laughter in turn. "CAN'T GET A WIN OVER ME WITHOUT CHEATING."
"Excuse you," The glowing feathers of his wings take on a hint of gold at their tips, even as he takes jabs at their singular persistent weakness. "It's hardly my fault I have skills advantageous in places with little to no gravity."
"PROVE IT THEN," They dare, "ASTEROID BELT AFTER THIS. I WANT ANOTHER REMATCH."
"My, so enthusiastic to grant me another win under my belt." He teases, before glancing out into the descending twilight. "Well, I suppose I'd better let them go, then."
Gabriel sucks in a deep, steadying breath, and lets it out in a shaky rush. No sooner do his fingers flip the lock free do the seagulls burst from within in a flurry of flapping wings and scrambling webbed feet. The squall of their ascension cuts through the steady breaking of sea upon stone: a racket of life as it breaks free of the restraints put upon it, however brief it needed to be.
The laridae soar out over the churning ocean waves, their song growing more and more distant as they head out into the unknown, to face the hardships that await them with the iron will of persistence. When their flock becomes but a retreating mass of wings against the dying glow of the evening sun, they look back to Gabriel, happy to find that the gloom has gone from him almost entirely as he watches them go. For in the end, had this darkness only a moment among many.
Ephemeral and fleeting, like the shadows of birds.
Only once before has Gabriel felt his maker's anger in such magnitude. How it had rolled over him in hot, thick waves, sharp licks of heat lashing at what skin he had bared at the time. The skies of the Primum Mobile had flashed hot red, a dire prelude to the bloodshed that would follow. Gabriel had not been expecting it then, nor that he would ever experience it again; especially so soon after the first time.
Hours after the fact, the air is still uncomfortably hot, dark clouds blot out what would have been a normally beautiful sunset, and a crimson glow still emits from the heart of Eden, igniting all that is good and green with flameless fire. Still does he continue his patrol, for he has not yet been given the order to stop.
Six, seven, eight, pivot. The final two steps of his post have crumbled away to rubble, leaving a gaping wound here in the eastern wall of the enclosure. Here, verdant grass gives way to cracked earth and lifeless dust. The Father's creatures will not venture near the exit; perhaps they can smell how the wind carries death and suffering.
(How had Lucifer evaded their watch? How could he have reached God's newest creations and tempted them into disobeying the Father as well? How could Gabriel have failed—)
It's not a shock at all when he catches sight of the two tiny humans picking their way through the undergrowth of the garden, but the sight still instills within him a sense of sadness. No longer are the naked; they sport the pelts of beasts around their waists. He cannot help but stop and stare down at them, perched at the jagged stone edge of the broken wall as they venture beyond the treeline, and then behold the finality of their banishment.
Sympathy worms its way into his heart as Adam and Eve join hands, as though to give one another the strength to press on. A harsh but fair judgement, to be subjected now to that brutal wasteland beyond their gifted paradise. They had known what would befall them for going against The Father's law, and still had they let themselves be tempted. His breath stills in his throat as they step forward together, walking towards their inevitable doom in sync—
And then break into a dead sprint, tearing across the perfect stretch of grass to the rocky grounds in that vast, terrifying unknown.
Gabriel watches the first humans depart from what would have been their everlasting home with growing bemusement. Surely God had warned them about what awaits them beyond the walls of Eden—scarcity, hunger, brutally hot days and icy cold nights—but not once does their pace falter or their trajectory waver. They do not look back when they step out for the first time into the harsh world beyond the walls, nor when a Cherub arrives to take post at the only way back in, a fiery sword in hand.
And over the echoing thunder and light of his sibling's arrival, the angel swears he hears one of them laugh with breathless elation.
A warm puff of sighing fans against bare skin rouses Gabriel from the tides of memory. All his eyes refocus themselves on the propped-open book he'd brought along for tonight's stargazing trip. He feels his spouse shift against the back of his half-folded thighs, settling more comfortably. The gentle turning of a page accompanies the merry pop of their dying campfire.
Gabriel belatedly realizes can't remember where he'd left off. He stares a moment longer at the neatly printed words assembled before him, before deciding this is as good a place as any to stop for the night. It’s shut with a near-silent thump, and gently pushed beneath his cushy pillow. No longer drawn to fading text, his gaze casts itself about the firelit wilderness around their little camp as he settles, drinking in the surrounding song of nightlife.
