The 'G' in God
THE ‘G’ IN GOD
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE END OF THE BEGINNING
The darkness of this world was oppressive. The sun was nothing but a distant memory here, and so was happiness. Day, after day, after day, Persephone saw countless souls enter these realms, torn with despair, hoping that they would find their well-earned rest in the after-life, only to have those hopes crushed in the cruelest of ways. “Abandon all hope,” read the gates, “All who enter here”. There weren’t truer words in any spoken language. And day, after day, after day, she wondered why he, who was so much more compassionate than her, would have willingly taken the throne of this forsaken hell, destination of only the innocent, while those who deserved it lived leisurely their unnaturally long lives.
She could see how this place was affecting him, too. He hardly ever smiled anymore and his eyes, while still full of love when he looked at her, were always heavy with guilt and self-disgust. It was slowly eating away his soul, but he stayed, never uttering a word of protest. Her own life was much more bearable than his. She was shielded from the morbid spectacle Hell had to give; Hades barely let her leave her rooms, which were as luxurious and grand as her old ones had been. All her belongings and servants had been sent to her without a word of explanation. He had never told her why they had abandoned their haven to come here, but she knew enough. The fact that neither her mother, nor Zeus had come after her, the fact that she hadn’t needed to come back, nor been allowed to, spoke volumes. He had traded her for the throne of the Underworld.
When realization of this truth had hit her, she had been outraged. Feeling that she had been treated as nothing more than an object for the negotiation, she had voiced her anger at him, called him every name she could think of and condemned him as being just the same, if not worse, than their family. It had broken him, more than that place would ever break him, and she immediately saw her mistake. That man, who had fell on his knees, beaten as she spoke, was still the man she loved. He didn’t make excuses for himself, he practically admitted to every insult and accusation, but he was still the Hades she loved. And, though he said nothing of the sort, that day she knew, beyond any doubt, that he had accepted doing the one thing he’d feared the most because of her.
So she’d stayed. Unbeknownst to him, she had sneaked out every single day to see with her own eyes what was destroying him. She didn’t want to be protected from something that was her fault. If he was to suffer because of her, she would share that pain with him.
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Lune knew, deep inside, that he had fallen.
Guarded in his palace, he was safe from the judgment that had befallen others like him in the past, but that did not erase his sins. Back when the earth was free and the Father was there to guide him, he had remained faithful. It hadn’t been easy, even back then. The company of Humans had never been the best for Angels. Jealousy was a powerful feeling, even when you had the truth in front of you, and many an angel had joined the Fallen One just because of that. But Lune had managed at first. He had accepted his would-be siblings, he had even come to understand why the Creator devoted so much attention to them.
He, along side many of his kin, had been watching over the virtual newborns, learning to care about them, to see their suffering and realize that they might have been graced by God in a way themselves never would, but that their lives were not to be envied.
After they, Humans, turned on God, after they accepted the rule of those ungrateful, loathing creatures, condemning themselves and causing the Father, his Father, a pain he could only start to imagine, Lune could no longer pity them. He was trapped, however. He had failed to keep those he had been sent to protect safe and now he found himself unable to return home, to protect anyone and, to top things off, unable to come near anyone, for fear of betrayal. He could trust no one. Even the weakest of humans could see he was different and let the now owners of the world know of his presence, and looking for other Angels was way too dangerous.
For how long he had remained hidden in the shadows, alone and forgotten, he could not tell. But hate had nestled in his heart. When he found Hades, when he joined Radhamantys’ ranks and found himself at last in the company of others like him, he sworn them loyalty. However, unlike the rest of the stranded Angels that had seen hope in the Lord of the Underworld, Lune had seen him as a means to an end. He would get revenge. He would make Demons and Humans pay for what they’d done to the Father. The sole idea of the pain they had caused him brought tears to his eyes, yes, but it also made him crave for the blood of those traitors. And, in the Palace of Justice, Lune had found the perfect place to ease his anger.
Many times he told himself that he was fair and just. Some part of him hoped that if he judged them fairly, the Father would see that scum for what they were and He would stop loving them so much, would stop hurting. But the truth was that he wasn’t any more just than a boy who wants to be the light of his father‘s eyes and sees his siblings shine in them instead, when said siblings don‘t even care about their procreator. Deep inside, he knew this. But he had lost hope a long time ago, he did not wait to see Heaven again, so he didn’t care anymore.
Now, though, Lune felt something in the air, a sort of expectant calm that had never been there before. He could see this time was different somehow, and he wondered if Hades, that half-breed he had pledge allegiance to only for convenience, that half-breed he had come to even respect, was actually what they had said he was: salvation. That would be an interesting turn of events. That, indeed, would be most inconvenient. Lune had no plans of ending up in hell any time soon, and that was exactly what he knew would happen if he were to stand trial. Lying to himself would not change facts. If Hades was indeed to finally free earth from the Fallen’s hold, he would be doomed.
