Lilith

by Fanbboy

Summary:

After countless failed attempts to remedy his failure with humanity, God has finally found a balance between free-will and uncorrupted being. The mother to a new mankind. Perfection incarnate.

She only needs to be tested on her virtues. If she succeeds, the current humanity in its malformed shape will be scorched away by hellfire, paving way for a new age to sprout forth in the ashes.

However, what happens when a powerful archangel unintentionally catches her attention?

 

MANKIND IS DAMNED
BLOOD IS SPILT
HEAVEN IS SINNING
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

This fic is entirely self-indulgent.

Chapter 1: Prolouge

When God created man he had no intention of them evolving into insatiable sin-mongering monsters.

When God created hell he intended to inflict retribution on the creatures he had once crafted with such care. At least, that is how his actions were interpreted by the council of divine beings he had designed to rule beside him. In truth, he could not bear the thought of punishing the humans he had once cherished so much. So he made something, someone else, to deal with it. Only, he lost control of that too.

In his holy light and infinite wisdom he tried sculpt a different kind of human. For time had failed to heal his ego and tenderness for his forsaken monsters still seeped into every crevice of his judgement.

He would make one better, stronger, and most importantly, completely and utterly incapable of sin. In his first experiments he attempted to remove the very thing that drove mortals to commit such heinous acts, free-will. However, what he found was that without it humans were nothing but empty obedient husks.

He tried again. And again. And again.

After countless failed attempts he finally finds a balance between free-will and uncorrupted being. The mother to a new mankind. Perfection incarnate.

She only need to be tested on her virtues. If she succeeds, the current humanity in its malformed shape will be scorched away by hellfire, paving way for a new age to sprout forth in the ashes.

MANKIND IS DAMNED
BLOOD IS SPILT
HEAVEN IS SINNING

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed the prologue! Apologies in advance if my writing has mistakes or inconsistencies, I am relatively new to being on the author side of fanfiction. I will be fixing/editing as I go. I had this OC idea bouncing around in my head for a while and needed a way to put it on a page to share it. I have a physical appearance in mind for her but it is not relevant to the plot, so making the story a reader insert wasn't too hard. I'll probably disclose it in the epilogue ending note as to not break the reader insert illusion.

Additionally, I only know ULTRAKILL from extensive video essay watching, so if I am incorrect in something lore-wise feel free to correct me! I, like many, just fell in love with this little guy through his storyline and Gianni's voice acting and had to write something about him.

I'm planning to have three acts and an epilogue so strap-in.

Chapter 2: Act 1: Limbo to Heresy

Summary:

Living in heaven has its downsides, but a certain sword-wielding archangel makes it all a little more bearable.

Notes:

I am also a melomaniac so I will be listing a few songs that have inspired this fic every chapter.

Glory Box - Portishead
Lilith - Saint Avangeline
Church - Fall Out Boy

You rouse with a start. Living in heaven as a mortal is surprisingly uncomfortable. For all the eternity of peace it promises it is not meant to be consciously resided in. The father in his holy name, after molding you, created a physical plane to house you for your time in heaven. He has even tied a day cycle to it, to prepare you for your inevitable time on earth. No matter how much meddling, heaven is for divine beings alone and that can be felt. Nevertheless these thoughts are merely observations and not complaints, you will always remain eternally grateful for all you’ve been given.

You know what you are. You are the father’s most precious lamb. An omen of a time to come for your kind. As soon as you gained consciousness you have been given test after test. The tests widely vary, some days you are merely asked a few questions and left to your own devices, others you are put through strenuous trials.

You do nothing in the time between, for no tasks are given. There is no reason for you to do anything outside of what is demanded of you by the holy father and his angels.

From what you know you have passed every assessment with flying colors considering the fact you still exist. The angels occasionally seek you out, if not to gaze upon the supposed perfect mortal. Your very existence perplexes them, for you are not divine but yet you garner the father’s undivided attention.

The angels, despite their expressionless faces, convey their emotions clearly via body language and diction. You doubt they know you can read them as well as you do. They all seem to wear the hearts they don’t possess on their sleeves.

Rising from your slumber you adorn the canvas-like garbs laid out for you every morning. A group of angels tend to you in your little pocket of heaven, although they take care not to be seen. You care for your corporeal needs, exercising and giving yourself nutrition. The sustenance you eat looks fathomlessly delicious but is bland and flavorless, as though the one who made it only understood food in concept.

