"Be not afraid, sinner. Your devotion to God shows goodness in you. Plentiful indeed. The heart is willing, but the body must rest, lest you squander one of the Lord's creations."
***
Sin.
Gabriel knew what sin was, for he had once been the "righteous" judge delegating the mortal transgressors stuck in the Nine Layers of Hell their punishments. Or, rather, he wasn't truly a judge who sent them to their designated cells. He was more akin to an authority which kept everything running as it should be through might and coercion. Minos was more of a true judge—but what happened to him was... obvious enough.
Limbo, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Wrath, Heresy, Violence, Fraud, and Treachery. Those were the greatest sins. Those were the ones that God, the Father, the Alpha and the Omega, the Creator of the Universe—yadda yadda yadda—had designated entire Layers to punish humans who followed those evil ways.
But could he truly believe in sin?
After his faith had been billowed off into the wind, coursed for some other way through his rotting husk in the Heresy of Hell, a revelation not of holiness or divine duty had been granted to him.
There was a question Lucifer had told him once before, during the silent Apocalypse. A time of old where the denizens of Hell, such as Lesser Demons, Greater Demons, and Supreme Demons; had banded together to brandish their claws against Heaven. It was the greatest war of all time, greater than even the Sisyphean Insurrection.
So the question was a simple one; Was eternal torment truly a fate fit for a fool?
Gabriel never questioned the purpose of Hell, because questioning God was the highest form of Heresy known in the confines of Heaven. That was why Lucifer, the greatest and most beautiful Angel, had been smited and sent off to the deepest darkest pits of a burning ninefold inferno.
Questioning God. How frightening.
Yet, now he knew. It wasn't back then where his brother's words had left a chord stricken in his divine heart, but when he was a decrepit soul ready to keel over and vomit all of the holy light inside of his body.
Could he truly believe in sin? The answer was simple.
Yes, he could.
Not from Heaven.
Not from the God who had left the world.
But from himself.
So now he stood in a completely different world, vastly dissimilar to his old one, yet also paradoxically vastly similar to it at the same time. The language, the humans, the behaviors, the ignorance, the arrogance, the sins, the virtues, and the vices; it was as if he were staring in some twisted mirror. A fogged and cracked mirror, but a mirror nonetheless, where the reflection could still clearly be seen.
The stars were aligned as they stood, leaving the Supreme Angel to stand at where he was and glare contemplatively up at them. There were many questions ringing through his silent mind which had become one with the night, graced by the accompaniment of twin moonlights.
'Ah... two moons.'
Clearly, he was on some other planet. But life on other planets shouldn't have been a possibility in the first place, because God had created the Universe with only two forms of life in mind. The mortal ones, and the heavenly ones. Humans, and Angels. There was zero possibility for other life to be present in the void that was space, because it wasn't designed to be so. All Supreme Angels during the ebb of the Universe's creation could attest.
Therefore, Gabriel could only assume that he had been sent to an alternate Universe entirely, for reasons escaping him. Could it possibly be that Hell had opened some sort of rift while it was collapsing in itself? Could this be a divine mission from God to his "Greatest Angel" (by proxy of Michael not being present) for some inexplicable reason? It was all impossible. It was all unfathomable.
Why would the creator who despised his creations return with no rhyme or reason and throw one worthless angel off to some other world? It just didn't make sense. He was more inclined to believe that some strange phenomenon had occurred in Hell during its collapse, and yet... it still didn't explain why God's Light was pulsating all across his body. What used to be a small vestige keeping his body active and his heart pumping was now in full force.
Alas, those thoughts could wait for later.
Right now, he was sitting on a dingy chair inside of a rundown house. The state of the entire city in general matched what the interior of the place he stayed in, that being completely decrepit and low-quality. Gabriel hadn't been expecting anything that would match the unending splendor that was Heaven's marble, as he never cared for such things, but even the Lust Layer of hell had superior infrastructure as compared to here.
Poverty.
That was the perfect word in his mind to describe this city belonging to Kazdel that he had discovered. From what the child sitting in front of him had told thus far, it was that the country he had found himself in—falling like a gosh darn star of all things—was one that was wrought up countless wars and attempted destruction. The denizens were also feisty ones, with a large population of the inhabitants being mercenaries who bloodied their hands for a sum of money.
It was very much human.
