"Michael, the Supreme Archangel, God's Mightiest Soldier, and the Chief Prince. A bearer of many titles."
"He is the one who answers—when the Heavens call for war."
***
If there was something Gabriel could commend the child beside him, it was his mental fortitude, despite living in such terrible conditions. By that, he meant the capability to keep up a respectful attitude toward him, due to the child-like wonder the child possessed. There was no malice brewing from underneath his heart, and neither was there... too much of a scarred soul underneath those eyes.
Perhaps there was even hope for a better life, an ideal hidden away. But alas, the Supreme Angel couldn't begin to fathom such concepts at the moment, because he was never one to be the most aware of what emotions were indicative to. So a good-natured postulating theory was all he could give in basis to the Sarkaz following him through the desecrated streets of pitiful lost souls.
A great many things were happening, all as they were invisible amongst the crowd who worried for themselves more than the world around them. Whether it was to sell some half-baked bread that was as stale as the culmination of a desert, or potatoes which looked like they were grown in pulverized soil, the sellers were always haggling with their kin for a price. Sometimes even unknowing to those who would quickly dash by and snag a product or two.
Two cloaked travelers of differing heights were very likely not an uncommon occurrence for the people around them, and that was something Gabriel had grown to be accustomed to the more he walked through the streets with the child in tow—by his side. There was no need to bear any abstract worries.
His concealed visage obviously wasn't completely hidden by the cloak due to his size. Thankfully, the Light of God was versatile as it was venerated amongst Heaven's masses. Doing most of the work to keep himself hidden by absorbing light, rather than emitting light, did wonders in veiling his helmeted face from the outside world, along with making his armor darker than its more flamboyant white.
Flamboyancy... ah... How he remembered those days. Just as he remembered them, he just as much hated them, as they were all the culminations of his arrogance, ignorance, and jubilant foolishness.
"What is that?" Gabriel said while pausing, directing the Sarkaz boy's movements beside him and leading the both of them to the sidewalk so they would not impede the other passing Sarkaz. "That... vicious light off in the distance, twisting, churning, and holding...' Souls. It held souls.
"That?" The more innocent voice of the child beside him broke through the low echo of his ethereality. "It's the Furnace! It powers all of Kazdel. That's what I heard."
"You must have heard a lot of things," he remarked, his gaze never leaving it, not even for a second.
Gabriel was far too immersed not to. For a moment, his mind came back to the spilt blood of that mercenary from yesterday night, when he had launched his body off into some wall and through a discreet alleyway. Ichor was obviously split, the lifeblood of the people in this world. What was notable was that the blood was vastly incomparable to the one back in his world.
Why?
The answer stemmed from the Tree of Life. It was planted by the Father at the beginning of the Universe in order to give life to all things. From the fruit born at the center of it, the nectar known as blood was what fueled everything, and Heaven had used the symbol of the cross in order to represent it in all of its divine glory.
That meant all people back in his world possessed blood different from the residents of this one, who are a literal universe—or universes—away.
So, that Furnace off in the distance, burning with festering souls of the damned that Gabriel could feel even from where he was... was what fueled all of Kazdel. That was certainly a revelation to behold about this new world, and this country of the apparent Devils known as Sarkaz.
...Then, there were those black shards growing around it like mold clinging onto an object and sullying it, too... they felt...
"Let us resume our journey." Gabriel kept his voice low, so as his unnatural reverb wouldn't be heard by the passersby.
"Is something wrong?" The Sarkaz boy confusedly glanced up at him, sensing some sort of disturbance with the air around the Supreme Angel. "Was it the Furnace?" He followed alongside the Supreme Angel.
"You ask a great deal of questions, that's good. Keep your curiosity growing, Child." Gabriel tucked his hood down lower as he ridded himself of the disgusting feeling of an unfathomable amount of souls screaming at him. It seldom reminded the war-ridden Angel of the River Styx, overflowing to the point where it had become an ocean fraught with humanity's undulating wrath. "But—I needn't be side-tracked by anything at the moment. I will have time to regather my thoughts."
"...Okay?" The Sarkaz boy simply shrugged as the streets exacerbating both life and death passed them by.
The gloomy atmosphere was plagued by a misty fog ceaselessly lingering in the air. Off at the absolute center of the street was some furnace node, much smaller than the gigantic one at the center of the city, but it still held the pungent stink of repulsive wraiths. Less intense than the main one, but still bothersome to a degree. Thankfully, the Supreme Angel could find himself unbothered by it, as such commonalities back in Hell had become white noise to him at this point.
They were now in a large crowd. A place prime for pickpockets and bouts of conflict to arise. Gabriel had felt the hems of his cloak be grabbed at as the Sarkaz boy clung with his small hand tightly to them, as to not be washed away by the unending wave of human bodies around them. He didn't mind it much, and let himself drift back into a different sea, the one of his own thoughts.
Gabriel's gaze drifted upwards, toward the firmament up above.
He had thought of teleporting to one of the two moons hanging above Terra—as he learned of this world's name—but found that there had been a planet-wide barrier interfering with such a thing. Normally, it would have been child's play for him to traverse the distance as Heaven was located in space, but whoever had constructed the barrier must have been quite the advanced ones.
That had also made him wonder if the denizens of this planet possessed the capabilities of destroying themselves, with towering machines capable of obliterating cities with one heave, and laying waste to the planet's atmosphere. By all means, the technological capability of covering the entire planet with an invisible sheen was no easy feat, so then they must have something comparable to that accomplishment in terms of firepower.
Then there was also another strange piece that came with it, completing the full package... which is why Kazdel looked to be so unadvanced, primal, and uninspired when it came to the level of technology the Supreme Angel saw when glancing upwards.
Souls of their own supposed kin were used to fuel this city, this country. There were no advanced pieces of technology that he could see, and the state overall was completely awful.
Either Kazdel must have been behind whatever other country made the barrier encompassing the entire spherical world, or they were an exception among exceptions when it comes to being a civilization being left behind by the blistering advances of the outside world. Or... a third possibility, where nobody in the planet of Terra even knows why the barrier was placed around them in the first place.
A curious thought it was.
***
He had already known that he had fallen from the skies like a crashing meteor, and it was only by a miracle that he hadn't been discovered by anybody else. Perhaps there had been a few observers off from afar, but that hopefully didn't mean trouble would come his way. After all, he would be the one to bring trouble, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
Off to the side, he could see some people scuffling with one another, a rather unsightly scene to bear witness to. From the context Gabriel knew, one of the Sarkaz had attempted to sully their hands by pickpocketing another one of their brethren, which had unceremoniously led the other one to answer the action with unbridled violence.
