Chapter Text
“And what do you have to say for yourself?” his brother Rahatiel asks him, raising an eyebrow. Dazai stands in the center of paradise, quite literally. The court is situated in the middle of a grand silver building, housing the omnipotent all powerful presence - God himself - and his loyal angels. The throne, however, is barren and stands looming on the far side of the room: large, threatening, and silver. With steps leading up, it stands atop a high platform, allowing whoever sits in it to look down upon the entire room. Its emptiness seems to mock Dazai, as if to say how unimportant he is in the grand scheme of things. God couldn’t be bothered to show for something as trivial as an angelic trial, and why would he? It’s not as if he’s in any shortage of angels. After all, he can always make more, being almighty and everything.
Dazai knows this has been a long time coming. He’s broken just about every rule in the book. Which in fact, is quite a feat, considering it’s about a thousand page book to begin with. His current theory for said rulebook is that God got so bored he really had nothing better to do than write a thousand wacky rules that he knows are impossible to follow. So many that he likely doesn’t even remember all of them . Dazai smirks, taking a quick glance at all his brethren circled around him, as well as a few souls who were probably bored in paradise and came to see what the commotion was about.
“I’d say this meeting is becoming quite dull.” Dazai gestures around the room. “See? You’ve already droned on and on about nearly every rule I’ve broken. Which really, is such a long list that we’ve drawn this affair out long enough to put everyone to sleep,” he makes a pointed glance to their sister Ariel, who’s nodding off in the front row. “You look tired too, brother, so why don’t you just get on with it already?”
Rahatiel scowls at him from his podium, and he has a fleeting thought that he may come to miss irritating him. He almost always overreacts, and the rebellious angel finds it quite entertaining. It’s cheap, sure, but when you’ve been around since the beginning of time, you have to find some creative ways to keep yourself from getting bored. “You’re about to lose your position as an archangel, be cast out of heaven, and damned for all eternity, and all you can think is how it’s taking too long?!” Rahatiel’s voice is loud and brash now, and the crowd perks up. Out of the corner of his eye Dazai notices Ariel waking with a jolt.
Suppressing a laugh at the way his brother’s silver eyebrow twitches on his wonderfully angry face, Dazai simply shrugs. With a scoff and a flip of his long silver hair, Rahatiel clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. Dazai thinks he sees a hint of melancholy in the archangel’s eyes when he finally makes a deflated sigh, but it’s gone before he has time to analyze it. Perhaps his brother will miss his relentless teasing? Eh, unlikely. Dazai quickly lets the thought flee his mind. During the time Rahatiel takes to ‘get on with it’, Dazai observes his surroundings one last time. He takes in the rows upon rows of scornful faces lining the amphitheater and looking down on him. The vaulted ceiling molded with stained glass and ornate carvings of his siblings and exalted saints, as if they needed to see each other more than they already do. And finally, he takes in the marble floors, painted with gold circles and patterns, surrounding him, all pointing to the spot he stands on display in the very center.
“Very well. Although, I hope you know you aren’t about to leave unscathed,” Rahatiel says. “Angelic law dictates you receive a thousand lashes from the enforcers before being cast out.”
Dazai’s eyes widen. Goddamnit. Literally. He completely forgot about the lashes. How could he forget? He loathes pain. And he’s about to be in tons of it. There haven’t been many times the man has actually had to be in pain, but every time he has, it’s the worst. Mortals can’t hurt angels, (at least not long-term; their wounds heal quickly with no lasting damage) so every time he’s felt pain has been because he managed to really piss off one of his siblings. He suddenly realizes that his siblings must have been quite slow to use violence, seeing as he annoyed them basically all the time.
“Ah, right, can’t have me falling to earth without beating me up first. But in that case, wouldn’t it just be easier to kill me? I’d rather be put to death quickly… strangled, if possible.” He contemplates this for a second or two. “Oh, and if you could also destroy my soul while you’re at it, I’d really appreciate that.”
“Kill you?” Rahatiel rolls his eyes. “Please, Osamu. As if we’d let you die-- that’s far too easy. Everyone knows the severity of your crimes require a punishment far worse than death.” Rahatiel then calls several angels forward. “Go ahead, take him away.”
Damnit. Dazai sighs. Well, it was worth a shot. Within a few seconds several angels are surrounding him, yanking him by the rope binding his hands together to the site of his punishment. They lead him to the edge of the city, and they pass straight through the town center, where a lush green courtyard sits in the middle of large, silver architecture. The buildings are all spacious and impersonal, larger than life, with teardrop shaped domes and massive marble pillars disappearing into the sky. The souls chatting and having tender reunions with long lost family all pause to gawk at the angel being led to his doom. As he walks through the stone pathway in the middle of the courtyard, Dazai simply flashes his onlookers a wry smile, as if to say good riddance. Beyond the town square, the ground opens up to perfectly beautiful plantlife with palm trees, mini waterfalls, and every type of flower imaginable. The grass is soft on his feet, and the mist that never seems to leave the ground here forms dewdrops on the leaves. When they finally reach the edge, the mist condenses into fog and milky white nothingness as far as the eye can see-- the borderline of reality and the abyss. A lone pillar stands in the midst of the fog, and the angels tie his bound hands to it, restricting his movement. He stands there for a minute, head down, and then can’t help but tremble a little when he sees his brethren approaching him with massive barbed whips. He quickly tears his eyes away, focusing instead on the magnificent silver city in the background that he will never return to, and grits his teeth.