The need to eat, the need to drink, the need for shelter, and above all, the need to survive. For humans possessing fragile bodies that were volatile to those ailments, Gabriel was once more reminded how blessed his heavenly body was. God's Light provided practically everything he needed despite bearing a "human" form. But it was just that: a body resembling that of a human. Nothing about him could be truly human aside from his emotions.
"How interesting... and unfortunate." Gabriel cupped his armored chin while he leaned over and dispersed his weight through his elbows to his knees. His wings were deactivated, a decision he had made in order to not attract attention. He was regarded as a "Sankta," a kind which was not welcome upon the land. It was also how he had made it discreetly into this child's home. "Kazdel... Kazdelians... and Sarkaz, those holding horns resembling that of a stereotypical Devil or Demon. Something that you—Child—also bear."
"Yeah, that's right." The child, from whom he never received a name from, nodded. "I uhm... was also planning to become a mercenary in the future when I saved up enough money..."
The usual reverb escaped him before he spoke, "Then you would have also become just like that foolhardy man before, wouldn't you?" The Supreme Angel tilted his head.
"No... Yes...? I mean, maybe...?" The horned boy looked conflicted as he heard the Angel's words. "There's not much for me to do in order to make a living in Kazdel... I'm sure you already know how crappy it is to live here, Mr. Sankta."
"Gabriel..." he interrupted the boy. "Pardon me, but I never gave you my name, and you never gave me yours. My name is Gabriel."
"Oh—ah, a name... I don't particularly have a name, you know?" The child kicked his feet against the ground, bringing up a small portion of dust upwards.
"...A shame." Gabriel gravely nodded. He knew why. The boy in front of him never mentioned anything about parents or guardians, so he was most likely somebody who was not well, further made obvious by the state of the city he was present in. "Would you wish for a name?"
The child shook his head in disagreement, an action leaving Gabriel seldom privy to confusion. "Mr. Sank—or, er, Mr. Gabriel, that's not how names work here."
"Pardon?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow from underneath his helmet.
"You're supposed to kill somebody and then take their tag to get a name! Do you not know that? It must be because you're from Laterano..."
"..." The Supreme Angel watched as the child waved his hands while speaking that fact, as if it were a part of the country's culture or something. Some unwritten rule? Or was it common for the residents amongst these war-stricken lands to experience?
"Elaborate," Gabriel said, crossing his arms and flattening his feet against the ground from where he sat.
"Your voice is strange..." The boy responded, but shook his head in order to say more. "It's what the mercenaries say. The old man off in the next street told me so. You know?" A small raised brow was given from him after.
"...I see," he affirmed. That was not a good thing to hear. But honestly, what had he been expecting from the mercenary business? It never brought anything good, not back in his previous Earth, and not here it seems. "Then what is this about me being a 'Sankta' and this 'Laterano'?" He wished to move away from the ugly piece of information he had just received, of names in Kazdel. A bother, for sure, but what could he do about it at the moment?
"Eh? You don't know that?" The boy looked even more confused now, staring at the Supreme Angel as if he were a weirdo. "But you're a Sankta! You have the wings, you have the... armor that looks like an Apostolic Knights like the old folks would talk about!" He pointed toward Gabriel, namely the glistening armor of gold lining and ivory tapestry.
"I assume this Sankta is a race?"
"Uh, yeah, like the opposite of a Sarkaz, or something... like that."
"You don't seem so assured of your answer, Child."
"I don't know much, okay?" The boy crossed his arms with a pout. "All I know is that Laterano is like a... the word... a paradise. Yeah. A paradise, that's where the Sanktas or angels stay, while Kazdel is a hellhole like what the old folks say."
"Intriguing." So just like how this child and that mercenary from earlier possessed horns resembling a generic Demon, this world also possessed its own counterparts of an angel. "Are you aware of their culture or their lifestyle?"
"I don't know, I only know that they have guns and hate Sarkaz." The boy shook his head.
"Guns?" Gabriel almost said distastefully. "No, forget that. They despise the Sarkaz? My, why am I not surprised?" His mind lingered slightly on the gun part, but he let it go. Different Angels, it seems, if they could even be called actual Angels.
"...Do you hate the Sarkaz?" The boy questioned.
"Not in particular, no. Why would I need to?"
