(no subject)
Well, I wasn't going to write anything in the Interesting Times timeline (WAUUUUUGH! ELI!) but then ledenyca did Furfur, and drat it, a certain Calabite in my head said he wanted a turn...
Crazy Life
Wrenchial had never expected to survive through Armageddon. He hadn't even expected to survive /to/ it, but everyone had to be disappointed once in a while. He wasn't sure whether his survival was meant to disappoint Belial or himself.
Things had gotten... crazy after Austin. Seriously so. Before he knew it, he was a Captain of Hardcore, with options for promotion, and his Heart in Belial's realm was so many splintered shards that not even the Angel Prince of Revelation would have been able to puzzle them back together. So what was the point? He stuck with Hardcore. It wasn't like Belial would take him back, having helped Furfur get a crown - who else would take him? And besides, Hardcore kinda sucked, but it made his own Word happy. And, hey, he was tough - by the end, he was one of Furfur's toughest Barons. His relationship with Tomas had broken up years ago, ripped apart by the stress of Wrench's job. That was still something he regretted, had hoped to make up, mend.
And then the Final Battle came, and there was no time for repairs. The last thing Wrench had wanted to see, and he was to be in the first ranks, right behind his Prince.
Somehow, Wrench failed to be surprised when Furfur turned and ran. Somehow, he didn't follow. Instead, he turned on his fellows. No thought to it - that was simply what he had to do, and he did it well. His attunements from Hardcore, from Amplifiers - they worked well together, always, and while the angels around seemed surprised, the sight of Habbalah and Calabim disintegrating under his weapon bought him leave to continue, buying his life with the deaths of his fellow demons. Unfortunately, some of his fellows had his abilities also, and despite his strength and the toughness of the vessel he wore, eventually, he couldn't fight any longer, and an angel of the Sword stopped beside him, delivered the coup de grace.
Wrenchial blessed him for it even as he felt his Heart sucking him home.
Listening to the solo of his Heart, Wrench had no concept of the passing time. All he knew was that one moment, he was wrapped around his Heart, fumbling for his place in the melody, and the next - it was so much dust, and the comforting song died abruptly, silenced completely even as he felt his Word tear loose from his soul, Amplifiers peeling away. Nothing remained in its place, a huge empty gash inside him where his Word had resided, focusing him, for so many years. And there was nothing. No song to focus on, no beat to pick up, to remind him of who he was. Nothing. If he could have, Wrenchial would have screamed.
When he woke, he did. Curled in a nook of the Eternal Rave, now silent and cold, the shards of his Heart sharp against him, he screamed into the silence, the emptiness that haunted him even now that he was awake and aware. He screamed his emptiness until his voice gave out and all he could do was sob silently. Eventually, what seemed an eternity later, he could not even do that, and finally he pulled himself to his feet.
The numbness inside kept him from surprise at the silence and chill of the nearly empty Rave. Other forms lay scattered about, inert from Trauma, and Wrench had to wonder how long it had been since he had been killed, how long since the Battle. Who had won. The wound inside him gave him suspicions, but until he had confirmation... Wrench assumed nothing.
Confirmation was not long in coming. The moment he left the Rave, creeping out through the shadows, he knew. Angels flew in the skies above Shal-Mari, and patrolled its streets.
Hell had lost.
It certainly wasn't bravery that made him approach the next patrol to pass, but it might have been common sense that made him follow them quietly to a rehabilitation camp. There was nothing he could hope to do against them - not in a large enough group, anyway - and no point to even trying. At the camp, he'd had to talk to a Seraph, to explain who he had been - "Wrenchial, Baron of Hardcore, Demon of Amplifiers" - and what he was feeling, what he planned to do. That had been the easy part. "Empty." With no Word, he had nothing. "Wait." What else could he do?
The angels had seemed surprised, and sympathetic. From what he remembered of J.R., that seemed about right for Flowers angels, which these were. He asked them about him, but they didn't know. They assured him they'd try to find out - and was there anyone else he wanted information about? Furfur, they told him when he asked, was a prisoner. Tomas - again, they didn't know. But they could ask around, find out. It seemed like there was something they weren't telling him, but he didn't press - the Seraph couldn't lie, he knew (and how was Druiel? he wondered, but did not inquire) and so they could not be holding back that Tomas had died.
Wrench nodded and left them alone.
Some time later, unmeasureable as there was no dusk-Essence, and no dawn and dark in Hell, Wrenchial was roused from contemplation by a voice, one of the Flowers angels who watched the camp, calling his name.
"You have a visitor," he was told by the Ofanite, who whirled in place and burned as though to chase away the darkness of Hell with his own light. Wrench followed the angel to a building, a room inside the building, and was left alone to face his visitor.
In seconds, he found himself with an armful of warm white feathers and the crying Mercurian they were attached to. Astonished finally, he held Tomas carefully, marvelling at what strange destiny had kept them both alive, though not unchanged. Something inside him stirred, a drop of emotion into the well of emptiness he felt, and he held himself a pillar for his friend to cling to.