Shortly after, an angel fetches you and the two of you walk to the council room. Outside of your enclosure the environment can only be described as ‘without form’. The in-between is an endless void of ethereal white. If you truly focus you can make out what is directly in front of you, but the majority cannot be perceived by your mortal eyes.

You trail in-step behind your escort, you have discovered angels do not like you walking in front of them. Soon the shifting shapes begin to take form and before you know it you stand before the grandiose entrance of the council room.

You cannot deny the pressure that bears down on you every time you are in the council room. Only a handful of tests have called for such a thing. Surrounded by beings so full of light you can barely raise your gaze is exhilarating but terrifying. Your stare bores holes into the faultless marble floor.

Today’s test is a relatively simple verbal one. The current slew of examinations seem to be related vaguely to heresy. A detestable sin only committed by those who lack their connection to the heavenly father. You cannot even begin to comprehend how such humans function. How can one not be overflowing with revere and respect for the holy. The council members seemed pleased with your answers today.

Not needing an escort back to your realm you contentedly trot along the same path, bowing your head deeply with reverence to any angels you pass. They regard you with little more than a glance.

When you are about to cross the line into your closed off realm, you hear the deafening clash of metal on metal, and for the first time in your life your curiosity peaks. You halt your trek to turn around.

The noises continue, harsh and ear-piercing.

You hesitate on your first step outside of your routine path. Weighing if this detour is truly necessary.

With a sigh you stride forward, following the noise as though it was a beacon.

---

As you approach, trees slowly appear in your periphery until you are surrounded by a lush green forest. The environment feels unnaturally perfect, there are leaves but they are quiet due to the lack of wind, there is bark but the grooves are too patterned, and there is soil but it lacks any earthy smell. Yet the grass between your uncovered toes is soft and comforting, goading you in your quest. You continue straight until you see flashes of bright blue and gold moving at a rate your eyes can barely follow. The trees hide you from sight but give you a clear view of the gathering of angels before you.

Two angels trade blows at a rapid pace in the center of the small group. The rest are lounging with various types of weaponry scattered about in the grass.

One of the angels in the duel immediately draws your attention. You can tell by his micromovements he is pulling his swings as to not do any real damage. He is physically a little larger than all the others.

He’s relentless. On the other hand his opponent seems to be losing speed to fatigue. His burning blue wings parallel each strike of his armored biceps. The gold of his shoulder pieces glint as his twin blades slice through the air so fast it creates visible arcs of white. His halo draws most of your attention, the center looks like glowing blue hands coming up in prayer, each flanked by two sharp extrusions. The other angels have halos as well, but none are nearly as big.

It’s powerful.

It’s beautiful.

The thought shakes you down to your core. You didn’t even know you were capable of using such a word outside of describing God’s light.

Unconsciously you body begins to imitate his swings. Moving your body like this feels natural. It feels like home. You commit every parry and thrust to memory, following so closely your eyes begin to tear.

A particularly vicious parry throws the smaller angel off their balance. They try to recover with a flutter of their wings but a decisive sweep drops them to the floor. They lift their head endeavoring to rise again but are swiftly stopped when one of the aggressor’s blades is pointed at their chest. Conceding they drop their head back to the ground and let go of their sword.

The victorious angel sheathes his blades with a flourishing motion and reaches a hand out to the defeated one. Hauling them up to their feet while the crowd erupts in cheers.

An angel gets up and joins the champion's side, clapping him on the back while the loser engages him in conversation. After some words are traded, the angel with blue wings backs up and mimics a movement the other had made during the sparring match but shifts his feet to a better stance.

He motions for the other to copy as he stands back to watch. The smaller angel recreates the adjustment but is slightly off, so the larger uses his feet to kick their back leg forward. The smaller nods in understanding. The victorious angel places his gauntlet on top of the loser’s head and fondly shakes their helmet. It's an endearing interaction that makes your heart ache for reasons you can't understand.

After a few moments the angel with the blue wings returns to the center. The two he was speaking with sit down and a new challenger picks up their long sword from the grass and approaches him.