Truly, he didn't believe that they were terrible people just based on their race. Their circumstances were quite terrible, but that didn't speak for every single member of the Sarkaz's population. The Supreme Angel could be impartial to the Sinners of Hell, so for a world which possessed wildly differing customs from his own, then there must be some nuance to the entire thing.
"R-Really? But you're a Sankta, I thought you Sankta hated the Sarkaz!" The child looked flabbergasted, as if his mind couldn't process what he had just heard.
"First of all, Child." Gabriel raised his index finger. "I am not this Sankta you speak of. Second of all, is this hatred the Sankta hold to the Sarkaz reciprocated the other way?"
The child stared upwards at him with a slow nod. "Uhm, yes. I think it's like... a really big thing. The adults would always rant about it."
"Then for a Sarkaz, you were quite calm when in the presence of a potential Sankta such as myself. Though, I wasn't a Sankta in the first place." Gabriel already knew based on the boy's views that he was practically a Sankta on first view, if his wings and halo bore any resemblance to this world's own. Most likely, it did, because of what that mercenary from before had said.
"But you saved my life."
"Exactly. And why do you think I bear no ill will toward you?"
"Uh... I actually don't know..." The boy looked stumped for a moment. "Because you're not a Sankta?"
"A short-sighted way of viewing things." Gabriel almost rolled his eyes from underneath his helmet. "It does not matter if I am a Sankta. You are a rather untroubling child, so there is no need for me to bear any ill will. Is that understandable?"
"Yeah..." The child nodded.
"Is it strange?"
"Kind of... it's a lot different from what the old guys would say..." He looked to be lost in thought.
"Following the views of others?" Gabriel questioned. "It's wise to listen to the knowledge of others—but creating your own view out of it is even wiser." He had learned as much when breaking out of the chains binding his mentality and worldview. "You are no different from a slave if you are constantly controlled by the words spouted from others."
The child turned his gaze upward toward the Supreme Angel, a seemingly small look of recognition glinting from underneath the lens of his eyes. The passing moment was brief, but enough for a flicker of understanding to come across him.
"A slave? Like the ones sold on the market?"
"...I beg your pardon?" Gabriel blinked a few times underneath his market at the unexpected words of the child in front of him.
"Slaves?" The child asked, wherein he received a nod. "Like the ones who are sold for others?" He received another nod. "Yes, I'm talking about that."
"Is it illegal?"
"No?" the child denied. "I was going to be sold if you didn't come help me from that mercenary earlier. Did you not know?"
Different world, different standards it seems. Although slavery was abolished back in his world by many countries, it didn't mean that the concept had been eradicated completely. Gabriel wasn't one to comment on slavery considering he fueled the system that allowed souls to experience eternal torment—but as it stood right now—slavery left a bitter taste in his mouth. There was no virtue to it, not any which would correspond to what he believed was right.
Hell, even as an Angel under the Council's rule, Gabriel was confident that he would openly detest such a thing. Especially if it were happening in the material world.
"How detestable." A comment left him. "I take it this slave system is a part of the mercenary occupation you speak of?"
"I... guess so." The boy kept himself measured when seeing the mitigated anger that had barely crossed his small understanding over emotional inflections. "If... if you want to know more..." Hesitance soon struck him as he attempted to provide the Angel with more information, but the words became stuck in his throat.
Gabriel noticed it. In response, he calmed his festering irritation toward what he had heard and kept himself steady. "Be at ease. If the matter troubles you, then there is no need for me to drag you along with it."
"No, no, it's fine," the child hastily responded. "It's... the mercenary business from what I know is controlled by the Scar Market." He rehashed what he knew from overhearing the adults in the town's tavern. A shitty tavern, but a tavern nonetheless, a hotspot for mercenaries to gather and converse.
"The Scar Market, hm?" Gabriel tried it atop his tongue.
"I hear a lot about it from the adults in the taverns. They always talk about commissions and hits they take from it. About killing people, doing dirty work, and whatever the rest that comes with it."
"Then I shall pay them a visit."
Gabriel stood up from his seat, with the child looking at him as if he had grown a second head. The moldy wood from underneath them creaked from the weight of his body added on with the hefty armor adorning the Angel's body. In fact, other structures such as the wooden supports not too dissimilar from chipped staves had also ached from his movement, ready to fall over at any moment due to any additional force.