He hears a few onlookers gasp when the whip comes down, no doubt disgusted yet unable to look away when Dazai cries in pain, gasping at the impact. Public humiliation. One of his father’s favorite punishments. He looks at one of his brothers right before the whip hits him again, seeing the calm expression on the angels face fade for a second in remorse.
Dazai’s father also enjoys making others carry out his punishments. The old man’s not a believer in the sentiment of ‘the one who passes the sentence should swing the sword’ . No, he’s a believer of ‘ those who will be most troubled by the sentence should swing the sword’ . Bonus points for family, lovers, and close friends of the culprit. Dazai supposes God always did have a thing for punishing children for their parent’s crimes. Why would it be any different in heaven?
As he coughs out blood and watches it run down his sides, Dazai knows what his siblings are thinking: this might be me next. His assailants leave no part of his body untouched save his face, and long, terrible streams of red are pouring out of every inch of his stomach and back. Despite the blood loss, he won’t die from this. No, that would be too nice. Too humane. Instead, with a body that’s nearly unkillable, he’s doomed to suffer among mortals and the damned for eternity. A wry laugh bubbles up in his throat and he nearly feels giddy at the ridiculousness of it all. What kind of sick bastard makes it a rule to dole out one thousand lashes to an angel he doesn’t care about, for breaking rules he doesn’t care about?
Who does this sick fuck think he is? A god, or something?!
Oh, wait.
Maybe Dazai’s just going insane. But mortals. Ugh. He hopes they’re not all as morose as the dead ones in heaven.
At some point his fluffy, white wings unfold, as if on instinct or a fight or flight response, trying to carry him away from the pain. But almost immediately those wings are hit with an abundance of whips and blood and quickly return to their folded, invisible position. His body is more or less numb now, and he hears yelling, someone screaming in pain for a few minutes before he realizes it’s his own voice. Forcing his eyes open for a split second he sees that his white pants are stained red and ripped as well, before he squeezes them shut again. Probably best not to look.
After what felt like an eternity, and Dazai is pretty sure he lost consciousness at some point, he jolts awake when feels his body slump to the ground and blinks slowly. His assailants whips are put away, and he vaguely sees wet streaks on some of their faces. It takes him a minute, with his muddled half conscious brain to realize they’re tears. That’s right.... It’s been a few thousand years since someone was cast out of heaven like this, hasn’t it? Dazai can’t really remember right now.
He doesn’t get the luxury of relishing in the fact that his siblings don’t want to hurt him, because he’s quickly yanked back to his feet and dragged out of the pearly gates, never to return. He hears someone saying something about being cursed and damned and shall “never see the wonders of paradise or feel the love of God again” before he’s shoved off the edge of their world. The last thing he sees is Rahatiel’s solemn face, and blood stained white robes, before he loses consciousness again and falls, falls, falls.
He comes to when his body tumbles through trees and he briefly notes he acquired new cuts from sharp branches and leaves brushing the side of his face and past his right eye. With a heavy thud, his body crashes onto the forest floor. It’s painful, but hey, at least he didn’t land in the middle of the ocean. That’d be a real hassle to get out of.
His torn-up body isn’t listening to him, but after several attempts and stumbles, he manages to stand up. He smacks a mosquito that landed on his fresh wound and winces. He’d nearly forgotten those were a thing. The air is hot and muggy, and seems to suffocate him, exacerbating his wounds. Dazai might never have found heaven to be the paradise it’s made out to be, but hell if it wasn’t a major improvement from earth.
Ah, earth . This place again?
Yes, that’s where he is now. He briefly wonders what God was thinking when he created mosquitoes and gnats. To torture the humans? Dazai never understood why God was so adamant about protecting a place he literally never visits that’s full of mortals he doesn’t care about. The bugs are drawn to his glistening red wounds, and he frantically waves them away to the best of his ability, slowly going more frustrated with each passing second. After a few minutes of flailing and scrambling in a strange sort of pained dance, he realizes it’s a futile effort and groans, trudging forward. The dirt is full of debris he can’t see very well, and wood splinters his already aching feet. Dazai lets out an unintelligible mixture of laughter and groaning as his brain grows fuzzier and fuzzier with pain and fatigue. The old man truly is a sadist. Must be where he gets it from.
His wings unfold and he grimaces in pain. He’s certainly not fit to fly in this condition. So he trudges and limps through the dark forest, unable to see much except the ground in front of him from the shards of moonlight scattering through the canopies. After several hours of walking, or what felt like several hours - Dazai’s not exactly sure - he reaches the end of that seemingly never ending forest and rolls to the ground with a cry of relief. In the distance, there are lights from what he guesses is a human settlement and Dazai plans to go there when he gets up again. Which will be in just a minute, after he rests his aching bones. Just a minute… but the stars look pretty, the grass feels soft, and his eyelids are very heavy… And soon enough, he succumbs to sleep.
