Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Crowley was hissing angrily to himself when he entered his office, gripping the thermos of holy water and his plant mister tightly. Once at his desk he slammed both down and got to work unscrewing the lids after putting on heavy PVC gloves. He was still fuming and attempted to take the care and time that was involved when handling such a substance, but couldn’t stop from thinking over what had him in such a terrible mood.

Of course he was all in favor of Armageddon in general terms. If anyone had asked him why he’d been spending centuries tinkering in the affairs of mankind he’d have said, “Oh, in order to bring about Armageddon and the triumph of Hell.” But it was one thing to work to bring it about, and quite another for it to actually happen.

So he tried to talk Aziraphale into going to Alpha Centauri, it was with the hope he wouldn’t have to do what the rest of Hell would once the war was in motion. But did he listen to him? No, his angel brushed off his attempts at keeping him safe. Wouldn’t even entertain the idea, and it was maddening. 

As if Aziraphale could really stop the war by calling the Almighty, she was the one who chose for it to happen after all. Even if he did somehow stop it, Hell would still find a way to start a war with Heaven. So of course he did the stupidest thing in that moment and said he wouldn't even think of him as he went off into the stars. 

For Go- Sa- Someone’s sake, he was panicking over what was going to happen afterwards, because of course Hell was going to win! Couldn’t Aziraphale see that? Couldn’t he understand how dire this situation was, how bad this would be for the side that lost?

A crash from downstairs that sounded like the front door to his flat being kicked in startled him out of his thoughts. Beyond annoyed at this point Crowley grit his teeth, even more unhappy with the infernal authorities than he was moments ago when he hung up on them. 

They forget their place sometimes, perhaps he would remind them once the war was over.

A pounding on the stairs below him, and a muffled scream let him know what happened to the little old lady on the floor below. He did rather like her, but shrugged and rolled his eyes at the obvious display of strength that the demon sent to collect him exerted. At least she beat the traffic to the afterlife and would be settled in before too long.

A crash from his outer hallway as he pulled off the PVC gloves, and picked up the plant mister, let him know they were just about to break in.  

“Crawlee . . . ?” called a guttural voice as he settled himself behind his desk.

“He’s through there,” hissed another voice. “I can feel the slimy little creep.” Ah, so they sent Hastur and Ligur to collect him, he mused leaning back on his chair and drummed his fingers against it. Then as an afterthought Crowley moved the plant mister so it would be closer to him on the table, while putting on a relaxed and casual face. 

Well he can see why they were sent, the two were some of the more capable demons their lot had. It was still grating that they made such a commotion, but what did he expect? At least this part of the plan was going somewhat correctly. 

"In here, people." Crowley called out waiting for Ligur and Hastur to walk into the room. In another reality Crowley may have poured the holy water into a bucket and home-aloned the two demons breaking in. In this reality, that's not the case as he only filled the plant mister at his side instead. The two were in fact Dukes and as such hard to replace when you compared them to the lower ranks, and recognized their loyalty to Lucifer himself.

Now, he may have been annoyed with the fact they had been sent after him, but that didn't mean he wanted to off them before the war started. Both were valuable assets after all, enough that the counsel had unanimously appointed both to their positions.

“We want a word with you,” said Ligur in a tone of voice intended to imply that “word” was synonymous with “horrifically painful eternity”. As the squat demon pushed open the office door, Crowley rose the green plastic plant mister, and sloshed it around threateningly. 

"Do you know what this is?" Crowley asked bored, as the two demons blinked in confusion. Sighing at their silence, Crowley crossed his legs and leaned against his free hand.

"This is a plant mister, cheapest and most efficient on the market today. It can squirt a fine spray of water into the air." Pausing to gauge their reactions, and for dramatic effect. He wasn't called a flash bastard for nothing after all.

"It’s filled with holy water." At that admission both demons froze, tensing slightly, looking skeptical.

