Chapter Text
SCANNING TEXT...
...Seraphs are the result of a human soul reaching the peak of its holy potential. Virtues that show a particularly strong dedication to God’s cause have the potential to be picked out and promoted to the position of Seraph. They are rewarded with new bodies and higher-status tasks that often consist of working directly for the supreme Archangels, typically in the form of duties such as bodyguards and messengers.
To be made visually distinct from their Archangel colleagues, Seraphs are clad in black and silver armour rather than white and gold, and appear to be much larger on average. It is theorised that this difference in mass is a result of attempting to accommodate the still-human soul that Seraphs carry, as their bodies have been gifted to them rather than the ones they would have formed themselves as Virtues.
REMAINING TEXT: IRRELEVANT
Another day had passed under Heaven’s cerulean skies. No matter the month, season, or year, the consistency of the sun and moon would forever remain in their consistent cycle.
Icarus didn't care to think about it all too much. He had stopped keeping track of the time aeons ago.
Gentle moonlight glimmered off of his silver armour, enhancing the polished glow of the metal. His gaze locked onto the moon itself, watching as it gradually rose into the sky.
He found it rather hard to stave away his restlessness without company. While the peace of these night shifts was nice, the empty solitude often drowned it out before he could enjoy it.
At least while on his lonesome, he could get away with slacking off more than he would in the presence of another Seraph.
He idly spun his zweihander in his hands, humming a sweet-noted melody to himself.
He disliked these guard duties the most, he thought to himself – he considered them of little worth. What was the purpose in stationing defence in a place where no citizen would dare to even think of breaking law? Surely, his presence could be of more use elsewhere.
That was not for him to decide. This was a duty bestowed upon him by higher power, and he was to adhere to it without question.
He knew that. He was fine with that. He was more than willing to act his due-diligence under the Father’s will.
-And yet, that rationale did not still his restless hands.
Icarus firmly planted the tip of his zweihander’s blade back into the ground as he clocked the moon rising past a certain point in the sky.
His shift was almost over – another Seraph would be coming to relinquish him at any moment now. He needed to at least appear orderly.
Sure enough, soon another silver-clad angel would announce their presence with the metallic thunking of their boots against the ground. With a wordless exchange of polite nods, their positions were swapped, and Icarus was then free to leave.
He held in his sigh of relief until he was out of earshot.
Dedication to God’s plan was one thing. The incessant boredom that came with aspects of it was another.
Icarus slept poorly. It was difficult to sleep well when all he could think about was what he would be doing once he was back up on his feet.
The need to rest was an unfortunate lingering side effect of possessing a human soul. Seraphs were allocated enough spare time to remedy this fact, though some would ignore these breaks entirely to exacerbate their passion towards the Father’s word.
Icarus found that a little overkill. Granted, he too would avoid breaks if he was feeling spry enough – though he still knew his limits, and wouldn't push himself beyond the threshold of stability.
God wouldn't have wanted him to do so, anyway. Even if the heart was willing, the body must rest – lest the Lord’s creation be squandered.
Icarus stretched briefly before donning his armour. There was a long day ahead, so he relished in the freedom of his uncovered form before the restrictive metal plating was placed upon it.
He slipped on his gauntlets, curling his fingers and listening to the metal of his finger plating creak.
A gut feeling urged him; perhaps he should pray before leaving, today.
Taking a one-kneed stance before a stained glass window, he brought one hand to his chest – laying it over his heart. Early morning sunbeams shone their rays through the glass, the light refracting off of his armour in prismatic hues.
“O Father, bestow upon me your infinite grace. I hope for your guidance in the trials and tribulations I may experience henceforth, in which your kindness may show me a gentle path forward. My gratitude towards you, always.”
After a moment of silence followed by a conclusory nod, he pushed himself back into an upright stance. A comforting warmth swirled inside of him as the gentle sunbeams caught the still-exposed skin of his neck.
Perhaps his gut had misjudged. The day ahead didn’t feel quite so foreboding anymore.
Gabriel.
Icarus just barely bit back a displeasured groan upon reading the name.
He knew he had been scheduled to work under an Archangel for the next few days – and Gabriel was the Archangel he had been least desiring to see his name under.