It’s the summer solstice, and the community is abuzz with anticipation of the festivities to come. Children running around in garbs and frocks, laughing, playing. The streets flowing with people walking up the steps of the Great Shrine. You and Chuuya, among the crowd heading to the shrine, greet some old ladies who are drinking elixir and chatting excitedly with bright smiles and waves.
“Well don’t you two look lovely tonight!” a red - cheeked, jolly grandma calls out to you and you stop for a moment to chat with her. She looks better than she has in a while, the dark circles under her eyes all but gone, her usual scowl replaced by a friendly smile, and her sharp eyes are now round, and glassy. “All dressed in your white ceremony clothes.” She reaches out to pinch your cheek and you smile awkwardly. Sister Jones has always been touchy, especially when she’s been drinking elixir. She takes another swig and then her face lights up as she remembers something. “Oh! That’s right! You two are finally old enough to drink the solstice elixir tonight, aren’t you?”
You exchange an excited glance with Chuuya then nod at Sister Jones. “Yep, finally!”
Sister Jones puts her hand to her heart with a wistful expression coming over her features. “Oh dear, you’re going to love it. I remember my first time tasting elixir. What an experience that was! Just be sure you don’t overdo it, and take the Moth Orchid extract before midnight, okay?” She winks slyly.
“Yeah yeah, we know Sis,” Chuuya says lazily, waving off her advice. You shoot him a look at his informal tone. He ignores it. It’s a good thing Sister Jones is already inebriated, or Chuuya might have gotten scolded. “What does it taste like?”
“I can’t tell you that! It’ll spoil half the experience. Let’s just say it’s not what you’d expect.”
Chuuya suppresses an eyeroll and you inwardly agree with his sentiment. Every time you ask, it’s always the same answers. No one will tell you what the effects are, what it will taste like, why it’s so good, or why you need to take the Moth Orchid extract before midnight, and much less what happens if you don’t. It might sound a bit ominous at first glance, but if everyone in the village drinks elixir and loves it, then surely it must be pretty great, right? Or so they say.
With a polite wave, you say goodbye to Sister Jones and continue on your way to the ceremony. A short silence passes over the two of you before Chuuya breaks it.
“Hey, [name].”
“Yeah?”
Chuuya’s lips turn up slightly and his blue eyes get a mischievous glint. “Are you nervous?”
You look over at him, shaking your head. “Pfft, why would I be?”
“We’ve never been to one of these ceremonies before. Who knows what’s waiting for us? What if they make us do some crazy shit?”
You glance around nervously and then turn to glare at Chuuya. “I can’t believe you’re swearing in public again! Remember what happened last time the villagers overheard?” He scoffs and rolls his eyes at you, as if the last time he got caught he didn’t get a public beating. “Seriously, you’ve gotta be more careful.” After a pause, you remember what he asked before you berated him for swearing. “Good question though. I really don’t have any idea what we’ll be doing. I’m not nervous, though.” You stick your tongue out at him and he makes a mocking face back. “Are you?”
“No…” he says, but his voice wavers slightly. Ha. So he is nervous. You debate whether to tease him or reassure him. You end up doing a mixture of both.
“So even the great Chuuya gets scared.” You muse. He scowls, and a light blush dusts his cheeks as he averts his eyes. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like we’re about to get burned at the stake,” you say, but actually, you really just hope that’s not the case.
“Burned at the stake? What is this, the 1600s?” Chuuya shakes his head and chuckles, his fiery hair swaying around his face.
“Exactly. We probably don’t have to worry about stakes or fire.” You give him a smirk as the two of you reach your destination. The large doors of the shrine are heavy, and it takes the two of you to pull one open and the force creates a breeze, ruffling your hair and your ceremonial dress . Inside, there are dim candlelights lining the sides of the walls and a large raised circular platform in the middle with candles perched around it-- the altar. The people are chatting quietly in small clusters, a sea of white around the center. You and Chuuya exchange a glance then move to a corner and try to blend in.
Chuuya looks around, trying to find someone familiar in the crowd of people, then after a moment frowns. “What’s up?” you ask, noticing his expression.
“I don’t see Brother Cambell around.” You furrow your brow and notice that indeed, Chuuya is right. Brother Cambell is nowhere to be seen.
“That’s odd… is he running late?”
“I wouldn’t bet on it. Brother Cambell is never late to activities.” Close by, a woman with long blonde hair turns towards you, having overheard your conversations.
“You didn’t hear?” She asks.
“About what?”
The woman glances around as if to make sure nobody’s watching her, then lowers her voice. “What happened to Brother Cambell.” You and Chuuya exchange worried glances, but shake your heads. “He was excommunicated. I heard he was a demon sympathizer, and someone found a whole bunch of forbidden texts he was hiding.”
“He what?! ” Chuuya exclaims, rather loudly, and the blonde woman immediately shushes him before he attracts any more attention.
“I just can’t believe Brother Cambell would do something like that…” you murmur, a troubled expression coming over your face. “He was always so faithful.”