Now, he wasn’t about to betray his lord; not after so long in his service. But he was sure hoping everything turned out the way it was supposed to. With Hades loosing again.
.
The peaceful silence of the hall was interrupted by barely perceptible footsteps, and Lune was shaken from his musings. It was one of them, he realized right away. It was one of ‘hers’. A mixture of bitterness and fright enveloped him. He’d always enjoyed taking care of that scum, but Hades had prohibited him to do so. He wouldn’t mind so much, if sending them back meant Athena would regain some of her strength, it would at least ease his mind. But Aiacos had mentioned Hades kept the last one locked away. On the other hand, this was the second gold saint to pass in the same amount of hours and that meant that, in spite his wishes, Hades just might still have a chance to win this one.
He rose from his throne and set his face in the stoniest expression he could muster. It was petty, he knew it, but if he could rouse the smallest of concerns from the saint, it would almost make up for the fact that he had to let him go.
“Your name?” he all but barked, opening his book of records and giving the man a disdainful glance. This one was a lot different from the last, smaller, more delicate, lithe where the other had been blunt.
“Shaka,” he answered in the pleasantest of tones. There was none of the pride and defiance the Taurus saint had shown.
Looking at the blonde man’s records, Lune could tell right away his differences to the first saint did not only reside in his appearance. This man had been deadly, had been cold and had had little to no regard for any other human being. He had dared call himself a man of god, he had dared pass judgment on others. And last, but not least…
He almost jumps in joy.
“You weren’t killed by Hades’ soldiers, were you?”
The saint looked straight at him then, with eyes so soft and earnest Lune doubted for a moment this was the same man depicted in his book. Half a smile playing at his lips, he shook his head.
“No, I was not. I killed myself.”
The lime haired judge felt a shiver of excitement run down his spine. Deep down inside, he knew he was relying on a technicality, that Hades had ordered for all of Athena’s saints to be sent back, and not just those killed in battle. Lune knew there would probably hell to pay for his defiance if he chose to ignore that. But Lune had chosen a long time ago, and he had chosen denial and self-indulgence over conscience.
He would have fun with this one. He would take care of him himself, for as long as it amused him.
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Kanon fell to his knees, licking the coppery blood from his lips, trying in vain to prevent it from tricking down his chin. Shaka’s body lay before his eyes, pale and peaceful, oddly beautiful. He couldn’t bring himself to turn, finding a tight pressure on his chest that was more than just residue from the overbearing blow he’d just received. It had been a blow meant to kill, both the attacker and the target, and Kanon could not bear the idea of it having been completely successful. He could only stay there, crumpled and in pain, holding his breath until he heard something from behind him, something that indicated he hadn’t failed utterly.
The rustle of the grass as one, two, then three people came to, and Kanon could breathe again. Why did he care? He figured it didn’t matter. He had nearly lost his own life saving him, and two others who couldn’t have meant less to him, but he cared. Kanon smiled, then snickered. He cared, and it felt fucking wonderful. Yet his laughter soon turned into something else, something deeper, and the taste of his own blood mixed with the salt from tears he hadn’t realized he was shedding.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder and Kanon looked up, making no attempt to guise the fact that he was crying, almost sobbing now, to find Saga frowning down at him. He’d long since stopped caring about keeping up pretenses, about his ’reputation’. Kanon couldn’t give a shit about how it looked, he just pulled his brother down violently and clung to him like the world was ending. Which, by the way, was probably the case. Saga grunted, stiff in his arms. The bastard couldn’t just hug back, could he? Kanon let him go, snorting.
“You’re welcome, prick.”
The Gemini saint said nothing, didn’t ease the frown, but his eyes had softened a bit. Well, it was a start.
“What the hell?” came Shura’s voice from behind them. He was about to bark a reply, self-consciously assuming the Capricorn’s saint surprise was directed at him, but a soft hiss and a mild glow from his left stopped him in time.
Shaka’s body had begun fizzing, every molecule dispersing and shining with eerie effervescence. Then it exploded into thousands of tiny petals, showering all around them. What the hell, indeed.
Before they had time to question this new development, the sound of running footsteps caught their attention. Kanon stood up without hesitation. He had a lot of explaining to do if he wanted to get ALL of them alive to Athena’s chamber, especially with a dead Shaka on their wake.
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Athena heaved a long sigh and turned her eyes away from the stars, that had been her only company up to that point. The explosion at the Virgo temple had not gone unnoticed by her, and the knot on her throat had only tightened when three cherry blossom petals had found their way to her shaking palm. Maybe her memories hadn’t returned fully, though that was hard to believe at this stage, but she sure didn’t remember it hurting so much.
