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The altar was small and humble, much like the church itself. The only decoration on the white cloth that lay upon it was the light that filtered from the stained glass windows, the rays losing their definition by the time they made it to the dais. A man knelt before the altar. He too, was small and humble, wearing none of the arrogance and ostentation typically worn by those who thought themselves worthy of achieving what he was attempting. His eyes were closed as though in prayer, but he did not pray. He pleaded.
His offerings were modest and meager, and yet he knew that to offer anything more grand would shut him out of the heaven’s graces forever. If his insight and memories had taught him anything, it was that those who did not wish for power were best suited to bear it, and indeed, to accept this power of his was not to be blessed, but to be sacrificed.
He waited for a long time, until the colourful light from the stained glass faded to darkness. He’d brought a candle with him, and finally lit it, placing it upon the altar and rising to his feet, accepting his failure. It was a long shot anyway. He inclined his head to the depictions of saints he could no longer make out nor recall the names of, and made to leave the small, desolate church.
It is a rare thing to possess both the gall and the ability to summon one of my kind. A voice spoke. It filled the entire hall, but it was gentle, as though it came from within Welt’s own head.
“I ask forgiveness for possessing the gall,” Welt said. He did not turn around to face the entity that he had summoned.
Your impudence is outweighed by your resolve, mortal… Though such a word does not apply to you.
“It applies. I will die one day,” Welt replied. Did the entity remember, or did it see the truth in him? Did it see the body he resided in, and know it was made by the hands of man?
You already have. It stated. Why would one who has conquered death request aid from Heaven?
Welt finally turned his gaze towards the entity. It hovered in the sanctuary of the church, above the altar, but it did not flap those many wings it possessed to maintain its height. The laws of physics, it seemed, did not apply to it. It watched Welt with curiosity as he was overcome by emotion, and deep down where his logic remained, he knew that that was because typically, a mortal being would stare at this creature in awe and wonder and terror. None but him would stare upon it in grief.
It had six wings that could bear its weight, each one peering in every direction with the countless eyes they bore. None were closed and all were gold, and some were weeping ichor. Why that should be, Welt couldn’t begin to guess. It possessed more wings, these on its head — another three pairs, with one pair curling around to hide its actual eyes — or at least, where they would be, if the entity resembled a human. What those wings actually obscured was a mask of some sort. It gave the impression of bandages, and wrapped around the upper half of the entity’s face, and from those bandages grew seven eyes. These ones were not gold, but blue, and with the sheer terror that struck Welt’s heart as his eyes met one of them, he considered if hiding them behind its wings was in fact the entity protecting him.
The entity was patient despite Welt’s inability to form words, as though it came as no surprise that he struggled to even look at it. Its clothing was loose and bright and to stare too long at it left an imprint behind ones eyelids, and the colour of the gown shifted too much to be deemed any in particular. The fabric draped around the entity’s form, flowing and moving on its own, as though it too, was a part of its body. Maybe it was. The only thing that Welt could say for certain was not a part of its body was the clashing belt, or more accurately, some kind of manacle that encased the entity’s waist. It was dark, nearly pitch black, but with shifting colours like its other garments, and as with its wings and mask, the belt was littered with countless eyes. Where the other eyes looked otherworldly like they belonged to Heaven, gold and blue and bright, these ones looked otherworldly like they belonged to Hell, misshapen and pointed, crimson and violet and ochre, with no light illuminating them from within. Hanging from the belt were chains, gold and heavy, and they extended to the shackles on the entity’s wrists. Why an angelic being possessed shackles, Welt couldn’t say, but it likely had something to do with how its skin darkened to charcoal at its hands, how its delicate fingers ended with sharp nails, how another demonic eye lay embedded in its palms.
Blinking back how bright the being was amidst the shadows of the church, Welt finally fixed his gaze to it. There were, at least, three things that had remained. Three things that were familiar. The first was the entity’s hair. Although it was longer and floated as the rest of its body did, as though gravity had no effect on it, it was that same grey-blue shade it had always been. The second were the piercings, metal hanging heavy from the entity’s ears and glinting in one of the wings on its head. The third was the halo. Itself in the shape of eyes and thorns, it surprised Welt that it hadn’t changed. The shape of the halo was meant to represent the Halovian’s personality, after all. For the first time, Welt allowed himself to hope. Perhaps, in there somewhere, was the person he had once known.
“I do not request aid from Heaven,” he said. He found it difficult to speak, but logically, he had faced so many things that were grander, more powerful, more hostile. Even those he had faced when he was young and inexperienced were more fearsome: the Herrschers, the Lord Ravagers… But none of them had needed such delicacy. To fail back then meant death, and to win meant to compromise or to kill. None of that applied here. To win here, would be a blessing and a sacrifice.
The entity tilted its head to the side, studying him.
Then what is it that you request with such… unusual offerings?
“I had hoped these offerings would prove significant to an old friend.”
The entity laughed, or at least, gave some sound that resembled a laugh, but as if the body that created it was not made of flesh, but of glass.