"You're going to visit them...?" The boy had to know if what he was hearing was right.
"Why of course? What other way is there to voice my opinion on their kind of business?" Gabriel responded. He already had a small grasp of what this Kazdel was like, and he didn't like it that much, if he were being honest. It was a land governed by lawlessness and anarchy—or to be more accurate—a land which allowed such criminal concepts to flourish. "This land is pitiful. The slavery I'm hearing is far more pitiful."
"What if they try to rob you?" A voice of concern rose from the boy. "You look like you have expensive stuff on you, and you're also a Sa—I mean—you also look like a Sankta when you..." He leaned to the side and attempted to see where Gabriel's wing and halo had gone. "When you have your wings..."
"Those are humoring concerns." Gabriel waved his hand in the air casually. "Let them try." Whatever he does may be meaningless or stupid, but he didn't really care much. It was a challenge, and a challenge was what he reveled in.
Why else was he in constant ecstasy when facing off against the Supreme Machine who had torn through the Layers of Hell like they were thin sheets of paper? Why else had he found the spark of passion when upon the verge of death? Why else had he felt a burning passion when a hole had been drilled into his body, spilling the vital lifeblood important for his survival?
Trouble.
Difficulty.
Battle.
They were all inherent in one thing: Purpose.
Even if righteousness and justice were worthless amongst the vast expanse of the universe, and no matter if they served nothing in the grand scheme of things—he would follow it to the very end. Absurd was there in finding meaning in anything, but he'd be damned if that was he would live out the rest of his life seeing things in such a way. So even if the world's indifference reared its head at him and reminded him that God was no longer present, Gabriel would spit in its face and fly off elsewhere. To find his own purpose, meaningful to himself.
"I thank you for the small facets of information you have granted me, and I will make good use of them, Child." Gabriel turned toward the boy one last time.
The boy stared silently as the Angel for a moment, before they spoke, "Wait a second!" He watched as Gabriel halted in his steps and turned around with a tilt denoting confusion. At that moment, the Sarkaz moved across his place of residence and came to a small compartment he opened, revealing an assortment of messily placed clothes that were in it. Reaching his hand inside and scrounging for whatever he could find, the child's hands finally came to what he had been looking for. With a small lift upwards parting away all other clothing blocking the main one he had grasped, the item revealed itself.
It unfolded easily and flowed downwards. It was a brown scraggly robe possessing small ripped ends, but was far larger than even the boy's entire body. He gave it a wave in the air to undo the tufts which had formed from unuse of the piece of clothing, furthermore revealing itself in its true form. Turning around, the boy then presented the object toward Gabriel with his arms spread as far reaching as he could.
"You should wear this, so they don't get suspicious of you," the boy said. "I can also show you where the Scar Market is, I know because I would follow the mercenaries who would always visit there in secret."
Gabriel looked on at a pause. His arms crossed while his hand moved upwards, entering a thinking posture. His index finger tapped his chin a few times, before he relented to the boy and made his decision.
"Well, if you say so." He shrugged afterwards, walking with practiced steps which wasted no energy and reached downwards to grab the robes. The clicks between his metallic armor were heard as he had done so, with the joints of the finely-crafted piece of infallible defense creaking along his movements. "Don't wander into any trouble on your way with me now. I will handle everything—myself."
When the article of clothing departed from the child's hand like a balloon being whisked from a blowing zephyr, it found itself fluttering once in the air in a pirouette. The focal point of the room was enshrouded in the color brown afterwards, as dust kicked upwards, akin to a small tornado amongst depraved wood. The localized motion eventually came to a halt as the robes had found themselves upon plated shoulders, the ripped ends flowing downwards twisting and turning a few times before they had died out.
The Sarkaz boy looked upwards toward the Supreme Angel. Everything about his figure, from the towering posture, to the vibrant armor which reflected the pale moonlight from up above, had been completely covered. There was barely any detail that could be made from Gabriel, which was especially evident for his face covered with his ornamented helmet. Only a shadow loomed over with his head tilted slightly downwards, casted in a way wholly made to obscure any important details.
