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"Sinners!"
Gabriel’s voice booms over the Ocean Styx. Silence passes. Then - the storming ocean stirs, and something moves under the remains of a half-sunk ferry. A snakelike hulk of flesh then bursts from the storming sea, a colossal collection of the bodies of sinners linked together by flesh, bone, and sculptured faces. A sea serpent.
The Leviathan at the end of the world.
Its head, a morbid combination of faces and tangled limbs, hovers forward to stare down the angel in front of it. Gabriel, minuscule compared to the hulking creature, crosses his arms as his wings beat steadily, meeting its gaze.
Prophecy foretold of such a beast, but Gabriel didn’t expect it so soon after the death of humanity. He senses both mortal and demonic energy - a product of the Sullen at the bottom of the Ocean Styx. It will only grow longer, he realizes.
"Return to the bottom of the ocean," he commands. "This grotesque form you all take... I allow you to punish yourselves as you please. But now you interfere with the affairs of Hell." He looks to the wrecked ferry below them. "And by virtue interfere with the Lord’s holy workings. Leave! Now."
The Leviathan stares, seeming to regard him for half a moment. Then, it opens its mouth, revealing an amalgamation of jagged teeth, and lets out an ear-shattering roar.
"So be it," Gabriel growls. He uncrosses his arms to catch a golden spear materialized in his hands. "Then face the power of His will!"
He raises his spear - then hears the rush of water behind him. Before he can turn, the Leviathan’s tail bashes him in the back, slapping him from the air and sending him plunging into the ocean.
The beast is already bigger than he realized.
Water rushes into Gabriel’s ears. By the time he comes to his senses, he’s falling. No - he’s sinking. He’s sinking fast, the momentum of the Leviathan’s attack sending him deeper. Wrath’s sinners brush past him with outstretched hands. Just before he can teleport away, though - he suddenly hits something - something sharp, something that bites into his side and tears deep.
He gasps, and his mouth fills with water already flooding inside his helm. By the Light of his body he sees what he landed on - a jagged mass of rock. No surprise there are hidden hazards like this here, buried under souls that turned the River Styx into what it was now, but as a thick trail of red seeps out his side it’s hardly the first thing on his mind.
Then, like blood-sniffing sharks, they come. Sinner’s hands grab his arms, his wings, his legs. They dig into the fresh tear in his side and pull him further open. Gabriel feels his skin tear, hears his flesh ripping like paper. Endless bodies come closer, closer, threatening to crush him the way they did each other. Seawater fills his throat before he can think to scream.
His fists clench. His teeth grit. His eyes fly open.
Enough.
With renewed strength he kicks his legs out, pushes his wings upward, and Light bursts from his body. A column of divine Light appears from sky to sea, and he quickly teleports away - leaving only his afterimage for the souls of Wrath to assail.
When he reappears - he’s over the ocean once more. He gasps for breath as he regains his balance, wings flapping erratically and water pouring from his helm. The Leviathan waits, anticipating him, circling the column through the water. Something cracks on top of its head. Gabriel, still panting, watches as a flayed humanoid form breaks through bone like a hatching chick. It’s the heart, he realizes - souls of the Sullen packed into one writhing form. Their flesh shifts, pulsates under visible muscle and sinew in wet squelches. They stretch their hands out, several voices moaning all at once, and start to crawl out of their own body.
He can hear them whisper.
"Blood."
"The jailor bleeds."
"Angels bleed."
"We can hurt him."
"Can he be drowned?"
"Can he be chewed to pieces and swallowed?"
Gabriel feels something warm pour freely down his side. Teeth grit under his helm, not unlike the way the Leviathan hungrily gnashed at him now. He stares it down. Forces his breath to slow. Forces his wings calm, his posture straight. Forces himself to ignore the screaming sting in his skin.
"You want to eat an angel, now?" Gabriel lifts his chin, tone bleeding with derision. Another divine spear materializes in his hand. "Your hunger blinds you in death as much as your fury did in life. A vessel of God does not fall so easily."
A second spear appears - then another, and another. He shifts two into each hand. Then, his wings push forward and he suddenly shoots skyward. Just before the heart fully claws their way through, the light of four divine spears rocket through the air and piece their back, pinning it back against the Leviathan’s head.
Both body and souls scream in agony. The heart writhes in an attempt to free itself, screaming with their thousand voices. Like lighting, Gabriel appears again. He grabs them by the throat.
