AU Fic: Auction Block
Title: Auction Block
Rating: R
AU: Enslaved
Author's Note: I don't know why but a few days ago the image of Ithuriel chained and laughing with his wings half open popped into my head and it wouldn't go away. After trying to ignore it, I gave in and wrote a story around why, how and so on. This is a very weird AU, I'm not exactly sure where it came from but it is what it is. Enjoy.
---
“Up next we have a fine specimen of angelus. He has no record of disobedience even though he’s been removed from three masters for abusing him. He is a picture of health and good temperament. We’ll start the bidding at one hundred and fifty thousand.”
The audience began to call out bids, the price rising higher and higher. Ithuriel kept his head bowed and just listened. He had been through this more than once, more times than he could remember actually. It was the same every time. He stood under bright lights, each detail of his body revealed for buyers to inspect. They would see a man, seemingly in his mid-forties, tanned, muscled and winged. Brown wings were not typically popular on the auction block, though the metallic tones of gold and copper that shimmered in his added a certain appeal. What people wanted from him were his muscles.
Most of his masters had bought him for manual labor, hard, back breaking work. It could also be the kind of work deemed unsafe for humans. He had worked high on buildings wielding and riveting as well as deep in coal mines. There had been hundreds of farms, hundreds of harvest and thousands of hours under the hot sun. None of it tired him for he was an angelus. Like all angels, he had been born this way with the stubby protruding wings that had grown into the massive forty-five foot span he had now. Being born this way meant he was stronger than a human, able to endure work, pain and toxins without blinking an eye. It also meant he had no rights, no freedoms. He was born into this slavery because the humans and the demons had a deal.
A long time ago, back when Ithuriel was still a fledgling, a demon taught a human how to capture an angel. The demon promised the human that they would keep from destroying the human race by unleashing Hell on Earth. Of course humans had chosen to save themselves and began to capture angels until almost all of them were caught. Since had been young then, he was one of the first caught. Slavery was his life, his existence. At least there were rules now that kept his masters from abusing him severely.
“Only four hundred thousand? This angelus is one of the best on the block today. If you’re holding out for a better one, you might not find it,” the auctioneer called, trying to prompt more bids. “Come on now, angel, show them your span.”
For some reason Ithuriel had yet to figure out humans found large wingspans impressive. In all honesty an angel with small wings was just as good as an angel with large wings but he rarely understood human reasoning. He glanced over at the auctioneer’s podium, where the ring that bound him was also on display. It was a simple gold ring carved with Enochian sigils that bound up his most dangerous powers. When his master wore it he was bound to them, unable to go more than a hundred miles from them before he was crippled with pain. If he ever wanted his freedom, Ithuriel had to get that ring.
Of course, that was easier said than done. Dropping his eyes again, he looked down at the heavy iron chains that were attached to his shackles at his wrists and his ankles. He was chained to the stage, unable to move more than a few inches in any direction. There was no way for him to take the ring, not with all the distance between him and it. Except, at auction, his wings were not bound. At auction his wings were freed so he could comply when the auctioneer ordered him to display them. Humans never realized how useful wings were for things other than flying.
“Angel.”
He snapped his wings open, shoving it into the auctioneer with enough force to throw him a foot before he fell over. The guards reacted immediately, but Ithuriel focused only on the task at hand. He cupped his wing, grabbing at the tiny ring stand and pulled it off the podium. The guards tried to grab at him, but he whipped his wings about, causing them to dance back out of the way. None of them would risk breaking them, not at an auction house.
The ring was on the ground now, he tried to get his wing around it, to pull it closer to his body but a particularly clever guard came from the front of the stage not the back and sides like the other. He grabbed the ring.
“No!” Ithuriel yelled, straining forward against the chains but it was useless.
The guard pressed the sigils on the ring for punishment and agony burst through his body. He dropped to his knees, shaking uncontrollably at first as pain tore through him. He was an angel though and angels could take a lot more pain. He started taking deep breaths, breathed through the pain and forced himself back onto his feet. Standing fully he looked out over the crowd which he could barely see in the bright lights.
“When God comes for you, His wrath will be so swift you won’t even have time to scream. You won’t even have time to draw breath.”
He smiled, charming, cold.