“That’s why it’s a good thing someone found out before things got worse and he could bring danger to us all. Thank goodness he’s no longer with us. That’s why Father Fyodor always has us keep a close eye out for anything suspicious.” You know she’s probably right, and Brother Cambell did sin, but you can’t help but feel sad that you’ll never see him again. He was always really nice and even brought you dinner when your parents were out.
“That’s bull--” Chuuya starts to say, but is cut off when the music starts to play, and everyone kneels down to signal the beginning of the ceremony. You and Chuuya follow suit, lifting up the edge of your dress so as not to get it dirty as you fall to your knees. A figure emerges from the north of the altar and claps twice. The music stops and everyone in the room begins the opening chant, which is always recited before the high priest enters.
“We ask thee father, to grant us your wisdom and allow us to serve you with everything we have.” You repeat the phrase three times until the person by the altar claps again and the room falls into a tense silence. The high priest then makes his grand entrance, and every person he passes stands and puts their hands to their hearts, to show their respects. Father Fyodor takes his time with the walk, nodding to both sides of the room. The white hat on his head displays your church’s symbol proudly: two S shaped lines stacked on top of each other. His robes are decorated with gold and silver stripes, and he walks with an air of elegance, a certain charismatic grace that sets him apart. He’s designated as high priest and given authority by the Lord himself as the speaker for God’s work on Earth. In your community he’s revered and worshipped, second to only God himself.
After everyone is standing Father Fyodor ascends to the top of the altar and flashes the audience a grin. The candlelights seem to reflect on his pitch black hair, shoulder length locks glinting in the dark room. “My dear lambs, I thank you for coming. Tonight we celebrate the longest day of the year and bask in the holy light, our father in heaven has graced us with. We are reminded that the light was given to those who dedicate themselves to His work, and those who have unwavering faith in Him.”
“We praise His mercy,” the audience answers, but apparently you and Chuuya weren’t given a script for this part, so you both just mumble along, trying to imitate the others.
“Salvation comes to those who are great with His spirit, and remain pure and uncorrupted by the sins of demon kind.”
“We strive to remain pure,” the audience echoes, and again, you and Chuuya are lost.
“It is through our blessings and His mercy that we can begin the ceremony.” Father Fyodor makes a gesture to the crowd, and his arm casts a shadow on the wall behind him. “It is now I ask all those who are new to the ceremony to step forward and embrace the light of summer!”
Everyone except you, Chuuya, and a few other young adults swiftly take their seats, and suddenly you feel both exposed and uneasy. Father Fyodor’s smile widens.
“Come, my dear children, to the altar, and experience the joy of your first taste of elixir!”
You hesitate, just for a moment, and you don’t dare meet Chuuya’s eyes under Father’s watchful gaze. “Yes, Father,” you all reply in unison, and with shaky steps you weave through the crowd until you find yourself face to face with candles and the high priest. Father sends a glance to that same guy who did the clapping, and he disappears and returns not seconds later with a large bottle and silver goblet, which Father Fyodor promptly receives. You watch as the turquoise liquid falls in a steady stream and pools in the goblet.
“Dearest [name], you shall now have your first drink of our elixir,” Father says, meeting your gaze directly with a glint in his eyes that sends shivers down your spine. As you accept the goblet and see the turquoise concoction sparkling and swirling inside the goblet, a strange feeling of apprehension arises in your gut. It’s alright, you tell yourself, Father Fyodor wants you to drink this. God wants you to drink this. With trembling hands and a quick glance in Chuuya’s direction, you see fearful blue eyes watching you as you put the goblet to your lips before you squeeze your eyes shut and drink.
The instant it hits your tongue you taste a pleasant sweetness, but it’s quickly overwritten by a surge of metallic bitterness. You instinctively wince and nearly gag it out but manage to power through and get the elixir to slide down your throat, leaving a warm yet fluttery feeling growing in your stomach as you finish the glass.
“Very good,” Father praises, taking the glass back and pouring another for the next person, and you feel your cheeks heat up a bit as you give him a hesitant smile. Praise from Father Fyodor is rare and highly coveted, and you can’t help but feel a little bit special right now.
Not long after, you’re watching Chuuya struggling to drink his glass, and the air around him has streaks of pink and yellow that you’re pretty sure weren’t there a few minutes ago. You keep staring, and your gaze turns to look at the sitting people surrounding you, everything seems a lot more colorful than when you entered. The audience is passing around their own elixir, smiles coming to their faces when it’s their turn to drink. You watch mesmerized as their formerly white clothing swirls with ever changing rainbow colors, and every sound you hear reverberates through your ears with visible vibrations. You think you hear the sound of running water, or wait. Actually what you’re seeing is a smoky mist floating through the air and you smell flowers, or roses, or fire? You see a purple polygon and feel something pass through you and now you’re in back in the middle row of the crowd, swaying and bumping into the mass of bodies around you. When did you get here?