It was nothing against the aptly named Righteous Hand of The Father – Gabriel himself was pleasant enough to be around. It was more so the calibre of work that came with working alongside him, as well as the crowd he typically garnered – especially after the Archangel’s recently appointed title of ‘Judge of Hell.’
Most Seraphs were rightly ecstatic to be granted the opportunity of working beside Heaven’s brightest angel, though Icarus found himself adverse to this energy. It always became a game of his silver colleagues trying to ‘one-up’ each other with their duties in front of the Archangel in a pitiful attempt to impress him, garnering little of Gabriel’s interest and acknowledgment in return.
Icarus found the charade irritating. He was much older than a lot of other Seraphs – he had been accustomed to this song and dance for quite some time, and knew the Archangels didn’t think nearly high enough of most Seraphs to want to dedicate time to evaluating and praising them for their individual worth. Seraphs were chosen to become as such for their exceptional ability to serve, and there was no point to be found in attempting to exacerbate something that was your only worth of relevance to an Archangel.
Regardless, the younger Seraphs would always remain arrogant in their gratuitous displays of confidence. He had learned to pay them no mind.
Icarus stood with his back against the wall, gaze tilted downwards. Some Seraphs were grouped together in conversation a ways away from him, with a few other individuals scattered about the area awaiting Gabriel’s arrival. There were maybe a dozen in total – a usual approximate number for a task such as a Hell expedition.
Icarus tried not to dwell on the possibility, but it was more than likely. Gabriel took care of most jobs involving Hell, and it was not uncommon for troops of Seraphs to join him in such endeavours.
The problem that arose with this was that Icarus was not particularly fond of visiting Hell, nor the work that was typically paired with such a trip. It was the kind of job that almost made him miss the monotony of standing around guarding some building of semi-importance for little reason.
A shard of dread wormed its way into his stomach, digging into his psyche uncomfortably. He fiddled with the belt of his skirt, attempting to stave away the feeling for the time being.
Fortunately, his attention was soon drawn up and away from his own thoughts as a cacophanous bang and flash of light lit the area that could only signal the appearance of the Righteous Hand of The Father.
“Good morning!”
Gabriel announced cheerfully with a clasp of his hands and a bow of his head. All Seraphs in presence, Icarus included, straightened their postures and mirrored the Archangel’s head-bow.
“My apologies for the late entrance – I had to do some last minute preparations that took up a little more time than I thought it would. Now, it seems as if you’ve all already prepared yourselves aptly, so I’ll get straight to the debriefing.”
That was one thing Icarus enjoyed about working under Gabriel, at least; He was very forthright and got to the point as quickly and clearly as possible. It was always neat and orderly when it came to his directions – a beat that settled well with Icarus' inner rhythm.
The debriefing did confirm exactly what he was not hoping to hear, though; that this was indeed an expedition into Hell. In the wake of the collapse of the Lust renaissance and the death of the previous Judge of Hell, King Minos, many husks belonging to the layer were lashing out and causing issues that Virtues could no longer solely deal with. Their job was to step in and reiterate Heaven’s authority.
If Icarus had the power to avoid these tasks entirely, he would have done so without hesitation. Merely traversing through Hell was already bad enough, with having to block out the sheer oppressive suffering that plagued Hell’s atmosphere at a base level – actively contributing to that suffering with a job such as this was ten steps worse.
No matter. Icarus had done it before, and he could do it again.
The troop dispatched without a hitch, summoning themselves to the layer of Lust at an approximate position. With only some minor displacement from some of the more inexperienced Seraphs who were clearly overexcited, the angels were able to convene with little issue.
Icarus could already feel himself begin to dissociate his mind from his body. The less he would be able to recall about his actions, the better.
For the will of the Father. He would repeat to himself in silent prayer, to justify the extinguishment of the souls that may meet their end at the tip of his blade this day. They were only sinners – they would mean little more to him than numbers in the future.
He felt his stomach twist – tightening the sensation of unease in his abdomen enough for him to flinch and bring a hand to it.
Focus, Icarus. You know there is no room for empathy down here.
The next thing he knew was the sensation of his blade cleaving flesh. A husk had leaped at him, and he had sliced it in half with his zweihander with just an instinctual flick of his hand. He hadn't even realised he had carried out the action until a few droplets of the following spray of blood had splattered against his exposed neck.