She’d cared for Shaka. Under all that coldness, she had seen a good man who was just confused. A good talk, some good advice, and she could have helped him be a little less detached from the world. Her saint had been lonely beyond belief, but she had put the battle above everything else, and he had made a good weapon, detached as he was. Now he was dead, and she wondered.
She sensed Shion and Dohko long before they finally made their presences known. Dagger at the ready, she let them speak. She remembered her cloth, then, and what needed to be done to retrieve it. For once, it was her blood that needed to be shed, and she was glad. She told them both to wait there, to take care of the others once they got there, and how to get to Hades. She placed the dagger against her wrist and dug as deep as she could. It was only a shadow, a joke next to what her saints had to endure, but she would do her part and, perhaps, take matters into her own hands once the big battle, the one that counted, started. If Shun was to die, then let it be by her hand, for she would not dream of asking any of his friends, his brothers, to do it.
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They had found him in the last place of the entire Universe where anyone would have looked for salvation. He had been so reluctant to believe the stories they told about this half-breed. He had been so skeptical. But his men had believed and he had kept his reservations. Hope was never a bad thing and, if this wasn’t to be, there could always be something else to keep them going. Finding him in that place should have been enough to justify his skepticism. It was the closest to the real hell Radhamantys had ever been to, and He was ruling it. Yet one look at him, at his eyes, and Radhamantys was on his knees, pledging his allegiance. In between all that despair and suffering, the Angel who had been away from Heaven for so long, finally saw himself going home.
That memory had eluded him for centuries, but it had been so very present in his mind ever since that small, green-haired boy had looked at him in the eye. For how long he had given up on the idea of hope? Things had changed so much, He had changed so much. Radhamantys had been there to see it, to see every bit of pain the damned had caused on his Lord, and how they had killed any chance they might have had of escape. Now he stared at his half-eaten meal, listening to the others talk amiably, purposely ignoring the present for the sake of companionship. He could not take another bite, and was having enough trouble keeping down what he had already eaten. Hades’ words a few minutes before were playing over and over in his mind. He had called himself a demon. He had clearly implied that He, Poseidon and Radhamantys were condemned already. He had also spoken of a lasting judgment. Radhamantys knew, he had been talking of what they all had been waiting for since the day they swore to follow Hades to hell and accompany him there.
The time had come and Radhamantys wasn’t sure he was ready for it. If he had to admit it to himself, he was afraid of that lasting judgment. He had not only lost faith, he had not only hidden when he should have fought; he had forgot. He could not account for the atrocities he was responsible for. In his loyalty to Hades, he had done the unspeakable. Instead of refusing to follow orders that he knew were brought on by pain and madness, he had wanted revenge on the damage he had seen done to one so pure. He had been functional to the Damned. Maybe, just maybe, his refusal would have been enough for Hades to keep the light that had made Radhamantys follow him in the first place. Hell, he could have at least tried to comfort his Lord, show him just how much he meant to him, that he still had people who loved him. Instead, he let his Lord’s pain turn into bitterness, then hate. He was not only responsible for the things he had done in Hades’ name, he might very well be responsible for Hades’ damnation, as well. And his men, too, to whom he never led to anything other than violence. Lune’s and Aiacos’ lack of mercy towards humans, Minos bloodlust, Papillion’s cruelty, they were all his doing. For how many souls was he responsible? He wasn’t sure he wanted to see the Father again, see the disappointment in his gaze, see the hurt he surely caused him.
An affectionate squeeze to his shoulder pulled him out of his musings. He hadn’t realized the others were starting to leave the dinner table. The dreaded moment had finally arrived and he had spent his last moments brooding. Just great.
He lifted his weary eyes to meet the owner of the hand still resting on his shoulder. Hades was looking down at him, his eyes once again mirrors to that beautiful soul. There was hardly any madness left anymore, though the scars were still there. The boy smiled at him sadly, as if he were able to read his thoughts.
“Are you coming, then?” he asked softly.
Of course he would. Radhamantys nodded and got up slowly, joining what looked like a procession of dead men walking. Of course he would follow Hades through this one as well. He would see the Creator again, face the consequences of his actions and know, without a hint of regret, that it had been him who had helped give Him back the world that was righteously his. That knowledge alone would be enough to endure any punishment he might deserve. He might be condemned but, at last, he had faith.
Tsuzuku
A/N: Sorry once again for the delay. Slowly, painfully so, but this is starting get to the final stages. I think I have two or three more chapters to go, maybe an epilogue. So maybe it’ll be finished in a year or two? Sorry! By the way, I was really bored the other day and happened to browse my own name on google (reaaaally bored). There’s this girl, Nana, who asked me to translate my fic to Japanese. Of course I said yes, because it was like, wow! I found her site. I couldn’t understand anything, of course, but the layeout is so freaking cool! It looks so pretty! I luvved it to bits. Thank you so so so so so so MUCH! To her and anyone still reading!!