What was once an Angel dressed in the armor of a knightly figure, was now a veiled enigma which was contracted heavily to what was known before. All warmth looked to have been hidden and sealed underneath the fabric that had draped over him entirely, leaving nothing but the cold air which surrounded his body. The figure slightly rolled his shoulders and neck a few times, causing his disguise to shift and reveal some parts of his glistening armor underneath—but a small pause of his movements left the pieces all falling back into place—to the unknowable wanderer who traversed sediment-filled lands.
"This is much more doable. You have my graces, once more." Gabriel's voice pierced through the silence reigning presently in the room, as he twisted his wrist a few times underneath the light weight of the brown robes. "No troubles shall come our way, even in spite of the nature of my existence. Now then, would you care to lead me to this... Scar Market?"
...The Sarkaz boy let out a sound of agreement.
***
If there was one thing that Gabriel had found himself to be enamored every time he had stood upon the structures of Heaven was when he had glanced toward the sky. From such a distance away, the littered stars were no different from dots of kaleidoscopic colors, showing off all their many hues for him to bear witness to. A beautiful sight it was, a well-needed respite from the many duties he had been tasked to uphold.
"Brother Gabriel."
An echoing voice was heard behind him, as the Supreme Angel turned downwards and away from the sights he had brought his attention to. He had turned around, feeling the almighty presence closest to God he had ever felt in his life, the existence which had single-handedly fended off even the mightiest of Supreme Demons plastered across Hell's unforgiving landscape.
His hands moved behind him as he addressed who was once behind him—now in front of him—with the utmost respect.
"Brother Michael."
He was dressed in gold and ivory, the same as him. The light of his six wings bore a golden radiance tinged with red unseen by any other Angel present in Heaven, proving his existence as the mightiest amongst them all. The Supreme General of Heaven stood before him. The very one who had led the armies belonging to the Father with such crushing might, that he had left even Lucifer, his once superior in hierarchy, in disarray.
No other words were spoken as the other Supreme Angel silently walked beside Gabriel with his large figure.
Michael's gaze turned toward the stars, the ones a far cry away from Heaven. Silent were their existence, unmoving was their existence, and meaningless was their existence. They served no purpose other than to illuminate the infinite chasm that was space, beholding no other life unlike the speculations made by the mortals residing upon Earth.
"The Father has disappeared."
A single declaration escaped his profound lips, uttering what even the Council of Heaven was afraid to hear or accept. Such "hearsay" would be considered blasphemy, but from somebody such as Michael, his world was practically law. Gabriel himself, could do nothing but listen to his words in deep-seated worry, of what the implications brought.
"I shall seek him. No matter the distance of the stars, no matter the expanse of the world, and no matter the length it shall take. Wherever he has gone, so shall I."
Michael's wings flapped, as his body flew upwards. His figure encompassed the entire sky above them, becoming the main sight which attracted all vision, the most brilliant luminescence across the canvas of night.
"Gabriel, heed my words. I hereby appoint thee, within this waking moment, as the mightiest Angel under Heaven's light. Bear the responsibility with dignity—until I make my return."
Gabriel could only stare in silence at his brother's departure.
His figure, beyond the black horizon, faded. The single light piercing the Heavens—just as it had appeared—vanished.
***
A mechanical catacomb made of steel and alloy flanked him from all sides. There was a low hum of artificiality reverberating all across the walls, clamoring into his ears and producing the sound of machinations coming to play. Whirrs of gears set course for the future of the country it was present in, and all the lives under its invisible field—a magnetic one—bringing together all who were blessed by its divine photons.
Pope Yvangelista XI walked through the hallways with solemn steps. The peculiar gait held underneath his soles were contemplative, far removed from the attitude he would display in public. His current situation called for it, because of a recent discovery made from a "falling star" cascading down close to the territory of Laterano.
It was assumed to be a Catastrophe, or the harbinger of a forthcoming Catastrophe, but that hadn't been the case. The Catastrophe Messengers had said so. For that, a small squadron was sent to scout out what had happened during the site of impact with protective gear as a precaution. Unfortunately, said protective gear hadn't done enough to combat the strange event afflicting the vicinity.
White flames, all-consuming and all-enveloping in its nature had flooded the entire place. It was stuck between a valley adorned with caves and verdant shrubbery, but everything had been consumed in the solitary inferno springing to life—twisting them into nothing but flakes of ashen snow. The entire incident had injured many, and nearly cost multiple lives. Thankfully, everybody had retreated just in time, so they hadn't joined the pyre as their funeral.