“Have you gone mad?” Hastur questioned while Ligur pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"You’re bluffing, Crowley! Anyone can see you are just buying time for some scheme like always. If you come with us now, perhaps one less punishment will be tacked on for your war crimes." Ligur snapped in annoyance, Hastur was suppose to be in Megiddo while he finished up his preparations. But no, they had to come after this Earth agent instead of doing more important things.

“Nope. Don’t you understand? This was a test. The Lords of Hell had to know that you were trustworthy before we gave you command of the Legions of the Damned, in the War ahead.” 

“Crowley, you are lying, or you are insane, or possibly you are both,” said Hastur, but his certainty was shaken that Crowley was bluffing after all. 

Looking at the pair of demons in the eyes, Crowley pulled out his mobile phone and hit a button. It starts to dial a number as he smiles like a lighthouse burning or perhaps like a TV quizmaster.

“S’okay, Dukes Hastur and Ligur. I wouldn’t expect you to believe it from me,” he admitted. "But why don’t we talk to the Dark Council? I am sure that they can convince you.”

"You’re calling the Dark Council?" Hastur looked at Ligur in a sort of paranoid horror, which caused Ligur to growl and decide to rush towards Crowley before he can pull some sort of escape off. As the number Crowley had dialed clicked and started to ring, Ligur grabbed Crowley's wrist. When he made contact with Crowley, the plant mister was pressed right up against Ligur’s forearm in the same moment and Crowley pressed the trigger. 

It was only a small amount of holy water that was released, but it worked as intended. Hastur could only stare in horror as Ligur's wrist peeled and flared like a lump of burning sodium. Ligur’s eyes were wide in shock as well, only able to stare as oily brown smoke oozed from his injury, then finally he screamed. 

The next moment he was folding in on himself while dropping to his knees to try and protect what's left of his arm. What was left of the appendage was glistening, burnt, and blackened. Crowley, looked much too relaxed staring down at Ligur compared to Hastur who was looking at him in horror. 

"Holy water. I can’t believe even a, a demon would...Holy water! He hadn’t done nothing to you!" Hastur screamed in a shrill voice, shaking almost to the point of convulsions as he attempted to help move Ligur away. They both stared in fear as Crowley puts his hand against the phone to muffle it while leaning towards them.

"Yet." Crowley narrows his eyes before standing back up straight and smirking as he puts the mobile on loud speaker.

"Crowley, we were just about to call. The plan worked flawlessly, the first battalion has been taken by surprise!"

The mass of bodies surged across the battlefield as they claimed victory with each downed Angel. The stench of Ichor and death driving them further into a willing fury; pushing, shoving, and screeching at anything in their path as they became an agitated, enraged swarm of bodies. 

The woods became a bloodbath of ichor as the Demons were lost to a berserker rage, sacrificing finesse for a dark rage. Small clusters of fights merged into large scuffles of weapons clashing in a ferocious mass. 

Blood sprayed the ground and misted the air as the minutes ticked by. The stink of sweat and gore mixed with searing heat, the dead and clumps of viscera a terrible mixture of both extinct beings and empty corporation shells. 

Ichor drenched the battlefield in a sea of gold and black that refused to mix together.

Chapter Text

The Dark Council had devised a plan to destroy the angels in one single decisive battle. The plan was to charge ahead with a portion of the 66 legions under Beelzebub’s command. Those troops would then force the opposition into a tight engagement, where afterwards, the rest of the demons under zir command would attack from behind.

This plan had been created once they had realized Heaven’s forces had gotten the idea that if they began to present a target for the demons, and entice enough of them to enter a berserker rage, they would be able to take them out. Which had worked during the two battles Heaven managed to win. 

The only problem with the Angel’s plan? They had been going up against Moloch's legions and as such didn’t realize not all demons when enraged, fought like that.

Lucifer had been pissed Moloch allowed the demons under his command to lose themselves to blood lust and subsequently sent the entire circle of wrath back to Hell. 

Satan was not happy his entire circle was punished to wait as reinforcements for the other Princes when needed. Though he grudgingly let the decision be, seeing as Lucifer was already dealing with the fallout of having a half mortal son. As well as having to now make sure the 3 friends of Adam’s were safe with the horsemen. 