Hours pass, you begin to pick out certain types of moves the larger angel repeats between battles and what situations called for them. You pay rapt attention to the education he gives each fallen foe. You begin imitating nearly everything your body allows in fuller motions. With every successful echoing maneuver you can feel your heart grow a little fuller.

You watch for so long your eyes begin to droop and your limbs begin to ache. In your morning exercise sessions you only ever exerted yourself enough to keep healthy. The feeling is foreign but not unpleasant.

For the first time, you crave. You want to be good at this. You want to be as good as the larger angel. You want to be better. The greed of the notion frightens you as it takes root in your head, but a veil of heavy gold suddenly pushes the thought back. Praise the father, fulfill his vision, be satisfied in his light.

The angel with the twin blades gracefully bests the other angels in the circle one by one. Blood roars in your ears as you continue your subpar emulations.

The angels remain unaware of their voyeur.

You feel want, no doubt outside of the fathers intention, and oh, how it burns deliciously in your gut. The golden hum at the back of your head intensifies slightly, but it fails to stop your yearning, for it is pure and unadulterated.

Fatigue begins to creep in, demanding you return to your realm. As you head in for the night, your eyes wander back to the scene. In due course you can see nothing but a hazy outline of the battling angels and the forest scene fades away.

Your head swims with thoughts. You replay the different battles over and over, reaching your home in what feels like no time at all.

You follow the motions of your nighttime routine with newfound distraction. The bath is set-up for you as usual, however, as soon as you submerge your body you gain an appreciation for this time in your regimen. The water is neither hot nor cold, but it slowly unknots the tension from your muscles.

Afterwards while drying off you glance at the small mirror provided to you. Previously, you never had a need for it. After all, the angel who gave it to you warned you off excessive vanity.

You attempt to replicate one of the lunges from earlier in the day while watching yourself. It’s similar but nowhere near as perfect as the ones you witnessed. This only serves to fan your ember of desire to get better. Faster. Stronger.

Crawling into bed your exhaustion catches up with you, lulling you into a dreamless but pleasant sleep.

---

A new day begins and your body is struck with soreness. A consequence of over applying yourself last night. Nothing about your morning routine changes physically, but mentally you are consumed with thoughts of last night. Giddy in anticipation at the prospect you can witness such greatness again today, after your trials of course. The steps you've taken everyday feel slower than ever.

Your guide takes you to a simulated environment this time, not so different from the forest yesterday. The temperature is perfect, none too hot or cold.

A gathering of angels stand in a half circle around a pile of books lying in the middle of the meadow, scattered none too similarly to the weapons from yesterday. You are led to sit down next to the tomes.

You follow as directed, reading each book and marking it for indications of blasphemy. You scribble in ancient tongue, the only language you have ever known, on the margins of the parchments. It does not escape your notice that the only ink color they have provided is gold.

The inscriptions you leave dry a color similar to the angel’s armor accents from yesterday. This revelation does not help your attempts to stay focused on the assessment. An archangel even calls you out on a wandering mind, leading to hums of criticism. The chide devastates your need for approval from these beings but fails to quell your distracted thoughts. Even so, being a daughter of the holy father is second nature to you and the assignment concludes with no angels viewing you as any less than they already do.

You are tempted to ask your audience about the emotions last night evoked. The ember it lit inside of you is small but you can feel its potential to fester. The uncertainty of if the spark you encountered is in the holy fathers vision or not frightens you, but the disapproval you suspect this question will garner frightens you more.

Rising from your position on the grass, you give a deep standing bow to the angels, excusing yourself. They continue to chatter amongst themselves in voices so inhumanly faint despite being right next to them you cannot hear a thing. Some spare a glance at your form as it recedes into the underbrush, but that is the extent of their interest.

As usual, your feet seem to automatically direct you back to home despite your inability to discern any real path in the blank open space. You do not hear the sound of glorious battle today, but you still stray from the path and follow the same direction as yesterday.

The forest still materializes in the same place, and the clearing is exactly the same. The grass has divots from last night's events, but otherwise remains untouched. A little heartbroken you would not get the same opportunity to observe the blue-winged angel today, you settle into the grass on the same spot. You hope if you wait long enough, something will happen.

You begin to doze off against the same tree you hid behind, soothed by the mundanity of nature. When you are right on the precipice of a deeper sleep and considering lying down on the green below, you are startled awake by the shink of a sword being unsheathed.