Not even an interested crowd was gathered around for entertainment or worry, and only a few notable bodies could be seen skulking by the side, gazing for any opportunity to gain profit out of the unfolding beatdown.
'Child.' The voice of Gabriel echoed in the Sarkaz child's head, giving rise to curiosity as he turned toward the Supreme Angel. 'I am modulating my voice inside your mind. Listen to my words carefully, for I have seen that these streets do not take kindly to the weak.' The cloaked Angel paused in his steps and raised his arm to the side, as a barrier for the boy's path forward.
The application was no different than when he had echoed his voice throughout the vast expanse of Hell's Layers, namely Gluttony, Heresy, and Treachery; all toward the Supreme Machine. This time, it was modified to an extremely small focal point, in order to reach the mental confines of the boy in front of him.
Soon enough, a sparkle of light was seen in the armored palms, glittering a holy eminence wrestling with the air around it in order to take shape. The Sarkaz boy watched it with widened eyes, taking in the consecrated sight in front of him, another mystical power hailing from a world far from his own.
The form it had taken was one of pure light, photons impossibly shaped together in order to forge a weapon. Solid in shape as commandeered by Gabriel's might and usage of God's Light, he had created a dagger which would comfortably fit in the Sarkaz boy's hand. A simple ushering gesture was all that was needed for said boy to receive it, the action being hidden behind the rusted cloak Gabriel wore.
'A defensive measure, in case any harm comes your way. Think of it as my blessing.' Gabriel continued to speak, 'The blade possesses the capability of severing even a Supreme Demon's hide with relative ease.' It wasn't a lie, his light weapons were proven to be a most effective tool of war, as they were even capable enough of rending Astaroth, the Great Duke of Hell, apart, and piercing the Leviathan through.
"Woah... That's some crazy Arts." The Sarkaz boy felt the weapon in his hand, astonishment weaving itself in his mind. It was as light as a feather, possessing no material weight, making his movements when handling it not be bogged down in the slightest. "Also... a Supreme Demon?" A weight of confusion was placed on his words at the end.
'Hush. Don't go parading this weapon around, now.' Gabriel kept his cloak covering the boy. 'Neither do you need to pay much attention to the terminologies I use.' He eventually let down the covering when the boy had hidden the dagger of pure light in his own small cloak. 'Whatever the word "Demon" means back from whence I came, is irrelevant to the lands here.' He didn't care much for the light dagger. If a Council Member was present, they would seethe at the fact a "mere" human with horns was holding a holy construct of God's Light, but Gabriel no longer cared.
The Supreme Angel wasn't one to fully believe in fairy tales when it came back to the inhabitants of Earth, but in a world twisted like ladders like this? Then he would be impartial to them. Better to keep his ears open for any stories of Devils or Demons, it seems.
If what the child said was right, then there must be some differentiation between this world's Demons and the Sarkaz in general. Unfortunately, he was still clueless on the matter, and more research would need to be done in order to gain more insight.
The Sarkaz boy merely tilted his head in confusion as Gabriel continued to ruminate in his mind. He eventually relented from his posture, however.
'Enough of that. Tell me more later.' Gabriel patted the child at the back, before turning toward where they had just been walking. 'Where else shall we advance in order to locate this... Scar Market?'
***
Alleyways were always the best spots to keep oneself hidden in a city. He had discovered that fact when a Husk had nearly escaped his sight in the Lust Layer before, when they stood in the shadow-stricken shore of an alleyway. Gabriel, admittedly, had never attempted to keep himself discreet in any way possible, because he was the Supreme Angel of Heaven, providing zero need to not radiate himself in the most lavish way possible.
...Those days he didn't wish to look back upon, so he moved to other topics.
If one wished to locate the Scar Market, they would need to first procure information about it. The Sarkaz boy had said to him, a small phrase originating from an old-timer mercenary who had given the little child a small rundown of what it meant—and took—to be a mercenary in Kazdel. A dirty occupation, just as it was back on Earth, from what little Gabriel knew about it. Dirty work for money.
So, the best place they could have visited in order to seek out more information about this hidden Scar Market was by going to the most populated tavern in Kazdel. The Sarkaz boy had said that there would be many people with connections and information they would sell for a fair price, something Gabriel had found amusing.
A price, hm? He could definitely pay a price, far easier than he could make combat in Hell.
They were now standing outside the infrastructure, watching the dying lights tear through the wooden structure and bleed off into the streets. The faint crack of the door in front was constantly opened and closed, as many wandering souls carried themselves through and out of it, flickering between two states at once.
'A tavern.' Gabriel crossed his arms.
"Do you want to go in, Mr. Gabriel?" The Sarkaz boy asked, his hands fidgeting with the dagger hidden underneath his own cloak. "You've been standing there for an awful lot of time now."
'I'm merely postulating.' The Supreme Angel dismissively said in the boy's mind. 'A plentiful array of new sights have been granted before my eyes. Although they are varied, they are not... the most appealing to gaze upon, I'd say.' From the Furnace boiling with souls, to the wasted streets which looked as if it were designed eternally to be impoverished, Kazdel had already cemented itself ages ago as a city for the ruined.
"Uh... okay."
Gabriel ran his thoughts back toward the world as a whole. He had only seen a small portion of this country of Kazdel while laying low, and he had also come to the realization that Kazdel was only made up of one city. There was an urge to just burst it out of this city and explore the rest of the world, but he was able to hold the patience of a being who had been one of God's first creations.
Global sphere above the sky that blocked out all forms of traversal through it, the two hanging moons he wished to explore to see if there was some kind of Heaven or God in this universe, or perhaps even...
"Well," Gabriel finally said in his normal voice, rather than projecting it in the child's mind, causing him to blink owlishly. "We're far from a large crowd, there's no need for me to carry on with my previous charade. After all, I'll be conversing with the folks here at last." He adjusted the collars of his cloak.
"I've been meaning to ask..." The Sarkaz boy slightly raised his voice.
"Yes?" Gabriel turned his head toward the boy's direction.
"Are you really going to free those slaves in the Scar Market? I heard it is dangerous there..." The child paused, attempting to find his words. "It's like... from what I hear, walking into the belly of a monster."
"Oh please," he said, waving off the child. "That is the least of my worries. I've walked into the belly of many beasts before." It wasn't a lie, with how many gigantic Supreme Demons there were in Hell. Sometimes, the best way—as he had learnt from Michael—was brute forcing oneself into their stomach and then carving your way out.
What were the monstrosities supposed to do? Impale themselves in order to rid the invader? They would be left with no other choice but to rely on whatever mechanics their body provided in order to fight off foreign substances. More times than not, those systems proved to be less potent than their external force of might in combat.
Disgust didn't matter, because Gabriel was already used to being inside of a stomach-esque area—the Gluttony Layer was living proof of that. Heh, living. Ironic.
