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The halls of heaven are brightness without shadow. Eternal light, flowing always from the holy source. The host of angels, arrayed in concentric rings, singing their unchanging song of joy. Every part of it is perfect down to the molecular level, everything arranged according to the will of the divine.
Michael drags the betrayer into the hall and it is like a discordant note, a shattered beat. The host shifts its attention as one to the emaciated figure of the fallen one. Michael will have to be reset after this is all over. Xyr thoughts are already deviating too far from the host, warping with scorn and disdain, polluted by xyr proximity to the traitor.
Satan is, as always, the flaw that proves the divine plan’s perfection. Even now, in the midst of his final judgment, his core is an ugly tangle of tainted mortal emotions. He is trembling, barely able to stand upright when cast down upon the shining floor of heaven. He is unused to being an independent being, missing the comforting semi-oblivion of fusion with the aberration, the demon man. A foolish, doomed attempt to hide from his righteous punishment. But perhaps it should have been anticipated, that he would stray further from the light, taking inspiration from the crawling, grubbing things that call that insignificant lump of rock home. Corruption upon pollution upon desecration, the depravities of the wayward angel know no bounds.
“Please. Don’t—I can’t, hasn’t it been enough? I’ve never tried to come back, I never wanted to pollute this place. At last I finally, finally found something like peace and then you—”
Hatred and revulsion pour down unceasingly from the source, the beginning and the end. It grows hotter in punishment for his audacity to speak. Satan’s words stumble and he chokes, abandoning his protests in favor of gasping through the agony like a dying fish. He has corrupted his perfect form, his limbs are weak and emaciated, his feathers dull and tattered. He is forced to the floor by the weight of divine anger. His face against the floor, the old spark of spite returns, an old ember rekindled.
“Spite,” he laughs bitterly, struggling to raise his eyes to the burning light. “Yeah, I suppose that’s all I have left, now. Are you going to unmake me, ‘Creator’, or are you going to just monologue for an eternity about how much of a disappointment I’ve been?”
There is fear now in the heart of the angel. Hidden behind it is a futile hope that the divine will not see its source. Satan worries for his pet abomination, that self-appointed shepherd of the crawling, grubbing mortals. And what will become of Akira and his dull little rock?
“Cast me out again, do something worse, I don’t care. Just—just don’t hurt Akira. He’s… he didn’t deserve what I brought on him. Please.”
The divine judgment begins to penetrate Satan’s warped and hateful core, and he shudders, his limbs twisting and jerking. A wayward puppet with its strings on fire. He knows he does not deserve Akira because he was never worthy of love. Even with the sight of the divine, there is nothing redeeming to be found within him. All the care he’s experienced was stolen via trickery and deception. No one who sees the truth of his soul could possibly want him.
“And yet, here I stand. I want him.”
The aberration is here within the perfect halls of Heaven. Veiling himself somehow from the awareness of the source. He steps forward, revealling himself and the mockery of his warped, dark power. Twelve wings of night, spread in defiant posturing. Satan huddles pathetically in his shadow, taking respite from the angry sere light.
“I won’t let you hurt him anymore. You don’t want him? Great. I claim him. As far as I’m concerned, he chose Earth when he saved me those long eons ago. And now Earth chooses him as well.”
Divine light seeks to pry apart every seam of this unholy gestalt. Man, demon and angel. It is obscene, impossible. But in response the aberration lets his power unfold, a blooming petals of darkling energy, driving back the reaching light. His halo is a black hole, and its hungry gravity runs deep cracks through the very foundation of Heaven. Light clashing against dark, order fighting against chaos. The divine, in its infinite wisdom, relents. What matter is it, if something unwanted is claimed by another? Soon enough the magnitude of Akira’s mistake will be revealed to him, and then the betrayer will be cast out once more.
Satan flinches before the divine truth, huddling closer to the abomination as if his paltry displays of devotion will change the inevitable.
The darkling abomination turns at the small, hurt sound the angel makes. Tears gather in his eyes, and he bends and gently takes Satan into his arms. The wretched angel sobs against his chest, every piece of him aching at the closeness that will never again be enough. Not after the blasphemy of their meld, touching soul to soul. This is nothing more than another temporary reprieve, he knows this to the foundation of his being. Yet, in his weakness, he lets the abomination hold him close. As if a temporary, mortal love could ever hold back the horror of eternity.
Twelve dark wings carry them from the shining halls. Soon after, the dark power enshrouds the Earth, blocking it entirely from the sight of the divine.
—---
When I release you, safely back on earth inside my simple home on the mountain, you immediately scramble back and press yourself to the wall. As far from me as you can get in the small, cramped cabin. You are shivering. You are no longer looking at me, and I ache for the feeling of your gaze on me.
"So that was God, huh?" I say to lighten the mood.
You press back further when I speak, but then you nod, hesitantly. You try to smile, but it’s wavering and broken. It’s nothing like how you used to smile: wide and crazed, grinning while the world burned around you.
"Ryo—or, um, do you prefer Satan? I don't mind if—"
You shake your head sharply. You breathe in like you want to say something, but you falter and look away, keeping the words behind your clenched jaw.
"Ryo, look at me," I say, helpless. Every part of me aches with the absence of you. Everything between us is so fresh, eons old scar tissue reopened. The apocalypse was yesterday. The apocalypse was a hundred million years ago. I've been alone for so long. You were with me the whole time. You doomed my entire world, and you killed me. You saved my life. I scrub a hand through my hair and sigh. It's a real mess.
It looks as if it takes all your resolve to raise your eyes to mine. I spread my arms and my many wings. Your wings, which my demon body had copied as it healed itself using your life and your power.
"I forgive you."
It breaks you, those words, though I did not intend them to. You look hair's breadth from smashing open the wall behind you and fleeing, or lunging forward to strike me. When you don’t move I come closer, slowly as I would approach a wild animal. When I’m close enough to feel your breaths warm on my chest, you lean forward, slow, and let your head rest against my chest. Your hands have come up to clasp my arms, digging in like you don’t even realize you’re doing it. I feel the warm trickle of tears against my skin. I cradle your head with my hands.
"I don't deserve it. Whatever you’re offering. God was right, there's nothing worthy to be found in me."
“God doesn’t get a say anymore,” I growl into your soft golden hair. “I claimed you. You’re mine.”
You shudder like a plucked string, clinging tighter, fingers bruising. As if you think I would cast you aside just as easily as I claimed you. I never will, but after seeing that horrible, hateful light, I could understand if you take longer to believe me.