Most of the Seraphs were already in the thick of it, tearing through the horde of aggressive husks like water to an anthill. Gabriel, like him, had not moved much from the site of convergence – taking a more watchful position at their higher elevation.
The other Seraphs had been eager to display themselves, screaming ahead with their holy vows of righteousness and making a show of their power. Gabriel meanwhile, while certainly capable on his lonesome, had been left with none directly at his side to uphold his safety.
Icarus happily took up this open position of protection. He would much prefer keeping his attention focused on an act of defense rather than offense.
Keeping within close radius of the Archangel, Icarus only swiped away the husks that came up close and tried to get a bite out of the Righteous Hand from his blind-spot angles. With only the two of them fighting off this front of the onslaught, both caught a few nicks and scratches on their armour from the husks that were able to slip through the cracks. It was an irritating, but manageable amount.
Icarus’ head snapped towards a husk that had managed to weasel its way between himself and Gabriel. In the split second before his subsequent reaction, he tracked the husk lining up a shot to the back of the Archangel’s neck.
His zweihander swung around with an audible swoosh, cleanly decapitating the husk a mere moment before it was able to land its hit. The tip of the blade just barely grazed Gabriel’s neck; not enough to draw blood, but just enough to be felt.
The Archangel brought a hand up to the back of his neck, his head turning to look over his shoulder a moment later.
Icarus dragged his zweihander back towards himself, meeting Gabriel’s gaze.
“Watch yourself.”
A mindless comment; both a warning and a mild scold.
Gabriel merely nodded his thanks in response. The gaze was quickly broken as both returned to pushing back against the waves of husks that lapped up against them.
It wasn't much longer before the husks would begin to retreat. These types of conflicts never lasted long.
The virtuous cries of the more boisterous Seraphs did have value in the form of intimidation; the power of their words rekindling the fear of God into the hearts and minds of Hell’s sinners as his angels punished them for fighting against his will.
Icarus was unable to fully conceal the sigh of relief that escaped him when he was finally able to put his zweihander to rest in its sheath. His hands were drenched in enough blood for it to have soaked through the fabric of his gauntlets.
Once the husks had been reduced to a state of acceptable passivity, the frontline Seraphs relinquished their assault and returned to the site of convergence. Gabriel then sheathed his own blades, placing his hands on his hips now that they were free.
“Well done, soldiers. You fought valiantly.” Gabriel praised the group before him with a dramatic gesticulation. “I thank you on behalf of the Father for your effort.”
A few more phrases of praise followed that Icarus didn't pay attention to. His mind was honed in on how much he was looking forward to washing the now-drying, uncomfortably sticky blood from his hands.
Icarus found himself once again with his back against the wall – arms crossed as he leaned his head against his own pauldron, staring out at nothing. He didn't exactly like lingering at the celebratory ‘after-parties’ of bombastic tasks such as the one just committed, but felt an obligation to stay for at least the bulk of it. He did enjoy the occasional chat he managed to catch with another angel though, and this was one of the few environments where he was able to, so sticking around for a while wasn't all that bad.
Luck was on his side on this front, as he was indeed approached for conversation; though not at all by an angel that he was expecting to initiate it.
“Ah- Hello, there.”
Icarus turned to face the source of the voice. His head tilted to the side minutely out of bewilderment and a bit of intrigue as to who he saw standing before him.
“..Hello, Gabriel.”
“I wanted to thank you personally for staying with me back there. I think I would've gotten quite overwhelmed if I was left to my lonesome.”
Gabriel placed a hand to his own chest, extending the other in a gesture of gratitude.
Icarus found this rather odd. Archangels had never typically cared enough to go out of their way to express individual thanks to any below their own status, from what he knew.
Regardless, he was willing to entertain this.
“Think nothing of it. I know that the younger Seraphs can get a bit too eager when it comes to running into the frontlines and showing themselves off, so I merely held in place to help keep some of the weight off your back.”
“Yes, indeed – their eagerness is endearing certainly, but it can be to their detriment if there’s all too much of it.”
Gabriel laughed. Icarus didn't.