He definitely did not want to risk his Lord’s anger anymore than he already had. Lucifer’s rage at anything that seemed remotely like a failure that could have been avoided, was quite terrifying on most days, and even more so as the war raged on.

So, the council had been called together to do damage control. Once they all came to an agreement, the plan was divided into two parts: the lure, and the ambush attack. 

The demons serving as the lure had to be comprised of a relatively small number. The idea behind such a risky move was that the moral of Moloch’s troops losing, would have temporarily clouded the Angel’s judgement. Then once the Angels were fully engaged in the fighting, Beelzebub and zir troops would spring the ambush from behind. Thus trapping the Angels between the two forces and destroying them. 

Once the council had concluded, each member was sent back to their current bivouac to prepare for the upcoming battles and hopefully the end of the war. Which is what Crowley was currently doing as he awaited Beelzebub’s arrival. 

His troops had been tasked with keeping the Angels from advancing any more and to gather Intel for the upcoming plan. Unfortunately the memo he received shortly after returning, said both Beelzebub and zir demons wouldn't be here until later. So he was stuck going over reports from the field and dealing with the Angels that they had been taken prisoner.

By the time Beelzebub arrived at the bivouac under Crowley’s command, Hell’s armies had already won four major battles. In between there had been several small skirmishes where Heaven lost several patrols during this time, and some of their high ranking angels such as Archangel Saraqael and Kerubiel.

With shoulders back, chest high, feet apart, and zir head up, Beelzebub strode into Crowley's war tent, Dagon following behind. 

At the sound of the entrance opening, Crowley looked up from the parchment he was marking. 

He stood up and bowed slightly. “Lord Beelzebub.” 
 
“Crowzley, it is good to see you haven't been permanently discorporated yet.” Zey sneered, though by the smirk on Crowley’s face, he found it endearing.

“Of course, it’s going to take much more than a simple smiting to keep me away from all of this.” Crowley grinned and motioned to the parchment spread out on the table before him, on it, a map of the area was depicted.  

“As you can see, my Lord, we are still attempting to find a way to get past the Angel’s defenses. Seems like we aren't the only ones to have found new ways of fighting.” He sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

“Have you gotten any word from Pollution yet?” Beelzebub asked as zey studied the map, it seemed as if the Angel’s managed to make the barrier around them grow.

“Unfortunately Chalky hasn’t sent any word, too busy cultivating their charge’s magic at the moment. I was hoping they would have already polluted the curtain of light though.” Crowley sighed, there was no way they would get past the curtain of light as long as the angels kept pouring their Heavenly grace into it. The only thing anyone could come up with was somehow polluting, which only Chalky could do. Well Brian would be able to as well once Chalky finished teaching him how.

With a sigh, Beelzebub leaned over the map and looked it over in an attempt to come up with some idea. Then with a buzz, zey blinked and grinned.

“The Angels have struck here, here, and here, no?” Beelzebub tapped a grungy nail against the parchment, x’s burning onto it every time zey moved zir finger away. At Crowley’s nod, Beelzebub continued to speak. 

“Then I will take the main troops up to the Curtain, then while they are distracted- ” Beelzebub was cut off as the flap to the tent rustled and Hastur stepped through. Both demons turned to regard him with looks of annoyance.
“Aren’t you meant to be lining up your platoon for battle around now?” Crowley remarked dryly, fangs glinting dangerously, causing Hastur to gulp.

“Yes, well we received word from Pollution finally, thought you would want to read it.” He glared back and strode up to the table to hand it to them before turning to leave with a grumble.

“Really wish you would have sent me Ligur instead.” Crowley rolled his eyes and opened the scroll Hastur gave them, and then grinned as he read it all, and handed it over to the prince.

“Perfect, looks like you’ll also be joining us in the battle Crowley.” Beelzebub said and handed the scroll back to him.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale, Principality and angel of the Eastern Gate was winded and deeply angry. What had once been a perfectly tailored, laundered, gleaming white and vaguely human resembling military uniform now sat about his frame, stained with gold and black ichor as well as with dirt and smoke. Some of the ichor was his, although he was so caked with grime that you wouldn’t be able to tell. 

