imagine azreal developing a relationship with a dead human who finds out what he did and his reaction to them feeling utterly betrayed
Not because he wanted to, but because if anyone deserves to know the truth, it’s you. He’s never been a very good liar.
Darkness had already fallen in the Dead Lands, leaving only pale, green hanging lanterns to illuminate the Eternal Throne’s courtyard and cast everything in an eerier light than it’s used to. Although night has long since fallen and most of the undead residents have retired to their quarters, finished with their duties for the day, there’s one who remains, sitting on rickety, wooden steps that lead up to the throne room, picking at the dead skin around their knuckles.
You’re only a recently deceased. A couple of decades or so, and you’re still getting used to being undead. It wasn’t so bad after a while, especially once you met Azrael and started one of the biggest scandals in the history of Heaven.
An angel and an undead - together?
More than just a few eyebrows were raised.
You were lucky that Azrael’s standing - and your reputation for being the Lord of Bone’s unofficial favourite - provided enough protection for you both. Nobody would touch you, not even angelic zealots.
But tonight, your mind is far from your strange relationship with an archangel. Tonight, it’s preoccupied by the news that came about an hour before sunset from a dishevelled and frantic Ostegoth. Under normal circumstances, the old goat brought glad tidings. Tonight however, he came to deliver a blow that brought you to your knees.
Earth is gone. Lost to the demon hordes who invaded without warning and tore the planet asunder.
Mankind didn’t stand a chance.
Distraught, confused, filled with more questions than you knew what to do with, you slumped onto the stairs and there, you’ve stayed, staring dead-eyed into nothingness. Draven tried to comfort you, of course. But he’s been dead for too long. He’s forgotten the love he used to have for his own kind and so, he left you alone to grieve. All you could do was sit there, willing your decaying body to regrow it’s tear ducts so that you might be afforded the satisfaction of being able to cry.
Around you, the old, floating ship creaks and groans softly, the only noise to break the heavy silence that’s settled like snow over the courtyard. Until….
“Angel scum! State your business!”
Slowly, your baleful eyes blink, honing in on their surroundings again as your quiet rumination is interrupted by a sudden shout from one of the guards.
An angel in the Eternal Throne?
It isn’t just a rare sight, it’s damn near unheard of.
Before Corruption blocked the way, you would come and go freely from The Dead Plains to the White City to visit Azrael in his tower. You enjoyed the change of scenery, and the look on the guards’ faces when an undead turns up at the pearly gates never fails to delight.
So when Azrael - of all angels - glided in through the entrance, you already knew something wasn’t right, even before you noticed the look on his face. He never comes here.
The sight of him is enough to drag you momentarily from the dark pit you’ve been swallowed up by.
“Azrael!” You’re on your feet in a flash, sprinting across the training circle towards the gate and almost throwing Samson out of the way. The undead guard reaches out to haul you back, but falters as you leap up at the robed figure and throw your arms around his neck, no longer self conscious about the old, musty smell that seems to linger about you persistently.
“You heard about Earth?” you choke, burying your nasal bone into soft, white hair.
That must be why he’s come here. Why else would he come all this way other than to offer you comfort? He’s always trying to look after you, even when you don’t want him to.
Wings as pristine and white as ever, in spite of the darkness, sweep around to his front, cocooning you in a gentle embrace and his arms cling to your back, slender fingers finding the notches of your exposed spine and sliding between them.
“Y/n…” Something is definitely wrong. His voice is strained and frail, as though he’s afraid of using it. “Please, I must speak with you swiftly. Time is of the essence.”
Brow bones knitting together, you pull away and drop back onto the ground to regard him properly. “What is it?”
Azrael’s eyes dart over to Samson, whose fingers are curled threateningly around the hilt of his sword. “Ah..It is also a matter of privacy.”
You throw Samson an apologetic look and take up Azrael’s hand, leading him back across the courtyard in the direction of the undercroft. “Sorry Sam. Cover for me?”
The old guard glares mistrustfully at the angel, teeth working together like a grindstone. But he owes you for not ratting him out when the Chancellor demanded to know who filled his quarters with broodlings. So, begrudgingly, he releases his weapon with a huff and grunts, “Fine.”
“Thanks Sam.” You flash him a skeletal grin, which he waves away and goes back to leaning grumpily against the wooden beam he’d previously occupied, mumbling something about ‘kids these days.’
Down in the undercroft, you spin around to face the angel, stepping closer to his chest and giving him a weary smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” you murmur, “I could really use a friend right now.”
