Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fifth layer is in chaos.

The River Styx overflowed to an immense size, a sudden influx of souls arriving on the shore, waiting to be delivered.

And yet, faithful to heaven as ever, the ferrymen still did their work. Tirelessly delivering soul after soul across the river as the trips grew longer and the damned seemed to increase twenty fold, pouring in by the millions.

Over and over, more humans arrived, the crowd seeming to grow faster than the ferryman can keep up with.

Over and over, His routine remains mundane and repetitive for weeks, perhaps months on end.

Over and over, the days blended together as the ferryman’s bones grew more tired and weak from the non stop work.

Several times during a trip, some sort of incident may occur. A passenger aboard his ship may attempt to inflict violence upon him or many of the other souls on board the ship. The waves might make the boat unsteady. If he was really unlucky, the leviathan may appear, and he’d have to deal with that shitstorm. Of course, it’s his duty to make sure the souls get to the other side safely.

And so he did. God he was fucking tired.

So tired that, as he was zoned out, he didn’t notice himself drift off and fall asleep. He didn’t hear anyone come in, he didn’t feel the hands grabbing at him and hushed whispers among men.

It’s not until something grabs at his ribcage roughly that he is startled awake, and quickly realizes he can’t fucking see.

His hands immediately reached up to his face, clawing at his eyes, before being grabbed and pinned behind his back. He flailed, panicking as he became increasingly aware of his position. Leaning back against someone behind him who kept his arms behind his back as legs were grabbed and pulled at. He could feel hands on his ribs, hated how he could feel them under his ribs.

The sound of laughter floods his skull, taunting and mocking him. Cheers erupt as hands hook beneath his knees, pulling them against his chest. Frankly, the ferryman doesn’t exactly know what’s going on, the sound and internal panic making it hard to think clearly.

Something cold brushes against his pelvis, and at first he’s confused.

Then it goes in, and he shrieks.

Pain spreads throughout his lower area as the unknown object is forced deeper, scraping against his bones and causing them to creak. It didn’t seem to be anything phallic, being much too wide and hard, as if the object was made of stone.

His legs tremble from the pain as he tries to kick out, struggling against the hold on his arms and chest. Every time the object is pushed further, his breath hitches and he winces in pain. Every time he whimpers, laughter erupts around him as derogatory words and insults are thrown at him. It pushed at his ischial spine, making a sickening noise as cracks developed along the cartilage. The object is pushed until it physically cannot go any further, already having made deep gashes permanent damage to the bones.

There seemed to be no explanation for this behavior other than to cause him suffering. Why, why would so many band together for the sole purpose to cause him pain? Has he not been forgiving enough? Even when the majority of souls stopped paying the toll? Even when he fought storm after storm for weeks on end?

Humans are greedy. They will take every part of you until there is nothing left, and discard you when you finally break.

With a bit of force required, the object is pulled out and tossed aside. Although his wounds still sting and blood drips down his legs, the ferryman exhales, relieved from the immense pressure and sound of breaking bones filling his skull.

Someone grabs his legs, hooking his knees above their hands and pushing them forward. Leaning over him, something brushes against his sacrum.

When will this torment end?

He cries out as they start to thrust, gaining cheers from the crowd. The act invokes more pain as his wounds are scraped against, but terrifyingly, it invokes another strange feeling in him. Something he didn’t even know he could feel anymore.

“Wait- stop-”

Since shedding his mortal skin, he hasn't even attempted to feel pleasure, refraining himself. Chasing the dream of a place in heaven, not letting any more sins weigh himself down. Loyal to hopes of redemption. Dutifully doing his job of safely carrying passengers across the river without further distractions.

For whom? These people?

Of course not. For the father. For heaven.

A seat in heaven. That is what was promised to him, and yet, will heaven still want this tainted body? This filthy soul?

Fucking whore.

A particularly harsh thrust made him throw his head back, a small whimper escaping. More terrifying than pain is pleasure, and he feels like he might throw up. Something sticky poured onto his pelvis, seeping between his joints and dripping onto the floor. More laughter. These sinners wanted, solely, to humiliate him.

He didn’t want to give them that.

“D-damned sinners, perhaps even hell is too forgiving for the likes of you.”

It took quite a bit of strength to not simply spew insults and curses.”

Someone punches his skull hard, and he thinks he heard something crack. “Maybe you’ll lose some of that misplaced ego after we’re all done with you.”

He feels fear weigh in his chest. It seemed that if what the voice implied was true, his torment wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

In his head, he sends a silent prayer to whoever may be listening. In some strange hopes that an angel would descend and rid all these people. His presence would emit a warm, radiant glow, and he would hold the ferryman in his arms, whispering to him that despite his body being tainted, his devotion to God would make his sins forgiven.

How greedy, to think you are deserving of being saved once again.

Someone grabs his legs. Heaven has turned him away, and he is alone in the darkness.

Something breaches his pelvis and some pathetic noise escapes his throat as wet droplets roll down his face.

He didn’t know he could cry.

Is it over?

…

The ferryman picks himself up, grunting at the pain in his head. His hands reached under his cloth and for his eyes, as he was still met with darkness.

It took a bit to figure it out, clawing at nothing for a while before his fingers seemed to catch onto something. He pulled, a weird sensation followed by light pouring into his vision. In his hands remained a cloth, showing wet patches from tears.

He reached into his other eye, pulling out the remaining cloth. Besides the fact that someone would even think of such a strange and slightly horrifying method of blinding him, the thought of those sinners having seen his face is… upsetting, to say the least.

He looked around. Nobody else seems to be present. Perhaps the ship already docked and the passengers left.

He gets up, the thick substance between his joints making it harder to move. Blood is mixed into the filth, along with white dust from the remains of bones. He’s a mess.

He has some time before going back, and getting the next batch of souls.

Continuing his work.

Does he even have to do that at all? Keep going until when?

Nonsense. It is his duty to heaven.

What does heaven value in a sinner like himself? He is tainted now.

He trips over himself, bones moving slower than it should. He should really take a bath.

He has no lungs to breathe, yet still feels the burn of drowning.

The saltwater stings his wounds. Perhaps he should have thought about that before making it part of his eternal torment.

The first time he died, he remembers light blinding his vision.

There will be no light this time.

He will sink until he joins the other souls in the depths of the ocean. His chest will forever burn with longing for air, until succumbing to the darkness.

It’s not pain that he hasn't felt before. But at the thought of finding himself alone with nothingness, he seems a little afraid.

Perhaps it’s what he deserves. His actions not only involved sin, but treachery.

The ferryman sunk further into the darkness of the sea, watching the light slowly getting further away. He can’t close his eyes, so he focuses on the cloth in front of his face. It’s not like he can see much with it soaked anyways.

A sudden dizziness overwhelms him. He was still losing blood from the multiple cracks within his body and on his skull.

The air around him seemed to get warmer. Maybe I’m dying already. Maybe I’m hallucinating.

Light blinds his vision

Gabriel once again made his way to the layer of wrath. After the obvious commotion from the influx of souls, he was admittedly worried about the ferrymen. Realistically, there was nothing he could do to help other than fending off the leviathan occasionally.

But, on the occasion that a sinner would go overboard…

There.

He saw the faint figure, sinking further into the sea. Normally, a blue ferryman would be hard to stop underwater. Luckily he seemed to still be wearing his cloth.

The waves were heavy and admittedly, he struggled to reach the surface once again after holding the ferryman in his arms. His power of flight aided him, and he landed on the ferry, gasping for air.

The ferryman remained unresponsive, and still clutching him in his arms, Gabriel searched for a room with a bed to lay him down on. That is, until he arrived at a particular hallway where something caught his eye.

It’s a painting, taking up almost an entire wall, even taller than Gabriel. A painting of himself front and center, with the ferryman in his arms. Closer analysis would reveal careful brushwork, his armor depicted with realistic perfection and his halo and wings emitting a warm glow.

He came to a realization that perhaps this was the same ferryman whom he had saved some time ago.

It was… interesting. Perhaps strange in some people's eyes. Gabriel hadn’t thought much of saving the ferryman back then. It was simply him doing what he felt was needed, returning a favor to the ferrymen for their hard work.

To think this one ferryman valued the moment so much is…

Heartwarming, perhaps.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, as he still has a task at hand.

Laying the ferryman down on the bed, he finally was able to access the situation. Upon closer inspection, it seems that he was quite injured, having multiple crafts and scrapes along his pelvis as well as the cloth tainted a bright pink, signs that blood had been stained on it. Perhaps he kept bandages around here?

He searched in drawers, finding a few things. Paintbrushes, chisels, palettes… an artist, it seems. He also found a red book, but ignored it to prevent any invasion of privacy.

…There! He dug up a roll of bandages, bringing it over to the ferryman laid on the bed.

He lifted up the cloth slightly to reveal more of the damage. Larger cracks leaking blood were forming from the right and left inner Ilium, becoming more prominent at the point where it meets the pubis. Scrapes were located at the sacrum and pelvic brim, and the end of the tailbone seemed to have been snapped clean off. He’s not sure how comfortable it would be for the ferryman to have bandages wrapped around his bones inside and out, but it seemed better than letting him slowly leak blood.

He took the bandage and got to work, positioning himself so that he was kneeling on the bed, parallel to the ferryman and somewhat leaning over him.

Gabriel was able to finish up bandaging one of the larger cracks when chaos ensued.

The ferryman suddenly jolted, kicking and attempting to attack Gabriel, and due to his time of training and experience as a warrior, Gabriel reacted almost instantly by reflex; grabbing the ferryman’s wrists and pinning in to his sides, and putting one knee on his leg to render it incapable of movement, but not too hard to possibly damage the leg.

Normally, Gabriel would be furious at being suddenly attacked, no less from someone whom he was trying to help. But it’s the ferryman’s reaction that instead sparks concern in Gabriel.

Despite the cloth covering his face, Gabriel can practically feel the fear radiating from the ferryman. He trembled terribly, and soft, shaky mumblings of “God, help me” were repeated along with other incoherent prayers, voice cracking and choking on the words.

Gabriel immediately lets him go and moves back, surprised. He barely used any force, only restraining his movement, careful not to hurt the ferryman in any way. So why…?

“M-my Radiance?”

Gabriel’s attention is brought back to the ferryman at the present moment, who seemingly came to his senses.

“...Are you alright?”

“My light!” The ferryman immediately gets up and knees before Gabriel, head down and hands pressed together. “P-please forgive me for my earlier actions…”

For once, Gabriel feels slightly uncomfortable at the sight of a sinner trying to repent. “There’s no need. I was just… trying to bandage your wounds. Perhaps we should continue now.”
“Of course, my radiance…”

The ferryman lied back down, breathing a bit heavy. His legs twitched at every touch, flinching easily, and the ferryman gripped the bed sheets tightly.

“...Maybe it’s better for you to do it yourself?”

“O-of course…”

The ferryman sat up, grabbing the bandages with shaky hands and quickly finishing the work, admittedly a bit sloppily. Gabriel waited patiently, then helped the ferryman place a bandage on his skull where the crack ran.

“If that is all, then I suppose I’ll be going…”

“W-wait!”

Gabriel turns back towards the ferryman, seeing him once more on his knees in prayer.

“I would like to offer my utmost gratitude for saving me once again, my radiance…” Of course.

“...and, if unable to do so in front of the father, I would like to confess my sins in front of his righteous hand…”

This is… unexpected. Rarely would any of the ferrymen be noted to commit any sins after receiving their status, all chasing the ideal that is redemption and entrance to heaven.

“Continue.”

“...Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…

“As of the recent, I have engaged with… intercourse… between myself and another being without the goal of reproduction.

“I have committed this sin multiple times recently… I am not sure how many.

“I-it was not my intention to commit such wrongdoings, and I truly tried to stop…”

His voice is breaking up.

“I…I truly tried to s-stop, I didn’t want…

“I told them- I didn’t- despite that-”

It’s getting harder to string together sentences now, his voice seemingly refusing to work, reducing to small sobs as his form weakens, becoming more curled in on himself.

“F-for these sins, I wish t-to truly repent… and ask for your absolution- god, please forgive me-”

The ferryman sobs, returning to the shallow mumbling as he repeats the phrase “forgive me, forgive me…”

Gabriel was speechless. He didn’t understand what was going on, and didn’t know what to do in such a situation. But, seeing him in such a state, he felt some sort of… worry?

He felt anger. Hatred. Not towards the ferryman himself, but for whatever may have caused him such despair.

Gabriel kneels down to the ferryman, trying his best to give comfort, as the ferryman accepts his offer, leaning into Gabriel’s shoulder and letting himself be held.

He said the only thing he knew how to say in this situation.

“...In the name of the Lord, I absolve you of your sins.”

Chapter Text

In his radiance’s arms, he was safe.

It was warm. It didn’t feel like the cold, painful hands gripping him, restraining him as fingers gripped and tugged and wormed their way into every space within him. He could rest. He could rest without fear of waking up to darkness.

And yet, when he came to…

Fear struck him. Fear that forced itself down his throat as he struggled to take breaths. Fear that burned in his chest as if he was drowning.

He hated it. He hated how pathetic, how weak it made him feel. He hated how he was bound by these mortal feelings, how it seemed to control him. How it made his struggle and claw at the ground, how it made him jerk his limbs in meaningless panic.

He hated those sinners for doing this to him.

Blinded by fear, a voice reached him through the static. It wasn’t laughing at him or mocking him, giving gentle words of comfort.

Of course, his radiance was here. His radiance wouldn’t let anyone hurt him.

“His gentle words eased the pain and mended my wounds.”

Slowly, he was able to make sense of where he was.

In his room, on the floor, practically sitting on Gabriel’s lap as his radiance’s arms were wrapped around him. His memory came back as he remembered the fear he suddenly felt in the middle of his confession, leading into this position they were in.

“You fell asleep.”

The ferryman moved slowly as they separated and he attempted to slowly get up. How… embarrassing.

“…I apologize for wasting your time, your holiness.”

As soon as he tried to use his foot to carry his weight, pain shot down his leg from his hips and he collapsed, wincing in pain.

“Take it easy. You’re still hurt.” Gabriel reached out to take his arm, aiding him in standing up.

“I still have my ferryman duties to attend to. Souls are waiting at the shore.” He reached out to take his oar as Gabriel handed it to him. The thought of having to take more passengers is… not pleasant, to say the least. Still, it was his duty to heaven. He is loyal to that.

“Then allow me to stay with you.” Gabriel said, bringing him to his bed. Sitting down still hurt, but it was better than standing up. At least the bed is soft.

“I have already taken up too much of your time, my radiance.”

“I insist. Whatever duties the council requires out of me at the current moment, I’m sure they could find a replacement.”

The ferryman paused. He should turn him down. Gabriel has already wasted enough time on a lowly sinner such as himself.

But truthfully, he was scared.

Scared of letting more passengers onto his ferry, in such large numbers as he has been doing. Scared that they would catch him off guard, overpower him, and…

Of course not. Back then, that was a moment of weakness. He was tired from work, had his guard down, and let himself drift. Even if he had a few broken bones, he’s sure he could overpower fifty of those husks.

He will not let that happen again. But with his radiance here, his safety was guaranteed.

“Very well then.”

When did he worry about such things?

Selfish bastard.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Currently the ferry is programmed to automatically go back and forth between the fifth and sixth layer. Therefore, we should be arriving at shore soon.”

Gabriel approached, before sitting down next to him. Normally, his divine presence would make him nervous, yet he’s felt strangely calm this entire time.

“Can I ask you something?”

The ferryman looks up, nodding slightly.

“What… was that?”

…Of course. He was behaving erratically after all, Even going as far as to try and attack Gabriel.

“I… I do not know, truthfully…”

Gabriel looks at him, as if seeing right through him. He knows there’s more. “You can tell me anything you wish to say.”

He doesn’t know if he should be telling him this. To display such weakness, and yet… hasn't he already done that?

“I… whenever I act like that, I am overwhelmed with a crushing sense of fear. It is unstoppable; I cannot control my urge to run away or defend myself from anything and everything. The feeling seems to affect my mind. It inhibits my ability to think clearly. I see and hear things that aren’t there, and that further evokes fear.”