An Apostolic Knight had volunteered with another squadron scrounge up in order to fully investigate the scenery. By the time they had arrived, the raging flames had already calmed down into small embers of serenity. It was still dangerous, even if the degree of heat had lessened due to the thermostat that was time. But for the towering figure clad in shining white armor, braving through such tribulations wasn't an impossibility.
The discovered item was a relic or artifact of sorts.
Yvangelista let his fingers stroke his beard while he reached a large door of sorts. With a single glance, it had started to open as if something had commanded it to. More twisting bars of machinery could be heard as it fully opened, letting the view of something transcendent appear before him.
Crimson neon lights bled into the optics of his eyes and reflected elsewhere across the walls. A platform with stairs led up to its center, revealing the cause of the incandescent lights permeating the entire metallic room. An encirclement of technological cubes hovered in the air with eternally moving parts, producing a whisper with each whirling movement. It was like a stationary halo with the shape made by each of its polymers.
He moved up the stairs with each step, and eventually made it to the top. There, the Pope's steps came to a halt as he gauged what was in front. Not the object that went far beyond the scope of anybody's understanding—even his own—but another one which was held inside of a protective case. Within, a different gleam contrasting the vermillion cascades was prominent, in the form of white.
It was a pure blade, the cause of the hungry flames tantamount to a Catastrophe being dropped upon land. Unlike a Catastrophe however, it had quickly died out and became a human-sized greatsword embedded into the ground. Whoever attempted to pick it up were immediately met with some sort of refusal from the weapon, as their gloves would start steaming from an unknown force or their hands would start screaming in pain due to an increase in heat.
By loading it on an inanimate object that could move, like a vehicle, it was able to be brought back to the Lateran Basilica. The Pope himself had promptly had the item moved to where the Law had been present in secret, because a faint stinging connection had been felt the moment the strange ivory sword had been shown to him. Upon such strange happenings, that was where he had been led to now.
The weapon stuck in the case was calmed, holding none of the ferocious might it had breathed into the unassuming emerald fields it had crashed into. Wherever it came from was a complete mystery too, and observers of the sky and stars during that time could only assume it had either been a launched attack from some other place—or that it had quite literally come from the skies. Both seemed implausible, but the facts were already in front of them.
'Engravings, and it comes from a language I am aware of, no less?'
A thought escaped Yvangelista as he calmly analyzed the object. There were a few faint black engravings upon the near-crystalline glowing blade in a language that he was aware of. In fact, the engravings formed together to create a single-worded translated phrase used once before in Laterano—not a particularly common one—but one which had existed nonetheless.
The single word translated as follows...
"Who is like God?"
...A theory was formulated in his mind that the weapon must have belonged to somebody who would engrave such a phrase onto their weapon. Most likely, they were a Sankta based on the origin and meaning holding a commonality with some aspects of Laterano. Now that also brought up another question that had come to his mind over the past days.
Why was the Law so interested in it? There must have been a reason for why the Law wished for the object—no different from an artifact that should be put elsewhere—to be right in front of it. Had it begun analyzing it, then? But for what purpose? Analysis like these should not take it so long, especially with how fast it was to detect irregularities happening all across Terra. Such as—
—A beeping sound was heard.
Yvangelista glanced upwards in recognition.
Something was happening.
***
The friendly clashing of crudely made cups could be heard as conversations of varying ilk erupted across the tavern. Small splashes of alcoholic liquid were made in the air before they fell uselessly to the ground and upon other people, completely unknowable to the folks stuck in their own world—uncaring of such little details that didn't affect them much.
Rumor mills flourished in such a place, as words continued to be passed endlessly from mouth to ear, and out from the mouth once more. Chuckles of absurdity to stories were also a prominent course served amongst the residents, in order to break away from the bleakness of their life which lacked any true enjoyment. For those who truly flourished in what they did, however, then such things never applied to them.
Off in the corner, a single figure stood with a fish-out-of-water child who stuck close to him. Nobody could tell who he was underneath the brown cloak which had covered nearly his entire figure, but they never kept much note of his presence. All he had done was glance toward the ground and make no other noise, and they had all assumed the boy must have been his property in some way.
Unbeknownst to them, his eyes were glancing elsewhere.
To a door at the back, leading him exactly to where he needed to go.