"Huh?" The boy looked confused.
"You'll understand someday." He had told this story many times to Virtues, especially when they wished to know more of his escapades during the Old Testament, where Supreme Demons had been at their highest number. "Or maybe... it's better if you don't, Child. To cut things short, I merely believe all humans possess a right to act with free will—slavery is tantamount to a spit toward such a notion."
"So... you're willing to fight every Sarkaz mercenary?"
"It's not a guarantee I will fight every single Sarkaz mercenary." Gabriel shook his head. "Besides, even if I had to battle against an army of millions, I'll be fine." Sustaining too much damage? He could teleport across the entire world. Artillery aimed his way? Using the same Smite as the Virtues would annihilate them, especially if multiple of them were established. Battling against Demon King Lucifer? He could always invoke the Father to grant him Radiance—oh, wait. That's right, God had abandoned them all.
Such an option had been long lost.
"An army of a million?" The Sarkaz boy looked skeptical at the iron-cladded Angel. "Isn't that too much of an exaggeration?"
"I don't believe I declared that with any hint of jest, no?" The Supreme Angel placed his hands on his hips from underneath his cloak. Handling the billions of souls dropped into Hell, and fending off the whatever-amount-of-stupid-number-of-machines there were had made him acclimated to such environments. "You should read the Old Testament when given proper time, then," he truly joked this time.
"Uhm, is it written in Kazdelian...? Er, I actually don't know how to read or write..."
"...Oh."
Oh, indeed. How foolish was he to believe that a war torn land that used souls to power their Furnaces would possess institutions capable enough to grant knowledge to their starving children?
"It seems I've made a lapse in my critical thinking skills. Pardon this Angel for a moment." He raised a hand, glanced away and reorganized his thoughts.
"Eh...?" The child confusedly looked at the towering Supreme Angel, for two reasons. The first one was obvious enough, while the second one... "But you said you're not a Sankta before?"
"...Come again?" Gabriel glanced toward the Sarkaz boy with a turn. "I don't quite understand where your confusion lies—" A bout of realization overcame him. "—Ah, right. Angels and Sankta. Devils and Sarkaz." He nodded to himself while cupping his chin, coming to an understanding.
"You shouldn't compare devil and Sarkaz like that, it's really bad and... uh... insulting." The boy glanced around for a moment, to make sure nobody had heard it.
He ignored the boy's words. "And comparing angels with Sankta is not demeaning?"
"Uhm, no. It's a compliment, I think."
"Good to know." He nodded. "Despite your... circumstances, you pay attention to many details, don't you? Otherwise, where else could your wide array of knowledge come from?"
The Sarkaz boy kept silent, not sure how he should take the compliment.
"Why don't you seek a venture in the arts of education? After all, for somebody such as yourself who holds the potential to become a virtuous model of a human being..." He let his words draw out, wondering if he should reevaluate his way of speech amongst mortals. "...In the palm of his hands, then I believe you could become somebody greater than the mercenary ilk who stain these lands."
The child didn't think Gabriel should be speaking such words in public, but he was thankful they were in a discreet alleyway. "But... Can I really do that? I don't really have any way to get into school... unless I move out of Kazdel. That's impossible."
"Be that as it may, I'll discover some way." Gabriel waved his hand in the air dismissively. He could teleport the child into some other country and materialize all sorts of pricey objects in the form of light weapons, or jewels ordained with the aforementioned light to fetch a high price. "Right now, the environment I am about to walk into would not fit a young boy like you. Keep yourself safe here, and I will come back soon. Worry not, for any dangers that come your way, I will easily become aware of."
"Sure... Mr. Gabriel..." The Sarkaz boy nodded in agreement, clutching the dagger tighter underneath his small cloak. "Just stay safe in there..."
A response wasn't given back as the Supreme Angel walked toward his objective.
***
"Water." The unnatural voice of Gabriel came out as he sat at one of the tall stools at the center of the bar. Most of them were occupied, but he was lucky enough to enter at a time where one had been vacated.
"Water?" The grizzly bartender at the other side, no different in build from the other Sarkaz mercenaries chuckled. "You're askin' for water here?" A hand scratched the top of their head, ruffling their own scraggly hair as he shook his head. "Are ya' pullin' my string or what?" What had caught his attention the most when staring at the stranger in front of him was the large cloak adorning—what the Sarkaz would assume to be—a male's body. That wasn't even mentioning the distorted voice.
"Just water," Gabriel repeated. "I could show you something intriguing to handle the price for it." His arm clacked against the table, producing a rhythmic sound which died out as fast as it appeared. Even then, his figure remained an enigma to all prying eyes on it, with the action not even revealing a millimeter of his visage.
"...You look like a pitiful guy, but I won't judge." The Sarkaz crossed his arms. "Fine, just water. Whatever you say." He eventually sauntered off mumbling something about a lightweight or something, the words falling upon deaf ears.
The disguised Supreme Angel ignored the comment and glanced back at the clusters of Sarkaz mercenaries conversing amongst themselves and drowning away the sorrows of the world. Each were placated with a weapon by their side, and each bore a piece of armor which protected a part of their body. Even if their bodies looked like they were relaxed with their attitudes making them look approachable, Gabriel knew they were far from such.
His attention moved through them as permeable liquid would, taking into account everything that he was hearing. From rumors, to small pieces of information, and to current events happening in Kazdel. This place was practically a hub for any of his questions to be answered, and all he had to do was extend his senses to everybody in the room, taking into every single word muttered by each of them, then organizing them into something coherent.
There were whispers of war.
There were talks of a "Her Majesty."
There were clamors of objectives and commissions.
All the information circling in the air was a hurricane, and Gabriel was at the center of it. At the same time, the eye was the most tranquil part of that calamitous natural disaster, so there was no need to be peeved in the slightest. Making beauty of the sight, just as he continuously made use of the information, was truly no different.
"Here ya' go, your water."
Gabriel turned to the mocking voice, a cup of water was now in front of him as said. The liquid was clear, but still possessed visible impurities in its make-up, denoting that it wasn't the most fresh. He had already expected that, with the state of Kazdel he had already become familiar with.
Without much of a hitch, he took the light-weight object in his hand and lifted it to eye level. The Supreme Angel stared into it with a holy hum escaping his lips, observing every single ripple inside, and every single particle that waltzed across the microcosm stuck in its own small world. The realm yet to be touched by the influence of God's Light... was about to change.
"...Are you going to drink it or not?" The Sarkaz crossed his arms and looked elsewhere. Perhaps there would be somebody who would ask him for a commission from a board, when they were supposed to take them from the goddamned Scar Market. 'Always the rookies, too.'