“On another note – Your blade looked gorgeous, from what I was able to catch of it. May I have a closer look?”
Gabriel stave away any awkwardness that may have lingered by moving forward without skipping a beat.
“Oh- of course.”
Icarus didn't mind showing off his zweihander at all. It was indeed beautiful; its polished silver blade gleaming in the sunlight as he pulled it from the sheath on his back. The base of the blade was decorated with winged and feathered decals of a darker metal; carved patterns swirling up the blade's shaft. Icarus presented it in front of himself stoically.
Gabriel leaned down to study it closely, an impressed whistle echoing out from his helmet.
“Magnificent.” He awed, lightly running a hand across the length of the blade, tracing the etched patterning. “Does it have a name?”
Icarus shifted his hand to the hilt of the zweihander, turning the blade until a word burned into the leather of the grip became visible.
“Rhapsody.”
He mirrored the written word with his voice as he rapped his fingers over the text.
“A beautiful title. Suits it well, too.” Gabriel replied, nodding attentively. After a moment more of ogling at the weapon, his gaze returned back upwards to meet Icarus’.
“Do you know who smithed this fine armament? I may have to bring Justice and Splendour to them for a bit of attention.”
Icarus felt a spark of pride ignite within his chest.
“Fortunately, you’re looking right at him.”
“Oh! Am I now? Well then, I’m glad you already know how impressed I am with your work here.”
Gabriel laughed again. This time, Icarus let out a small chuckle, too.
“Thank you.”
Icarus placed a hand to his chest and bowed his head.
“I’d be honoured to do work on Justice and Splendour, if you’ll indulge me.”
Gabriel clasped his hands together in delight.
“Splendid! May I get your name so that I’m able to track you down at a later time and take you up on that offer?”
“Icarus.”
“Icarus! Yes- I recognise your name from my roster. You’ve been around for quite a while, haven’t you?”
“Indeed I have. I’d describe myself as ‘weathered,’ so to speak.”
Gabriel chuckled.
“I think ‘experienced’ may be a more apt descriptor – you certainly proved as such in Lust back there, and your exceptional smithing work only fuels that fire.”
Icarus felt a bit of warmth rush to his face. He felt almost lightheaded – all the tension left over from the day's events dissipating from his mind for a fleeting moment.
He brought a hand to the back of his neck, a little flustered by the sudden bout of attention.
“You flatter me.”
“Well, I think that it’s flattery well deserved.”
Gabriel held their gaze for maybe just a second longer than comfortable to do so before breaking it away.
“Ah- I’d best be off, for now. Still a busy day ahead for me. I’ll see you here tomorrow for the next stage of our assignment, alright?"
Icarus nodded curtly, slotting Rhapsody back into its sheathe.
“See you then.”
Just before Gabriel fully turned away, he looked to Icarus once more.
“It was lovely to properly meet you, Icarus.”
Icarus felt that pleasant warmth seep back up into his head again.
“..And you, Gabriel.”
That was strange. Was all Icarus could conclude from that interaction.
It had been so peculiar that it was distracting him from the remainder of his duties for the day.
Never in his millennia's worth of time working in Heaven had an Archangel greeted him with such intrigue and kindness – let alone the Righteous Hand of The Father himself. Granted, Gabriel was indeed known for acts of that note – though that typically came from reverence spun by lesser angels and younger Seraphs who revered him almost as much as the God that delicately crafted him. Icarus had never expected such an interaction to take place, and could not have been taken more off-guard by it.
He was still thinking about it by the time he entered his abode and peeled his armour from his body. Only then was he jarringly reminded of the morning's events by some dried blood still caked into the seams of the metal.
Right. That had happened that day, too. And more of it awaited him in the next day.
Despite the reminder of the further carnage that lay ahead of him, he found himself dreading the upcoming few days a little less now that Gabriel had extended a bit of warmth towards him. He had, for the most part, just been letting himself drift upon the surface of Heaven's raging rapids for far too long now – a change of pace in the form of an unlikely connection was nothing short of a light in the darkness.
Icarus fondly replayed their conversation in his head, less concerned about the intricacies of it all than he was interested in what was to come next – and how he could further improve the already impressive blades wielded by the Righteous Hand.