There’s a tug on one of your appendages, and you turn to see what looks like some sort of geometric dragon or phoenix floating next to you. You blink a few times, because what you think you see makes absolutely no sense and your vision evens out enough to see that it’s Chuuya you’re pressed up against, his red hair dancing around his face like kindling flames and his blue eyes looking down at you with a dazed glint. You suddenly are lost in their color and you feel your hand reaching out to touch his face, keeping your focus on the mini oceans and multicolored fish you see in his irises.
“Woah, your eyes--” you try to say, but you aren’t sure if the words came out because you didn’t hear them.
“Yours too…” Chuuya replies, and the sound comes out as iridescent bubbles from his lips and you watch as they float towards the sculpted roof of the shrine and pop one by one. “Is this what the elixir does?” He asks and you giggle, barely hearing the question over the distracting bubble sounds.
“I think so! Sister… Sissy Jones… Sis… haha heh…” you lose track of your mouth for a second, just enjoying the feeling of saying the words before Chuuya puts his hands on your shoulders and grounds you just a bit. “Sis… she was right! Pretty cooooollll huh?” You manage to drawl out.
Chuuya opens his mouth to say something but is stopped when a commotion at the altar captures both of your attentions. Father Fyodor is standing there with a figure dressed in all black, and they contrast like two opposing chess pieces. The figure in black is hunched over, a hooded robe covering his face and is being held up by several white robed people. The black robe seems to stretch and pull like a shadow moving through different light sources.
“It is time to begin the purification,” Father announces, and the audience cheers and sways, chanting something your brain can’t follow right now. “Our first sacrifice has arrived!”
The hooded, faceless figure is pulled up to the altar, and tied to a large crucifix that wasn’t there before, head hunched over and arms tied above his head. In front of him, an audience member places a large gold bowl, filled with some sort of herb. Some other chants or prayers are said, but you can’t understand it, nor are you trying to. The audience then pushes forward, and you and Chuuya are pushed forward as well until there is a unified circle around the altar. Father Fyodor then tells everyone, “We shall now take turns purifying ourselves and the sacrifice. This is an act of our devotion to God, and a symbolic showing of how we are always ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for him.”
“Amen. We shall sacrifice ourselves for him,” the crowd answers, and one of them steps forward to begin doing whatever it is they’re going to do. You recognize her as the blonde woman from earlier who told you about Brother Cambell. You watch with fascination as Father hands her a knife and she makes a slice in her palm, pouring it onto the herbs in the bowl. You can almost see something happen in the air above the bowl as her blood hits it, although you’re not sure what.
“I purify myself and cleanse the sin with this blade. I ask God to show this sinner to light!”
“Show the sinner to light!” The crowd echoes, and the woman steps back as another steps forward. The process repeats and when it’s your turn you do your best to follow suit, slicing your palm with the knife. The cut doesn’t hurt at all, and the red blood captures your attention, looking far too bright and seemingly glowing as it hits the leaves. Your eyes travel up to glance at the sacrifice and you see his face for the first time. It… looks familiar, somehow, but the features distorted and dim and before you can make any conclusions Chuuya is pulling you back to the crowd. The final drop of blood falls from Father Fyodor’s wrist and the instant it hits the herbs a bright light flashes and you gasp, clinging to Chuuya’s arm as all your senses disappear. He holds you in return, and when you can finally see again you both gasp again at the sight before your eyes. The formerly black robe is now ash white, and the sacrifice is gone.
“We praise thee Lord, for purifying our world of this sinner!” You and Chuuya just stare at each other as the crowd cheers, a million questions going through your minds-- none of them daring to come out. You both grip each other a little tighter as the next sacrifice comes out, this one a demon with fangs and white hair, face still mostly hidden under black robes, and the process repeats. The image of Father Fyodor’s knowing smile burns into your eyes, and you suddenly wonder if he ever drank the elixir tonight.
After two more purification rituals, the ceremony ends and the night sky is glowing with multicolored stars and a moon that looks purple as you find yourself wandering outside hand in hand with Chuuya.
He glances at the clock tower in front of the shrine then turns to you, and you almost get lost in those ocean-y eyes and dancing orange hair again. “Hey, [name].”
“Yeah?”
“Wanna go for a walk? We still have a few hours before curfew, since it’s a holiday.” He winks at you, and you know exactly what he is implying.
You give him a knowing smile and nod as he leads you through the secluded village, people still drinking and eating and celebrating the holiday. Leaving the village is prohibited unless it’s an official outing, but the two of you have a secret passageway you made when you were kids that’s still functional behind your house. You don’t even think twice as you crawl through the opening under your fence, feeling utterly warm and ecstatic with the elixir pumping through your veins; the events of the ceremony all but forgotten in the rush of the high. You can tell Chuuya feels the same, because when you emerge he’s waiting for you with a large grin and holding out his hand as his hair blows wildly in the wind around face.
You take his hand with an equally eager grin as you two head for your favorite place-- a little meadow hidden on a hill with a secluded pond. As you’re walking you notice him looking at the ground thoughtfully, a troubled expression on his face. You squeeze his hand to reassure him and he sighs. “I want to talk about the ceremony…”
“What about it?”
“I think…” he starts, but hesitates, and rethinks his sentence. “Did you get a good look at the first sacrifice?”