Gabriel doesn’t say anything, but he remains silent as if to urge him to continue. He wants to know why.

“I apologize. I cannot possibly tell you such moments of… weakness from my end. It was my careless actions that led to this behavior. I cannot concern you with such mortal problems.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

The ferry stops, and the distant noises of a crowd is heard.

Gabriel stands up, helping the ferryman up with him. “It’s alright.”

The councilor looked up as he descended from the skies, approaching him.

“Where were you?”

“Visiting a friend, sir.” Gabriel replied, bowing deeply in front of the councilors' presence.

“A friend in the fifth layer of hell?” The councilor said, doubtful. “Visiting them for six days?”

“Uh… yes.”

“…Were you visiting the ferryman?”

Gabriel didn’t reply, which was enough of an answer.

“I told you, Gabriel. We do not concern ourselves with those sinners in hell, unless they violate God’s will. They do not need our concern. Nor do they deserve it.”

”Is there anything you require assistance for?” Gabriel says, looking to change the subject.

The councilor sighed. “In fact, as of the current, there isn’t. Everything is running as normal in heaven. The influx of souls into hell has passed. As for the mortal realm…” the councilor paused, looking away. “Strangely, it’s quiet.”

Gabriel looks up. “Is there anything else?”

“No. But Gabriel—“ the councilor turns around To face him. “We do not concern ourselves with the citizens of hell. They have their own duties that they must fulfill themselves. If they fail, let them. The consequences come naturally.”

Gabriel doesn’t respond.

“…you are dismissed.”

The shore is empty. Gabriel returned to heaven to continue his duties. He is alone, nothing but the sound of waves crashing against the ferry.

Millions upon millions of souls, and suddenly, none.

He should be thankful. And yet…

The lack of work left him stuck in his own mind. And his mind thought of nothing but fear.

He lay awake as it slowly ate at him like some sort of parasite. Hands, hands clung onto him and grabbed him and clawed at him, reaching between the gaps in his bones and lacing between ribs, nothing was safe. He could not think. He lost all sense of upholding any sort of dignity he had left, crying and struggling and begging. Begging for this extended nightmare to end, begging for something or someone to pull him out. He could not do anything. He has never felt such helplessness, condemned to despair as hope was ripped away from him with each passing moment, mercilessly cruel. He could not rest. He doesn’t dare rest.

He is utterly incapable and useless.

And then, finally, he decided he had enough.

The shore has been empty for days now. Normally, he would never abandon his work. But he is truly desperate now. Surely heaven won’t condemn him for missing work that doesn’t exist, but perhaps heaven has given up on him already.

He will go find the people who did this to him and he will end them, purge this feeling within him and end this extended torture once and for all.

The ferryman headed down to the bridge. He had to chart a new course.

“Greetings, Gabriel. To what reason doth thou behold thy holy grace in one’s presence?”

Minos chuckles as he pours a glass of wine for himself. He tried to offer a glass to Gabriel in the past, but the angel insists that he keeps his helmet on.

“It’s good to see you too, Minos.” Gabriel sat down on a velvet armchair across from Minos. “I hope the influx of souls recently hasn't made your work too hard?”

“The work has indeed been difficult. However, it is nothing of concern. Has thy visit to hell been well?”

Gabriel smiled. “Ah, well, I did visit the fifth layer before this.”

“The fifth layer? I hope I have not sent too many sinners to the river styx. Yet, one can only judge as one sees fit… mankind has indeed committed many grave sins.”

“I originally visited out of concern for the ferryman there, however, I ended up spending some extended time with one of the ferrymen. He was injured, so he required some basic assistance in getting around. Of course, I was more than willing to offer any help necessary. I’m afraid the increase in souls has strained them heavily.” Gabriel hesitates, before continuing. “That one ferryman seemed… troubled. Something that goes beyond the physical form in a way I believe I don’t understand. Thus, I wanted to inquire with you about it. He was once mortal, so perhaps you could understand him better than I.”

“I must say, Gabriel, studies of the mind were quite lacking in my time. But, nevertheless, thou may continue if it is me thou wish to speak to. Tell me, how does thy friend seem troubled?”

Gabriel recalls.

As a holy being beyond the mortal form, Gabriel does not require sleep. Thus, when the ferryman required rest, Gabriel simply sat nearby, perhaps reading a book or observing the many art pieces that were decorating the ship.

Sometimes, the ferryman did not relax in his sleep. Sudden movements, boney hands gripping the bed sheets until they tore under his fingers. Soft sounds becoming small cries and muffled sobbing. And the muttering, softer and more incomprehensive than before.

The first time, Gabriel didn’t know what to do. He recalled something that mortals called this phenomenon… ‘nightmares’, perhaps? Are they always this intense?

He remembers reading somewhere that if someone were to have a nightmare, he should wake them up.

Gabriel tried putting a hand on the ferryman’s shoulder, shaking him slightly to try and ease him awake. But the movement made him jolt, triggering him in a way, as the ferryman would quickly awaken and respond in fear; pushing him away, moving to try to increase the distance between them. Quickened breathing, flinching, whimpering. Pure, instinctual, fear.

This was quickly followed by apologies, begging for forgiveness as the ferryman fell to his knees.

The second time, Gabriel knew not to make the same mistake. Yet, he still hasn't found a solution to this behavior.

He remembered the painting on the wall.

When he encountered it again, with the ferryman awake and by his side, the painting was explained to him. He remembered being told how grateful the ferryman was for being saved. How warm he felt. How his touch eased him.

So, perhaps…?

Gabriel slowly wrapped an arm around the ferryman’s shaking body, careful not to make any sudden movements. His luminescent wings wrapped around them, radiating a warm glow. He waited until the heavy breathing started to slow down, until the ferryman stopped shaking and even started to lean into the touch, before wrapping the other arm around him into what is essentially a hug. Slowly, the ferryman relaxed in his sleep, wrapped behind many layers of warmth.

“He seems to respond with intense fear at being slightly provoked, most often through touch.”

“I see. He must be afraid, perhaps at something that may happen to him.” Minos pauses, thinking. “Or, something that has happened before. Doth thou know any reason he may react as such?”

“I don’t believe so-”

He does.

“Intercourse.” Gabriel suddenly blurts out.

“...what?”

“H-he wanted to confess his sins to me recently.” Gabriel tries to explain. “He listed intercourse as a sin. I… I found it strange, since ferrymen rarely commit any sins after receiving a holy cloth– along with the fact that they wouldn’t have anyone to commit the sin with, each ferryman manning their own ship and rarely interacting for any one soul for long. perhaps that would…?” Gabriel doesn’t finish his sentence before noticing the look on Mino’s face. One look, and he knew that Minos had realized something. Something horrid.

“Minos…?”

“Gabriel, please listen to what I’m about to say carefully.”

Chapter Text

Blue waters shifted to crimson red. The blood from Phlegethon would definitely stain the ferry.

The layer of violence is bright, much too bright for the ferryman, who has grown accustomed to the dark skies and storms of the fifth layer.

As he approached the layer, he heard the screams. The screams of torment from sinners, souls drowning within the river and being pulled under. Not all that dissimilar to the river styx.

As there was no proper place to dock his ferry, he drove it near the side of the river and tied it to a nearby tree. He could’ve sworn he heard breathing.

He looked around. Behind him, a forest lay with no soul in sight other than white trees. Before him, Phlegethon boiled, and the screams of sinners climbing over each other to escape the waters can be heard, yet each one getting crushed under the weight.

He didn’t have a way to find the people who did this. In hindsight, maybe he should’ve thought about that. The seventh layer is relatively big, and being blindfolded at the time, he can’t recognize the people by appearance.

He walked along the river’s edge, taking in the sight. The ferryman doesn’t know when the last time he went outside the fifth layer was, perhaps back when he was first condemned to hell, descending the layers until he reached his destination. Despite that, this is still the first time he set foot in the seventh layer.

The red of Phlegethon stood out against the white background of violence, making the sheer amount of blood more clear. A deliberate choice made by god, perhaps. Red leaves a permanent stain on a white canvas.

The consistent screaming was uncanny when he first arrived, but now, it eased into the background, ignorable.

The ferryman is lost, until someone speaks to him.

“We meet again. Perhaps you haven’t had enough?”

The sound makes him freeze, and he knows. He knew that was them. Or at least one of them. He knew not from the way they were talking, but the way they were laughing as they said that.

The laughter burns him.

“You.”

He brandishes his oar, looking towards the husk in the river. Their body is a bloody mess, skin burned away from the river, yet strangely, unable to die.

“You’ve gone through all that trouble to come here? How lovely, it seems you enjoyed the previous session quite a bit. Desperate for round two?”

They’re mocking him, just the way they mocked him back then. Nothing changed.

“Have you no remorse for your sins?” His voice shook slightly, a little repulsed, a little shocked at how the sinner was still standing nonchalantly as they were boiled by the river, in contrast to the screams of other damned souls around them.

“I regret nothing. Not in my life, not in death. Not in hell. I enjoyed it to the very end.”

How revolting.

“Curse you. Curse you for defiling me, tainting me with your foul actions.” Venom laced his voice, coming out as pure hatred.

“Oh, please. Don’t be silly now.” They laughed. “Defiling you? Tainting you?”

“You dare try to deny it?!”

“I'm not denying anything, only pointing out some errors in your words.” They smiled, seeming smug even as they were tortured by the river. “You were always dirty, always tainted. You enjoyed it. You should’ve heard yourself, moaning like a fucking whore—“

The ferryman didn’t hesitate anymore.

Blood splatters across the floor, crushed bones and bursting muscle getting dragged back under the river. Blood stains his holy cloth, a deep red shooting up towards his face.

They were dead.

They died, and in their last moments, they were laughing.

Laughing at him. Laughing at his pathetic self, taunting him with their poisonous laughter.

He wants to scream. He wants to get rid of everything and everyone in this layer, this ugly, bright, blood-stained layer.

He could bring lighting all the way from the stormy skies of wrath. He could make it come crashing down, forcing it deeper and deeper. He could kill these screaming, tortured, ugly souls, wiping their presence from the face of hell.

And so he did.

Light struck down upon the river, blinding the confused souls as their bodies burned, reduced to bloody messes that added to the river.

He did it again.

And again.

And again.

Fueled by pure, unsatiated, unholy wrath.

The ferryman did it until the screams of tortured husks died out, and left nothing but silence. Not until then did he stop and let himself breathe.

He looked down.

Blood stained his hands and feet, his bracelets losing their shine as they were drenched in blood. His cloth felt heavier too, dyed a darker shade of crimson red.

He has to go back. He has to wash his cloth. He has to check the shore for souls. He has to…

He did nothing, as he fell to his knees and let out violent sobs he didn’t realize he was holding.

The journey upstream is a long one, and he watched as the skies turned red before a deep blue. Despite the frequent terrible weather, the ferryman finds the darkness somewhat comforting compared to the bright, blood-stained layer of violence.

He hates them. He hates the ones who did this to him. He hated how they’re right.

He couldn’t do anything. He didn’t feel sadness, only hatred. Painful self-loathing.

Everyone is dead. Everyone who did this to him. At least, most of them. The ferryman doubts that he actually killed all of the souls in the river, some protected by the layers upon layers of thick, boiling blood, giving up completely, sinking deeper yet deeper into their eternal torture.

Everyone involved is either dead or tortured, getting what they deserve. And yet, this deep anger is not satisfied. Anger that made him undoubtedly pathetic.

He gripped his cloth with blood stained hands. He didn’t cry anymore, skull running dry of tears to shed. He didn’t feel anything except numb hopelessness.

He is truly unable to help himself in any shape or form.

Gabriel knows. He knows and he thinks he’s going to throw up. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel such a way if he never went to visit the ferryman. Words alone often take little effect.

It is the way he knows what it looks like. The way the ferryman often flinched at the slightest touch, readied his oar at loud noises, claws at his arms and gripped his cloth. Shook in his sleep. Whimpered in his sleep. Cried in his sleep. Each and every action radiating fear.

How could humanity be so cruel to each other?

He doesn’t have time to ponder the question before arriving before the council. Something urgent has come up, apparently.

“Gabriel. A disturbance has been noticed within hell.” A councilor says as soon as Gabriel bowed, one knee against the floor. “A sudden loss of life in the seventh layer. Hundreds of sinners dead. A small chunk of the total number of souls residing in the river seventh layer, yet one that won’t go unnoticed.”

Gabriel nods, a sign of acknowledging the councilor's words.

“The culprit is a blue-colored ferryman.”

Oh.

Suddenly, he has a much better idea of who may have done such a thing.

“I see… and what would be the punishment for such a crime?”

“The punishment for defying God's will is death.”

Oh.

“S-surely we can make an exception this time, council. The ferrymen have been devoted for so long. They’ve sacrificed enough to make up for this sin.” He can’t do this to him. Not after what he’s been through, not after learning of what the ferryman thought of him. He can’t be his executioner.

Gabriel knew if he were the follow through, the ferryman would take his fate with open arms. And it makes him sick.

“That does not excuse it from acting within acceptable actions. It has made a vow to serve heaven, and it is it’s duty to follow through with it. Such defiance is treacherous.”

Gabriel doesn’t call out the hypocrisy. The reason they make such vows are made due to the promises of entry into heaven. The false promises.

“Please, send me to go talk to him. I’ll find reason within him. Let me judge his crimes.”

Hushed murmurs among the crowd started. Defiance from the council’s will, even only as an offer, is defiance nonetheless. He’s going to be punished for this later.

“Gabriel. Why do you care for the ferryman so dearly?”

He knows that voice. The same one that greeted him upon his return to heaven. The one that told him to not be concerned with the lives of sinners.

“…I believe their ceaseless work deserves some sort of respect. Their devotion to God shows good in them, despite being a sinner.” It’s not just that. It’s so much more than that. But he knows that is all the council cares about.

Silence, such uncomfortable silence. Gabriel doesn’t know if his answer is acceptable. But it is the truth.

“You have one chance. Prove his innocence… No, justify his crimes.”

It’s better than nothing. Thank the Lord.

He needs punish more. He needs to hurt more. He needs to hurt more.

He needs to get rid of everything that was a part of that experience, so he can forget it altogether. Separate himself, become stainless and pure once more. No, not just that. He needs to do more. He needs to completely and fully undo himself. Because behind all the shame, panic, and pain he felt in that moment, he undoubtedly felt pleasure.

Pleasure, a feeling that was buried deep beneath him, hiding, only to crawl back up and tear him apart when it was given a chance.

He will dig it back up and remove it.

He held a chisel in one hand.

Devoid of flesh, he thought he had cast behind such mortal feelings. Mortal flaws. He thought he could no longer experience such sinful sensations.

Not enough.

He brought the chisel down to his own bone, digging the edge into his pelvis. Scrapping. The metal and bone didn’t agree, making painful, scratching noises.

The sensation is highly painful, and yet, the same touch to that area sends a strange feeling through him. He knew what it was and it frustrates him.

Not enough.

Layer by layer, he will carve away the sensations until it is devoid of such feelings. Until all that remained was numb flawlessness. Exquisite pain. Beauty in feeling only. Little by little, the blue skeletal coating gave away, and the white bone revealed itself. Powder and chunks gathered below him as what remained of the bone, each one so ugly. Ugliness deserves nothing more than to be disposed of.

Not enough.

The chisel hits, and red blooms forth.

Red, seeping into the white interior of his bones. Staining the pure color. Crimson red on white.

Revolting.

And yet, if that is what it takes, he will gladly paint the world red.

The abused area of bone felt numb. The ferryman lifted his chisel, wiping off the blood. His body didn’t feel dissimilar to the hell mass he uses to carve.

And the ferryman only carves perfection.

How long has it been? How long has he been bleeding, staining the floorboards a dark red? How is he not dead yet?

The ferryman wondered the same when he did this the first time.

It hurt, it hurt so much, and he cried as the fingers dug into skin. The process was made easier since devoiding his hands of flesh, the sharper tips of his finger bones able to claw under the tendons with ease. Ripping it off layer after layer, stripping himself down and discarding the remains. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have any organs as a husk, only bearing muscle and skin. He wasn’t sure he would be able to take it if he had to gouge out his stomach and pull out his intestine.