The same twin-bladed angel from yesterday now stands in the middle of the field practicing in his lonesome.

Your heart rate picks up.

He moves with the same grace as last time, flowing through the motions with ease. You are immediately entranced, that giddy feeling returning. This time he goes slower than yesterday, likely in an effort to perfect his form. He goes so slow in fact that you are able to recreate his movements with more intention.

The two of you act in sync, you become an imperfect mimicry of him. With no swords, you copy his grasp. When he blocks, you block. When he lunges, you lunge. Occasionally, he performs moves you cannot replicate.

At times he flips through the air creating a drill-like façade with his wings cocooning around him. Other times he spins vertically, wings slicing through the air like weapons of their own. During these all you can do is sit and stare with awe.

You commit the actions to memory to the best of your abilities.

Eventually, the angel seems to be needed somewhere, his helmet turning to the side as if he heard something or someone. He takes off leaving nothing to indicate he was ever there but a few tousled blades of grass.

Left alone in the forest, you tentatively creep forward to the clearing. Once in the center you are struck with a foreign sense of determination. You continue to practice the forms you just witnessed. It undoubtedly feels like you are missing the basics and jumped into the deep end.

With each swing of your arms in imitation you try to connect the movement to a real life scenario. You imagine an aggressor that looks suspiciously like the angel in this exact spot only moments before. This solo-training continues until you physically cannot move your limbs fast enough to complete motions.

The walk back to your realm is filled with the same whimsy as the day before.

---

A swath of days pass as you repeat this routine. Sometimes there are no angels at the space you have deemed the “training grounds” and you practice from memory alone. Other times the space is filled with roaring cheers similar to that first fateful day. The days you catch the angel with the twin-blades practicing alone are by far the best.

You get better at a rate that surprises even you. Like you were made for this kind of activity. The thought of this feeling being the fathers vision leaves you with a sense of fulfillment every time you successfully learn a new move.

Gabriel, as you have overheard from the jeers, is the blue-winged angel’s name. He is the pinnacle of strength, it’s no wonder he is an archangel. You have gained a new appreciation for his swordplay after attempting to follow his maneuvers for so long.

Soon enough you are able to follow the sparring matches with ease, despite the inhuman speeds. Your body begins to put on muscle and feels lighter than ever before. You are even able to pick out mistakes some of the newer disciples make. Curiously, the angels seem to improve at a far slower rate than you. When just replicating techniques becomes too little, you begin to think of counters to the moves you have already learned by heart.

If the heavenly father wills it you would love nothing more than to be the one sparring Gabriel, receiving his wisdom. You know you would match him far better than any of the angels surrounding him as he gives some kind of lecture.

The thought burns you. It’s envious in a sinful way, a way you thought you were incapable of. You quickly stomp such an idea out, you are grateful for all you have and do not want anything past it.

You are sinless, faultless, and have an inclination for sword fighting as the heavenly father would have it, that is all.

---

This morning feels different. The feeling of unease does not relent even after you get ready and follow your escort. Something’s changed or is changing, only you cannot figure out what.

Today you are led to a gigantic open floor colosseum. You stand on a platform made of solid concrete in the center surrounded by four impossibly tall statues with angelic-like figures reaching towards the endless sky. Countless rows of empty seats encompass the stage, with an intricately detailed overhang held up by massive stone columns.

Only the front most seats are filled with figures of council members in their signature white cloaks. A vertical weapon rack looms ominously to the right of where your retainer has left you as they walk back to the stands. On it lay numerous blades, they shine brightly but lack luster in comparison to the ones you have seen recently.

You itch to grab one and stow it away for safe keeping. Never having been able to gain access to a sword for practice and suddenly having an arsenal in front of you is strange. You are careful not to stare at the array of weapons for too long lest the council members catch on, beginning to instead eye the rest of the arena. A figure emerges from the opposite entrance, a signature blue-glint makes your heart almost jump out of your chest.

It’s him. It’s Gabriel, and he's walking straight towards you.

What could the archangel possibly want with you? Your gaze flits nervously, have your after-test activities been discovered? Have the council members deemed you a failure and this is the glorious stage of your execution? You would be happy to accept any punishment by their judgement, but via Gabriel's hand seems particularly cruel.