"Take a good look," Gabriel said, swirling the cup in his hand, watching the vortex start to form due to his actions.
"What're ya'...?" The bartender of the rundown tavern was about to ridicule the hidden Supreme Angel once again, but paused, drawing his voice out at the sight he was seeing. "The... hell...?" He watched as the liquid inside of the cup altered in a way he wouldn't have expected. "I'll be damned..."
A scent wafted in the air, from the usual normality of water's tastelessness, to something... fruity, possessing a rich tinge of alcohol that was far different from the usual cheap swill that most mercenaries would buy. The liquid that was once a clear and unassuming one that turned a pitch dark hue of crimson, like the macabre blood a Vampire would drink, but the tantalizing sight isolated inside was far more appetizing in full comparison.
"Have a waft of its scent, and you can drink it. My payment for... certain information I wish to be granted." Gabriel placed the cup on the table, his action going unnoticed by the other residents inside the bar who were distracted with other things.
The bartender narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but lifted the cup and... "Smells pretty damn fine," he said, impressed. With a single motion, he had chugged the entire thing, uncaring if he was drinking on the job or not. The other bartenders and mercenaries didn't care either. "Hoo! What did you do to make this?!" His voice still kept a level tone despite the coursing satisfaction being shot into his veins. "Turning water into—"
"Wine. It's not something you can accomplish, a specialty of mine, you could say." Gabriel propped his head against a fist. "I could also create other... valuable materials for information, if this isn't enough."
"...Ask away, then," the bartender huffed, speaking with hardly a pause.
Gabriel bore a satisfied expression underneath his helmet, if he even possessed a face.
***
The Sarkaz boy who traveled with him toward the Scar Market obviously didn't fit in with the crowd there. He would be spotted and scrutinized within a heartbeat for his size, so Gabriel had to leave the child elsewhere while the Supreme Angel himself would finish with whatever mission he had for visiting the Scar Market.
It was off in some remote place in Kazdel, surrounded by the arid desert. So then, he entered, inside of the hollow opening leading toward a massive expanse of space unlit by the concept of illumination.
The sounds of low and hushed growls were heard, those of starved beasts mistreated in ways where their stomachs were left growling, or where their limbs had been left neutered, bounced across the rock hard chasm deep below; an intricate warning toward all who dare to enter the platforms stationed above the nightly void. Rock formations carved by the hands of devils were left jagged, like rusted blades ready to sic themselves on any who lacked the same cruelty as them.
Further down below the subterranean holes were the faint surges of lava, the heat passing up through the proximity of those pressure-punctured openings in the form of hot steam, holding the kiss of death and disease wherever it passed.
Lines upon lines of buyers and merchants looking at the slaves to see if they could fetch the biggest bang for their buck were present. They looked like worms or centipedes crawling amongst the ground if looked at a far enough distance, but unlike those two creatures, their incessant vitriol of language was a much more brain-melting noise to listen to.
If somebody told Gabriel he had daintily wandered in some unknown Layer belonging to Hell... he still wouldn't believe it. Why? Because the torture present in the structure of the inferno pyre could not be rivaled in any tangible way. Lest one wished to create a Hell 2.0—which required the miracle of God's creation—then it was fathomless to imagine a fate worse than eternal torment.
While letting his steps loftily traverse through the sedimentary ground, his thoughts delved e'er into the depths of past memories when the subject of humanity came to him. To be more specific, Lucifer, the once Light Bearer of Heaven, the Morningstar who stood on equal ground with Michael himself. Undisputedly, he had also been declared by the Father himself as the most beautiful Supreme Angel, and by proxy Angel, ever created.
'You adored humanity, didn't you? I remember it well, brother. Yet it was the same love which had casted you out of Heaven.' Gabriel's internal tone became more soft, despite the rancid scenery around him. 'You would despise a sight beheld in this way, a vocal sneer toward all the love humanity should hold dear to their hearts.' A sigh escaped him, causing scant few of the guarding mercenaries to let out an amused huff his way. 'I was a fool back then, and for another millennia, I would continue to be a fool.'
Back then, he was aware of the same magnificence Lucifer saw in humanity, the incandescent light hidden in their blood. In spite of the atrocities they could flounder in, their devotion and love could match it in equal quantities, if not even greater. As the Messenger of God who was closest to humans once upon a time, Gabriel could wholly agree to those scriptures written by the now defunct Devil... but then at the same time...
'Unfortunately they had caused their own end.' An unseen frown formed underneath his helmet as he recalled the machinations of war developed by the neverending arms race humanity plunged themselves into. 'At the very least... humanity was upon the correct path after they had dwindled their population to a pitiful amount.' Even then, however, they couldn't halt the mass extinction event caused by—
"Hm?" Gabriel stopped in his steps when his gaze caught sight of a few children holed up in cells. '...Expected, but these devils best know it won't last long.' He contemplated the sight a few more times before turning back on his path—
"Hey! Get your ass movin'!" a Sarkaz mercenary said, the sound piercing through the darkness with their approach. His hand shoved against the cloaked back of Gabriel, attempting to push him forward harshly. Key word: "attempting."
The Supreme Angel heard the hooligan yelp out in pain and hiss, grabbing their wrist and supposedly glancing down to see what had gone wrong with their limb. To sufficiently complete the entire scene, Gabriel glanced back without saying a word, wishing to assess for himself the appearance of the man who had been so bold as to push him.
"Y-you... what the hell do you think you're lookin' at?" The Sarkaz took a step back while massaging his wrist, holding a defensive posture. "I-I said get your ass movin'!" His speech started to quiver at the tongue, staring at the figure who couldn't be made from underneath the cloak.
For the Sarkaz who obviously didn't adhere to the Golden Rule, Gabriel had nothing to say to him. Not even letting out a sound of recognition, he disappointedly turned back and went upon his merry way, deeper inside the equally unmerry place.
Humanity was inherently flawed. That much was easy to understand when one was from an outside perspective, taking note of every single vice and sin they would commit since the dawn of time, with only a few notable exceptions being amongst them. For Angels, it was practically their jobs to take note of every single flaw they possessed—and at times—haughtily stick their nose to where the clouds were, spilling gospel of their own superiority when compared to those "unwanted children of God."
How hypocritical they were, including himself. Despite their own so-called, "vested holy status, a divine right granted under Heaven's jurisdiction," the mantle was nothing more than a statement. When Gabriel squinted his eyes enough when mulling over the lost fire of the Universe, he was finally able to see the wrongs of Heaven and the Council, inciting his beliefs toward them to become more belligerent. They were no different from humans in flaws... they played politics just as humans had, they held pride just as humans had, and they destroyed just as humans had.