There exist no friendships between those who die and those who do not.
“And if one has lost the ability to die?”
You yourself insisted upon your own mortality.
“I am not talking about myself.”
A small, strange and terrifying grin grew on the entity’s face, and with a flap of its six huge wings, it descended until it levitated half a foot from the floor.
The blood of a dog, and the vocal cords of a Halovian… It spoke calmly, but every one of those eyes stared at Welt intently, freezing him in place. Both of which were obtained without raising a blade. How is it that you did this?
“It would surprise me if you didn’t already know they are synthetic,” Welt said, and the entity made that strange laughing noise again.
I know, but they are as your body is. Synthetic in name alone. A God-given soul is the only lack.
Welt brought forward his cane in his outstretched hand for the entity to inspect. It didn’t, but several of its eyes turned their attention to it.
“I am an imitation of a god, so an imitation is what I present before you,” he said. It was a foolish thing to say, but he had no desire to lie to that person he’d once known.
You are a bold heretic.
“I am. But that is not all I have presented.”
No. You have brought also communion wine, sweet human foods, and a piece from a human game.
“A bishop, yes. I carved it from oak.”
The entity turned its masked gaze to the altar upon which all of these things sat, lit by that single candle. He’d brought the candle along just in case, to leave it lit in memoriam if the ritual did not work. Truth be told, he hadn’t even known Robin had released a homeware line, but he’d stumbled upon the set of scented tealights in a dusty corner of the Dewlight Pavilion, and, while not typically superstitious, he had taken it to be a sign.
The significance of these objects in your eyes is evident. To these eyes, however, they are merely objects. The blood and the wine are all that may even be considered as offerings.
“Then why did you come?”
The entity did not seem surprised at Welt’s brazen question, yet it did not answer him either. It merely continued hovering by the altar, and in the dull glow of that single candle, more of those golden eyes began to weep.
“I had not thought the angels to be curious beings,” Welt said. It was an observation. An accusation.
Curiosity is a trait that belongs to mortals. The entity replied. It was confirmation. Denial.
“And for those who have lost the ability to die… Does their body know to forget their curiosity? Or do they take it with them to immortality?”
The entity tilted its head again, as though it was considering his question. The halo behind its head seemed to become fainter, somehow, and the eyes on its mask narrowed as they watched Welt with a hard, malevolent stare.
It is a rare thing to possess both the gall and the ability to ask a question whose answer I do not know.
“It would surprise me if you didn’t know it,” Welt replied. “Why else would you come here? To answer such… an unusual request.”
More tears of ichor seeped from the golden eyes, clinging to the white feathers of the entity’s wings, sticky and clogging. It knew what Welt implied.
You grow bolder still, heretic.
“I grow more desperate.”
You are impatient. The entity said. One of the eyes on its belt closed. Impatience is a trait that belongs to one with a finite amount of time. And yet, you possess more than that.
“I have not forgotten my mortality, angel.” The blue eyes glared at Welt with such intensity it was as though they were screaming. He could hear them, or feel them, pushing down in his head. They were commanding him to stop. To return to his place, and cease his meddling with the order of things. Welt had never been one to listen to commands like that.
Do not leave your words unspoken. The entity said. He was left no allowance to refuse. Welt obeyed.
“What reason have you to be here, other than curiosity?”
What reason have you, mortal, to presume to understand one such as I? It replied. Such words, such animosity from the seven blue eyes, and yet, its voice did not demand. It did not hold implications, assumptions that Welt was blasphemous and arrogant. It asked genuinely. It was curious.
“Because I am lucky enough… to presume that I once did,” Welt’s voice fell to a whisper. The entity did not react to such an unbelievable statement.
We have never before met. It said simply.
“Not like this, no.” Welt took a faltering step towards the entity, and another. It did not move. Soon enough he had walked all the way past it and the altar, and stood before the grand organ, last played eons ago. He pulled out the stool and quickly dusted it off, and sat down. The entity, behind him, still made no move. It watched him calmly and made no attempt to stop him, but those blue eyes. He felt them in his consciousness, in his mind, in his fingers. They filled his nerves and blocked out his muscle memory, filled his ears to silence his recall of the sound, filled his heart to rob him of the will. And yet…
“To gain is to lose,” he murmured. He could barely hear himself, but he knew the entity could hear his words from where it hovered. “To move forward is to turn your back. To ascend… is to fall. Forgive me my selfishness, old friend.”
No matter how visceral the efforts of the blue eyes, the melody still took shape. For a moment, nothing happened, and for that moment they were again a young teacher and an old student, playing quatre mains on that old piano. The next, they were at war. Welt did not flinch at the scream unleashed behind him, as though from a thousand mouths. He did not turn to look as the candle’s flame grew until it towered above them both, casting monstrous shadows that morphed and contorted, nor did he still his feet that played the pedals as liquid rushed beneath them, a gold ichor that grew darker and darker as it flowed until it was the colour of human blood. He did not stop until the song was complete, and the only sound that remained past its final note’s echo were the broken sobs of a human.