Another deep breath, another fast tear, another cry of pain.

He’s cleansing himself. He has to remind himself of that. He’s doing this to be closer to God, this is the necessary process for passage into heaven. Heaven. Once he goes to heaven, everything will be worth it. This will all have been worth it. It’s going to be okay.

He buried his face in his hands, staining his holy cloth and leaving behind the outline of his hand. His flesh-lacking hands.

Two sessions of skinning himself alive and a few hundred years of work later, passage into heaven was not granted. Passage that was stripped away from him so easily, his body tainted.

“You were always dirty. Always tainted.”

Maybe he was never going to make it to heaven in the first place.

He hasn't had enough. His greedy, sinful mind is not done yet.

He grabbed his chisel in fury, digging it into his other arm, scraping off a new layer of blue.

Not to chase purity, not to get rid of any feeling.

Just to see the bone crumble into powder. Just to see the white hidden beneath the blue coating. Just to see the blood staining the white, dripping to the floor. Just for himself.

He hasn't done anything for himself in so long.

Chapter Text

“Have you always painted?”

The ferryman paused in his work, mid-stroke.

“No.”

He’s always been appreciative of the ferrymen, loyal to their duties of transporting citizens, their devotion to god unbroken. But over the past few days, he admits he has grown quite fond of this one ferryman in particular.

It was hard for one to read the ferryman’s emotions. Face covered, often speaking very little. His movements were subtle. And yet, Gabriel learned that if one were to give enough attention, they could pick up on small movements that convey thoughts. He saw how the ferryman grips his cloth in uncertainty and tilts his head in confusion. He heard the soft exhale that counts as a laugh.

Perhaps the ferryman is often stoic in nature. His art is another story.

Emotion behind words, emotion behind sculptures, emotion behind canvas.

Gabriel watched as he created each stroke, aiming only to mark perfection. He saw the subject, himself, adorned in a white cloth wrapped around his shoulders, falling over his armor. “His radiance,” as he would often hear the ferryman refer to him as. The ferryman seemed embarrassed when asked about it, saying that Gabriel’s light “emits warm comfort, a feeling I had never known.”

Gabriel is not sure why he likes that so much.

He was posed as a reference for the ferryman, standing to the side. Gabriel wanted to see the process, watch as the long, skeletal hands carefully held the brush with such professionalism as it marked stroke after stroke unto the canvas.

He thinks he looks even better in the painting than he does in reality.

“Elaborate, please.”

“Ferrymen pass down their skills to those who take over their work. This original artistic talent is not mine. I’m… not sure who exactly it belonged to. The one before me didn’t use it much.

“Despite that, I cherish this skill. The ability to paint your world on canvas is one I find truly brings me at ease.”

Careful marks etched out the word “justice” upon Gabriel’s swords. The skill may have come from another, but Gabriel can see the love put into the painting. One that comes from the soul.

“Tell me about your mortal life.”

He’s intrigued. Gabriel is not often close with a soul who was once mortal, an exception being the king of lust, who had a life that was anything but normal.

However, more than a mortal’s life, he wanted to know about him.

“It was uninteresting. I didn’t do anything of importance.”

“I meant more as in, your job.”

“Oh.” He hesitated, seemingly unsure. Perhaps it’s been a long time since the ferryman first arrived in hell. “In my later years, I was a circus performer.”

“…I see. How was it like?”

“It gave me the skills to defeat my predecessor. The one before me was clever. She’s responsible for most of the features on the ferry. And the rocket launcher, it’s a formidable weapon. But too slow. I… I left her corpse and her weapon alone, on the ferry. Out of respect. I own her a lot.”

It felt like something he wanted to say for a while.

It is cruel. To be born a ferryman, to fight for your life upon arrival, to take away the chance for redemption from another after a lifetime of servitude. No compensation for the dead. It is no less cruel than the false promise of heaven that all ferrymen look up to, to know that this unforgiving system is a lie created by the council.

Does the council have the right to create false promises?

Questioning the will of God . It is unlike him. Never before has he denied the council so boldly, in his 6000 years of devotion. What has changed now?

He met a sinner.

“I’m sorry, painting is a long process. You don’t have to stick around, I can finish by memory. Your presence has already graced the artwork. It looks even more divine than my other renditions of your form.”

“Please, I was the one who suggested this in the first place. I insist. All I ask is that you keep talking to me.”

The ferryman lets out a sound of amusement. Relaxed. “If you say so, my radiance.”

He saw the river before him. The red-soaked river, empty. Clumps of meat and bone floating to the top. The sound of screams absent.

Gabriel looked at where he stood, blood splatters on the white floor. In front of him, remains that splayed across the floor, a single husk’s remains near the shore.

He isn’t unfamiliar to it; accessing the damage of war, viewing the corpses (or, what was left of a corpse) scattered across the land. Human conflict is not rare. From the beginning of time, men were fighting to kill their own kind. Perhaps the most gruesome of examples were the final war. Machines fuelled by Corpses in corpses of machines. Rarely did he see the actual fight, which lasted for small amounts of time. The remains are there for years.

The sight before him is not caused by war, only the army of one man’s wrath.

It’s hard to feel bad for the dead sinners. Not when he knows the reason they are here is due to their violence against mankind. Not when he knows that somewhere within the corpses are the ones who committed such disgusting actions against the ferryman.

And yet, freedom from eternal torture was against god’s will, and divine punishment will be upon the ferryman. Gabriel only wishes for such punishment to not be too cruel.

A yellow beam of light brightens the sky as Gabriel lands on the ferry. He sees nothing. Or, more accurately, nobody.

He does see a trail of blood forming a path to the inside of the ferry, the wooden stains almost washed away by the rain. Gabriel followed. He walked past paintings and statues decorating the halls. He saw the finished painting of himself, adorned with a carved wooden frame. Lingering in front of it, admiring the details of the work before moving on.

He hears it first.

The heavy, labored breaths and strained wheezing. The sound of scraping coloring the background, quickened, deep, and desperate. He only needed half of that to start speeding up, to know something isn’t right.

When he sees the ferryman, the ferryman doesn’t see him. Too enticed by his work, hypnotized by the copious amounts of blood and bone falling from the metal. Too desperate, chasing the numbness when all he felt was pain. Drowning, drowning in the red as he dug himself deeper. So deep, the ferryman doesn’t hear the first time Gabriel shouts, mind filled with invading thoughts of not enough, not enough, not enough.

Someone grabs his hand and it’s only then he realizes he’s not alone.

“Stop!”

He recognizes the voice. Gabriel. His radiance is here.

He looks down at himself, realizing how horrifying it looks. the blood coloring his cloth, his body, his surroundings. Sticking powdered bone together and making a deformed mess. How can he look so hideous yet feel so perfect at once?

It takes a bit to recover from the shock before he spoke, choosing his words carefully.

“Your holiness… forgive me for letting myself present to you in such a state.” The ferryman looks down in shame, focused on the floor in front of him instead of the bloody mess that was the one below him.

“Oh. Oh my god.” Gabriel’s voice is laced with horror. He’s disgusted with him. Why wouldn’t he be? What a mess. Of a body. Of a soul. Gabriel is digging through cabinets once again, desperately searching. “Surely you still have those bandages…”

“Wait. I can’t.”

“…what?”

“My husk will eventually heal no matter what, so I have to renew my work. The bandages would cover the wounds, making it harder to access.” It felt shameful to explain his thought process out loud. “I… I won’t die, due to the divine power in my body. This power is wasted on me… I apologize.”

“You… you want to stay like that?”

Yes. Such a simple word, yet it felt like too much to say it out loud. He stays silent instead, which is answer enough.

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

It does. It hurts so much, but he is no stranger to pain. It hurts enough to feel amazing. It’s wonderful to know that any poisonous sensations brought upon him will be consumed by blissful pain. It’s agonizing, and yet, it felt like divine release.

It’s too much to explain this convoluted narrative in words, and all he says is “It’s not pain I haven’t experienced before.”

“I…” Gabriel faltered. Truly, he sounded like he’s at a loss. “No. I won’t allow you to mutilate yourself like this.”

“I apologize, forgive me for damaging this body given by god–”

“This isn’t about god! This is about you!” Gabriel doesn’t mean to raise his voice at that moment, but it’s frustrating. It’s frustrating to see the ferryman be so uncaring of himself, frustrating to hear him keep apologizing for nothing, only thinking about heaven, god, the council. When they do not care about him. “I’m not letting this continue. I’m not letting you do this to yourself.”

Maybe if he was less selfish he would acknowledge that there is truth to Gabriel’s words. If his mind wasn’t such a mess at the moment he would know that under his authoritative and stern tone of voice, he’s only concerned for him. And yet, in that moment, something akin to anger and sorrow boils up. Rationally subsided as emotion took over.

All he thinks of is how he found control. A false, messed up sense of control, yet control over himself nonetheless. Control that was stolen from him. He found it, and Gabriel wants to take that away from him.

Before he can stop himself, he starts speaking.

“I prayed.”

“What?”

“I… I felt so helpless. I felt disgusted with everything. With myself. And I couldn’t do anything about it. So I prayed, because that was the one thing I knew I could do. Because despite everything, I have my devotion. I prayed that heaven, in all its power, would send someone to save. That… that they could do something to stop this. Something I couldn’t.

“I prayed, and heaven didn’t answer me.”

You didn’t answer me.

He’s angry, anger directed unjustly at Gabriel. He’ll feel guilty later, but right now, selfish, unreasonable anger coursed through his veins. Anger from being defiled, anger from his endless work. Anger at heaven.

Gabriel stays silent, and it’s enough for the ferryman to regret his actions and want to apologize.

“…I have a friend.”

“…?” The ferryman seems confused at the sudden change of tone.

“He… knows. About love. He’s the king of the lust layer. He told me that pleasure is not inherently a sin. Just a response to outside forces.”

Lust is an act of love, but love is also the agreement between two or more parties to engage in such activities. ‘Pleasure’ is not love. Pleasure is an emotion, nothing more. And like all emotions, it is inflicted upon oneself by the outside world.

“Whatever you may have been feeling in those moments, it’s not your fault.” Gabriel looks at the ferryman with such seriousness, speaking so genuinely. “So please, don’t hurt yourself like it is.” His voice cracks at the end, desperate. He sounds like he’s begging.

The ferryman never heard, nor would he imagine such a tone from Gabriel. He didn't know he would cause Gabriel such… anguish in his voice with his actions. His actions, targeted against himself.

He has never known anyone to care so much. Not when he lived his pathetic life full of anger and hatred at the world. Not when he died, and was given work after what he believed was eternal rest. Not when all he could do was beg, cry, and scream, unable to accept that there was no hope, that he was truly alone.

In his servitude, he has come to learn that he is less than nothing.

For the first time, somebody tried to prove him wrong.

“I’m sorry.”

For someone to bless him with all this at once… It’s too much.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His breath hitched. “I’m sorry for getting mad at you. I’m sorry for this… mess.” Shaken breaths turn into broken sobs, cries overwhelmed by the anguish of a tortured soul. It all comes crashing down. The haunting thoughts, the numb feeling, the sleepless nights. “I… please. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired. Please…”

Please hold me.

He doesn’t have to finish the sentence before being consumed by the warm embrace of a heartfelt angel. He cried in relief, letting himself sink into that feeling. He’s safe. He’s okay. Everything is okay.

The Ferryman slept. Deep, undisturbed, free.

Chapter Text

He wakes up gently, the rocking of the waves slowly shaking him awake. The ferryman finds himself in his bed, embraced in soft blankets, sheets. And him.

He notices the bandages around his arms, carefully sheathed between his radius and ulna. More bandages wrapped around his pelvis, covering over the bumps of his uneven form and running between every crease of his bones. Cleaner work than what he could ever manage.

He sees Gabriel, lying down next to him, still wearing his helmet. Arms wrapped around his own, resting on his ribcage with a hand positioned on the back of his skull. Slowly, he sneaks under Gabriel’s arms, gently lifting it over his head.

“I’m awake, you know.”

The ferryman jumps. Besides the sudden voice, Gabriel hasn't changed one bit; helmet still on, faced towards him, and his form incredibly still.

“I… You’ve just been lying here?”

“Angels don’t require sleep.”

“Ah… I’m sorry for wasting your time then, my radiance.”

“I allow myself to be here out of my own will. Stop apologizing.” Gabriel sat up as well. The ferryman notices he took off his pauldrons at some point, probably due to the inconvenience it would create lying down. “How long has it been since you last slept before this?” Gabriel says with a tint of concern.

“...I don’t know. A few months, maybe. I… simply did not dare fall asleep.” Not without knowing I’m safe. Afraid I’ll wake up and be there again. He doesn’t add that part due to how pathetic it sounds, instead changing the topic. “I should clean up the mess I created earlier.”

“It’s All taken care of.”

The Ferryman does not deserve such kindness from an angel. From Gabriel.

“Ah. I…”

Stop apologizing.

“Thank you.”

The Ferryman runs his fingers across the bandages on his arms. He hadn't noticed in the moment of bloodshed due to the adrenaline running through his veins, but he was overwhelmingly fatigued from blood loss. Of course, not fatigue that he hasn't felt before. And yet, he doesn’t know how much longer he would have scrapped at himself without intervention. Would he scrape his arms clean of color? Would he move onto other parts of his body, chasing the high that was feeling cleansed, digging into his legs, his ribs, his spine, his skull-

He doesn’t have to consider that possibility. Because Gabriel was there, conveniently arriving to stop him.

“...I am infinitely grateful for your help, but do tell, what did you visit my ferry for?”

Gabriel stills. It’s subtle but not enough for the ferryman to not notice it.

Whatever it is, it seems to not be good.

“The seventh layer… your actions there caught the attention of heaven. And not in a good way.”

Oh.

His actions at the time were, admittedly, incredibly reckless. Giving into feelings of anger to pursue something that gave no satisfaction. The Ferryman assumed heaven would not care about a few sinners dead, but ‘a few’ became a small chunk of the population in the seventh layer due to his inability to control his own emotions. An amount that would not go without consequences.

“…I’ll take whatever divine punishment is placed upon me.” It’s true. He is a servant of heaven, after all. He is no stranger to pain.

“They… they haven’t decided on it yet.” Gabriel starts, choosing to leave out the fact that the council ruled his punishment as death. I’m going to prevent that.

Going against the council is treachery. But I’ve been given permission. Permission reluctantly given. Permission given anyways. An act of defiance against the will of god. And yet, death is too cruel. The council is always right. Is the council always right? Are you questioning god? Heresy. Blasphemy.

You’ve been loyal for 6000 years.

All this for a man you’ve barely known for a month?

“Gabriel?” The Ferryman’s voice breaks through his own confusion at himself.

“It’s nothing, sorry.” His thoughts are conflicted, but he doesn’t have to let the ferryman concern himself with that. “I’m… uncertain of what the council plans for you.” Liar. “You might have to face trial in heaven.” ‘Trial’ is stretching it a bit. A trial of which the council is the plaintiff and the judge. The sentence being the will of god. One that he has already tried to go against.

More or less, it will be more akin to begging.

“I just… I just want to know why.” Is this too painful to ask? “Was it purely out of revenge?”

The Ferryman considers.

“The desire for revenge is… something I cannot deny. But also something else. I could not control myself, nor could I feel at ease. Even though what happened is over, I cannot escape this feeling. I thought that if I got rid of the sinners who did this, everything would go away. But… it didn’t work. Is… is that selfish of me to do?”

Gabriel would be a hypocrite to say it is. “If there’s nothing else, we shouldn’t keep the council waiting.”

“...Actually, I’d like to dock the ship first. It won’t take long.” The ferryman grabs his oar, looking to head to the bridge. “I haven’t been there in long, but I know where to go.”

Well, this place certainly looks different than he remembers.

He remembers a small island of grass with few trees along with a lighthouse. In the past, he docked his boat here when time allowed, sometimes attempting to fish in the water.

He remembers building his cabin elevated to gain a better view of the sea. Now it seems as if that was a pretty important decision, as it’s one of the few things still above the.