"Your punishment was decided long ago," he snarls. His fingers press into warped flesh and elicits further shrieks. "Do not further tempt my judgment. Or your torment now will seem like a mercy."
In one of Heaven’s lush gardens, a small soul lifts the tassels of Gabriel’s cuirass and traces over a faint scar on his side.
"What’s this one?" They ask in a small voice.
"Ah, that." Gabriel smiles. He shifts on the edge of the small fountain he sits on, balancing the child on his knee with a careful hand over their back. Several other young angels gather eagerly to see the scar for themselves. He had entertained them with battle stories for a while now. "A demon gave me that one, though the story doesn’t have much valor to it. Have any of you heard of a Malicious Face?"
The children stare blankly. Some shake their heads.
"Unpleasant things. With unpleasant faces, as you may guess from the name. They look like stone carvings, and I got too close to one thinking it was merely that. Until it caught me in the side—" He lifts a closed hand, pauses, and swiftly flicks his fingers out as if shooting at an invisible foe. "—with a beam of Hell energy."
Several children jump at the gesture. Gabriel chuckles.
"Not very heroic, is it? It was one of my first ventures into Hell, and I was quite young."
"Does it stay... Does it stay closed?"
He looks down at a young girl, not much older than four, clinging to the edge of his left poleyn. "I’m not sure I understand what you mean, young one."
"What would... What if your—"
Gabriel leans forward.
"What if - what if it - if—"
He waits.
"What - what if it opened up again and all your inside stuff fell out?"
He sputters.
"That’s - quite a question." He covers the front of his helm, failing to hide a laugh. "I suppose I’d just have to put it back in. But it’s closed now. See?" He lifts his arm and gestures to his side. "It healed with time, much like how this garden grows."
The girl reaches up to touch the scar for herself. Other younglings clamor around her. Gabriel sighs, content to amuse - and then notices a figure out of the corner of his eye.
A councilor.
"Gabriel."
"Gabriel?"
The angel jolts. The warmth of his memories is quickly replaced with frigid rain on the back of his neck. He notices the sway of a ship under his feet - and someone standing in front of him.
"Gabriel." The Ferryman steps closer, raspy voice laced with worry.
He can’t remember how he got here.
Immediately, he straightens and rests a hand over the hilt of one of his swords, wings folding behind him.
His head is swimming. His side is burning.
"The Leviathan is gone," he says, keeping his voice even. "Your ferry is safe now. We’ve lost the other ship... But it will circle yours no longer."
"I know," they say, now even further concerned. "You just told me."
"Oh." Gabriel blinks. A beat. He then turns towards the bow of the ship. "Then I will stay here awhile, ensure it doesn’t return."
"You said that as well." The Ferryman quickly circles around to meet his face again. "I asked if you were alright."
No.
"Of course. Why?"
"Gabriel," the husk insists. "Look at yourself."
Gabriel hesitates. Finally, finally, he looks down - something he refused to give the Leviathan the satisfaction of earlier. The jagged tear sits just below his ribs, long and deep, just along an old scar from his youth.
(does it stay closed?)
Wrath’s sinners had pulled it apart like a mouth. Leaning forward and bringing a hand to his hip, Gabriel sees the divine glow of his flesh - the Light (your inside stuff) in his body pulsing faintly. A thick stream of blood (falling out) still pours down his hips, his tassets, his leg - pooling by his foot. Little wonder why it burned.
"Ah." Gabriel brings his hand away, forcing a smile in his voice. "It may look worrying, my friend, but it will heal. Angel bodies—" He shifts to cross his arms, unintentionally letting out a grunt. "—repair themselves much faster than mortals."
The Ferryman stares. Even with their face hidden, Gabriel knows they’re unconvinced.
"You’re in pain," they insist again. "You’re breathing heavily." (He is? Gabriel listens to himself. ...Ah. So he is.) "You swayed when you landed, when you thought I wasn’t watching. Please. Forgive me for hounding you, but let me bandage this. To ease my concern, if anything. It is the least I can do for your rescue."
Gabriel’s smile thins.
Was he that obvious?
"I...suppose I should not bleed all over your ship."
The Ferryman’s shoulders relax, and they motion to the main door. Gabriel follows. As he reaches the door, however, he looks out the transom, and notices gathered souls - some of the last of humanity’s unsorted sinners - hunched over and huddled inside the ferry’s antechamber. He stops.