You stiffen, the warm feeling in your belly replace with shock. Cold blood runs through you as you start to remember what happened. “I uh…” you think back to the feeling of familiarity you got when you caught a glimpse of his hooded face. “Not really.” It’s not totally a lie.
Chuuya is silent a moment, and your heart beats a bit faster. The sound of your footsteps on the grass suddenly seems a lot louder and you notice a bead of sweat running down your face. When did it get so warm? It’s now really blazing hot, and you instinctively start fanning yourself trying to cool the fire that seems to be burning through your veins. “I think that was Brother Cambell,” Chuuya finally says and you stop dead in your tracks as you’re hit with the words like a freight train.
It couldn’t be, right? That’s just crazy talk. Brother Cambell was excommunicated. You were told as much. Right? But then… you did think he looked familiar… The heat is suddenly unbearable and you refuse to entertain the idea any longer, focusing on the sky full of stars and the moon that suddenly looks bloody red. You finally scoff and look at Chuuya. “I think you were just seeing things.”
His eyes widen ever so slightly and then he laughs. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Or so he hopes. Or so you both hope. Sensing your obvious discomfort he tries to lighten the mood. “I’ll race you to the clearing!” he says, and then takes off, his red hair dancing behind him before you have time to react.
The air seems to cool down and you feel the giddiness you felt earlier returning. “Hey! No fair!” you yell out, but you dash after him nonetheless, a small smile on your face.
The long white skirt you’re wearing is a total handicap to your running, and you have to bunch it up and hold it to keep you from stumbling. Guys really did have it easier, you muse, suddenly jealous of Chuuya’s white pants. Girls aren’t allowed to wear pants in the village. Father Fyodor forbids it.
Panting hard and nearly crashing into Chuuya who for some reason, is frozen at the top of the hill that leads to the meadow, you bend over to catch your breath. “Why’d you stop?” you ask him after a moment, breathless, but you soon find your answer when you follow his gaze a few meters ahead.
There, lying on the grass, is a figure of a man with four massive black wings protruding from his back and brown messy hair. The wings extend about equal to his height behind him, and you freeze as you take in the fact that he’s not only collapsed, but is seriously injured. He has deep cuts all over his torso, arms, and legs, and one long cut over his right eye, extending from the top of his forehead to the middle of his cheek. His white pants are torn and bloody in several places and you bite back a yelp as you take in just how much blood is pouring out of him.
“Oh my God…” you say, unintentionally taking a step back. “Is he a demon?” you ask Chuuya, and he suddenly grabs your wrist.
“We should head back,” he says quietly. “It’s dangerous here.”
You are unable to look away from the man with wings though, and find yourself moving towards him without thinking. Chuuya doesn’t stop you, his gaze fixed on the wounded figure. He probably is a demon, the rational part of you says, Chuuya’s right, we should head back. But yet you find yourself crouching down next to the winged man and checking for his pulse. He probably is a demon… but, the more you look, the more you question yourself. Something about his wings, even though they’re blacker than night, they look so fluffy and beautiful. The way he’s lying down and his chest slowly rises and falls is somehow elegant and graceful. And most of all, he seems to be glowing faintly, a golden aura that shines under the moonlight and frames his wounded face. Despite the fact that he is most likely a demon, something about him makes you think he’s far from it: that everything about him screams divinity .
“He’s alive.” You tell Chuuya, eyes almost pleading. “We can help him before it’s too late.”
Chuuya grimaces, and you can tell his thinking is along the same line as you are. He glances back to the man. There’s no demon that is divine. Even if they shapeshift, their aura doesn’t glow like this man does. He sighs in resignation. “Alright, but we have to hurry.” You nod sharply. “Your parents are out for the sacred festival, right?”
You nod again, remembering that your parents decided to join the council members for the sacred festival and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. “Yeah. Let’s take him to my place for now.”
The man is heavy, and half of the way back, you and Chuuya end up having to drag him by his arms. After some maneuvering and trying to fold up the wings on his back you somehow manage to get him through the tiny hole under your fence and pop out the other side. Your white dress and Chuuya’s white jumpsuit are now ripped and stained with the man’s blood, so you hurry as fast as you can to open up the back door and drag him inside. For fear of being seen through a window you take him to the basement and lay him down on a towel on an old futon, his wings not really fitting anywhere so you have to turn him on his side.
“I’ll grab the first aid,” Chuuya says, darting up the stairs. “Under the sink, right?”
“Yeah,” you yell after him, and apparently it’s enough to rouse the bloody man to half consciousness. You jump to your feet, some part of you realizing how reckless and stupid it was to bring a possible demon back to your house, and your stomach turns when you remember the conversation you had with Chuuya about Brother Cambell. “Oh God…” you mumble as you’re hit with the realization of what could happen if you’re caught.
“God? He’s not listening, sweetheart,” a smooth voice murmurs and you jolt, frozen to your spot. The winged man cracks half an eye open and shuts it almost as fast, groaning in pain. “What… Ow...” he murmurs again.