“...I have an additional anchor in there.” Before Gabriel says anything, the ferryman takes the chains in his hands and makes a wild leap for the cabin, crashing through the window onto the floor.

Dusting himself off, he looks up. It looks just the way he left it so long ago. The painting of himself hung above his desk, face hidden by his holy cloth. His memory of his own face is fuzzy, but he’s certain he would find it to be just as hideous as he remembers.

Truthfully, two anchors are enough to hold the ferry down, especially so with the weight of the souls pulling down the anchors, holding them in place.

The Ferryman only wanted to drop something off without Gabriel knowing. He digs out a book hidden under his cloth, placing it on his desk.

His diary. He hasn't written in it for a long time, the past few weeks being moments he wishes to forget.

And yet… perhaps not all of it was so bad.

He thinks he might add more to it when he gets back.

He’s going up. Gabriel takes him higher and higher, through the layers of hell. His arms are wrapped tightly around Gabriel’s collar, not because he wants to per say, but a fall from this height would undoubtedly crush every bone in his form. He sees limbo as a small speck in the distance, ascending into the blue sky. They breach the clouds, and the ferryman looks down towards the earth.

It’s empty. Sucked of all life, terribly and blatantly dead.

Gabriel pays it no mind as he carries on.

Higher and higher, as Gabriel brings him through starry skies and the land gets brighter. He doesn’t know how he’s still alive. Maybe in the same way he cannot drown, or in the same way he has no lungs to breathe.

The skies cut and he’s blinded.

Sudden light floods his skull, filling his vision. He turns away as it burns. It takes a moment to open his eyes again, and when he does, it’s glorious.

Witnessed from above, heaven in all her majesty.

Pure and untainted, bright and radiant. Despite his ultimate goal to reside here, his sinful form feels out of place.

They land, and the ferryman awkwardly staggers onto the marble floor, cold to the touch. He looks up towards the grand pillars surrounding the structure, giving off grandiose splendor.

The doorway to the council. The passage to God.

Gabriel practically pulls him along as he gapes at anything and everything.

Once inside, he looks up as he approaches, seeing figures in the darkness of the room.

Despite being a servant of heaven, the ferryman has never seen the council in person. Perhaps they themselves have never even stepped foot in hell, the land being too impure for their liking. He has only seen two angels, one whom he received his cloth from, and Gabriel.

He has heard their words through holy messengers. Telling him his cloth was a symbol of divinity. Promising him paradise for a lifetime of servitude. In his darkest moments, their words were hopeful. It gave him purpose.

In front of the council, nothing happens for a bit.

Someone scoffs.

“On your knees, sinner.”

His body reacts before his mind, collapsing down and wincing as his patella hits the floor hard. He doesn’t know if it is some sort of holy power inflicted on him or a natural response to divinity.

“Gabriel. To what purpose have you brought this thing before us?”

“Does… doesn’t he have the right to defend himself?” Gabriel falters. “That is how a trial is commenced.”

Mutters break throughout the room, echoing off walls, and certain words can be heard if listened closely. “Perhaps, but a sinner…” “…know its place…” “…what right does it have?…”

If the ferryman would grab at his cloth if he dared move. He only nervously held his hands in tight fists on the ground instead, letting the scornful words drown him.

A voice of one councilor breaks through. “That’s enough. Gabriel is correct. All parties involved are to be present at a trial, no matter how… distasteful it is.”

Silence washes over the court, enough for the ferryman to start considering what was just said. Is he truly irredeemable? Has he doomed himself by committing further acts of sin, barring himself from any contact with heaven?

“We have a trial to commence.” The councilor starts. “Sinner. You have committed acts of heresy. A massacre of husks in the seventh layer, those who were fated to be tortured for eternity by God’s will. What do you say to this?”

“I… I admit fault. I killed them all.”

He feels the councilor narrowing his gaze.

“We know. It is the undeniable truth that you have committed these crimes.” His tone is condescending, mocking him. “The punishment for such a sin is death.”

Execution after a hundred years of work. What a waste. But perhaps his years of toiling away have numbed his senses, and he does not feel as much fear, dread, or sadness as he thought he would have. Perhaps death would not be so bad. Death that would be a final rest, death leading to nothingness, as he had thought death would be the first time.

“V-very well, if it is the will-“

“I did not give you permission to speak.” The councilor interrupted him with bitter resentment. “If it would have been the final sentence, you would be dead where you stand. But instead, you have been so kindly graced with an angel who is so willing to advocate for you. Kindness wasted on the likes of you, who would be willing to die. Such ungratefulness.”

The ferryman wants to apologize, saying that that was not what he meant, but he remembers that he was not given permission to speak. He only looks towards Gabriel, who shows no response to the words, only the stiffness in his form.

Silently, the ferryman agrees with the words. He wonders if Gabriel does as well.

The councilor continues.

“Gabriel claims your crimes can be justified in some way that would make you not deserving of death. So, sinner. Enlighten me.”

The Ferryman opens his mouth, and his voice quickly runs dry as another realization hits him.

He wants to say they defiled him. That they violated him. They held him down, incapacitated him, tearing him apart piece by piece.

And yet, through what means did they do that to him?

What would saying these words be, other than admitting another sin?

He looks towards Gabriel, and he hopes it’s enough to show how sorry he is.

“If he does claim that… he would be incorrect.”

Silence. Numbing silence.

“I killed them. I struck them down, made sure not a single soul was left alive in my sight. I was acting on anger, intent on revenge. And in my fury, I inflicted such crimes.”

The council does not speak. Not even angry, only stunned. Perhaps they were waiting for the ferryman to beg for his life and not ready for him to give up, subside any attempt to escape death.

The one who does look angry, however, is Gabriel. Who looks… well. To put it accurately in words, he looks like he is about to lose his shit.

“W-well. Then I suppose the trial is settled-“

“You were raped!”

The room falls silent once more to Gabriel’s voice, sudden and commanding. Enraged.

Fuck it. If this suicidal man isn’t going to defend himself, he’ll just have to do it for him.

Chapter Text

5000 years ago, he found a young archangel at the riverside.

He approached him.

“What troubles you, little one?”

The angel didn’t respond at first, only looking towards the water. He had a vague idea of what this was about. Most angels were troubled by it, yet those who have strong, unshakable faith— those like himself— would have to give reassurance in these times.

“...Do you think Lucifer will come back?”

He sat down next to the angel, watching the light reflect off the water. Divine, as all things in heaven are. “I don’t believe so. Nothing can come back from the depths of hell.”

The young angel looks away. “I… he didn’t do anything.”

“I have not witnessed him commit any crimes, yes. But we must trust in God's judgment. He must’ve seen an evil within Lucifer that was hidden from us all.”

Clearly, the angel didn’t like that answer.

“Were you close to him?”

“I… yeah. I know he wouldn’t hurt anyone unless they deserved it. And– and he liked painting these nice drawings.” The young angel pointed out towards the river. “He built this…thing that he copied from the humans. It could float on water, so we rode it down the river, and– uh, sorry.” He buried his face in his arms, wings encasing around himself. “I just miss him.”

“I understand your grief, but what’s done is done… there’s little we can do about it now.”

They sat in silence, before the young angel spoke up.

“Is… is there a chance that God was wrong?”

The older angle pauses. “Of course not. God is all that is right and just.”

“Yeah, but maybe he made a mistake.”

“The lord is not bound by mortal coils that cause ‘mistakes,’ young one.” He lowers his voice, wanting to be more sympathetic. “I understand you miss your friend, but speaking like that is heresy. We love God above all else, and all that he does is righteous.”

The young angel sighs. “Alright, sorry. I just… don’t want to forget him.”

“What’s done is done, and we must move on. I will excuse your behavior this time. You are young. But please, speak of such blasphemy no more.” He stops, before adding a final statement. “No matter who it is for.”

The young angel only nods.

5000 years later, the councilor has only witnessed Gabriel’s absolute devotion to the father.

And yet, everything changed today. It started as a diversion from the council’s word. Saving a ferryman from the sea of wrath. A rash decision, unapproved by the council.

Today, Gabriel speaks out loudly in defiance of the council.

For whom?

A sinner.

He is surprised. Angry? Perhaps. But he sees something… else.

It hears Gabriel as he speaks, his tone of voice commanding. Loud. In the way that Gabriel often spoke to those who were deemed below them. We must remind them that we are above them. It is the only way to ensure our absolute rule.

He hears Gabriel’s words about the sinner, but frankly, he feels indifferent. Sinners are condemned by God to experience a lifetime of torment, and he couldn't care less about what their fate may be.

He’s paying attention to something else instead. Gabriel’s voice. Raw emotion, anger, defiance. He spoke of heresy and he did it with confidence. Truly, whoever this sinner is, it changed him somehow.

Why throw away everything, a millennia of loyalty, for a mere husk?

And soon, Gabriel stops, having done his part defending the ferryman. A husk who would be willing to die, and Gabriel has gone as far as to prevent that. Against it’s will. He saw how the sinner weakened at Gabriel’s words, how it attempted to stop him, ready to accept its execution. And yet, Gabriel continues. He wants the sinner to live. He needs it.

He’s…

“…Very well then.”

He speaks before any of the other councilmen could, and he sees the way Gabriel lights up in hope.

“Your argument is convincing enough. Out of mercy… we have decided to lessen it’s sentence.”

Mercy is a virtue.

“Crime does not go without punishment. However, I can guarantee the sinner’s life. Give us a moment to discuss it’s fate.”

They are by themselves, in silence. A single light illuminated above them, the council disappearing behind the darkness. The ferryman, still on his knees, turned away from Gabriel. It takes a bit before the silence is broken.

“What was that?!”

Gabriel’s voice cracks towards the end, and the ferryman cringes.

”Whatever you may have been feeling in that moment, it’s not your fault”How can he believe that when he feels so horribly dirty? How can he believe that when he felt so incredibly weak? How could I save myself when death sounds so nice?

The ferryman can not bring himself to say that. Not when Gabriel sounds so heartbroken.

“I’m sorry.”

Selfishness.

“That’s not what I asked!” Anguish can be heard. He regrets causing Gabriel to hurt so much, but…

“It-it would be better, no?”

“What?”

The ferryman pressed his palms against his face and tugged at his cloth, imagining that it was pulled tight enough to choke him.

“I don’t get it. Why? Why are you… doing all this? Why go through fighting the council? I-I’m so selfish, I caused this mess.” His fingers claw at his arms as he shudders, phantom pain of flesh tearing spreading across his body. “Just…just let me go. It would be better. For you.” And for me, too.

“Is… is that how you truly think?”

Silence is so numbing.

“You… you’re so fucking stupid.”

…Huh?

Gabriel doesn’t stop there.

“Utterly and blatantly foolish! How are you so blind?!”

The ferryman would register those words, but he hasn't fully processed hearing the righteous hand of the father swear.

“Why do you think I choose to save you? I’m not as righteous or selfless as you believe. I’ve done so many things for myself. Saving you was heresy, ferryman! And yet, I did it anyway. Because I’m selfish and I needed it. I… I…”

I need you.

The words go unsaid, yet they both knew what they were.

“Please don’t die.” It comes out quiet, merely a whisper, yet heard clearly in the silence of the room.

The ferryman is unsure of what to say. Words that he thought would never come from Gabriel were just spilled out.

He doesn’t dare stand from his kneeling position, but he doesn’t have to. Gabriel knees down to join him, and when he feels the warm embrace, the ferryman tries to give back the favor.

Gabriel did not know what happened at that moment.

He knew he felt an overwhelming anger, of which he assumed was anger at the ferryman for ungratefulness as the councilor said. But it wasn’t right. Behind the anger was a sense of fear.

Fear of losing the ferryman.

Fear is a sign of weakness. Fear makes him mortal, and he pushes the feeling down to focus on the anger. Rage can be harnessed to get what you want.

And he did it. The ferryman is alive.

Alive, but imprisoned.

He watched the council announce the sentence, watched as angels were called to take the ferryman away. Gabriel didn’t reach for him, but he watched intently, imagining he did. His heart pangs despite succeeding in his goal. Imprisonment as an act of mercy.

He retreats from the palace, looking towards the sky. A beautiful sky, radiant beams of light piercing the clouds and the civilization of heaven seen below. It is not surprising that the ferryman would marvel over it so much.

Gabriel thinks it used to look better. Or perhaps that is just the effect of time, 6000 years of looking at it making it incredibly ordinary.

He hears the clicking of metal footsteps approaching.

“I understand my actions have consequences, Sire. I’ll willingly take whatever fate the council decides for me.”

“You see the error in your ways. Perhaps it is not hopeless after all.” The councilor steps next to him, the same one who often talks to him and the one who addressed the ferryman in such a manner. Gabriel should have expected it; sinners were commonly considered as lesser and not of importance enough to be treated like a living being. But still, it pains him to have someone he considers close see the ferryman in such a way.

“However, after consideration, the council decided to pardon your actions.”

Gabriel stays silent, before realizing the councilor is expecting an answer. He’s unsure what to say. “…Thank you.”

“I see clearly now. You were tempted. You felt pity for the sinner, like witnessing an abused dog. That must be it, no?”

“Of course not!” Gabriel speaks before he thinks.

“It’s not to be shameful about. Mercy is a virtue.”

“N-no, it’s just… that’s not it.”

“Then please tell me, what is it?”

He falls silent.

I care about the ferryman. I need him. If he was honest and naive, that is what he would say. But it confuses him. Because saying those words, despite being true, would be unacceptable—

Why would it be unacceptable?

Gabriel has no problem with admitting wrongdoings. But now, he finds that he cannot bring himself to admit that helping the ferryman was incorrect, and it is certainly something he doesn’t regret.

“I see. I had hoped that I was wrong, but it is clear now.”

The change in tone makes Gabriel uneasy. What? What did you hope you were wrong about?

“It cannot work out. I’ve told you, heaven does not concern herself with sinners. God does not concern himself with sinners, and we should follow suit. I’ve warned you time and time again.” His annoyance and frustration becomes more apparent as he continues.

“I… I don’t believe I follow.” Gabriel has lied– no, twisted his words before to appear in favor of the council. But this time, he was truly confused.

The councilor pauses, simply staring at him. Gabriel tenses slightly.

“You’re infatuated. With a sinner, no less”

…huh?

Does he mean to say I’m…

“You… you must be mistaken.” Love. Gabriel has not thought of himself capable of it. He thought of it as a mortal thing, watching earthlings whisper sweet words to each other and giggle, embracing closely. He never imagined himself there, nor does he feel he needs to. What is the significance of love? Perhaps his hesitancy is because he doesn’t truly understand it.

“Did you not care about the ferryman? Did you not neglect my advice to stay away? Did you not need it?”

He cannot say the councilor was wrong, and yet… surely not…

“You cannot deny it. And I can assure you, nothing good will come out of that. For you or the sinner.”

Gabriel stills.

“You,” he begins, dread filling his heart, “will not hurt him.”

“...I cannot guarantee that.”

Gabriel takes a step forward, threateningly. “You will not hurt him.”

“Gabriel.” the councilor hisses. “The council only follows the father. We will enact God’s will, no matter what it takes.” He pauses before adding his next words.

“...I cannot know what the other councilmen will do with this information. But I suggest you consider your actions carefully.”

“W-what do you mean by that?”

The council stares at Gabriel. “Let’s just say… the council does not care what happens to the damned. Those condemned to eternal torment by the Lord. I… can’t imagine they’ll hesitate if it benefits them.”

The councilor chose his words carefully, yet Gabriel knows what they mean.

He should’ve never taken the ferryman to heaven. He should’ve lied— tell the ferryman to run, and claim he killed the ferryman. He should’ve brought him to the upper layers, where the council does not pay much attention to. He should’ve done something different.

It was foolish and naive to think the council would ever show mercy to sinners.

The ferryman did not realize how much he relied on the divine power given to him. Not until it is taken away and he collapses, body physically unable to hold strength as he falls under the weight of his own bones.

The angels holding him slow down in their movement, trying to help him regain his balance while also semi-dragging him along. They seem to look at him with shameful pity.

He eventually figures out how to stand, but he feels so heavy. His chest feels too large for his spine, his skull too heavy for his neck, intense discomfort which would grow to be agonizing later on.