Though the sullying of his clothing wasn’t what had him filled with holy rage, no, it was because of the needless fighting that continued around him, the fact that the demons would not stop slaughtering and dragging the members of his platoon off, right in front of him. He had managed to save a few and he thanked the almighty every minute for that, even if he wanted to curse her for the fact that he had no choice but to discorporate a few just to keep the hellfire from reaching the cores of their corporations. None of said discorporations had been pleasant, time and urgency dictating he do such things messily and painfully just to be able to give a mercy many others had not been allowed.

Sandalphon once talked about making rage and despair holy, grounding them in the sacred. It was what he was doing right now, turning the hate and the pain into righteousness, using his anger to bolster his grace into something strong enough to carry him through. To be a source of inspiration and moral to his troops, to protect them and keep the enemy from advancing further.

Said Archangel was only meters from himself, viciously running through several demons with his own sword. Aziraphale had only glanced at him with his peripheral vision for a moment, but that was a long enough distraction to nearly have himself gauged by the claws of some sort of bear-like demon. Eyes widening, he stepped back and with a swing of his blade, and kick of his foot, it gave a horrifying shriek and fell to the ground, turning to ash from the inside out.

“Sandalphon,” Aziraphale called out, slamming his elbow back into another demon that had tried to ambush him, before a blow with the pommel of his sword to the demon’s face gave him enough time to twist on the spot and decapitate it. But before he could finish what he was going to say, he heard Uriel, the other Archangel that had been fighting with both of them and his platoon, scream.

It was a horrid, heart breaking noise that had him freezing, head snapping in her direction to see what happened. Without thinking, he was already moving, wings propelling him towards her within moments and grace sizzling the very air.    

A few of the demons covered back as the air sizzled with something besides the heat of Hell-flame but Aziraphale paid no mind to them, mind clouded with only one goal, to get to the two Archangels that had accompanied his platoon, to protect them from what would most likely be further harm as was his purpose. Though the moment he landed, wings flaring out in a protective mantle around the pair, he could already see the damage done to Sandalphon.

“O-oh dear,” Aziraphale murmured, grimacing at the golden ichor that flowed from the Archangel’s side, even as Uriel attempted to apply pressure to it.

“Aziraphale!” Uriel swallowed, lower lip wobbling as she attempted to press down harder on the wound, to stem the flow of the ichor that was already staining her hands. “We have to get him out of here, there is still time to save him from discorporation.” Aziraphale frowned, he knew the Archangel was in no shape to continue to fight, neither of the Archangels looked like they could continue to fight honestly.

“Uriel, I’m- I’m sorry, but I think…” He paused, eyes finally noticing the way black seemed to be creeping up the side of Sandalphon’s neck, only now understanding why Uriel would choose to bring Sandalphon back manually instead of discorporationg him. His angelic core had already been damaged in a way that discorporation could only make worse.

“Uriel-” Aziraphale put his hand on her shoulder, a solemn look on his face as she turned her head to look up at him and she paled.

“No… n-no, we…” She pressed down harder on the wound and Sandalphon coughed, opening his eyes and placing a hand atop her own.

“Uriel, no. You need to get out of here, the whole platoon needs to retreat.” Sandalphon frowned and turned his gaze upon Aziraphale. “Get them out, and make sure Uriel stays safe. I’ll do what I can to hold the opposition off, but there isn’t much time before they light the whole field up. I can tell they’re growing bored with the fight.” Sandalphon explained, voice growing raspy half way through and Aziraphale inhaled deeply before letting the breath out.

“Yes, of course.” He nodded, knowing Sandalphon wouldn’t be able to do much, but it was at least a chance to get his platoon out of the fray and hopefully keep from losing any more of them.

“Alright! Move out!” Aziraphale shouted, flaming sword lifted above before pointing in the direction they had originally come from, then he helped Sandalphon get up.