Gabriel came to a stop, and adjusted his cloak. It was weird to not always have his gleaming armor in full display to be seen by those who reside under the celestial prairie. The Council of Heaven would most definitely nag him on and on, filling his ears with useless complaints if he had ever dared to conceal himself. Sending a physical message in the form of their greatest Supreme Angel was always a knack they held... to the point of obsession.
'Ever since Brother Michael had vacated the position, I was inaugurated as their errand soldier. How disappointing.' Finishing the touching graces toward his disguise, he looked toward the direction of where the titular tyrant of this chained castle was. A room, with scarce lights shining out of its door frame. 'So that is the throne room of this palace? It's rather...' his thoughts trailed, 'how should I say this? Well, it's only fitting for a bunch of mercenary slave traders.' He eventually dropped the topic and shrugged.
It looked unimpressive enough, that was all that needed to be said.
"Hey, you. You're that guy..."
"...Another one?" Gabriel whispered under his breath, taking a second turn back to see who had called out toward him. "Who may you be?" There was another Sarkaz mercenary, dressed in far superior gear compared to all the others. It held more of a clean shine, and the metal mail underneath the plated portions produced a crisp sound each time they clicked against each other, establishing the iron-cladded rhythm of an experienced warrior—in Gabriel's eyes.
"You must be the guy Scareye is looking for, our guest of honor, huh? You speaking under a fancy helmet?" The new Sarkaz mercenary stopped in his steps, sizing up the other person—who was taller than himself. "Er... I work for Scareye, he said he'd been expecting you." The faint tremor appeared in his voice while looking up, his pedestal having been knocked from underneath his feet. 'He's... this guy, he's not a joke, is he? The hell...?' For some inexplicable reason, the attention turned toward him had been... unnerving.
"So he has...? This Scareye." Gabriel angled his head, humming. 'He's come to be aware of my arrival? Peculiar.' He would be lying if he hadn't felt a chilling sensation of a potential challenge coming his way, not of fear... but of excitement, ecstasy. 'Devils, Demons, top brasses, lower brasses, it needn't matter—I wish to see this world's own for myself.' Despite having forsook the God who had forsaken the world, the Supreme Angel inherently knew that anything bearing the moniker of "devil" or "demon" must be a worthy opponent.
"Yeah, yeah, he's the guy around here. So if you don't want to catch his ire, I'd suggest you best get going to his place over there—" He pointed toward the structure Gabriel had been gazing upon before "—soon." The Sarkaz mercenary still looked uncomfortable when staring up at the Supreme Angel, but held back from tugging at his collar. 'Fuck... what am I getting so worked up for? This guy... Maybe this is why Scareye had been expecting him with all that prophecy bullshit.'
"I see, very good. You are much more endorsed in the way of respect, as compared to your denigration of a companion back then." Gabriel gave a short nod. 'It's a shame you serve under the thumb of a slave trader, truly a shame...' When the time came for it, he would show these devils no more mercy than he had shown those in Hell.
Conjoined flesh.
Twisted apparitions.
Human bodies.
It didn't matter, they all were cut the same.
"...Whatever, just..." The Sarkaz mercenary didn't even get to complete his speech when the Supreme Angel had already turned around, making his advance toward where Scareye resided as the ruler. "...Agh, piss of. First the General from sixty years ago, and now...? This indescribable feeling... again. Should I just leave?" He continued to whisper to himself while glancing down at his shaking palm.
In the hidden dome of rocks melted together by the test of nature's passing breath and crying tears, the single Sarkaz mercenary had felt as if it were going to come alit by a burst of bathing lights. He didn't know why back then, and he still didn't know then, but his instincts, the warring side of himself that acted as the pathfinder toward both opportunity and safety—died out. Without even a whimper.
***
A bar.
Standard. Nothing of note. Other than that it looked better than the previous one he had vacated.
It was rather large, and there was a backroom door most likely leading toward where the big shots belonging to this Scar Market was.
Gabriel crossed his arms, tapping his index finger as he had come to realize something. 'For a hefty-sized room, it lacks the usual populace that would inhabit it.' A specialized place. There was nothing else that needed to be said about the "ivory building" where the elites would find themselves held, away from the peasants who served as nothing but platforms for them to step upon.
He was brought into the back rooms not too long after by a mercenary—presumably a bodyguard for Scareye. There he came to a changed environment, inscribing the layout of everything around him into his memories.
The mercenary eventually walked out without another word, and Gabriel was brought to the sight of the exact person he wished to meet.
Scareye.
"Did you know? I've been expecting you to come here." Scareye, the tall man with a black mask lined with ancient patterns, black leather jacket perched atop his shoulders, and with brass knuckles along with countless other accessories hanging off his waist said. His arms were crossed, a stern, muscly air coming off of him. "Same cloak as I saw, too."
"Oh?" Gabriel stood in the room, opposite of Scareye as he tilted his head. "So you were aware of my arrival? How piquing." He had heard from one of the lackeys back then that Scareye had unexpectedly been expecting his arrival. 'A form of foresight? It would seem so. I had already expected as much, but let's hear a clear cut explanation.'
"Hmph. Are you aware of who I am?" the Sarkaz asked, ignoring the strange way the other occupant's voice worked. 'Must be some strange voice box under a helmet.'
"The leader of this establishment, the underground organization for these mercenaries, the Scar Market." The Supreme Angel crossed his arms and recited what he knew most about the "imposing" man in front of him. 'Are these Sarkaz truly devils? It looks as if they merely have... horns jutting out their heads as a defining feature.' He would have expected multiple heads or meshed together flesh to form a grotesque sculpture of gore.
"Trivial," he scoffed out. "Not my occupation. Everybody in Kazdel already knows that, whether they are dead or living. I'm asking for a more specific detail, so let me spell it out for you. Do you know what tribe of Sarkaz I belong to?" Scareye gruffly said.
"Tribe? As in relation to a subdivision? A subrace?"
"Yes, yes, something like that." Scareye's tone became more impatient. "Going by your words, then I take it you are an ignorant one. I am a Cyclops." A question came over his head, and it was if this mercenary in front of him lived under a rock.
"...And what significance does this hold?" Gabriel questioned again, keeping his eyes keen for any dangers present in the room. Although he hadn't openly stated it, there were many bodyguards stationed in areas that were hidden, but for his senses—their spots and tactics were lackadaisical—wholly insignificant in his eyes.
"Prophecy, buffoon."
"Prophecy?" How ridiculous. Gabriel was just about to burst into laughter, but he reined it in. "Well, then I believe that must have been the reason why you were anticipating my arrival here," he rhetorically noted.
"Then, what do you think has caught my interest about you? By all means, I would have never invited a mere nobody like you in a private place such as this. Those who have the privilege to even enter here, always have to pay a price." The now identified Cyclops kept himself stern, holding an indomitable posture as wrought with metal as the steel walls surrounding Londinium.