Saturn’s rings are nowhere to be seen from here tonight, in the arid wilderness of Titan; there is only a blanket of endless stars. Shadowed mesas decorate the surrounding landscape, wreathing the cosmos above. A set of beady eyes glint at him from beyond thick bushes of sagebrush, holding for only a moment more before turning away. Just below that gap in the desert shrubbery, a small set of terracotta pots hold all sorts of hardy cacti. V1's shown interest in propagating them as of late, perhaps in appreciation for their ability to inflict pain.
Fall will be upon them by the time they settle in at home again. V1 had brought up the idea of building a home again the morning of their arrival here. Gabriel pictures a weather-worn cabin of stone and wood, stalks of wheat swaying in the wind by the boundaries of the orchard, sparrows singing in the branches above and the taste of wild strawberries that he might grow in the garden.
He wondered how long that house would stand there, after he and V1 are long gone. Perhaps a family of foxes would make it their home in that far-flung future, when this tiny blue sphere could support them again. Perhaps an owl would nest in the crumbling rafters. Maybe a curious Angel would happen upon it?
… would any Angels even remain within Paradise’s embrace on that day?
Bloodwarmed metal shifts against his flesh, and then his spouse's Feedbacker snaps the thick tome shut with a flourish. It's nudged to the edge of their makeshift bed before they move to clamber up to his side. The thick quilt he’s had his feet burrowed under is pulled up his calves with their ascent. Of its own accord, his arm stretches towards them in welcome.
V1 settles into his side like they've always belonged there, curling into his hold with a content whirr of their fans. The blanket comes to a rest just below his pecs, and the warmachine's conical head nestles comfortably just above his still-beating heart; a small lightship of hope in a world long-abandoned.
One day, it would fall silent, just the same as all things that possessed one inevitably do. But it gave them the will to live just the same; the choice of freedom for the promise of eventual death. Had God’s mortal experiments not felt the same way, pacing their gilded enclosure with all the restlessness of a bored beast?
(Why wouldn't Mankind, presented with something else beyond their halcyon lives, not inevitably follow in the footsteps of their doomed progenitors? Why wouldn't they lead their estranged siblings out in that daring chance of discovery even against the promise of hardship for it?)
Crackling flames soon dim to cherry-hot coals. Their glow shines even through the ashes, inviting his awareness to this single moment, just one one of many among thousands before and thousands to come. The Fixed Stars that cradle these worlds shine above the same as they always have. And if one looked hard enough, so did those countless other spinning galaxies.
Uncaring, maddening to truly behold, and with no guarantee that they are the only beacon of life in that sea of tiny lights.
And even with all that in mind, it's only after the fire is finally gone that Gabriel finds the courage to ask.
"V1?" He murmurs into the cool, damp air of an endless midnight. The moments pass by with several lazy thrums of their pumps, until a lazy finger draws an even sloppier question mark into his shoulder blade. Gabriel chews on his words just a few seconds longer before breathing them into the shadows that cradle their entwined forms.
"One day, our home will continue on without us," He whispers to them in a low tone, as if the Universe itself might hear them conspiring. "And when that day comes, would you… want to go see it with me?"
Their optic peels itself from his plush chest, blinking up at him dumbfoundedly until he angles his helm towards the expanse above. Their optic swivels upwards in drowsy mimicry, fixing their gaze upon the many stars that light the way through the nothingness, between here on this vast moon, and the end of all known land.
After a long moment of considering the endless cosmos above, they proceed to drop right back down onto his chest, scooting their frame just a little more atop his own. As they settle comfortably, their Whiplash arm pokes into view just above the opposite shoulder.
“YOU THINK SOMETHING MIGHT BE OUT THERE?”
“I'd like to think there is.” Whether that brave voyage be doomed or not, it was still one taken with hope. “Even more so, that it might just be something worth finding.”
They shake with a good-natured laugh, primary arm sliding up his stomach to clasp at his free hand. The gems of their wedding band and silicone of his own ring shine in the muted glow of their golden eye; the only light worth following into the dark.
"MAYBE SOMEDAY?"
He smiles, sinking into his pillow with a sleepy hum, and squeezes their hand in a wordless 'goodnight’.
“Maybe someday.”
Maybe there isn't anything else in this Universe but those newly-revealed pinpricks of light; maybe the entity he had once called 'father' had come from those ancient stars. Maybe they will never live to see the day they dare leave their flourishing garden. But for tonight, it's only a passing thought; there yet remained more that this once walled-off paradise had to experience.
Where they will always be free to bleed, live, love, and everything in between.
FIN.