Gabriel and Michael were breathing heavily while attempting to put enough space between the demons and their escape route. This was the 5th scrimmage they were managing to lose and the odds of turning it around were grim. Especially now that their only defense had been taken down by Pollution and the Horseperson’s counterpart. 

All around them screams of the dying could be heard and hell-fire peppered the landscape, making it difficult to extend their wings enough to get off the ground without burning them. They had tried to use holy water to counteract the flames in the beginning, but learned the hard way it would only result in explosions, almost always sending the hell-fire scattering about and causing “friendly fire” to their side. 

Wounded soldiers stood behind them, trying to help keep the area clear and get the dying back to Heaven, but no one was in any shape to get back before more of Prince Beelzebub’s troops inevitably caught up and slaughtered them. It was something they all knew, but no one wanted to abandon their fellow angels without trying to get them back to Heaven. 

As the angels continued to retreat, there was a shout and Michael turned to make sure none of their soldiers needed assistance only to gasp as they saw Uriel trying to land without singing her wings. She was breathing hard and looked panicked, head turning side to side as she tried to find something that wasn’t there. Finally her shoulders drooped and she tucked her wings in before dropping out of the air to avoid the hell-fire when landing. 

With a gasp, Michael rushed forward and barely managed to catch their fellow Archangel, landing on knees and skidding as they clutched Uriel close. Only for her to press closer as she whimpered and shook in their arms, tears flowing down her face as Gabriel finally made his way over as well. 

“Uriel, what happened? Where's Sandalphon?” He questioned, while Michael only shushed Uriel when she shook her head and sobbed. They swallowed hard while Gabriel made a pained noise and electricity crackled around him, causing Michael to level a glare at him when their soldiers gasped, crying out as many of the wounded almost discorporated from the sheer power Gabriel let out. 

“Gabriel!” Michael snapped, breathing in relief when it brought him back to reality. None of them could afford to lose their heads now, not when they all needed to get back and see the healers. 

Uriel would most likely need bed rest if not permanent leave from the war. Michael frowned at that realization, knowing they should never have allowed her near it in the first place. While Uriel was capable, she was never truly made for war. They hadn’t even been made for war but when Lucifer started the first one and the Almighty changed their role from Healer to Warrior, who were they to judge? But Uriel had never been explicitly ordered to take up such a role and yet she did.

“Come on dear, you don’t have to talk about it. Let’s just get you, and the other’s, back to rest and recuperate.” Michael murmured before wrapping an arm around Uriel’s back, and with Gabriel’s help, stood up with her. Once her weight was settled between the two, Michael gave the order to begin heading back. 

As time passed they slowly began to grow uneasy with the lack of demons appearing, they had been losing so where had they all gone? After another mile of marching, with Gabriel and Michael constantly giving each other worried looks,  a loud screeching could be heard as they passed the bit of woods that was still standing. 

“Quickly, move it!” Michael shouted and the screeching only got louder the closer it came. Before either Archangel could turn, they heard wings flapping overhead before the noise stopped. They both looked up to see two angels leaning against each other, one was flying while the other weakly beat its wings. It didn’t take long to see why, and Gabriel cringed as Michael gasped in horror.

They both were covered in golden ichor and the black ichor of demons, but what was horrifying was the weaker angel was missing half the right wing while the left one had missing feathers and gashes throughout. They hadn’t realized who the two were until Uriel lifted her head and weakly called out to the one trying to keep them in the air.

“Aziraphale, are you alright?” She asked and got a small nod in reply as Gabriel let go of her to help him. 

Aziraphale made some frustrated noises as he attempted to lower the injured angel to Gabriel, while avoiding the hell fire around them.

“What happened?” Gabriel asked with a grunt once the full weight of the angel was in his arms and Aziraphale let himself finally drop to the ground, wincing as he placed weight upon what seemed to be a sprained ankle.

“We ran into an ambush, unfortunately we had no time to defend ourselves.” He slumped, wringing his hands together, “We managed to keep them back long enough for Uriel to make it out, but what was left of my platoon was completely wiped out.”