“Um,” suddenly finding your voice again you wrack your brain for what you’re supposed to do in first aid situations. “Can you remember your name?”
“Hmm…? My name…?” the man seems to be on the verge of unconsciousness again, as his breathing gets deeper. “... Osamu…” he mumbles, barely audible.
“Your name is Osamu?” you ask, not sure if you heard it right, and there’s a vague hum from the man-- Osamu, before he’s unconscious again. Chuuya returns then, holding red a first aid kit.
“We have to hurry. We only have two hours until curfew,” he reminds you, and you nod, taking the box from his hands.
You don’t really know much about first aid but you think you more or less did the right thing, cleaning out his wounds with peroxide and half-hazardly wrapping up his torso with gauze bandages. You have Chuuya hold his head up while you wrap some around his neck and finally around the side of his face with the cut, covering his eye. As you work, you can’t help but notice how beautiful he is, with a toned, lean body and perfectly symmetrical features. His hair is undeniably soft and silky between your fingers, and you wonder how a man like Osamu got this beat up in the first place. But on second thought, though, it’s probably best if you don’t know.
When you finish, you and Chuuya collapse onto the couch, watching Osamu for any sudden moves. After a moment you suddenly feel that fire coming back to your blood, making sweat beads on your forehead and your cheeks flush with red. Your vision swirls and Chuuya’s hair is dancing again and oh, even with his bloodstained clothes everything swirls with color. He’s looking at you kind of funny and you rest your head on his shoulder.
“[name]..?”
The temperature switches from fire to ice in an instant, and just as you were sweating before now you’re shivering. Chuuya’s arm wraps around you in a hug and he shakes your shoulders slightly, getting you to look at his blue aquarium eyes again. His face is close and you can barely tell it has concern on it when he speaks peachy waves and you can’t look away from his lips.
“[name], are you listening? [name]!” he calls, and it’s probably the fifth or sixth time he’s said it before you can hear it.
“What is it?” you mumble, feeling a little drowsy and sick to your stomach and very, very cold.
“Jeez, you’re like a zombie!” He shakes you some more. “The elixir, [name], we need to take the Moth Orchid extract before midnight. Remember?”
You sit up, suddenly alert and frantic. “Fuck. What time is it?”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow at you and smirks. “Language, [name].”
“Shut up. We’re inside right now, so it’s fine,” you say, and pull away from Chuuya quickly, standing up. “You stay here and watch Osamu. I think my parents have some vials of the extract laying around here somewhere. I’ll go look. We can’t exactly go out to get some looking like this.”
You dart up the stairs feeling queasier by the second, and you wonder if the elixir is what’s causing you to feel so sick right now. You search the kitchen cabinets, but when you come up empty you start to panic slightly, running to your parents' room. What really does happen if you forget to take the extract? You don’t know, and you really don’t want to find out right now. After some digging you finally find two vials in the bathroom drawer and exhale in relief, heading back downstairs to Chuuya.
“I found some!” you tell him with a smug grin, dangling them from one hand. The next thing that happens though, thanks to the lasting effects of the elixir, wipes that smug grin right off your face as you stub your toe and drop one of the vials, watching as the glass shatters on the tiled floor and the clear liquid spills all over.
“Shit,” you and Chuuya say at the same time.
“Oh my God, those were the only vials my parents had…” you say, and look up to Chuuya. “What are we going to do?” You set the other vial down on the couch and start pacing. “We could split it… or… I know, I’ll watch Osamu and you can borrow one of my dad’s jumpsuits and get some from the council shrine. It’ll be a little big, but, they shouldn’t ask too many questions and--”
Chuuya cuts you off. “Calm down. You’re freaking out. Everyone knows you have to drink the whole thing. Just take this one and I’ll grab some when I head back in your dad’s jumpsuit,” he hands you the vial and you blink at him. “We still have forty minutes to go, and besides-- it seems to be affecting you more anyway.”
You sigh and down the vial in one go. “When did you become the reasonable one?” you ask with a chuckle, and Chuuya glares at you.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he says, and you just smirk. You’re feeling better already when you sit down next to him on the couch. “What are we gonna do about this guy, though?” he says, gesturing to the long bandaged man passed out on the futon. And speak of the devil, Osamu suddenly jerks awake, eyes going wide.
You and Chuuya jump off the couch in an instant and Osamu looks at you with an eye wider than a saucer, as if he’s seeing aliens. His mouth is tumbling out words faster than you can process. “Who the hell are you? Where am I?” His good eye darts around frantically and he jumps when he sees his wings. “They’re black. They’re black ! My godforsaken fluffy white wings are black. ”
You and Chuuya exchange worried glances when Osamu starts cackling maniacally. “Is this the afterlife? Did that sadistic old bastard actually send me to hell? No… wait… he already did that… I can’t die… Or can I? Did you two kill me?” He glances to you and his white smile is blinding. “I’ve always wanted to be killed by a beautiful woman… did my dream come true? Are you the woman of my dreams? My beautiful angel of death...” He says dreamily and sighs, eye raking over your form, looking at your bloodied white clothing before landing on your face. You simply stare in shock and you watch as his demeanor shifts again and his visible eye glazes over, a crazed, deadly look that you’ve never seen before as he glares at you. “Well if you did manage to kill me, you fucked it up,” he says, matter of factly. “You forgot to destroy my soul. A death with an alive soul is not much of a death at all. Where is the abyss, the nothingness I’ve been craving since the beginning of time? Is it even real? Or was that a lie too?”