Taking away his divine power would be necessary for imprisonment, yes, but he feels that it is also a display to show how truly pathetic he is.

He is shoved into a small, dimly-lighted room with cold stoney walls and metal bars, and he only collapses, rolling around so he can lie on his side and curl in on himself.

He hates this. He hates how he can’t walk properly, hates how he can barely stand, hates how weak he is.

He hates how much he relied on the divine power given to him.

He hates how he did this to himself, scraping away the traces of flesh all those years ago.

He was still able to keep his cloth, much to his relief. Maybe his form was much too disgusting and thus chosen to keep hidden. It’s fine. He doesn’t want anyone else to see it either.

He hates how he was unable to simply die, letting the council carry out his sentence.

Because Gabriel stopped it.

Because Gabriel needs him. Why, he would never know.

But he doesn’t exactly dislike that. And he hates himself for it.

Intense agony befalls him, yet he has no eyes to shed tears, voice only producing muffled wails.

He does not even have the right to cry anymore.

Chapter Text

“Am… am I in love?”

Minos looks at Gabriel, who is hunched over, one hand on his helmet in distress. Gabriel often came to Minos for problems that he felt were too shameful to be spoken of in heaven, but he never really thought Gabriel would come to him with such a question.

“That would depend on one’s own perception of love, Gabriel.”

“I… I don’t know. I can’t figure out what that is.” For the king of lust, witnessing the amount of confusion Gabriel is experiencing is… honestly, a bit humorous.

Minos sips his wine. “I can see that.”

“You… you’re not being helpful!” Gabriel grumbles.

“Thou art making this to be more complex than it should be.” Minos laughs slightly and Gabriel’s pointless frustration. “It is simply based on one’s own feelings. But if you were to ask me, from what has been said, I would say thou is indeed in love.” It was amusing to watch Gabriel describe this feeling, somewhat akin to a schoolgirl gushing over their crush.

“But… but I…”

“What? Doth thou believe thyself to be incapable of love?” Minos purses his lips. “Doth thou believe it to be a ‘mortal’ thing?”

Minos wants to tell him that in many ways, he is more mortal than he thinks. But he doesn’t.

“Well… I guess there’s nothing saying it is. But if so, I’m not sure what to do…”

“If thou would like to pursue a relationship, then perhaps ask him out? On a date.”

“Alright…”

“See? That wasn’t so difficult.” Minos teases, smiling. “Now, who’s the lucky angel?”

“He’s… he’s not. He’s a ferryman.”

“...I see.”

Even without knowing the workings of heaven, Minos can understand how that may cause… problems.

“The one thou told me about?” Minos recalls hearing Gabriel cluelessly tell him the story as he slowly pieced things together while growing more disturbed. “I can see how that would be… unsavory in the eyes of the council.” Not just in their difference in status, but…

Minos has known for a long time that the council was never exactly fair or just.

“I’ve been told. But I can’t simply let go of this feeling. I should stop. I…”

Minos sighs. This situation seems… difficult, to say the least. “I cannot decide what thou shall do— but I can say that when it comes to love, one ought to do what their heart tells them.”

“I… alright then.”

Minos holds up the bottle sitting on the desk next to the chair. “No wine?”

“Actually… sure.” Gabriel takes the bottle, hooking one thumb under his helmet. “Just, please look away.”

Minos seemed surprised as Gabriel handed him the empty bottle, not expecting him to down the rest of the bottle in one go. He just felt that he needed to feel a bit tipsy at the moment.

Now arriving at heaven, he is just starting to feel the effects.

He focused his power to teleport out of the lust layer and to heaven, but his precision must’ve been off. He wanted to go outside the establishment in order to properly check in, but…

“My-my radiance??”

Oh well. He still got where he wanted, just… skipping a few steps.

“F-ferryman. Hello.”

Gabriel stumbles towards the voice, pressing a hand against a wall. His armor feels especially heavy, and he tugs off his pauldrons (why are they so damn big?), removing Justice and Splendor and letting them fall to the ground. Generally he likes wearing his armor everywhere to be prepared, despite not being particularly comfortable. But there wouldn’t be any need for that here.

He walks towards the ferryman, staggering and feeling incredibly slow. Gabriel isn’t someone that would be considered a lightweight by any means, having often shared bread and wine among his fellow angels. Perhaps it was the concentration; Cabernet Sauvignon has a level of around 14 percent, as well as being the most commonly served wine in heaven. He wouldn’t be surprised if Minos owned something much stronger than that. Marsala, perhaps? He thought the taste was sweet, something like brown sugar and vanilla.

“Yes, Marsala is commonly served as a dessert wine. Where I’m from, at least.”

Oh, did he say that out loud?

“You did.”

Oh.

Gabriel crashes down towards the voice, almost landing atop the ferryman who yelps. He was able to catch himself, rolling around to sit next to the ferryman and babbling apologies.

“You… you alright?”

Gabriel leans towards the voice, feeling his helmet hit something. “I… think I just drank…uh… like, 6 glasses. Of wine.”

“…I see. You should be careful with alcohol.” The ferryman winces, recalling some less-than-pleasant memories from his mortal life.

“Nah… m’ fine. Just… fuzzy.” Gabriel presses further into the nook of the ferryman’s shoulder, leaning into the warm feeling and mumbling something about a fireplace.

Admittedly, the ferryman is struggling to hold the angel’s weight on his shoulder, pushing against the ground with his arms before finally speaking out. “I… I apologize, but my form is quite… weak at the moment.”

“m’ sorry… how bout’ this?”

Gabriel moves his head to sit on the ferryman’s lap instead, looking up towards the face shielded by the cloth, who suddenly became very flustered at the unforeseen actions. “Better?”

The ferryman thinks that if he still had skin, it would undoubtedly be extremely flushed right now. “...Better.”

Gabriel smiles, relaxing. “That’s nice.”

From this angle, he is able to see the faint blue glow from below the cloth, radiating from where the ferryman’s skull would be. If he focuses enough, he would be able to see the slight outline of the jaw and the holes where the eyes would be. But his mind is too blurred, and he can’t seem to focus on anything.

It frustrates him, and he slowly reaches a hand up towards the ferryman, one palm positioned on the back of his skull, gently pulling him down until their faces are inches apart.

“Is… is something wrong?” The ferryman asks nervously. He didn’t know Gabriel could be so… direct. At least, not in this sense.

“I…I just… wanna closer look.” Gabriel slurs, placing a hand on the ferryman’s cheek, caressing the outline of his jaw and moving a thumb over his teeth.

“I-I assure you, sire, my form is most repulsive to look at. You should save yourself the view.”

Gabriel lets out a sound akin to a small growl, almost as if he himself was offended. The ferryman doesn’t get to process it before suddenly Gabriel rolls over, bringing the ferryman with him.

He is reminded of Gabriel’s strength (or, his own lack of) as he is moved around with ease, and they’re now both lying on the cold, stone floor, only fueled by the warmth of each other as Gabriel wraps his arms around the ferryman. He’s close. The ferryman can smell the faint scent of grapes and alcohol.

“N-Nonsense. You’re… beautiful.”

He would detail it further, but his mind struggles to string together words that make sense, only recalling memories. Memories of the ferryman painting, working with grace. Memories of the ferryman sparring, moving with such elegance and precision as if they were dancing, his veil trailing behind him in the winds of the storm.

And his hands.

His hands, holding his tools of craft with such dexterity and skill.

Gabriel could imagine lacing the slender fingers between his own. He could imagine that it would perfectly slot together, locking in place.

The ferryman’s voice breaks him out of his drunken daydreams. “…I don’t quite see how that could be. But… I’m flattered.”

“Shush. You… you are.” Gabriel insists, hugging him closer. “Stop trying to deny it.”

The ferryman is amused at Gabriel’s persistence, despite still secretly believing him to be wrong. “Alright, fine. You win.” He sighs, leaning into the touch.

Gabriel lets out a small giggle. The ferryman thinks it’s cute.

“I always do.”

For once, it is the other way around. The ferryman holds Gabriel while the angel slumbers. Despite being asleep, the ferryman doesn’t think he could escape Gabriel’s hold, strong and firm. Not that he wants to, anyways.

He remembers Gabriel saying that angels do not require sleep. Now, he knows they are capable of it. Is it an effect of the alcohol? Can they choose to rest if they do wish so? But how would one sleep if they are not tired?

The ferryman has always seen angels as faraway, divine beings that were above him. But he has never exactly considered their biology. (Does heaven even need to be confined to the rules of science?)

Subconsciously, he finds his hands wandering further behind Gabriel, towards something out of his sight. He doesn’t realize it until he feels something warm.

And, to his surprise, soft.

For some reason, it didn’t occur to him that Gabriel would have feathers. They were layered so fully and perfectly that it was hard to spot each individual one, not to mention the consistent glow, illuminating the wings into a golden-blue gleam and making them hard to stare at for long.

He finds himself running his fingers through the soft fluff, and Gabriel responds in his sleep, tightening around him. He stops, feeling like his hands would ruin the flawlessness that is Gabriel’s wings. His haggard, unsightly phalanges.

As much as he thinks the angel is divine, he does not understand him.

He does not understand why he stayed every night, holding him so his mind would be at ease enough to sleep. He does not understand why he would go against the council to fight for the life of a sinner.

He does not understand how anyone, much less Gabriel, could think that his form is anything less than revolting.

And, despite everything, the ferryman is too afraid to admit that he enjoys the affection. He would never say it, nor dare to think it, but the ferryman feels love.

Because what right does a sinner have to fall in love with an angel?

Selfishly, he is in love.

And Gabriel does not deserve the burden that is to be loved by someone like him.

A sudden feeling of guilt overwhelms the ferryman, and he wants to bury his face in something. But there was nothing around. Nothing but Gabriel, who still holds him close.

He leans into Gabriel, and hates himself for it.

Gabriel wakes up first. He doesn’t remember much of the events that transpired, and doesn’t try to recall anything due to the massive fucking headache he is currently experiencing. He does, however, remember how he felt.

The feeling makes him flush with embarrassment.

He carefully lifts the ferryman’s arms off of him, having done so many times before, and groans as his shoulder aches, body heavily fatigued. He sees some pieces of his armor off to the side, as well as his swords, and goes to retrieve them.

Gabriel freezes when he notices someone watching him.

“You’re awake.”

The councilor looks at him, sitting cross-legged and proper yet looking unamused. Gabriel doesn’t respond.

“What? I didn’t see you fornicate.”

“We- We did not!” Gabriel quickly reddened, flustered, but also alarmed at being accused of such a thing.

“Yes, I know you wouldn’t. But one can only assume when he walks in and finds two people asleep on the floor, hugging each other, and… wearing disheveled garments.”

Gabriel doesn’t respond to that, sheepishly tightening some parts of his armor that he probably loosened in his discomfort.

“You were already asleep when I arrived. I didn’t hear whatever embarrassing thing you may have done while in a drunken state.” The councilor narrows his gaze. “Which, I’d prefer you not be in such a heavily intoxicated condition for long.”

“Y-yea, sorry.” He has a duty to maintain his image as an archangel that works closely with the council. It could have been disastrous if he was seen in public. “Is there a reason you’re here?”

The councilor holds up a golden ring, with a key dangling from it. “Don’t you need this?”

“…Well, I can just teleport.”

“You shouldn’t exert your power unnecessarily while hungover.” He unlocks the door to the cell, sliding it open. Gabriel steps out, watching the ferryman still resting.

“You’re… uh, not gonna tell anyone, right?”

“I don’t think anyone cares if you got wasted last night.”

“No, not that. The… the ferryman.”

“Oh.” The councilor scoffs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the council has already figured it out.”

“…was it that obvious?”

“Not necessarily. But supreme angels don’t hesitate in their absolute devotion for just anyone, and especially not you.” The councilor closes the door until he hears the click of the lock. “It does not take a genius to figure out you care deeply for the sinner. Perhaps one could even conclude that your feelings are… something more.”

“Is…is that bad?” Gabriel doesn’t know. Falling in love was not something he has known angels to do, and it is not a thing that is often touched upon. He does, however, know the disapproval that the council has for his frequent visits to hell and his interactions with sinners.

The councilor hesitates. “The council has decided to tolerate his existence.

“Just… be careful.”

Gabriel is not sure what that means.

Chapter Text

It started subtly. He wouldn’t have even realized at the time that many long years would pass where he would live out this numb solitude.

It starts subtle.

The ferryman is visited by Gabriel daily. Everyday at sundown, Gabriel says. Of course, there’s no way to confirm this himself as there were no methods to tell the time within the confines of the walls, no light from the sun able to be seen. But he trusts Gabriel.

Sometimes, they talk. Or, Gabriel talks, and the ferryman listens. He prefers to listen to others. Hearing Gabriel’s voice and having company is blessing enough.

Sometimes, they don’t talk. Sitting in comfortable silence, close to each other and sometimes holding each other, the mere presence of one another soothing. Maybe if he weren’t so used to it he would question what exactly was between them, but the ferryman decides not to think about such things. Not now.

Today is such a day, where they speak without words.

He noticed the heaviness from Gabriel as he arrived, sluggish in movement, and practically collapsing as he went to sit next to the ferryman.

“Tired from work?” He allows Gabriel to lean into the crevice of his neck, wrapping one arm around him. In the past few days, he has gotten used to the newfound weakness that came with having his holy power taken away. He’s able to stand and walk more easily, as well as hold Gabriel’s weight as they lean into each other.

“Mm.” For the ferryman that’s answer enough, and they sit in the comfort of each other’s presence.

“Are you going to sleep?”

“Angels don’t require sleep.”

“You should allow yourself the pleasure.” The ferryman can feel his own drowsiness increasing. How can he help himself, when he feels so relaxed at this moment?

“Sleeping is too time consuming.”

The ferryman laughs softly. “And yet, you still take the time to visit me every day?”

“Of course.” Gabriel smiles. “I would much rather see you in person than in a dream.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.” He feels Gabriel reach for his hand, running his thumb across the phalanges. The ferryman lets him.

Perhaps if it pleases Gabriel, if they both find enjoyment with each other, then this is okay.

Everything is going to be okay.

Recently, Gabriel has been sent more often to survey the upper layers of hell. He suspects the council concluded that their control over hell has been too lenient, deciding to not only ensure the torment continues in the lower layers but also in the upper layers, even though the pain is far lessened.

Limbo is a place made to be similar to earth in its prime. Gabriel thought he would be able to go through here without much interruption from any souls as most residents were not necessarily sinners, only those unaware of God or heaven. Perhaps he would be able to appreciate the painted sky or the synthetic leaves.

He has heard that it is often peaceful there, often nothing of note going on.

Or at least, it’s supposed to be.

But it seems hell is not happy with heaven’s new eyes on it’s playground.

Wave after wave, more husks from the lower layers are summoned to end him, husks who could barely be considered human and having minds that have withered from the pain they were forced to endure. Their bodies have become deformed and shriveled, some part being hell’s own creative touch on them.

Gabriel struck them down with ease, not even needing to unsheath Justice and Splendor.

He’s a bit more alarmed when he realizes the husks attack unconditionally, running towards any sort of moving lifeform it first notices.

Gabriel is quick to throw a spear at the creature running towards a resident of limbo, who screams as the husk explodes into bloody pieces upon the explosion. He won’t allow more people to die, especially not the ones in limbo, those innocent enough that not even Minos needs to judge them.

He strikes them down, blood splattering across the false skies of limbo. The residents have long scurried away, wanting to evade the gruesome sight.

His armor is stained with so much red. But not enough for Hell’s satisfaction, as another wave of husks are sent.

Wave after wave. Like a game.

Fine then, Gabriel thinks, brandishing Justice and Splendor. Let’s play.

The ferryman is waiting.

Between each visit, he waits for the next. He looks forward to what Gabriel will tell him next, or what Gabriel will bring. Even if they exchanged no words, he looks forward to his presence in this lonely room.

The ferryman is waiting.

The ferryman is waiting.

The ferryman is-

He hears the familiar sound of a click and automatically responds, lighting up as metal footsteps approach alongside a strange light dripping and– oh my god–

Gabriel was covered in red, staining the white of the metal and covering the gold on top. The once shining armor was now glistening in blood, rolling down his body and dripping from his form. His scabbards had blood overflowing from it, slowly falling down the leather.