"...I suppose I could hazard a guess." Gabriel had begun to assume that Scareye might have prophesied a future where the Supreme Angel had summoned his light weapons and went to town with the slave market that was happening under here. Therefore, he was just about to drop all formalities and go straight to town if another word hadn't been spoken.
"Because you never existed in my vision," Scareye completed. He saw everything, from where he was right now, up to the point where Death would hold him in its grasp. That was why he had bought his coffin today, but his untimely end wouldn't come today.
Gabriel let out a hum of thought as he escaped his own, raising an eyebrow at the Cyclops. Not that the gesture could be seen.
"You are an exception," he began. "Not once have you ever existed inside of the prophecies when I gazed at the future, and not once have I ever seen your cloak or what was underneath it. That was until today, where I foresaw your entrance into my Scar Market, completely altering everything I would have expected—and predicted."
Prophecy... It was the gospel to every single Cyclops who possessed the ability. From those who still lingered atop the littered mud of Kazdel, to those stragglers who had journeyed off to the hidden land of Sami, they accepted whatever they foresaw. Like a gift served unto one atop a silver spoon, it would be sully of them not to accept it, and open their mouth to consume it.
For Scareye... Oh, how much he loathed the prophecies, ever since he saw his death, the predetermined end he had gazed upon, orchestrated by the whims of the world. Once, there was a time, where he would chug down the burgundy liquid of laughter and zeal, believing himself invincible for seeing what others couldn't—til' the crashing reality of mortality wore its ebony cloak, staring at him with its toothy grin, reminding him that all lives were equal under the ultimate end.
The only compromise he felt was that all those struck by prophecy were also under the clutches of that inevitability. Each curled finger still circled to the thin thread that was the coils attached to everybody's neck, spilling its mantra to the same mortality that was attached to each sight he gazed upon.
So... why?
Why?
Why was this stranger the exception?
Why did they always escape his sight, why did his sights always twist into something unrecognizable every time this... thing was involved?
"..." The Supreme Angel must have assumed it was because he was from another world entirely, or because of God's Light interfering with the other man's abilities.
"Hah! In fact, I was sure that the brief vision of this day would be something else entirely, and yet you completely invade it and scramble everything, like a Goliath tearing down a once built sturdy wall." Scareye's voice became more on edge as his piercing gaze from underneath the mask became fiercer. "Now, tell me, who are you? No, it would be more accurate to say, what are you?"
"And you expect me to reveal that so casually?" Gabriel asked.
"Do you think you're in any position to say something like that?" A vein across his hand could be seen becoming ever the more prominent. Inside the malignancy of wrath was the uncertainty of fright, to whatever anomaly stood before him.
"Yes." The Supreme Angel hadn't hesitated in the slightest, the void of his voice penetrating all that was present, immaterial, or material.
"Puhaha!" A burst of laughter escaped Scareye, not too dissimilar to a shotgun's dragon breath. "You've got some balls, you know that? But do you know those kinds of balls are also the ones that lead foolish mercenaries to death the most out of everything else?"
"That's unfortunate..." he said dismissively, "...for them."
"So? What? Do you want to make this an exchange?" Scareye stretched his neck. "You want the big bucks? A specially made cocktail?" He sarcastically asked. "No... in fact, are you even aware of what I'm talking about?" Eventually, his voice became dangerously low, like the sharp edge of a blade sharpening against a whetstone. "It'd be damn useless if you don't."
"Of course, the prophecy, and how I exist out of it, yet at the same time, abruptly appear inside," Gabriel mirthfully said. "Tell me, what do you see in your prophecy right now?"
"Tch." Scareye felt the urge to spit. "You, in your cloak, standing there, and then the prophecy ends. That's what I've been implying. What are you getting at here now?" The diluted sight was played over and over again whenever he closed his eyes and activated his Arts for the process of divination.
"And that is the most recent one?" Gabriel asked, a hint of mirth being carried atop the bed of his tongue.
"You... are you interfering with them?" The Cyclops felt more on edge. If that were the case, then it mustn't have been anything like being beyond the reaches of prophecy, but more akin to altering his sight of it in some way?
"I don't believe I am." The Supreme Angel lifted his arm and took a look at it. "Though, if I am, then that must be quite the volatile ability if my mere existence is tampering with it."
"...I wouldn't be so cocksure if I were you." Scareye was starting to find this cloaked man to be far more annoying than he thought. There was the urge to unveil the cloak surrounding the enigmatic man, because he knew there was some kind of... abhorrent Arts, far interchanged from what he knew that it was foreign in its nature, cloaking the man in front of him. 'No... could it even be called Arts?'
"Then let me say, I don't possess much care for these prophecies you're spouting about," Gabriel sighed, staring at his fingers lazily and stretching them a slight bit by opening and closing his palm. "I'm merely present in this Scar Market because of one thing. The slaves. My desires should be obvious enough, Sarkaz."
"Desiring to buy slaves now?" Scareye raised an eyebrow at the moniker he was given, rather than his own name. "Tsk, if you're only here to buy slaves, then I'm willing to put all of this behind me. But be warned, I don't take kindly to those who run their mouths, and the price I ask is the price you'll get."
"Oh? And here I thought you would have inquired more about me and your prophecy." The Supreme Angel lowered his hand, the tensile pieces no longer requiring him to stretch them, because they were already ready for their next course.
"Again. I dislike those who run their mouths," Scareye growled. "I've already come to the conclusion it's the machinations of whatever unique Arts you have. If you're here to buy, and nothing else, then get to it and scram." A dismissive gesture was given by the Cyclops, but a still air lingered between the two.
"One last question."
"...Make it quick."
"How strange is it, that you toil with these lives trapped in this chasm sealed from the outside world, all without a care?" Gabriel probed. "Each with their own path, each of differing origins, and each of your own kind."
"Oh, isn't that rich?" Scareye sarcastically said. "Money. What part of that do you not understand? Don't you see what Kazdel is all about? Or are you just some outsider who decided to waltz into his place as a vacation?"
"Certainly, a most disappointing notion you've come to," Gabriel sighed.
"...In fact, are you an outsider?" His tone became more grim as he asked the question. "You wear that cloak around you as if you have something to hide. No... that's exactly it, you do have something to hide, don't you?" he pressed on. "Take off that cloak, now," a final demand was given at that moment.
The Supreme Angel stayed silent as he simply crossed his arms once more, his posture and stance unmoving as a humorous huff left his lips, distorted as it always was.