(the jailor bleeds)
His bloody footprints, half-diluted by rain, trail behind him.
"...Ferryman. Is there a…more private entrance?"
"It took me some time to find you."
Gabriel and the councilor walk side by side down the garden, passing under a line of willow trees.
"I see you still consort with humans."
The barely-disguised disdain in the word 'human' doesn’t go unnoticed. "They’re children, Councilor," Gabriel says. He looks over his shoulder, glancing through willow branches at the small angels scampering around the fountain. "God’s children."
"God’s indeed," the councilor answers reservedly. Down the path, they pass a long row of hyacinths - blues, whites, purples, and pinks. The councilor leans down and runs a prudent hand over a white stalk. "I haven’t seen these flowers in their gardens before... Have they been in our courts?"
"Ah." Gabriel folds his arms behind his back. "I gave them seeds. A mortal soul asked me if Heaven had hyacinths. He lost a daughter at a young age in life..." He glances at the children in the distance, nodding toward the girl who asked him about his scar. "...and told me hyacinths were her favorite flowers. I brought him seeds from our courts to grow here."
The councilor straightens, silent.
"...Was this wrong of me?"
He shakes his head. "No. But a mortal demanding flowers, of all things? After all that we provide them already?"
"He didn’t demand, only asked."
He hums. Gabriel knows he’s not convinced, much less listening, but he knew better than to press the issue.
"You’re needed in the high court. The Council has a new order for you. However...there’s something I’d like to say here, right now."
Like the little girl, the councilor lifts Gabriel’s tassels and regards his scar.
"Victory does not come without struggle, or scars. But you would be wise not to discuss such things amongst mortals." He glances through the willows. "Greed’s insurrection was not long ago. They already think us weak after our absence in Hell. Scars, however small, may give them the idea that you - that WE - are touchable. Do you understand, Gabriel?"
Gabriel glances at the fountain.
"...Yes, holy Councilor."
Inside the ship, Gabriel lays on his side on a wooden table as the Ferryman leans over him. He takes slow breaths as small, consistent tugs pull at him - the husk’s phalanges working through his wound with a suture and needle.
"Really, Ferryman. This is unnecessary," Gabriel says, glance flicked over to his armor set nearby. Blood on the leg pieces shine in flickering candlelight. "A bandage would suffice."
"The wound is wide, my lord," the Ferryman says mildly. "You would soak through the gauze."
Gabriel sighs, forcing himself to find patience, and drops his head as the Ferryman stitches him back together. The needle works through him. Skin slowly pulls back into its proper place. Body heavy and tired against the table. He’s never had stitches before. He’s not sure what to think of it after millennia of divine healing. Anything severe, like this, was endured until his angelic body repaired itself. It made him feel - strange. Humbled.
Uncomfortably vulnerable.
Thankfully, the Ferryman didn’t take long to finish sewing. Gabriel sits up when prompted and lifts his arms to let the husk clean his skin and wrap a tight bandage around his stomach.
"You’ve done this before," he notes, quietly burying his discomfort. "You’re quite skilled."
"Mmh." They shake their head as they tie a knot at the end of the gauze. "I'm no doctor. In life I had to learn these things ad hoc at sea. Being a fisherman came with a surprising amount of peril, especially when you could only rely on yourself and a handful of men."
"Then that is even more impressive, to learn in such a way." The angel stands. He runs a light hand over his side, feeling the slight bump of stitches under his bandages. "Thank you."
They nod. "It is an honor to aid you," they say with a smile in their voice. "Even to...to see the flesh of an angel, it’s—"
Gabriel snaps up sharply in the Ferryman’s direction, and they stop and stare back. Silence. Before they can ask, the angel takes two large, threatening steps towards them.
The motion makes him dizzy.
"Why?" he demands, ignoring his own swimming head.
(they already think us weak)
The Ferryman stiffens, clinging to gauze and scissors in their bloody fingers. Despite being taller than the angel, who stares up with such instant ire and imputation, the husk cowers over him.
Looking down, however, they notice a near-imperceptible tremble in his stomach.
"Speak your meaning plainly," Gabriel commands.
That barely-there shudder is in his voice too.
"...Angels, you—" They swallow, despite the lack of a throat. "I have great admiration for the divine form. Especially next to one as sinful as mine, even after taking apart my own flesh. You know how I ruined my body with drink, how I ruined it further after my daughter’s death..." (hyacinths) "...that I would drunkenly proselytize in front of cathedrals..."