They don’t do anything but stare at each other for a bit.

“It’s not mine.”

The ferryman is not sure if that’s meant to make him feel better.

Gabriel sighs, taking the space next to the ferryman but not too close. He doesn’t want to get blood on him.

“Are… are you still okay?”

“I’m not hurt.” Gabriel reassures him. “Just… tired.”

They sit in silence, before Gabriel suddenly speaks.

“…You should tell me about yourself.”

The ferryman rarely speaks about himself, giving bits and pieces of information at times. Gabriel remembers everything.

He remembers the ferryman likes fishing. And flowers. He likes music, classical, the kind you could fall asleep to.

“What would you like to know?”

Gabriel thinks harder, and recalls something that piqued his interest.“You said you were a circus performer.”

“Ah…” The ferryman searches for memories, memories of things occurring long ago, ones he’s discarded when he felt like he no longer needed them. “I didn’t do it for very long, only for a few years before my death.”

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“W… why did you do it? If you knew the risk.” The ferryman does not seem like the type of person to enjoy the spotlight, but perhaps the experience serving heaven has ultimately weakened his ego to a much more selfless state than it once was.

The ferryman laughs. “I think that was a part of it.”

“…” so you were always suicidal? Is what Gabriel thinks, but he withholds himself from saying it out loud.

“…Let me elaborate.” The ferryman begins. “I didn’t lie when I said my life was uninteresting. So I ran away and joined the circus, literally.

“I still feared death. But the thrill that comes with knowing every show may be my last was… exhilarating, strangely. In a way I never knew before. It got me to stay long enough before… well. Before my death.” He feels Gabriel staring into him, before feeling the need to clarify. “I didn’t die on stage, I died in the war.” But sometimes, I think I would’ve much rather had it be the former.

“…I see.” If the feeling of danger was exciting, then perhaps Gabriel will know the feeling one day.

Hell seems to finally calm down and accept his presence, and he’s grateful to be able to explore the layers without the constant ambushes and rooms changing around him.

This allowed him to discover another phenomenon.

Machines.

The fact that humanity has found a way to hell has slipped heaven’s gaze— that which he is not entirely surprised of, as heaven does not pay much attention to earth.

However, it seems that their machines have found the route. The machines that have outlived them. They have begun their descent, and they were hungry.

Hell is full.

The havoc does not go unnoticed. Gabriel finds room upon rooms of blood, the land of limbo scorched aflame, those things desperately squeezing every last drop out of corpses like deprived animals.

Gabriel strikes them down, but it is not as easy.

Because machines were built for war. And to fight a war, one needs an army.

Gabriel does his best to protect the residents of hell, but he cannot keep up. Machines flood limbo before descending into lust. And Gabriel, the sole angel in hell, cannot stop them all.

He decides that he’ll try.

“I’m… not unfamiliar with them.”

The ferryman hears of the mechanical beasts as Gabriel describes them. He recalls reports, men suddenly dropping dead, before people figured out it was the work of sentries. But he didn’t stay around long enough to witness the brutal and bloodthirsty machines that Gabriel speaks of, slightly feeling blessed that he died early into the war.

“Humans built these machines to fight. Destroy humanity. Well, I suppose they succeeded in their goal.” Gabriel grumbles, wiping away the blood from his swords. “And now I have to clean their mess.”

“Are you the only angel who goes to hell?”

“...Yes.”

The ferryman looks down, feeling slightly guilty. “...Maybe you shouldn’t concern yourself with hell too much.” Gabriel may want to protect those in hell, but hell is messed up, far more than Gabriel can ever fix. Too many souls Gabriel cannot save. Too many that don’t deserve saving. And Gabriel doesn’t belong down there, in that wretched place.

“You’re sounding like the council. I’ll concern myself with you as much as I like.”

The ferryman notices that he never specified himself, but Gabriel said so anyway.

Sometimes when he’s not busy, he likes to look out his window. To view the landscape below, a beautiful picture of violet hues. Much different than the windy wasteland he set foot on when he first arrived.

Running a city is not so easy a feat, yet Minos has done so. He has done so and more, building from the ground up, leading the layer of lust into an era of prosperity.

Of peace.

Peace that is being disrupted.

At first, a few foreign creatures showed up at the gates of lust. He has not judged anyone in a long time, all activity seeming to halt after the influx of souls (which, he was definitely thankful for, despite the implications it brings. His role as judge of hell brings a lot of work, and on top of that, he still has to run a city.) Still, Minos was not about to neglect his duties.

He sees the… thing.

The creature does not appear to be human, but who knows? The souls that have arrived in more modern times have reported things from their life that Minos has never seen before, human achievements that he once thought were impossible.

He’s surprised when they remain silent.

That… should not be right. The power given to him as the judge of hell is meant to work on all souls. How can he judge them, if he cannot know of their sins?

In his pondering, he almost misses the quickened beeping and a bullet flying past.

Minos is able to move out of the way in time and immediately renders the creature’s weapon useless, powerful legs snapping the long barrel as it lets out mechanical screechings in despair.

He is surprised to see blood splattered from the wound, pouring out of metal, but ignores it as the creature readies itself to attack once more, this time at close range. But Minos, being more experienced with hand-to-hand combat, easily takes it down before it can react.

It lies on the floor emitting painful beepings. Minos would almost feel bad for it if he wasn’t more confused instead.

Souls are not permitted to bring anything, much less a weapon, to hell. The most he has seen was a small, gold coin, brought through death to take the ferry to the lower layers of hell. More importantly, the creature seems to have resisted his divine power that forces all beings to confess their sins in front of him.

He decides he’ll have some guards keep a lookout for possibly more of those kind, and he also considers creating a report for heaven but decides not to. Heaven has not asked for a report for decades, having long ago entrusted him to carry out justice.

Besides, it does not appear to be a pressing matter at the moment.

Red.

Everything is red.

Everywhere is red.

Gabriel is so sick of it.

Everything bleeds. Sinners, Husks, even machines. Everything leaks that terrible color, staining the walls, splattering across floors, getting on his swords and armor and hands. And none of it is his own.

Gabriel is so sick of everything, watching it be cut and torn and leak-

“Are you alright?”

The ferryman sounds concerned, voice bringing Gabriel out of his thoughts.

“It’s nothing. Work has just been…”

Tiresome? Bothersome?

“…Frustrating.”

The ferryman puts a hand on his shoulder, a comforting gesture. “I had such days too, when the sea was disagreeable, or when passengers didn’t… a-anyways, I understand how you feel.”

“I’d assume you also had times where you thought the work would never cease?” Because it was never planned to end. Gabriel should tell him. He deserves to know. But… he doesn’t want to disturb the moment.

Instead, Gabriel freely leans into the ferryman, as he took the time to clean his armor before visiting, not wanting to stain more of the ground with the damned blood.

“Indeed, my radiance… many times, throughout my prolonged servitude. But… but my faith kept me going.”

Gabriel wonders what is keeping him going, but it doesn't take long to figure out. The answer is sitting next to me.

Is this what it means to love?

“Is something on your mind?”

Gabriel hesitates to answer.

“…Nothing. Just some thoughts. It’s complicated.”

“You can always tell me what’s on your mind, my radiance.”

Gabriel smiles. “One day.” He promises himself. When the circumstances are better. When it will be more accepted. “I will tell you one day, I promise.”

The ferryman chuckles. “I’ll be waiting.”

Red.

Everything is red.

His kingdom is red.

He hears the screams from the streets, of panicked men, women, and children as they flee the monsters who have descended upon them. He sees red. The red blood that these things bath in, relish in, and consume, hungry for more.

Lost in his mind, Minos doesn’t even notice as Gabriel teleports directly to the throne room before he feels a hand on his shoulder and jumps.

“Thou shalt learn to knock next time.” Minos responds with his usual lighthearted demeanor, but he is unable to keep it for long.

The king of lust is, undoubtedly, stressed. Many of the citizens of lust are dying by the hands of the intruding, bloodthirsty machines of war, and their own forces cannot keep up.

“I’ve tried, but there’s just too many.” Gabriel growls, the hatred for their kind increasing with every inconvenience. “This isn’t working.”

Minos thinks, and he comes up with something. Something, and nothing more. A poor idea, but if heaven has taken mercy on a sinner once… then perhaps…

“…art there any other angels who comes to hell as often as thou?”

“…I don’t think so.”

“Then… forgive me for making such a request.” Anything for my kingdom. Anything for my people.

Gabriel pauses.

“I… I’m not sure if they will be willing to send more angels to hell, to defend a city of sinners.”

“Gabriel. Please. I…I beg of thee.” Minos drops to his knees, and Gabriel seems shocked, rightfully so as he has never known Minos to beg. But Minos does. Not necessarily to Gabriel, but to heaven. The council.

…Whatever god may still be out there, watching.

“Please, Save my city.”

The ferryman waits.

And he waits.

And he waits.

And he…

…

…Has the day passed yet?

Perhaps he’s not coming.

Perhaps he finally realized he’s not worth his time, that he’s nothing, nothing more than a filthy, unholy sinner-

Stop, stop being unreasonable.

It’s just one day. Gabriel is busy, and has been getting increasingly busy. He’s already made enough time to come every day before this, it’s okay if he doesn’t come today.

It’s okay.

Gabriel will come tomorrow. He’ll stay long enough to let the ferryman catch up on the events of the past two days. Perhaps he’ll apologize for missing a day, holding the ferryman in his arms as he does. And then they’ll continue on, and he’ll come back every day as he did before, and he’ll keep visiting and talking and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.

It’s okay.

The ferryman has thought that once before. He has to commit to it now.

Everything is going to be okay.

“H-holy council.”

Oh Lord, is he really doing this?

“Gabriel. What do you request this gathering for?” A voice from the shadows. Gabriel always hated the way they were hidden, only being able to recognize when a different one spoke.

Gabriel swallows, looking down in nervousness.

“In… in the upper layers of hell. There seems to be machines that have infiltrated through man-made means.”

“Is that all?”

“No. The machines. They’re killing sinners.”

Silence, a pause.

“…Are you suggesting we send angels to stop them?”

Gabriel grips his fingers behind his back. “Yes.”

Hushed whispers fall among councilmen, loud enough to hear bits of sentences if he listens closely enough, but Gabriel chooses not to. He just needs their answer, not their mockery.

“…Don’t be ridiculous.”

He knew this would happen, but he has to try a bit harder. For Minos.

“Sire, please. The denizens of limbo and lust have not done anything to deserve such pain and death. And… we should stop this crisis now, before it descends further to gluttony and greed.” Or wrath. Will the machines attack the other ferrymen? Gabriel hasn't even thought that far until now.

“And sacrifice our own citizens to fight for sinners? Blasphemous!” A different voice, one much more fueled by rage, bursts forth. “What right do they have, to deserve our aid?”

“The… the people of the upper layers haven’t committed grave enough sin to be subjected to this fate.” Gabriel knows he is fighting a losing battle. “Please, see reason. Is this what God would have intended?”

“God has forsaken the lives of sinners, letting them be burned and tortured in the depths of hell. Besides…” Gabriel feels the council’s gaze. “…Is that not what we sent you for? Are you too weak to defeat the machines?”

“O-of course not, holy council! I could face a hundred of those machines and destroy them all. It’s just that there’s many of them, too many to prevent other sinners from being attacked and to stop them from descending down the layers. They have already reached the layer of lust, and I fear the entire city may fall to ruin…”

The room falls silent. Did I say something wrong?

“You say the entire… city?”

“Yes?”

Gabriel is confused, as the heaviness in the room is increased and he can’t figure out why.

“…Allow the council to decide what to do next by sunrise. For now, you are dismissed.”

Gabriel bows, unsure if he succeeded or not.

It hasn’t been a full day yet. His sense of time is simply skewed.

If he were to guess, it would be the middle of the night.

The ferryman lies awake, and he realizes he’s unable to sleep. Plagued by thoughts. By fear. That Gabriel abandoned him.

He has to remember everything is going to be okay.

Because Gabriel told him so.

And Lord, if he can’t have faith in himself, he can at least have faith in Gabriel.

Gabriel knocks at the door, and Minos opens.

“It is 3 in the morning.”

“And yet, you look like you haven’t gone to bed.”

Minos chuckles. “How can one sleep under these circumstances?” He steps aside to invite Gabriel in, and pours a cup of tea that he brewed earlier. Chamomile and honey.

“I tried to convince the council.” Gabriel can smell the warm scent from his seat across the table.

“How did it go?”

“I don’t have a definitive answer yet, but it’s… it’s unlikely.”

Minos sighed. “I predicted as much. Still, my gratitude upon thee for trying.

“I.. do indeed have a plan. And I will require thy cooperation.”

Minos starts talking as Gabriel listens intently, hearing his idea, nodding as he understands.

When Gabriel leaves the court, he notices a bright light shining before suddenly disappearing. One would normally not notice it within the bright purple and blue glows of the city.

But Gabriel knew an angel when he saw one.

Is it morning yet?

Who knows.

No windows adorn his prison, no sound comes through the walls. The ferryman remembers seeing a church on his way to heaven. He can’t hear any bells.

Solitude is deafening.

Without anything to do, he waits. More accurately, he fantasizes. He imagines Gabriel with him, holding him, next to him. Sometimes he imagined they aren’t here, in this quiet, dull prison, instead elsewhere. There was a flower field near his home, back when he was human. Colorful spots scattered across the grass, and he learned how to identify and name every flower. White lily and lavender, primrose, honeysuckle, chrysanthemum, dahlias… and…

The ferryman struggles to remember. It doesn’t help that he realizes the field probably does not exist anymore.

Am I ever going to get released…?

He hasn't even considered the question until now.

Being here. In this prison. Possibly forever.

It is frightening to think of, and yet…

Was sailing the waves of the ocean that much different?

At least he has someone here. At least here, he is not alone.

I’m waiting.

“Gabriel.”

Today, the council has called upon him. Gabriel stands in front of them, nervously awaiting their decision.

“The council has made their decision. We will not be aiding the sinners in their battle against the machines.”

He thought so as much, but still, disappointment was felt. It’ll be fine. Minos has a plan.

“And, we have also assigned you a next task.”

Unforeseen, but not out of the ordinary. “…Please continue.”

“King Minos of the lust layer. He must be killed”

Gabriel’s blood runs cold.

“I… pardon?”

“Eliminate Minos.”

Gabriel eyes the ground, unable to move. “W-what for?”

“Hell is made to be a punishment. That sinner has no right to… create a civilization. A thriving civilization, at that. Blatantly going against God’s will.”

“But it’s been around for so long—“

“And you haven’t thought of reporting it once?”

“I…” Gabriel hasn't thought that heaven didn’t know about the city of lust, since… it isn’t exactly hiding. It seems that the council truly didn’t have eyes on the upper layers of hell. But ignoring the initial shock, he has more pressing issues.

“...What about the role of judge?”

“We will find a substitute.”

Gabriel has been loyal to the Father. He is loyal.

And yet, he does not speak. He cannot bring himself to obey, accept this reality. Submit himself to the council once more.

You have done this before.

“I’m… sorry.”

The council grows silent.

“Gabriel. Are you denying us?”

yes.“H-he’s my friend.”

“Your friend is a sinner.”

“The city might fall anyways, with the machines roaming around.”

He hears a hand he slammed on the table, an enraged voice. “Gabriel. Do not defy us. Minos has gone against the Lord’s intentions, and must be punished. It is only just.”

In the name of justice.

He can comment on the hypocrisy. The countless times the council has ordered something to happen, something blatantly wrong or sinful. All in the name of God’s plan.

But he doesn’t.

“…Get someone else to do it.”

Gabriel takes a quick bow, before leaving the room. He did not wait for the council to dismiss him. He doesn’t think he could stand to be there any longer either way.

As soon as he steps out of the room, he teleports, aiming to get somewhere in the midst of a forest somewhere in heaven. As soon as he recognizes trees surrounding him, he practically crumbles, head in his hands and slightly shaking as he sinks down to the grass.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

He did not just do that.

You’ve done it once before.