'The prophecy still reveals nothing...' Scareye's fist clenched tighter as his demands were no longer met. 'A hidden figure coming inside to buy slaves? He wasn't specifically asking to buy slaves, either... and with that speech he gave earlier...' The dots were connecting in his head, adrenaline shooting into his veins as he had come to a conclusion. "Oh... OH! I get it now!" The Cyclops stared down the cloaked stranger in front of him, bursting out into laughter. "Of course! This is all a ploy—!"
"Took you long enough."
Without warning...
...A fist slammed into Scareye's face at instantaneous speeds, blue afterimages following the attack like wisping specters of an azure ghost. A cracking sound was heard as the world around Gabriel came to slow motion. The bones making up the jaw interconnected to the skull were bent in a strange angle, one that went beyond the limits of what the body was capable of sustaining. Suffice to say, it had been dislocated—nay—mayhaps even eviscerated.
________________
ANARCHIC
+ ENRAGED
+ DISRESPECT
+ HEADSHOT
+ CRITICAL PUNCH
+ INTERRUPTION
MULTIPLIER: x1.7
________________
Scareye was launched backwards without any method of resistance being employed, as he could do nothing against the force of an Angel once bearing the mantle of God's Will. His back eventually crashed into the opposite wall, his arms spread out in order to disperse the force, the mask upon his face cracking and chipping off small fragments.
"You bastard!" The Cyclops yelled out as he turned upwards, his hand reached upwards to snap his jaw back into position as a metallic taste flooded his buds in waves. "I should have known, huh?! All of you! Kill him!" His voice came out weirdly—a side-effect of his jaw having been broken.
Immediately after his declaration, the swift shuffles of silent footsteps could be heard. From the hidden crevices of the room, multiple elite bodyguards hired by Scareye burst out of their stationary positions, brandishing blades of various kinds. From axes, to daggers, to greatswords, both their bodies and their tools were weapons handpicked by the orchestrator of the Scar Market.
"Foolishness, Sarkaz, foolishness," Gabriel grabbed his cloak and threw it off of his body, obscuring the sights of the charging mercenaries. "I should commend you for your own ignorance, especially with how much you've pontificated of my own." He continued to taunt as the piece of clothing was torn apart into tatters, with a brief pang of... something hitting his chest. 'I'm sure the child wouldn't mind...?' His thoughts shifted back to the battle as his wings of light burst from his back, illuminating the room and giving him the ability of flight once more.
The Supreme Angel's body broke into more afterimages as he teleported backwards, evading the second round of strikes with his arms crossed, and making it out of the room erupting into splinters. His exit was not a subtle one either, as multiple objects burst apart in his wake, before Gabriel had fully departed from Scareye's own quarters.
From underneath, the various Sarkaz mercenaries, slaves, and employees of Scar Market looked upwards with a shocked breath when a flying "Sankta" was hovering in the air, hanging above the abyssal rift beneath him filled with naught but darkness. A commotion was made amongst everybody, with a great deal of weapons being drawn at his sudden intrusion.
"Ah, now this is much more familiar." Gabriel uncrossed his arms, materializing a spear of light in his right hand. Taking in a deep breath, he made a proclamation afterwards, "Those who are entrapped in the crevices of this place, bound by the chains of oppression, I declare your freedom of my own volition!"
He turned downwards as his enemies pointed their weapons toward him, with the ranged ones being the most dangerous of them all. Yet, it didn't matter. Gabriel constructed the picture-perfect form needed to throw the large spear in his hands, bearing the cross mark of the Tree of Life at the end of its handle—with a spearhead large and fierce.
" AND THE DARKNESS WAS UPON THE FACE OF THE DEEP."
"AND THE SPIRIT OF GOD MOVED UPON THE FACE OF THE WATERS."
"THEN GOD SAID,"
"LET—THERE—BE—LIGHT—!"
He launched the spear downwards, with a flash of blinding light radiating across the entire room, ripping into the depthless orbs of everybody who had their gazes focused on him. Chaos washed over everybody present without warning, causing those who Gabriel wanted to be most affected by the effect to drop their weapons and reach their searing eyes. Nearly all moisture wafting across the air, inside of bodies, and cradled in the eyes... had evaporated.
"—And there was light."
"Fuck!"
"G-gah!"
"I can't see!"
"W-what did that fucking Sankta do?!"
While the stunning effect still overtook the Sarkaz mercenaries who were opposed to him, the Supreme Angel delicately formed axes in both of his hands, combing both ends together before twisting in the air with his wings, and throwing it. The object spun out of his grasp, dancing through the air with ripples illuminating the path which it traveled, tearing through both chains and bars holding the slaves holed up in their cells.
"Hah. How unfitting for me to say," Gabriel mumbled to himself while crossing his arms once more, gazing upon the work he had done. "Well, it brings back memories." He felt his wings flap, keeping himself afloat while analyzing the handiwork he had done. "Wouldn't you say so?" His surveillance turned elsewhere. If he could show off a smirk, he would.
There were no words that needed to be said, as the chemical reaction had already been set into place by the invocation of solemn action, the perfect product for this one.
His body flicked to the side as a gigantic javelin had ripped through where he had previously been flying at, causing him to turn his attention to who had thrown it. Lo' and behold, it was Scareye's elite mercenaries, along with the Cyclops standing at the forefront with an enraged stance. Scareye's face was still concealed behind his mask, but the cracks were apparent enough that the damage sustained was a humiliating one.
"The slaves...!" Scareye clicked his tongue with irritation, watching as the slaves—of Sarkaz and other races—had taken the opportunity granted by Gabriel to go absolutely ballistic and attack the mercenaries in order to free themselves. "Get that damned Sankta!" He waved his arms, while grabbing a brass knuckle hanging off of his hip in order to equip it.
Gabriel huffed amusedly, hearing the clamors of war starting to reach its ascendant peak. Most of the attention once turned toward him had already vanished, due to the blinding effect he had instilled toward his enemies, and the chaos brewed with the ingredients of freed slaves who long lusted for freedom.
"Isn't it fascinating?" Gabriel lowered himself with each flap of his wings, keeping his arms crossed. More crossbow bolts, arcing arcane projectiles, and the like, were thrown his way. "When a single man incites the masses with action or word—" He flicked into afterimages, strafing through the attacks without twisting his body or changing his posture. "—It instigates passion amongst them all, granting them even the will to blow the Horns of Insurrection toward the vain oppressors."
His right hand extended outwards, forging a greatsword of light. The blade tore a broadsword in half, and ripped apart the body behind it.
Shooting forward, Gabriel brandished the blade at blistering speeds once more, splitting a body vertically down.
Teleporting, he avoided a blade attempting to charge him from the side, and appeared behind the said attacker—decapitating them in one swift motion.