As he approaches you notice his wings are tucked away. No. They are tied behind his back. This changes his silhouette drastically but having watched him from afar for so long you can still identify him with ease. He looks… almost human, minus the soft glow of his halo. He is only armed with his left blade, wisps of crackling blue encompassing it as it rests on his hip.

Once he is a mere meter away he stops advancing, folds his arms and looks you up and down. He towers over you with little effort, essentially dwarfing you. Even at full height your head only reaches the middle of his breastplate. Jubilation bubbles up from deep inside your chest as you stare in turn. You never dreamed you would get to see him this close. You thank the father vehemently in your head.

Glory be.

You bend at the knee the moment your senses return to you, head dipped deeply in respect. The shadow his form casts blankets your form.

“The heavenly father be with you, archangel Gabriel.” your admiration bleeds into your tone, adoring. You hear the creak of armor as he shifts his weight, surprised by something in your voice.

“Yes… and with you... human,” his voice carries a shaky echo, holding vowels like someone is holding down the sustain pedal to his vocal chords. Hearing it up close like this, addressing you directly, makes you tremble just that much more. The words are careful but filled with unmistakable warmth.

“If it is not too forward of me, are you administering today’s test?” The words rush out of your mouth before you can hope to stop them.

“I am,” Gabriel tilts his helmet slightly, obviously intrigued. You know you have never asked questions before exams nor prompted conversation. This must be a shock to him.

A few beats of silence pass.

“Is there any chance I could-” You are cut off by a bellowing voice that seems to emanate from the very walls. It is doubtlessly the domineering tone of a council member.

“Human, pick a weapon.”

You glance to the display to your right, behind you to the seated council members, and back to Gabriel.

“How could a humble creature such as myself ever raise a blade to a messenger of God? I was not sculpted in violence, unlike my predecessors.” The last part comes out with more poison than you intend.

“Very well, you have chosen your bare hands.” The voice booms back. You are suddenly struck with how cold an angel's voice can be.

“I’m not sure I understand-” The shink of Gabriel unsheathing his blade interrupts anything you were about to say. He looms with a sword in his left hand.

You stumble back, scrambling to your feet. They would have you battle an angel? You would never dare endeavor to hurt another living being. That being said, you're not sure you could hurt Gabriel even if you tried. How is this even a test?

Gabriel is unreadable. He hesitates slightly before pushing forward. This close it quickly becomes evident he has been restricted to only a faction of his true power. He proceeds at a sluggish pace and it is his undominant hand that wields his weapon.

He couldn’t possibly be meaning to…

Your reflexes are the only thing that saves you from a blade to the side. Jumping out of the way just in time. You eye Gabriel with a shaken expression.

He looks just as surprised at the fact you were able to dodge it, but only for a moment.

With a grunt he lets out a flurry of strikes. They are very similar to the forms you’ve seen him practice alone at the training grounds. You duck and weave each one, it begins to feel just like practicing counters alone in the woods. Reading his footwork comes easily after stalking him for so long.

“Do I fail if I fight back?” The question comes hurried. Any loss of focus could have you skewered.

Gabriel remains silent.

“Have I done something wrong?”

You are only met with more silence.

You need a plan. You need a plan or you are going to die here and fail the holy father’s vision. You cannot prove yourself violent, else you forsake your virtue as the new generation of humans. But how in the world can you prove yourself non-violent being pursued like this?

Unadulterated panic floods your system. You cannot dodge forever. You doubt you can outpace Gabriel’s stamina. Think. Think!

Spotting the weapon rack out of the corner of your eye, your body moves without consideration.

Swan diving under Gabriel’s left arm after a particularly brutal swing, you make a mad dash to grab the first hilt you see. Picking it up as fast as you can, sparing a glance back to see the Archangel taking long strides towards you.

The weight in your hand is foreign but not so substantial you cannot wield it. Light on your feet, you shuffle back to keep distance.

Does it count as violence if you fight in self-defense not with the intention to hurt? You only get a second to consider the question before a lunging strike sends you flying back. You hit the ground and skid, the force of impact rattling your teeth.

An idea clicks in place. Of course, they are testing you on your survival skills! You need to be able to fend the wilderness off when you are sent to earth after all. This is a matter of testing your primal instincts. So long as you hold no violence in your heart, you will pass.