Yes, but that was different. That was an act of persuasion, defending the ferryman when he had a right to defend himself. Defiance? Maybe.

But what he did just then was blatant disrespect.

Gabriel takes some time to process it a bit, before realizing something else. His exact words, spoken in the moment without thinking.

“Get someone else to do it.”

They probably will. If the council wants something done, they get it done.

He…he has to go warn Minos, or else his refusal would be in vain. Or were they always in vain to begin with? Would Minos die no matter what? Why did he refuse?

Because I don’t want to kill him.

His intentions were selfish from the very beginning.

“Gabriel.”

He turns around to see the councilor staring at him, hands behind his back in the same unfeeling and morally neutral way.

“How did you find me?”

“I know you.”

Of course. Gabriel groans. Angels can only teleport to places they’ve been, and unless he regularly explores the wilderness for some reason, Gabriel would be teleporting to the same place every time.

He focuses his thoughts on more important matters.

“…You knew. I’ve told you before.”

“I knew you were friends with the Judge of Hell, Gabriel. Not a king.”

“You… you still let this happen.” Gabriel feels himself getting increasingly resentful of the councilor. “Do you guys want people to be tortured so badly?”

Words he’d never dare to say in front of the council, but he feels bolder with just one of them here. Who also happens to be the one he’s known for 5000 years.

“We act in the name of God.”

“You punish people for killing sinners, yet won’t do anything to stop them.”

Gabriel hears footsteps coming closer, before stopping next to him and sitting down. He doesn’t look up. “If it were any of the other councilors, they’d have you executed for blasphemy.”

“I thought mercy was a virtue.”

“I’m not here to plead my case to you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“A… word of advice.” The councilor looks… troubled, which is uncharacteristic of him. “You can’t protect everyone.”

Gabriel glares at him.

“I’ll protect everyone who means something to me.”

The councilor only sighs. “Then you might not like what happens next.”

He’s waiting. He’s always been waiting. For a very long time. Or, at least ten hours ago. Not too long, actually. But it feels long.

Is it sundown? No, it’s probably afternoon. Or maybe it’s night time. And Gabriel hasn't come. Again.

Patience. Have faith.

He’ll come. He’ll come and they’ll talk and he won’t be so alone anymore, and it won’t be absolutely silent other than the slight rustle of bones. It’s just not sundown yet. But it must be getting close.

He’s just about to get lost in his thoughts again when he hears the slight click of a lock, and his heart flutters, recognizing the sound. Suddenly he’s alert, scrambling to get on his feet, attention drawn to the door where he saw the angel walk through many times before.

“Gabriel! You’re finally here–”

Someone grabs his wrist, and he finally looks past his blind excitement, enough to realize that that is not Gabriel.

They haven’t let go of his wrist yet, and he notices it’s beginning to hurt.

“H-hello?”

Chapter Text

Gabriel didn’t go to see the ferryman yesterday.

It’s not like he forgot, only that he was occupied with the current crisis that is happening in hell. But despite that, he feels guilty. He could only hope it did not affect the ferryman too much.

He brought a single flower. Perhaps as some sort of compensation.

Carefully picked from a field somewhere in heaven, Gabriel sought out only the most perfect one. One that would stand out among the flawlessness that is heaven’s gardens, a beauty amongst beauties.

The flower itself was fairly sizable, a deep crimson and black with a faint pink outline that would radiate brighter under the sunlight. Many petals fold around the center, creating a beautiful mandala, each folded piece almost identical other than growing slightly larger in size as it spreads itself outwards.

Gabriel doesn’t know what it’s called. He’ll have to ask the ferryman about that.

He hears the click of the door as it opens, and Gabriel walks in, seeing the ferryman sitting on the floor against the wall.

He’s unmoving. Or maybe he stopped moving when Gabriel walked it. He can’t seem to read his emotions under the cloth.

“Ferryman?”

He swears that he could feel the slight tremble of bones.

“I bought you something.”

No response. Gabriel is beginning to get worried. Normally, the ferryman would joyfully welcome him, and he expected the same today. He decides to take a step closer, kneeling down to the ferryman’s level, reaching for him, yet feeling slightly hesitant.

“Ferryman…? Hello?”

Gabriel’s hand meets bone and he hears the way the ferryman’s breath hitches before quickly pulling his hand away. He hears the way the inhales quicken, each one short and gasping, soft yet enough for Gabriel to know what it means. It wouldn’t be wrong to say it hurts, having someone whom he loves so deeply react in such a way to his presence, but he ignores that feeling. Because it’s not him that the ferryman is reacting to.

“It’s just me. You’re okay.” Gabriel starts, trying to calm down the ferryman, voice softening to bring comfort. It’s okay. You’ve done this before.

And nothing happens.

The Ferryman is still a mess, bones shaking, voice muttering soft apologies and prayers. The sight makes him feel something like a deep sorrow, memories of witnessing the similar behavior before. Except this time, Gabriel can understand what it means.

Gabriel can try hugging him. Enveloping him in the warm embrace, holding him closely, and protecting him. He wants to hold him the same way he did many times before. Anything to stop this… pain that he was witnessing.

Yet something tells him he shouldn’t.

Perhaps it’s the way the trembling grows worse with each step closer Gabriel takes, the way his words are something akin to atonement. The way that he moves away from Gabriel, like he’s going to hurt him.

If Gabriel didn’t know any better, he would think the ferryman is afraid of him.

There must be something wrong with him.

Because Gabriel finally came to visit him, and he cannot think. He cannot hear Gabriel. He cannot see Gabriel, does not dare to look, because when he sees the white and gold metal all he sees is them.

He hates this. He hates everything.

The ferryman holds a black dahlia in his hands, each petal perfectly placed with grace and beauty, carefully held between his fingers and cherished.

Gabriel brought this for him today.

And he couldn’t even look at him.

He hates this. He hates everything.

Gabriel left after a bit. Because he didn’t say anything to him. Because the ferryman could do nothing but shake in fear, hiding in this pathetic form.

Pathetic.

He wishes Gabriel will come back. Does he? He will, right?

Or will it be another angel, one who thinks his status as a sinner makes him distasteful and disgusting and–

But that wouldn’t happen again.

That’s what I thought before.

Stop. That wasn’t the same.

It’s not like they did the same thing those sinners did to him. They just make him remember, so vividly and horribly and painfully. They made him relive it. And it felt so much longer than it did before.

They can do that again. As many times as they want. They can make it even longer. They can make it different, things that didn’t happen may happen, people who wasn’t there may be there, Gabriel might be there, watching him, staring judging glaring laughing laughing laughing–

A loud bang can be heard followed by a throbbing ache, and the ferryman sinks lower onto his knees, leaving a bloody mark trailing down the wall from where his head hit it.

He needs to think less.

Please please don’t come closer don’t touch me stop stop stop stop I can’t breathe why can’t I breathe why can’t I move I have to get out of here I can’t get out of here I’m trapped here I have to run why can’t I move why is he coming closer stop stop stop Lord help me am I dying fuck I must be dying why does dying hurt so much—

…

…

…
…
The ferryman huddles in a corner of the room. He is alone. Clutching a single rose in his hands that was left on the floor.

It’s dethorned.

The council called him today.

Told him to kill Minos.

Told him to not defy them again.

It’s enough for him to understand it clearly.

He sits in his room, head in his hands, removed of all armor and dressed in a simple white robe.

Everything is unwinding. It feels like starting over. It feels like when he first met the ferryman, having known not a thing about each other. It feels like when he first saw the primal fear that the ferryman carries, and he could not do anything about it.

No, he was able to do something about it back then. It had not come as easy as it does now, but it worked.

Now, he is utterly useless. Unable to provide comfort in any form. Because turns out, it was not only mere sinners who could be tormentors, but heavenly beings as well.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. That his defiance of the council has a cost, and one the ferryman had to pay. He doesn’t know what they did, but they did something, something to incite the same reactions as when he first met the ferryman. He doubts they inflicted the same sort of violence that was once brought upon the skeleton, as he couldn’t ever imagine any angel doing such a thing. But anything outside of that was fair game. And with almost all of heaven acting in favor of the council, the possibilities were endless.

They can do it again.

“I’ll protect everyone that means something to me.”

When Gabriel screams, he does not hold back.

Raw frustration, rage, and hopelessness burst forth like a river of emotional despair. He screams until he cannot anymore, breath running short and voice running thin. And then, there is silence. Agonizing silence.

In the solitude of his room, Gabriel makes a choice.

Blood. Blood, everywhere. Staining the walls, staining the floor, staining himself.

The blood is unable to be easily seen in the dark corridor.

He can block out the screams easier. But he can’t keep his eyes off the blood. Staining his robes red. On the white cloth, it is clear. Each outline can be seen, every dot, every time a new droplet of blood lands on his robe and spreads.

Another stab of the sword, another spray of blood. Another scream.

Gabriel decides to ignore the sheer agony and pain behind those screams and instead focus on the fact that his target is still alive.

Another slash. Blood is drawn and flung through the air.

The body is pushed upwards, head lifted, and in that moment, Gabriel can see his eyes.

They’re staring back at him. Full of pain, anguish. But also betrayal and despair.

Gabriel can only run away for so long.

“I’m sorry.” He selfishly apologizes, serving no purpose other than to give himself a sense of relief. To make himself feel, even in the slightest bit, less like a monster.

“I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t change the fact that a sword is through Minos’s chest, pinning him to the ground, pouring blood onto the metal.

“I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t change the slowing of breath, or the slowing movement of the dying king. Choking on his own blood as he watches it grow in a pool beneath him, witnessing the brutality of his own death by the hands of his friend.

“I’m sorry.”

Gabriel kneels down to Minos, one hand holding his dying form. He attempts to provide some sort of comfort as the only one whom the king will see before his last breath. He knows he doesn’t want him to; Minos loves his kingdom first and foremost, and Gabriel has doomed it. The city will not last without a king, not when the machines are running rampant. Not when the reason Minos was stationed here, at the entrance of the lust layer, was to prevent any machines from entering the city while under lockdown.

He was supposed to stand by his side, aiding each other in fighting the machines.

The king must deeply regret having informed the angel of his plan at all.

Even one look in his eyes, and Gabriel can tell that Minos will not forgive him for a long time.

Good. I don’t deserve it.

He can only hope that, for the king, dying with his murderer would be better than dying alone.

In a distant flower field somewhere in Lust, an angel wanders around, stumbling from his drunkenness as he tries to pick at the purple hyacinths.

He read the label on the bottle. It is indeed Marsala. Minos bought another batch recently, as he found the bottles unopened.

Gabriel laughs. Murder, and now larceny. The alcohol must really be kicking in, enough to find humor in the absurdity that is his friend's death.

He takes another swing, feeling the liquid not fully reach as it trickles past the side of his mouth. He can feel the unsoaked blood trailing down his arms, the red liquid dripping down his swords that he held due to not having brought a sheath. Or is it wine? Who knows. It stains his robes the same color anyways.

The red droplets fall onto the flowers, and he plucks off the tainted petals, frustrated as he seems to have left more red than before from lingering blood on his hands. He’s leaving a mess everywhere, and his own inability to coordinate himself is not helping.

Has it been long since he killed Minos?

Gabriel remembers leaving the body in the corridor, watching the unmoving king and feeling the irresistible urge to forget. How horrible. First betraying a friend, and now trying to pretend they never existed. All to feel a bit better about yourself.

A sudden wave of emotion overcomes him. The pathetic kind. The kind that makes you crumble in sorrow instead of scream in pain.

You didn’t have a choice.

And yet, he cannot forget the wails of agony. He cannot forget the blood running down his sword, sprayed on himself, dripping to the floor. He cannot forget the look that Minos had in his last moments, a burning glare, anger, sorrow, betrayal—

Gabriel takes another swing of the bottle.

He stumbles around, trying to make out colors through his unfocused vision. He should have some variety. There were also blotches of pink and cyan in the flower field.

He’s hardly able to notice someone behind him.

“It has been quite a few hours. I can’t imagine killing the judge was that difficult.”

How did the councilor even find his way here anyways?

“Difficult?” Gabriel starts, turning around slowly to meet his gaze. “I-it was. It was difficult. So… Fucking… Difficult.” He sounds slightly hysterical as the councilor cautiously takes a step back. “But… but you guys wouldn’t know that, right? Bet hurting people wasn’t so hard…”

“I told you to not get too drunk.”

“I… m’ so tired. Of doing stuff other people say to do.” He buries his head in his hands, one palm still holding onto the flowers. He doubts they’re still in prestige shape. No matter, he’ll just pick more.

“That is what it means to be a servant of God.”

The councilor responds in his usual calm tone of voice, as patient as ever. It’s starting to piss Gabriel off.

Gabriel looks up. “Is… is murder also a part of it?”

“We… we only act in best interest—“

“Is torture a part of it?” Suddenly overwhelmed by anger, Gabriel approaches the councilor, having dropped the flowers. In his drunken, unreasonable state, his hands find their way to the councilors neck and he is not afraid to squeeze, pushing the councilor back and towards the ground, the blood from previous endeavors dripping and freely staining the councilor’s cloak while Justice and Splendor is heard clattering on the floor.

“Y-you’re drunk, Gabriel. I would advise you to calm down, not do anything rash when you can’t think straight—“ He starts, trying to convince Gabriel through reason before realizing his words did not entirely reach. It would not be incorrect to say the councilor felt fear; he knew his own place and status, but he is not a fool. He knows that in a battle of strength, the warrior would come out on top.

“I’m doing what I want to.”

In a pure battle of strength, Gabriel would come out victorious. Yet, on unequal grounds, the councilor reaches towards a discarded sword and lands a hit on the side of Gabriel’s helmet with the blunt end. It It is enough to throw him heavily off balance.

Perhaps it is Gabriel’s own fatigue and weariness, his own guilt and misery that aided the councilor as well. It is in the moment where he falls that Gabriel realizes he’s tired, tired of all these persistent feelings.

He lets himself fall, finally giving in to sleep.

Once released, the councilor feels the soreness around his neck, and heaves in breaths.

More or less, he almost died. By the hands of an angel no less. One he has authority over, whom he could command.

There would be heavy repercussions for such inappropriate behavior. Assaulting a council member, and possibly attempted murder. Unacceptable. Even raising a hand towards a councilman would be grounds for execution. He could hold a trial, if even needed, and intact a sentence. He should.

…he stares at Gabriel on the ground, unconscious.

(When the sleeping angel comes to, he wakes up in his bed. He asks about the blotchy, dark-reddish spots on the councilor’s neck.

The councilor tells him he must be seeing things.)

Chapter Text

There’s a small growing pile in the corner of his prison. The ferryman spreads them out, identifying each one.

Roses. Chamomile. Lavender. Orchid. Lily of the Valley. Aster. Snapdragon. Chrysanthemums. Hibiscus. Dahlia. Tulip. Sunflowers.

Even some that he does not recognize, or is unable to recall in his eroded memories.

He wants to think Gabriel is trying to tell him something through these flowers, something that is meant for only him to hear.

And yet, he cannot figure it out.

Why can’t you just tell me in person?

Because when Gabriel walks through those doors, the ferryman does not see him.

But that won’t happen next time, I promise. Please.

He sits in his solitude, huddled next to the bed of flowers. Because there was no next time.

Did something bad happen? Has Gabriel been too busy? Is he okay?

Has he finally abandoned him? Finally realized his true worth, leaving this lowly sinner behind to rot in chains and shackles?

And yet.

Every day, a hand reaches through the bars of his prison, holding a flower.

He remembers the first time it happened. Initially, he tried to ignore the hand, feeling uneasy as someone breached the confines of the room. Less so as the doors were not open, so the metal bars would protect him from whatever the stranger intended. And yet, the feeling still lingered.

He didn’t leave. He didn’t move. The stranger only held out the flower, all emotions covered by their mask.

They stayed there for a while, the ferryman not trusting the stranger and the stranger refusing to leave. A stasis.

That is, until the stranger speaks. Their voice sounds oddly familiar, but it’s more of what he says that captures the ferryman’s attention. A name.

“Gabriel.”

The ferryman reacts, confused but slightly ecstatic at the name.

“It’s from Gabriel.”