He threw the light-kissed greatsword afterwards, letting it spin and split a devastating Arts orb the size of a truck in half, letting the said attack explode. The Caster who had called upon the spell was blown into smithereens by the holy explosion of his weapon's descent. There was a group beside them who suffered the same fate
________________
SSADISTIC
+ MULTIKILL x7
+ HEADSHOT
+ BIG KILL
+ ARSENAL
+ EXPLODED
MULTIPLIER: x3
________________
The handaxe which he had thrown before finally circled the entire Scar Market in its entirety after having released all the enchained slaves. It came back, and tore at the other mercenaries who were attempting to surround him.
"You are outclassed," Gabriel dryly said, forging a spear of light and vanishing from view.
He appeared from above, and struck down at blistering speeds toward the mercenaries who attempted to enter his circle of slaughter. The rest of the ones stationed in the Scar Market were far too busy handling the frenzied slaves who had bore stolen arms up against them.
As Gabriel impaled another Sarkaz mercenary from his spear, he deftly turned around and grabbed the cross-shaped weapon by the middle base and neck, deflecting a brass-knuckled fist his way.
________________
SSSHITSTORM
+ MULTIKILL x4
+ HEADSHOT
+ STOMP
+ PARRY
+ROUNDABOUT
MULTIPLIER: x3
________________
"The description of "brute" would be an apt one for you." He watched as Scareye was blown back by the force of his blow. "I wonder, can that prophecy of yours see my future actions? Ah. Abandon that question. I don't exist inside of them, correct?" Gabriel reeled back his spear, priming it toward Scareye.
"You Sanktas are always..." Scareye truly couldn't see the future actions of the Supreme Angel, so deep inside... he felt panicked. "...Insufferable!" He hastily dodged to the side out of pure instinct, feeling a searing force at the side of his stomach from the thrown projectile. Afterwards, he shot forward, breaking the ground below him into pulverized rubble as he reeled another Arts-enhanced punch toward Gabriel.
He hit empty air. To be more accurate, the lingering phantoms of an azure figure.
"Need I say I'm not a Sankta?"
A backhand was sent toward Scareye's cheek before he could even react, sending him spiraling in toward a cage with dismantled bars, his body crashing through the parts that hadn't been yet destroyed.
"Sarkaz." Gabriel crossed his arms as he watched the muscled figure of the Cyclops spring back up, some sort of miasma spilling off of his figure. 'Indeed, this world has mystical powers of its own... to what extent, I ponder.' The Supreme Angel could still hear the shouts and anarchy increasing by the second, as the freed slaves would eventually get to enjoy the nectar of victory. "Have the cushion of comfort weakened you?"
"Weakened me...? Cushioned seats...? The hell do you know about that, Sankta!" Scareye wiped the side of his head, white hair billowing wildly in the air like the mane of a wild animal. "I see you, dressed in gold and flying high with your opulent wings, and you speak of cushioned seats?!" He dashed left and right into a blurring zig zag, making his way toward Gabriel.
"Should I provide you with the Bible or Old Testament to read over, then?" Gabriel suggested, swiping his hand and letting a cascade of multiple summoned blades course through the air in front of him from right to left, deflecting the punch Scareye had reattempted. "I'm no Sankta." He grabbed one of the swords in the patterned flow, dispelling the rest and thrusting forward.
"Gsh!" Scareye raised his arms, but found the same searing pain from the Supreme Angel moving too fast for his perception. "Is this Laterano's declaration of—of war?!" The Cyclops pressed, the jacket hung over his shoulders pirouetting as he backpedaled to gain distance.
"...With all of these... inductive thoughts that you've come up with, I can proudly say you'd make even the Devil cry—" He blitzed forward, reeling his fist back."—Out of disappointment." Gabriel had just about had it with Scareye's uninspired reasonings and predictions.
The blow landed clearly, for the speed difference between them was as vast as Heaven and Earth.
"Bitch—!" Scareye's face was once more pummeled, the cracked bits from his mask falling as he reeled backwards, meeting the ground just as the shards of defeat had.
Gabriel brought his fist back as the Cyclops was down for the count. He glanced at his fist, and flicked it, letting all blood dispel out of view. Crossing his arms once more, he floated in the sky, ready to deal the final blow. "For a low-life dwelling as a dreg would, this is a fitting fate for you. Justice always finds its way."
Justice and Splendor ached from their sheaths, his two main blades hungering for blood. However, he would not grant them the blood of an unworthy challenge, so he opted for something else.
A spear, the main symbol for his imagery across the many artworks created in both Heaven and Hell. It served his image well, especially amongst those mosaic glass molted together in the Limbo Layer.
Scareye coughed from where he was. "Damnable... prophecy, acting like shit... Just you wait, until the rumors—spread..." A few more hacks escaped the Cyclop's throat, his words falling upon deaf ears.
Gabriel reeled his spear back, ready to deal the killing blow.
...But something was strange.
Something had changed.
The environment... had been altered, in some way.
Like the Garden of Forking Paths.
The gleam of a fluorescent white hue stole the darkness from the dark pits of the hidden Scar Market, from where the entrance toward the hideout was. It reflected all across the walls, clinging onto a figure of majesty, a near incorporeal sight toward hatred, a living idol personified in a single person.
All Sarkaz paused, whether they were mercenaries or slaves who bore bloodied weapons. Hesitance was upon the scene, drenching them in the waters of self-loathing and reproach toward their own actions. They were all like moths to a flame, their eyes turning toward the surreal sight, unable to disconnect themselves from the naturally incomprehensible feeling welling in their hearts. Respect, admiration, and fear was present.
Gabriel turned toward the scene just as everybody else, and dispelled his weapon. He remained silent, noting how even the orchestrator of the Scar Market, Scareye, had become soundless from his position, despite still sitting on his bottom after having been knocked down. For himself, the Supreme Angel continued to float in the air with his wings displayed, their wide berth being capable enough to cover his entire figure with its irradiance of justice and splendor.
The two figure's steps were slow, the pair who stood out the most amongst all the Sarkaz. The masses of bodies standing in their way parted like the Red Sea, bodies shifting in reverence and respect, heads being lowered to a bow, along with the quivering of lips; and shaking of hands. Silence became the sovereign amongst this land, not Scareye, nor the sharpened blade of violence.
A path had been made, gray and black, from the departed souls who no longer bore the fervor of battle. A single unspoken weight was carried in their steps, of a long history the Supreme Angel saw cascading off them, of a past clinched in the veins of a world that treated them as nothing but parasites—where the terrestrial blood of the land would reject them—hailing them as the flaws most prevalent in this broken world.
In front of the Apostate of God's Will, two beings stood as the contrasting ivory toward the Scar Market's ebony.
The Lord of Fiends, and her Sword.