Chapter Text
Scarab liked things clean and orderly, and the forest floor is just about the opposite of that.
Upon waking up with his face planted firmly in the dirt, he immediately shot up, brushing it off his face.
“What the hell? Disgusting…” he whispered. Heaven wasn’t usually a dirty place, so what was this?
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain in his head. He quickly closed his eyes again, putting a hand to his aching head before realizing with a start that he was no longer wearing his mask. Something was wrong. The Scarab always had to have his mask. How else would he strike fear into his enemies? This made him more vulnerable to attack. Someone could take out one of his eyeballs!
“God, where…” he trailed off, mumbling. His brain didn’t seem to want to form a coherent sentence right now.
He opened his eyes and was met with the sunlight filtering through the leaves of the gigantic trees that surrounded him, making his eyes hurt as they tried to adjust.
“Where the hell am I?” he grumbled, standing up on shaky legs. “Why–” he put his hand to his head again, his vision going spotty. He leaned himself on a nearby tree, forcing down the vomit that threatened to leave him. He felt lightheaded and his breathing wasn’t entirely normal. And not only was his skull feeling like it was constantly being hit with a hammer, his left hand was really starting to hurt.
He brought it down from his face to stare at it, and was met with a new sight. A blue mark wrapped around his ring finger like, well, a ring, and it was sore. He stared at it for a minute, trying to recall where this marking had come from. As he leaned his head against the tree and closed his eyes, he started to remember.
…
The Scarab’s day had started out like they usually do. Leave his apartment, walk to the training grounds, and glare at anyone who dared to look at him.
Most of his fellow angels had always feared him (as they should), and his mask only added to that layer of mysteriousness, not to mention him being the only angel always dressed in red, the color of mortal blood. Everyone knew to avoid The Scarab, who always carried a holy weapon with him wherever he went.
It had been almost a century since he had been relieved from his position as a soldier, but that didn’t stop him from keeping up his skills and reflexes. And besides, no one even went to the training grounds any more after Heaven had signed a peace treaty with Hell.
He changed his staff to its battle form, a scythe-like weapon that had been blessed millenia ago, allowing it to harm both demons and angels. He slashed at everything he could, desperate to occupy himself. This was his sanctuary.
So that made it all the more startling when he heard a voice from behind him.
“Hey, Scrabby. What’re you doing here? Don’t you know this is pretty useless now?” they said, making Scarab jump. He turned around and pointed his weapon at the trespasser. His eyes widened as he recognized them. It was Haniel, looking smug as ever.
“That is none of your business,” Scarab replied, lowering the weapon.
Haniel tucked their glowing wings away. “Still a jerk, huh?” they watched as Scarab slashed at a training dummy. God, their voice was like scraping metal on his skull.
“I am not a jerk,”
“I know a few hundred angels who would disagree.” They sat perched on a stack of hay bales, tossing their shiny hair over their shoulder. Bitch.
“Why are you here?” Scarab snapped. Another training dummy was cut clean in half. Either Haniel was going to have to leave or Scarab was going to run like a coward.
“The bosses have been talking about getting rid of you, you know. I’m sure you’ve heard about it.” Haniel ignored the question and curled a lock of hair around their finger as if this information was nothing to them. But of course it wasn’t. This was Haniel. They cared for no one but themself.
Scarab stopped. “Wait, they’re what?” He finally turned to glare at them. “Why would they even think of doing that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s you’re whole… thing you have going on,” they gestured vaguely and gave a half-assed attempt at hiding the smile on their face.
“ Thing ?” Scarab raised an eyebrow.
“I just don’t think the Saints feel safe with a bloodthirsty angel going around,”
“You say that like you weren’t also a soldier,” Scarab clutched his scythe a little tighter.
“I may have been one, but I moved on. That’s something that must be really hard for you, huh?” Their tone changed to one of fake pity.
Anger bubbled in Scarab’s chest. “Shut up.”
“Why? I’m just trying to be nice!” Haniel got down from the hay bales, meeting him face to face. “I guess I forgot that you only yell at people who do nice things,” they smirked ever so slightly, and that tipped Scarab off the edge.
Before he even realized what he was doing, he changed his scythe to a knife and stabbed it into Haniel’s abdomen, pushing them to the ground.
“You really think you have the right to do this to me?” Scarab growled.
“I should say the same to you,” Haniel said, spitting out ichor.
It was all a blur after that, just stab stab stab as the golden ichor got everywhere. At some point, several angels showed up to restrain him. The pained, exaggerated shouts of Haniel must have alerted them. One managed to inject Scarab with some sort of sedative. His vision went dark and everything felt fuzzy.
…
Scarab hadn’t been awake for most of the Seraphims’ decision making. He moved in and out of consciousness, hearing talk of Hell, a prince, and the mortal realm. Whatever drug they had used on him was preventing him from moving and everything sounded like it was coming from another room entirely.
It felt like his brain had turned to mush, hardly able to recall why he was here. He never slept, so why was he doing it now?
He was only barely able to keep his eyes open long enough to catch sight of Michael and Gabriel conversing in hushed whispers, and he could have sworn he saw Evangeline leave the room.
But before he could have any more time to think about this, he drifted off into a light sleep yet again. He felt someone taking his hand and a burning pain that followed, but it was like his body didn’t want to put in the effort to react.
And he was sent away without so much as a goodbye.
…
Scarab pushed his face off of the tree, finally feeling himself wake up. “Ugh, shit…” He hadn’t realized he’d drifted off.
A sharp rustling of leaves came from his right and he jumped, reaching for his staff only to realize he no longer had it. He looked around frantically, freezing once he saw movement. But it was just a squirrel, bounding its way to the nearest tree.
He relaxed his shoulders, his heart still beating rapidly. That was embarrassing.
So this was great. They had taken his staff, his mask, and gave him a weird ring mark. Speaking of which, it had started glowing a soft silvery-blue.
He jumped as a string formed, weaving its way further into the forest. It was attached to his ring marking, and it certainly moved like a normal string when he moved his hand up and down, but when he tried to grab it and pull it, his hand simply phased through it.
He frustratedly pawed at it again and again but it didn’t work.
“Goddamnit,” he said, focusing back on how it led further into the forest. If he wanted to find out what the deal was with this thing, he’d have to follow it. And he had nothing better to do.