With that revelation, everything about you sharpens. The father is giving you what you prayed for, he is giving you a chance to prove yourself to Gabriel.

In the time it took you to think Gabriel is above you. He flips his grip on the sword so the blade is facing straight downward at you. You think you hear a shaky breath. Supporting the hilt with his other hand, he stabs straight down.

The ring of metal meeting metal echoes deafeningly throughout the coliseum.

A well placed parry has momentum carrying Gabriel forward into an unnatural position, leaving his stomach and underarm exposed to you. The corners of your mouth almost tug into a grin at the opportunity.

Rolling backwards, you land a strong kick at the point where Gabriel’s hand meets his blade. The weapon goes flying and you are back on your feet, eyes determined and stance centered.

A gasp can be heard from your audience despite being so far away. Gabriel appears deeply rattled by your change in demeanor.

You begin to circle him, similar to how he circled his disciples in the woods when waiting for them to recover. His gaze follows you. His stare does not leave you even as he shoots out his arm and the fallen blade rattles on the floor before flying back to his hand.

You orbit each other. It’s easy to tell he is hunting for openings but you leave him none. You can see him stutter step to the left, a tell he always does before he lunges right. You sidestep left and attempt to shoulder him off-balance.

Musky vanilla and cardamom fill your senses this close. The scent is so charming It almost throws you off your guard.

He lands toe first and swivels around to counter, but he is moving slower than usual. He doesn’t turn fast enough. You successfully land a backhanded hit, turning with him. The hilt of your blade digs into the gap between his chest plate and belt right where a human's spine would be.

Gabriel stumbles forward with a gasp. You use the opportunity to kick the back of his knee with the bottom of your foot, hard. The force of the action makes him kneel.

The moment his patella hits the ground you hop back, despite having the chance to take a brutal swing to his head. Your instincts scream at you, but to display violence is to fail this test. You are to defend yourself. That is all.

His head snaps to look at you, deeply offended.

The audience is dead quiet.

You start your predatory circle again, waiting for him to get up.

---

The battle continues in a similar manner. For a while it is like a deadly dance, all spins, twists and weaves. It is lovely and satisfying. It is everything you ever imagined.

Fire ignites in your veins making you feel more alive than ever. You suspect the feeling is mutual, with the way Gabriel starts moving in parallel. Without his angelic strength and speed, you can actually keep up with him to an extent. But Gabriel remains the aggressor and you can only play defense for so long with mortal stamina.

After a particularly unpredictable strike to your side you choke and cannot escape his range in time. Gabriel's aim is lethal. You need to negate the blow before it lands somehow.

Weighing the risk, you grab hold of his blade with your bare hand. Adrenaline dulled searing pain shoots up your arm, but the action effectively disarms him enough to give you an opportunity. You swing your blade at his head, endeavoring to concuss him long enough to escape.

You feel him attempt to yank his sword out of the hold, to block, to do something, anything. You give him nothing.

The second your sword is about to connect, a council member’s voice roars out.

“Halt!”

You let go of his blade instantly and drop your weapon to cradle the injury. Risking a glance, you find Gabriel's helmet boring holes into you. Caught in the stare down, both of your pants come hard.

The feeling of blood inching across your forearm tickles. A couple droplets splatter under you.

“We have seen enough. This concludes the test.”

You let out a breath of relief.

Gabriel is the first to break, sheathing his blade, hands returning to his sides, and giving a curt nod to the seated council. He glances back to you warily as if about to speak, but he chooses not to.

“That was… incredible! Thank you so much for this opportunity.” Your eyes sparkle. You survived! You got to spar Gabriel! Glory be. Glory be!

Looking down on you, his fists clench so hard they shake.

“You have made a mockery of me, human.” He spits out. The word 'human' no longer feels like an adjective, but an insult. The change in tone briefly stuns you.

A few beats pass.

“Did you… Did you just expect me to just accept my fate and perish?” The inquiry holds no underlying scorn, only simple wonder.

“My assignment was not to- my opinion on the matter is irrelevant!” Once the fury at not winning dissipates, his voice loses its venom leaving only dejection. “Where could you have possibly learned to fight like that?”

“I learned from the best. I learned from you.”

Notes:

I need to put this guy in my mouth and shake him around like a dog with a chew toy. I'm so normal I promise.

As always feel free to leave your thoughts below!