The man’s ramblings are cut short and his crazy eyes are replaced with a sincere, pondering look. “No… that can’t be right, you two are human, aren’t you?” When he doesn’t speak for a moment you nod, hesitantly. “Oh. Oh shit. That’s right. Mortals. ” He says the word like it disgusts him, face twisting into a sneer. As soon as it came though, the expression fades into something calculating, and he’s staring at you again, his left eye assessing you and making you feel exposed again for the second time tonight. As if that one eye can know every sin you’ve committed. “Come here,” he says, and your body moves on its own, without your permission. As if he’s controlling it. “Sit down.”
Again, your body moves without hesitation. In the background you notice Chuuya coming to his senses and coming forward, likely to yell at this Osamu guy, but he’s stopped dead in his tracks with only two words. “Not you.”
Osamu smirks, satisfied when Chuuya is locked in place. “Seems I’ve still got my powers…” he muses, then turns to you. “What is your name, beautiful mortal?”
“[name], [last name],” your mouth answers without hesitation, and you touch a finger to your lips in surprise at how fast the words came out.
“And I’m assuming the two of you found me and bandaged me up?” You nod. “I see.” Osamu taps his chin and then suddenly reaches up to feel the bandage around his right eye, before pulling it right off. You can’t believe what you see, when the deep cut that marred his face not a few hours ago is completely absent, and another chocolate brown eye opens to look at you.
“How did…”
“Ah, ah ah. I’m asking the questions right now, darling.” He says, and your mouth shuts, again, without your consent. It suddenly dawns on you that this man actually is controlling you through some magical powers and you want to protest but your mouth won’t let you. “Where are we?”
“A village called Rosemere, in the third district of North America.”
He thinks this information over for a few seconds, then his brown eyes and his newly unscarred face train on you and he gives you a genuine smile and nods. “I apologize for interrupting your evening. And I want to thank you for helping me recover. Falling from heaven is an unpleasant and painful experience and without your help who knows what would’ve come to me.”
You’re taken aback by all these shifts in personalities but as his words process in your mind, you understand why he has the wings, the powers, and the divine, magnetic countenance that made you so desperate you to help him. “You’re an angel…” you breathe in realization, staring at him in wonder and awe.
“Correction,” he says, folding his jet black wings up. You watch as they disappear as if they never existed in the first place and wonder why you couldn’t have just found him that way. It would have made it a lot easier to haul him back. “ Was an angel. An archangel at that. I got fired, though, and now I’m just another wanderer of this planet.”
You watch as the man lies back down and closes his eyes, processing the information. You’ve heard of angels that have fallen before, but never more than a passing mention in your lessons. All you know is that they have to commit a serious sin to be cast out. “Osamu?”
When there’s no answer you realize the angel has fallen right back asleep, and suddenly Chuuya yanks you off of the futon, fuming.
“What the fuck?!” the red head exclaims, and you just blink at him. “We save that asshole’s life and the first thing he does is take a trip to crazy town and tell us we killed him wrong? Then he uses fucking mind control on us and…”
“Chuuya!” You cut him off, realization and panic hitting you like a brick. “You’ve gotta get out of here!” He freezes and the two of you look to the clock at the same time.
12:10 AM
“ Fuck. ”
Not only is it past curfew but Chuuya hasn’t taken the Moth Orchid extract. You two are up the stairs faster than you can blink and you’re wiping off dried blood from Chuuya’s face as he fumbles with one of your dad’s jumpsuits. “I’ll wash your clothes and give them back to you in the morning, okay?” Chuuya grunts in approval and you zip him up and hurry to the back door. “Do you think you can find an extract in your house somewhere?”
“I think so.” You fucking hope so.
“Thanks for helping me tonight,” you say, giving him a quick hug goodbye. “I’m really sorry for dragging you into all this.”
Chuuya scoffs but gives you a smirk anyway. “You owe me.”
“I know. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Chuuya’s eyes widen as he sees the sincerity and true gratefulness in your expression. He hesitates by the door, shifting slightly. “Chuuya! Go! What are you--”
You’re cut off when Chuuya suddenly pulls you close and crashes his lips into yours. You freeze in shock but don’t even have time to say anything because it’s over before you know it and Chuuya is out the door and sneaking back home.
“See ya,” he calls and you just watch him go, praying he makes it home safe.
You’re still kind of dazed and confused about everything that happened tonight but you manage to get yours and Chuuya’s clothes into the wash and shower before you head down to the basement and collapse on the couch, thinking that you should probably at least try to keep an eye on the fallen angel sleeping on the futon lest he wake up and start acting like a lunatic again. You only are able to keep watching for a few minutes before you pass out from exhaustion, though.
But when you wake up in the morning, both Chuuya and Osamu are nowhere to be found.