“Do I hear four hundred thousand?”
Rating: R
AU: Enslaved
Author's Note: I don't know why but a few days ago the image of Ithuriel chained and laughing with his wings half open popped into my head and it wouldn't go away. After trying to ignore it, I gave in and wrote a story around why, how and so on. This is a very weird AU, I'm not exactly sure where it came from but it is what it is. Enjoy.
---
“Up next we have a fine specimen of angelus. He has no record of disobedience even though he’s been removed from three masters for abusing him. He is a picture of health and good temperament. We’ll start the bidding at one hundred and fifty thousand.”
The audience began to call out bids, the price rising higher and higher. Ithuriel kept his head bowed and just listened. He had been through this more than once, more times than he could remember actually. It was the same every time. He stood under bright lights, each detail of his body revealed for buyers to inspect. They would see a man, seemingly in his mid-forties, tanned, muscled and winged. Brown wings were not typically popular on the auction block, though the metallic tones of gold and copper that shimmered in his added a certain appeal. What people wanted from him were his muscles.
Most of his masters had bought him for manual labor, hard, back breaking work. It could also be the kind of work deemed unsafe for humans. He had worked high on buildings wielding and riveting as well as deep in coal mines. There had been hundreds of farms, hundreds of harvest and thousands of hours under the hot sun. None of it tired him for he was an angelus. Like all angels, he had been born this way with the stubby protruding wings that had grown into the massive forty-five foot span he had now. Being born this way meant he was stronger than a human, able to endure work, pain and toxins without blinking an eye. It also meant he had no rights, no freedoms. He was born into this slavery because the humans and the demons had a deal.
A long time ago, back when Ithuriel was still a fledgling, a demon taught a human how to capture an angel. The demon promised the human that they would keep from destroying the human race by unleashing Hell on Earth. Of course humans had chosen to save themselves and began to capture angels until almost all of them were caught. Since had been young then, he was one of the first caught. Slavery was his life, his existence. At least there were rules now that kept his masters from abusing him severely.
“Only four hundred thousand? This angelus is one of the best on the block today. If you’re holding out for a better one, you might not find it,” the auctioneer called, trying to prompt more bids. “Come on now, angel, show them your span.”
For some reason Ithuriel had yet to figure out humans found large wingspans impressive. In all honesty an angel with small wings was just as good as an angel with large wings but he rarely understood human reasoning. He glanced over at the auctioneer’s podium, where the ring that bound him was also on display. It was a simple gold ring carved with Enochian sigils that bound up his most dangerous powers. When his master wore it he was bound to them, unable to go more than a hundred miles from them before he was crippled with pain. If he ever wanted his freedom, Ithuriel had to get that ring.
Of course, that was easier said than done. Dropping his eyes again, he looked down at the heavy iron chains that were attached to his shackles at his wrists and his ankles. He was chained to the stage, unable to move more than a few inches in any direction. There was no way for him to take the ring, not with all the distance between him and it. Except, at auction, his wings were not bound. At auction his wings were freed so he could comply when the auctioneer ordered him to display them. Humans never realized how useful wings were for things other than flying.
“Angel.”
He snapped his wings open, shoving it into the auctioneer with enough force to throw him a foot before he fell over. The guards reacted immediately, but Ithuriel focused only on the task at hand. He cupped his wing, grabbing at the tiny ring stand and pulled it off the podium. The guards tried to grab at him, but he whipped his wings about, causing them to dance back out of the way. None of them would risk breaking them, not at an auction house.
The ring was on the ground now, he tried to get his wing around it, to pull it closer to his body but a particularly clever guard came from the front of the stage not the back and sides like the other. He grabbed the ring.
“No!” Ithuriel yelled, straining forward against the chains but it was useless.
The guard pressed the sigils on the ring for punishment and agony burst through his body. He dropped to his knees, shaking uncontrollably at first as pain tore through him. He was an angel though and angels could take a lot more pain. He started taking deep breaths, breathed through the pain and forced himself back onto his feet. Standing fully he looked out over the crowd which he could barely see in the bright lights.
“When God comes for you, His wrath will be so swift you won’t even have time to scream. You won’t even have time to draw breath.”
He smiled, charming, cold.
“Do I hear four hundred thousand?”