Suddenly, Azrael tugs himself out of your grip and drifts back a few steps, glancing around, warily studying the shadows that remain untouched by lamp light. “Az?” You tilt your head to the side. “Is something wrong?”
His head falls to his chest for a moment before he looks up and purses his lips into a thin line, staring intently at you. “Earth….” is all he utters.
“Y-yeah…Earth. I know what happened….Ostegoth told me.”
To your surprise, Azrael shakes his head. “No, you don’t….you can’t know what happened - what really happened.”
At the sight of your befuddled expression, he exhales softly and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I have to tell you something. Before I’m….” Azrael’s eyes open, sad and drooping like his wings. “I know what happened to Earth. And it isn’t what you’ve been told.”
“What are you talking about?” You reach out to grasp his hand but when you do, he flinches away, shaking his head again.
“I…nearly daren’t come here to tell you…I’m only putting you in more danger by doing so but if anyone deserves to know the truth, it’s you.”
“Azrael,” you back away from him. The hushed tone, the darting eyes, the fact that he came here…. “Az, you’re scaring me.”
“It’s my fault,” he whispers, quieter than the breath of a ghost.
In an instant, you jump to comfort, because that’s what you do. It’s what you always do when he’s in some kind of distress. All you seem to care about is soothing the turmoil of his soul. Creator above, he doesn’t deserve you.
“No, no,” you murmur, sweeping forwards to lift one of his wings out of the dust, hooking it over your arm and stroking the ruffled feathers down with your other hand. “I don’t know what happened, but it’s not your fault.”
He almost laughs aloud. How could you know?
How could you possibly know..
In as soft a voice as he can, terrified that ears might be listening even down here, he tells you, “Abaddon…came to me. He had a plan, to break the seven seals. To begin the End War-” He looks at you like a man on the brink of madness. “-before its time.”
You don’t like where this is going. Letting go of the angel’s wing, you let your arms drop to the sides but don’t say anything, too enraptured by his urgency to interrupt. He supposes he ought to be grateful. “We were only supposed to destroy the Dark Ones….Earth was never meant to suffer so….”
Your jaw clenches tightly. “We? What do you mean ‘we?’ Did Abaddon start the war? Are you protecting him?” The angelic commander and Azrael had always been close friends.
“He wanted to win the war. He began us on this path but I am not protecting him, I -”
Suddenly, you interrupt, carding your fingers through non-existent hair, a hysterical laugh bubbling up your throat. “Azrael, if he broke the seals, then he’s…my god, he’s accountable for the genocide of my entire-!”
“I’M THE ONE WHO BROKE THE SEALS!”
Azrael’s shout startles you, in that he….never shouts. Never once in the years you’ve known him has the soft-spoken angel raised his voice. To hear him do so now almost shocks you more than what he’d actually said.
“But they were reforged!” he continues, his hands now gracefully stretching out towards you through the gloom, only this time, it’s your turn to recoil. “We reforged the seals. All were to believe that Hell’s legions invaded the Earth, but Heaven’s hand delivered them to justice. We thought we were serving the light.”
His words suddenly click in your mind, fitting together like a puzzle piece. Slowly, you back away from him towards a corner, staring up into his silvery eyes with hurt dawning behind yours.
“You…what did you say?” Your voice is quieter than a whisper.
“I…broke…the seals,” he breathes raggedly, as though this is the first time he’s said it aloud and he’s only just realising the significance of what he’s done. “Abaddon asked me to, and I knew - I knew, it wouldn’t end the way he wanted it to….But, I did it anyway. Hell marched on Earth and won because of us….because of me…We were blinded by our own hubris.” His large wings droop miserably on the ground, stirring up dust with every twitch and flutter, sullying the once snow-white feathers. Azrael looks up at you then, his mouth opening, ready to speak. But whatever words he wants to say, he can’t seem to find. So instead, he bows his head and furrows his eyebrows, gently murmuring, “Y/n….I am so sorry.”
There’s a tired rage swelling inside you. The kind of anger that occurs when you’ve been too trodden-down by bad things to have the energy to be destructive or wrathful. All that’s left is a fed up, exhausted fury and a terrible pain in your chest, where a heart once stood beating.
“You should be.” Voice trembling, you turn your head and glare at the angel with cold hatred burning like a pyre in your white eyes. Even though he knows he has no right to be, he’s still taken aback. You’ve never looked so….frightening. Stringy hair - once so vibrant and full - now hangs limp over your skull, lips long having since rotted away to reveal a permanent grin that used to enchant him, but now only serves to disturb. “You knew,” you hiss dangerously. “You knew Earth wouldn’t survive if things went wrong..”