They run a hand down their arm and cling to their wrist. "I’m prattling. What I mean to say is... The way your Light persists even inside you - it is beautiful. I only admired it as I treated you. If this is a sin, please. Forgive me. I meant no offense."
Gabriel stares. Seconds pass under his imperceptible gaze, long enough that the Ferryman nearly begs for response. Then, his body - the one that Ferryman admired so much, the one he fights against even now - deflates.
"...No, it is not a sin." He looks down and steps away with a slow breath. There’s something to be said for how the Ferryman appreciated his body, but he’s too tired to put it into words. "I reacted harshly. You would not look to take advantage of such knowledge. I know this."
"You thought I would take...?" The Ferryman looks up. "Gabriel, I would never."
He nods. He lays a heavy hand on their shoulder with murmured apology, taking a nearby cloth and crossing the room. Slowly, he sits down with his armor, and starts to clean the bloodier pieces. An uncomfortable silence passes. Absently, the Ferryman cleans their own bloody hands. They stare down at the floor for a while, searching for both courage and the right words.
"You should lie down," they finally manage. "At least rest."
"Angels have no need of rest," Gabriel says absently, wiping down his cuisses.
"My offer still stands. I am happy to lodge you awhile."
Gabriel glances up at them from the corner of his eye.
"...You know,” they continue. "These sinners are destined for Limbo. You make appearances there, do you not? When you feel—when you’d like, they could meet the one that saved our ferry. That would pass the time."
And, hopefully, ease Gabriel into the idea of relaxing.
The angel looks to the door leading out of the Ferryman’s private room. Normally, he would spurn the notion of entertaining the average sinner. But, for once, Hell’s rigidity is not the first thing on his mind. He thinks to the cowering souls in the lobby. He glances at his side.
(...that you - that WE - are touchable)
"...No. Not like this."
The Ferryman pauses. "I have an idea, if you’ll indulge me."
Gabriel looks up and tilts his head. The husk holds up a finger, then steps out the door. Minutes later, they return with a heavy cloth in their hands.
"I had saved this for a carving..." They look up at Gabriel, holding up the length and measuring his height against it. It’s a cape, blue silk with a gold floral trim. "But I think it will suit the real Gabriel just fine."
There’s a smile in the Ferryman’s thin voice. Gabriel takes a handful of silk and runs his fingers over the stitching. Could he handle an audience now? The angel had to actively resist leaning into the warm cloth the Ferryman cleaned with minutes ago. And he already failed to keep up appearances with the one husk in front of him. And yet…
Maybe he could shake off this (touchable) feeling.
"Let’s fetch my armor."
"What?" The Ferryman lifts their veiled head. "You don’t have to now. Only when you...wanted to."
"I want to now," Gabriel answers firmly, a smile in his tired voice. "It’s beautiful cloth. I think I understand your idea."
The Ferryman curses internally. This wasn’t their idea when they suggested it. They weren’t trying to give him an avenue to prove something he didn’t need to. They should have suggested a book, or music, or—
"Will you help me?"
A beat.
"Yes. Of course."
Reluctantly, the Ferryman gets to work. They help Gabriel into his cuirass first, then circle around to sweep the cape over his bare shoulders. Fixing a brooch to his front, they tug the cloth to ensure it hid his sides. Satisfied when it does, they work his pauldrons, his cuisses, and the rest of his armor back on.
When they’re finished, Gabriel looks over himself, lifting an arm and watching silk move with him. He huffs a laugh.
"I haven’t dressed in anything like this since..." he trails off, shaking his head, thinking back to grand dinners he’d been summoned to. He turns to the Ferryman. "Well, then. How do I look?"
"Hmh." They think. "Heroic."
That part, at least, isn’t a lie. One garment alone added something royal and valiant to him. And he DOES seem to perk a little, even if they can still hear the exhaustion in his voice.
Gabriel goes quiet at that, though. He lowers his arm and hums. "Maybe," he says, dubious.
The husk tilts their head. They shouldn’t entertain this, much less encourage it, but… They lift his cape and gesture to his side.
"This...is a story of daring. Of the time the archangel Gabriel struck down a Leviathan, and saved the last of humanity. Is that not valorous?"
The last of humanity’s sinners, saved from other sinners, for the sake of ferrying them to their final torments forever. The Ferryman knew how to spin a story, at least.
The kind of story children would like.
"...Yes," Gabriel says. "I suppose so."