Crazy Life
Wrenchial had never expected to survive through Armageddon. He hadn't even expected to survive /to/ it, but everyone had to be disappointed once in a while. He wasn't sure whether his survival was meant to disappoint Belial or himself.
Things had gotten... crazy after Austin. Seriously so. Before he knew it, he was a Captain of Hardcore, with options for promotion, and his Heart in Belial's realm was so many splintered shards that not even the Angel Prince of Revelation would have been able to puzzle them back together. So what was the point? He stuck with Hardcore. It wasn't like Belial would take him back, having helped Furfur get a crown - who else would take him? And besides, Hardcore kinda sucked, but it made his own Word happy. And, hey, he was tough - by the end, he was one of Furfur's toughest Barons. His relationship with Tomas had broken up years ago, ripped apart by the stress of Wrench's job. That was still something he regretted, had hoped to make up, mend.
And then the Final Battle came, and there was no time for repairs. The last thing Wrench had wanted to see, and he was to be in the first ranks, right behind his Prince.
Somehow, Wrench failed to be surprised when Furfur turned and ran. Somehow, he didn't follow. Instead, he turned on his fellows. No thought to it - that was simply what he had to do, and he did it well. His attunements from Hardcore, from Amplifiers - they worked well together, always, and while the angels around seemed surprised, the sight of Habbalah and Calabim disintegrating under his weapon bought him leave to continue, buying his life with the deaths of his fellow demons. Unfortunately, some of his fellows had his abilities also, and despite his strength and the toughness of the vessel he wore, eventually, he couldn't fight any longer, and an angel of the Sword stopped beside him, delivered the coup de grace.
Wrenchial blessed him for it even as he felt his Heart sucking him home.
Listening to the solo of his Heart, Wrench had no concept of the passing time. All he knew was that one moment, he was wrapped around his Heart, fumbling for his place in the melody, and the next - it was so much dust, and the comforting song died abruptly, silenced completely even as he felt his Word tear loose from his soul, Amplifiers peeling away. Nothing remained in its place, a huge empty gash inside him where his Word had resided, focusing him, for so many years. And there was nothing. No song to focus on, no beat to pick up, to remind him of who he was. Nothing. If he could have, Wrenchial would have screamed.
When he woke, he did. Curled in a nook of the Eternal Rave, now silent and cold, the shards of his Heart sharp against him, he screamed into the silence, the emptiness that haunted him even now that he was awake and aware. He screamed his emptiness until his voice gave out and all he could do was sob silently. Eventually, what seemed an eternity later, he could not even do that, and finally he pulled himself to his feet.
The numbness inside kept him from surprise at the silence and chill of the nearly empty Rave. Other forms lay scattered about, inert from Trauma, and Wrench had to wonder how long it had been since he had been killed, how long since the Battle. Who had won. The wound inside him gave him suspicions, but until he had confirmation... Wrench assumed nothing.
Confirmation was not long in coming. The moment he left the Rave, creeping out through the shadows, he knew. Angels flew in the skies above Shal-Mari, and patrolled its streets.
Hell had lost.
It certainly wasn't bravery that made him approach the next patrol to pass, but it might have been common sense that made him follow them quietly to a rehabilitation camp. There was nothing he could hope to do against them - not in a large enough group, anyway - and no point to even trying. At the camp, he'd had to talk to a Seraph, to explain who he had been - "Wrenchial, Baron of Hardcore, Demon of Amplifiers" - and what he was feeling, what he planned to do. That had been the easy part. "Empty." With no Word, he had nothing. "Wait." What else could he do?
The angels had seemed surprised, and sympathetic. From what he remembered of J.R., that seemed about right for Flowers angels, which these were. He asked them about him, but they didn't know. They assured him they'd try to find out - and was there anyone else he wanted information about? Furfur, they told him when he asked, was a prisoner. Tomas - again, they didn't know. But they could ask around, find out. It seemed like there was something they weren't telling him, but he didn't press - the Seraph couldn't lie, he knew (and how was Druiel? he wondered, but did not inquire) and so they could not be holding back that Tomas had died.
Wrench nodded and left them alone.
Some time later, unmeasureable as there was no dusk-Essence, and no dawn and dark in Hell, Wrenchial was roused from contemplation by a voice, one of the Flowers angels who watched the camp, calling his name.
"You have a visitor," he was told by the Ofanite, who whirled in place and burned as though to chase away the darkness of Hell with his own light. Wrench followed the angel to a building, a room inside the building, and was left alone to face his visitor.
In seconds, he found himself with an armful of warm white feathers and the crying Mercurian they were attached to. Astonished finally, he held Tomas carefully, marvelling at what strange destiny had kept them both alive, though not unchanged. Something inside him stirred, a drop of emotion into the well of emptiness he felt, and he held himself a pillar for his friend to cling to.