Slowly, he unfolds himself and reaches out to the flower. He does so carefully, making sure he does not touch the strangers hand and watching intently for any sudden movement.

When he gets ahold of the rose, the stranger leaves, and he is once again alone.

No one but himself. And this rose.

The red matches the one stained on his cloth.

And it is soon after that the stranger came the day after, and the day after, holding a flower through iron bars, adding another spot of color in his prison.

But Gabriel did not come.

And everything looks so dull in his absence.

Perhaps it’s purely the hope that the angel will be here the next day that keeps him going. He’ll be waiting in the meantime.

The ferryman starts counting the flowers again, naming each one as he goes.

Roses. Chamomile. Lavender. Orchid. Lily of the Valley. Aster. Snapdragon. Chrysanthemums. Hibiscus. Dahlia. Tulip. Sunflowers.

—

More irritating than pain is loneliness.

It has never been more clear than right now, when the ferryman has not experienced interaction in what feels like weeks. It has become more and more obvious how much he relied on Gabriel, how much he cherished seeing him every day, how he spent the time alone looking forward to his next visit. He’s terrified when he realizes he grew to be accustomed to his company, changing how he was okay with solitude before on the quiet seas. Making the same quietness so much more unbearable.

He has to remember that the next visit won’t be tomorrow. Or perhaps the next day. Kill all and any hope you may have.

Perhaps, the next visit will never come.

Once he has felt enough pain, the ferryman is able to realize how angry he is.

How could someone just disappear? Leave without warning, offering no explanation, not even a final message. How could he do that after everything?

How could you pretend like you never existed, but make me never forget about you?

He silently crumples a dandelion between boney fingers. Maybe it was selfish to think they had anything at all.

—

It’s always the same person, and after a while, the ferryman realizes who he was. A council member. Hooded figures, radiating holiness as the ones in direct contact with God’s will. The figures hidden in the darkness, all the way from back when he first arrived at heaven. The ones he briefly met back then, before quickly being sentenced to imprisonment.

The ones who, despite the words that were fed to him in the days of when he was first granted his holy cloth, spoke towards him in disdain and disgust, seeing him as such worthlessness that he would have once agreed with.

Perhaps he should have known when he was first condemned here, that even God does not have an eye for sinners such as himself. But it was further reinforced when the holy figures he once worshipped caused him the same agony and torment as common sinners did.

The fact that no one, heaven or hell, is on his side only causes him to further shy away from that councilor that held the flowers every day. Once, he dreamed of salvation. It was audacious to think there could be any hope for someone like him.

Even in heaven, the ferryman finally felt like he had reached the depths of despair. The drowning feelings makes him all the more desperate for something to bring him closer to Gabriel. Finally, his longing gives him the courage to call out.

The councilor pauses. It’s the first time the ferryman has tried to talk to him.

“Please, you know him right? Or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

There’s no sign of emotion in the councilor’s body language, only the stillness giving slight hope that he can hear the ferryman’s words.

“I… I need to talk to him.”

What else would he say, to convince him that they need this?

I love him.

The ferryman doesn’t even know if he’s ready to say something so bold.

“...Please.”

He finds himself holding the bars of his prison cell, pushing himself closer to the outside. Reduced to nothing but simple pleading.

When the angel continues walking without even so much as glancing back, the ferryman does not try anymore.

—

He can only think about Gabriel for so long.

At some point, the thoughts begin to get less clear.

It is today he realized he saw his image, imagined what he’d say to him, but couldn’t imagine him talking.

His voice. The one that was able to reach him when he was drowning, able to provide comfort, able to put him at ease. It took a small realization, before spiraling into something deeper.

He’s forgotten. About a small part of Gabriel. And he could keep forgetting, leaving behind small chunks in the passage of time before nothing is left. His hollow skull, infused with magic that is slowly withering away. Leaking out memories as he desperately tries to catch them in his thin hands. He has forever to forget.

He doesn’t want to forget.

He doesn’t want to forget how he looks, leaning onto him, head on his lap, staring up towards him in his carefree, drunken state.

He doesn’t want to forget how his hands felt interlaced with his own, fingers elegant and long, characteristic of the pianist and the swordsman.

And that warmth.

That warmth when he held the ferryman, holding him, embracing him.

I’m going to forget about that.

And he can’t do anything about it, because he’s stuck here and it’s so, so cold.

The ferryman curls in on himself, fingers gripping onto flowers the tips of his fingers grind into his palm.

The ferryman has felt pain. He has felt hopelessness. But never in his life and death does he think he has felt so lovesick.

—

Day by day, the pile grows. Frankly, it’s getting a bit out of hand, as the flowers have now taken up more than three-fourths of his cell, all stacked on top of each other, a field of colors that have now been collected. Dazzling epilepsy. The ferryman wonders how they haven’t started withering, despite being broken from their roots with no source of nourishment. Did these flowers die too? Did their souls originate from earth? He holds up a daffodil between the tips of his fingers, wondering how such a simple thing would be judged.

“I don’t get it.”

The ferryman looks up at the councilor’s sudden speech.

“Why… why you?”

He remains unresponsive to the words, rolling the flower between his phalanges. .

“I’ve tried. I’ve given you the time of day, tried to create reason, and yet my conclusion is the same. You are utterly and completely unremarkable.”

The ferryman stays silent, taking the words without so much as looking up towards the angel.

The councilor continues. “And you, you have managed to capture Gabriel’s heart. I have never completely understood him, and yet, I cannot begin to fathom why he would choose you of all things.”

Capture Gabriel’s heart. He does not dwell on those words, mainly because he can’t really bring himself to believe it. How could he have captured someone’s heart, when they won’t even come to see him?

He jumps as a hand is slammed against a bar of his prison in frustration, the sound echoing across the hallway.

“Aren’t you going to say something? Try to prove me wrong? Defend yourself?”

Nothing. Silence.

The councilor scoffs, in mockery and disappointment. The ferryman is more surprised that he excepts anything from him, the sinner whom he looked down upon from the beginning.

“You.” He starts, each word spat like venom. “Have no right to say that you ever loved him.”

The ferryman is finally left alone. He shouldn’t let those words affect him. He never did. Not when it was from a human, a sinner, an angel. He brings his attention to the daffodil, the stem becoming flaccid after being held too tightly.

Maybe sometimes, flowers do go to hell. He remembers seeing them rarely grow on islands and beaches, back when the land was not drowned beneath crashing waves within the fifth layer.

Back then, he used them to make paint.

He painted, because he wanted to remember how the islands looked before it was eventually submerged deep underwater. He painted to remember the skies, before the storm would cover them in eternal darkness.

He painted to remember the warmth of being saved, and that strange feeling of hope he was unfamiliar with. He wanted to know how that longing felt like, that longing that he wanted to hold onto, something that he could not name at the time.

Perhaps one could say that Gabriel, almighty and virtuous as he is, is easy to fall for. But from the beginning, it was the ferryman who painted colors like love letters onto canvas for him. It was the ferryman who drew with enough passion to touch his heart. It was the ferryman who could create with enough love until Gabriel fell.

And if the world needs a reminder of this love, then he could show them all just how much he loved him all over again.

Through his fingers, yellow juice flowed.

—

When the councilor arrived the next day, he stops, looking up as he inhales sharply to the sight that greeted him.

Newfound color emerged on the walls, made from juices and petals that were stuck through the liquid. Each detail made eloquently through the flowers, layered on top of each other to create something like a mural. The righteous hand of the father, in all his glory. Radiant like sunlight.

There, kneeling beside the portrait, hands and cloth covered in colors sat the artist, who turned back slightly and stared intently at the councilor. An invitation to witness his creation.

A hand sticks through the bars of his prison cell, and silently, the councilor delivers the flower before leaving as usual. But the prolonged lingering and the locked gaze is enough for the ferryman to know that he has been seen.

And for the ferryman, that is enough

Chapter Text

That day.

It all began from that day.

That day, when the sky was a mirage of yellow and red. The wind felt like a thousand butterflies unfolding in the aftermath of a storm. He stood under the sky, blood glistening under the sunlight.

It was only a moment, but that day, he felt the true feeling of hopelessness. Spending the aftermath of that day in blind obedience, and the night drinking himself to what he thought was beyond oblivion, only to wake up realizing the prolonging of his own existence.

Since that day, everything felt like a blur. A drunken blur.

He never liked seeing things too clearly anyways. Because it’s not as if he didn’t know what was there, instead simply wishing to save himself the eyesore.

Gabriel is now the Judge of Hell. As if the world was giving him a cruel reminder of what he did. When they prayed to him, they whispered the damned title, and when they spoke those words, he thought of the previous judge of hell, and when he thought of the previous judge of hell he thought of red, red gushing from split wounds with the blue and gold lining of swords, colors stained in that bright, blinding, hypnotic, intoxicating, unbearable red.

They tried to run. Tried to place shaking legs one step after another, but never faster than the light that bends to his command. The ones who didn’t run begged for mercy, pleading into incoherent cries as death by God’s hand awaited them, pleading onto the council’s deaf mercilessness. There were the ones who didn’t beg, only looked at him with those eyes. A last defiance, some sort of final attempt to regain any pride. Looking at him, that sickening glare which he was all too familiar with. It screamed traitor.

Gabriel killed those the quickest.

He’s loyal. He has been for the past 6000 years, because the council spoke the will of God. And the will of God is what is righteous and just. It’s everything he’s been taught since conception, since being created by God himself.

And while he hasn't faced God in a long time, he still carries out his will. Because he’s loyal.

It’s easy to follow what he has always known. To ignore the doubts, the dread. Creating a barrier of lies to appear okay, like everything is where it should be. He’s loyal, like he always has been.

He’s not afraid. He cannot afford to think that he’s afraid.

Sometimes, he thinks about him. Thinks about his dance in the rain, his hands as he made each stroke of life. Wonders if he’s still in that prison. Wonders if he’s forgotten about him yet. A part of him wants to believe it does not matter, because Gabriel has not seen him in years. Yet, selfishly, he sends a daily reminder that he’s still there. Merely proof of existence. Fearful that he would forget about him.

He does this cruelly, because it is also a reminder that he’s still there but not there. Not within reach. The council has commented on their distaste for his repeated visits towards “that sinner,” yet no rule has been set in stone. He could see him. He could go right now, find his way to his cell, see if he would still lean into his arms after all this time.

But he doesn’t. Because he’s loyal. Loyal to the council, and thus he cannot disobey in the slightest bit. Not at all.

As long as the sun shines, Gabriel is loyal to the council. And the light shines brightest in heaven.

Eyes watch him as he crosses the common streets of heaven. Sometimes, angels would bow as he passed them. Gabriel acknowledges them with a small nod, and they turn around, giggling and whispering amongst themselves.

“Be proud.” The councilor tells him as he walks besides Gabriel. He’s unused to the attention. Even in his high status from working directly with the council, the common angel would not pay him much mind. Now, it seemed that everyone knew about him. Words of his deed spread like wildfire, and it didn’t take long to notice how people started treating him.

“It was nothing.” Gabriel mutters. Following orders from the council now comes as easily as unsheathing his blades.

“Perhaps, but a great display of wit was shown. Upheaving an uprising with one kill? Such a feat would be talked about for many centuries to come.”

It feels wrong. As if those words don’t belong in a sentence referring to himself. It’s easy to worship someone when all you see are their triumphs.

Blind to events behind closed doors, when Gabriel stumbled and fell over himself, spilled wine staining his clothes and making him claw at his robes to get rid of the color. Preferring the emptiness of being drunk than thinking about what he’s really doing. Thinking about how pathetic he’s become, then immediately sidelining the thought.

After trying to ignore it all day, when the sun set and a few bottles were opened, all he thought about was him. Like water flooding the lands after a broken dam. It felt like drowning, the heaviness of his body and burning in his chest.

Gabriel passed out thinking of him, and dreamed of waves upon a starless sea.

“The holy light is not a mere tool to be used.” The councilor scoffs in annoyance, but Gabriel ignores him.

It starts as a simple suggestion. The councilor briefly took pity on him, seeing him in such an awful state.

Now, he’s filled with annoyance every time Gabriel comes to him, going on about how it cannot be used on a whim to soothe ‘mild inconveniences’ (or, a nasty hangover.) Every time he gives it anyways, berating the Judge of hell as he does so. It doesn’t matter. Gabriel knows he’ll do it again next time, no matter how much he claims this will be the last.

It’s a strange feeling, when you are given more of the holy light than needed to function. The light acts as an analgesic, but it could also be a stimulant. It could give strength but also ease your mind. Anything one desired at the moment, it can come to fruition. Brimming with divinity, and like life itself, it makes you feel alive.

The ability to control that holiness within subjects is no doubt a powerful one.

“I’m assigned work.”

“In hell?” The councilor says such for the sake of replying, but he already knows the answer.

The role of the Judge of Hell is essentially meaningless, valued only as a title to heighten his status. What use would a Judge be, when there was no one to judge? Gabriel wonders if heaven knew as such when giving him the title, the closed gates to hell. If they would’ve entrusted the role to him otherwise. He’s unsure of his worthiness himself. To play God in hell, dictating the fates of sinners and their suffering.

“The fifth layer.” Gabriel says, not bothering to elaborate further. “I need to return before noon.”

Gabriel hates going to the fifth layer. He hates it. The sky and seas are a dark, muddy blue, and it makes him stand out all the more with his golden armor and faint glow of his wings, a bright sky blue.

He hates it because of him. Because of the traces of him that would linger, reminding him everywhere he goes. He looked at the waves and thought about him, perhaps a painting he made. He always painted everything, didn’t he? And the waves of the endless ocean was all he saw. He saw waves, and sometimes, he saw the hidden land that existed before the waves consumed them. He saw the rivers stretching out all the way to treachery and the bloody landscapes from within. But mainly, he saw waves.

And then, he saw Gabriel.

The light in my darkness.

In an impulsive fit of longing, Gabriel read those words. Words that told of his encounters on the ship, his struggle to remember his life before death, his hope for salvation at the hands of the council. And then, it talks about Gabriel.

It ends like that. In his mind, that’s where it ends.

Gabriel abandons the book on the desk, faced open. He has matters to attend to.

Sometimes, they worshipped him. Kneeling in front of murals, prayers of his divinity spread throughout the lands under hush whispers. So far gone were the residents of hell that any proof of God in front of their very eyes were ones to bow down to.

When Gabriel struck down the leviathan, word of his deeds spread amongst the ferrymen. The light of the divine spears shone brightly with the force of the sun in a clouded world, like a beacon the ferrymen worshipped. Like moths to a flame.

Nothing compared to what he did. Nothing could make him feel in such a way. That constant fire, engulfing and consuming, eroding him.

It burns.

Gabriel saw the ferry. It was exactly where they last left it, when he watched the ferryman anchor the ship in the fashion of a skilled seafairer. It felt like a lifetime ago, even in Gabriel’s lifespan. So bygone, unreachable. Now, the ferry is half-sunken into the waters as the sea rises with the screams of more souls. He doesn’t know how to get it out.

Gabriel wanders the halls, untouched paintings hanging on the walls. Stopping in front of that hallway, where everything started.

It’s a painting, taking up almost an entire wall, even taller than Gabriel. A painting of himself front and center, with the ferryman in his arms. Closer analysis would reveal careful brushwork, his armor depicted with realistic perfection and his halo and wings emitting a warm glow. In all his visits, he has never looked at this painting in such detail. Deciphering the strokes, the small creases left by the paint, like he was looking for something he left behind. He was always focused on other things, the walls, the candles, the furniture, him, but not the painting that started everything. The painting he first glimpsed on that fateful day of meeting, the one that set something in motion like clockwork. How it felt like his world was moving. How it feels like it has stopped.

He wants to scream.

While heaven and hell fell into despair, earth has long grown quiet. And yet, little bits of life managed to barely survive. A cause and effect. Small bugs, roaches surviving the impact of the apocalypse. And those roaches had small mammals, like rats and rodents, to feed off of them. And those rats had blood coursing through its veins. And those rats had the things, with mechanized gears and rusting metal to soak in the blood. And the machines had it.

As long as life was there, it had something to conquer. It could thrive.