Crestfallen, a mere shadow of the magnificent angel he used to be, Azrael nods. “I….I did.”
In a flash, you’ve crossed the room again, slamming into the angel and pinning him against a wall, your arm across his throat and a blade pressed to his gut. But he doesn’t fight back. His eyes bore into yours, pleading. For what, exactly? Mercy? Deliverance? It’s difficult to know for sure, he looks so….
“Then why?” you wheeze, pressing harder into his neck, “Why would you….do it? My people are dead! Because of you.” The blade creaks under your crushing grip and tears at the fabric of his teal robes. “You’re a monster…I should kill you.”
Patient, always so infinitely patient, Azrael sighs, slouching in your grip. “Perhaps…that would be best.”
Snapping your teeth close enough to taste his flesh, you repeat, voice quavering, “I should kill you!”
….So why haven’t you yet?
Because this is the same angel who’d let you sit in his favourite chair and read books while he worked until the early hours of morning? The same angel who gently held you each and every time grief threatened to overtake you for the first decade following your death. The same one who carried you into his own bed chamber when you were mortally wounded by an angelic beast, his wings fluttering in distress as he tried to reassure you that you’d be alright.
You lean closer, feeling the tip of your weapon finally break through the first layer of his delicate skin. The angel’s eyelid twitches, though otherwise, he doesn’t make a move to stop you. Your teeth bared mere inches from his face, your elbow cutting him off from taking a breath, you’re so close to just ending him, right here, right now. All those people, children, animals, the defenceless and innocent. They didn’t deserve to die, not like that. Someone has to pay!
Bellowing out an agonised roar, you suddenly yank the sword out of his stomach and hurl it to your right, hearing the resounding ‘thwack’ as it sticks into a wooden beam. At the same time, you drop your other arm to grab at his collar and throw him forcefully towards the stairs. His wings brush you as he stumbles to stay upright and you have to resist the urge to tear out some of his feathers. Azrael turns to face you, genuine surprise flickering across his features. ‘Audacious prick.’
Seething, you jab a finger up at his face. “You were supposed to be the good one. The….the one good thing I had, and now I-” You cut yourself off with a sob, ironic, considering there are no tears to spill. “Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to feel your heart breaking, when it hasn’t even beat for thirty years?”
He dares to breathe your name but you shut him up with a firm hand held into the air, fingers splayed wide and eyes trained on the ground as you spit darkly, “Get out of my sight…..”
Azrael hesitates, perhaps unsatisfied with the ending to your rendezvous. Well, what did he expect? Instant forgiveness? No, he’s too wise and too old to be so naive. More than likely, he has something he still wants to say. “Y/n, I need you to know that I-”
“I don’t want to hear it, you wretched man! I don’t want to see you, hear you, feel you. I’d cut out my heart if I thought it would help. To know that it used to love you?…I can’t bear it!”
“I AM NOT YOUR FRIEND! Get out!”
Why is he still here? Doesn’t he realise you want nothing to do with him anymore?
After a long moment in which he simply stares at you, invisible tendrils of warm magic reaching out to brush tentatively at you only to be shoved away by your sheer force of will, the archangel turns, his foot finding the first step when he pauses. Without looking back at you, he calmly, measuredly murmurs, “One last time. I must tell you before I leave. It’ll kill me if I don’t…I love you.”
Only a deafening, condemning silence greets his ears. A silence that tells him everything you have to say. His too-large heart swells and screeches, vying for the forgiveness it so desperately craves from the one it cares about most, but he says nothing further.
With that, Azrael neatly folds his wings and walks, rather than flies up the steps and out into the courtyard, never to return. Maybe he could seek out the Keeper of Oblivion, beg to be cast into the inky void, if only to be spared the memory of the betrayal that darkened your pretty face.
Only after several minutes have passed and the creaking of the ship can be heard over the frenzied screams in your mind do you allow yourself to collapse onto your knees, bones rattling noisily as they hit the dirt. Trembling fingers find your face and you hold them there, one hand clamped down over your mouth and the other gripping the side of your head.
It’s morning when Draven finds you down in the dark, still in the same position and shaking like a dry, dead leaf. The undead blademaster hauls you into his arms and takes you back to your quarters, settling you on the dusty cot as he tries to coax a response out of you. But you don’t speak. You don’t say a word.
For the life of you, you can’t fathom why you’d remain silent to protect a man you don’t love anymore.
