#HE IS ALREADY ANGELIC BUT HIS FOREHEAD IS THE SOURCE OF HIS HOLY ENERGY

[7tsumurai]

[spaceacethespookypan]

Space Aces Angel AU

This is a stand-alone fic where Alistair's an angel and Aeson is a human. Refer here for more info.

Worse things have certainly happened, Aeson is positive of that, but this is pretty bad. Okay, maybe not bad, more just insanely troublesome and inconvenient. To anyone else, it would probably even be a blessing. To be visited by an angel.

But for someone like Aeson, who just wants to live a quiet and uneventful life, who doesn’t even believe in that sort of thing, it’s one of the worst possible things to happen to them. It was a purely coincidental encounter, Aeson is certain. They’d come across a drunkard passed out on the bench at their bus stop and they don’t know what came over them, but they helped the young man that night before carrying on home. The next day, the man from the bus stop showed up at Aeson’s doorstep, claiming to be a fallen angel wanting to thank Aeson for their goodwill. And now the angel won’t leave them alone no matter how much Aeson asks him to. It’s been a very trying few weeks. “I’m working now, don’t bother me.” Aeson glances at the angel—Alistair—glaring harshly before leaving the living room. Aeson sequesters themself in their studio. They’re a freelance artist, allowing themself to work from home. Working’s been hard to do with an unwanted guest getting into trouble every minute of the day, so Aeson’s vowed they’ll get some real work done today to make up for the lost time before they get even more stressed out than they already are. They sit down, put on some music and get down to business. Aeson works for maybe fifteen minutes before there’s a scream for help elsewhere in the apartment. They want to ignore it and keep working but they can’t ignore the urgency in the angel’s voice.

Aeson paused the music, quickly saving their work. They hastily extricate themself from their desk and chair and rush out of their office into the living where they heard the scream originate. Aeson’t isn’t sure what they’re expecting to find. A bloody crime scene maybe. Or a scene of utter destruction maybe, from the way Alistair shrieked. They certainly weren’t expecting what reality has to offer. Alistair, an actual holy being, crouched atop the couch using a throw pillow as a meagre shield. He’s cowering pathetically, whimpering like a frightened animal. Aeson’t doesn’t see the cause for distress right away. They’re too busy internally mocking Alistair to notice. It’s only when the angel notices Aeson that they find out the source because Alistair oh so helpfully points it out, frantically pointing at Aeson’s cat. Ah, they know what happened now. “What’s wrong, now?” They still want to know and hear it from the angel himself though. Alistair’s hand shakes as he points at Nuggy Chicky, who is sitting down on the floor, grooming herself in a very innocently, but smug manner. As cats do. “It attacked me! Your feline beast bit me!” The angel wails. Aeson can’t see any visible marks or blood on Alistair so at most it was probably just a warning nip on Nuggy Chicky’s part and nothing more. “Well, were you bothering her?” Aeson asks condescendingly, showing no concern for the angel. Alistair turns shocked eyes on the human. “Are you trying to say I deserve to be attacked?” he demands indignantly. Aeson doesn’t confirm nor deny. Alistair huffs when Aeson doesn’t respond, his hand lowering from his assailant as he focuses on Aeson. “Even so,” Alistair starts to say, “doesn’t your beast know I’m an angel?” Aeson would’ve laughed in Alistair’s face if they were in a better mood, but with how annoyed they’re with the angel and all his trouble, they don’t have the energy to do so. “Even if she knew, she wouldn’t care,” Aeson deadpans, walking over to Nuggy Chicky. They kneel down, softly stroking the cat’s forehead. Aeson admires their pet fondly for a few seconds before glancing over to the angel with a very cold expression. It makes the angel flinch and Aeson enjoys the satisfaction blooming inside them. They’ve never intimidated an angel before meeting Alistair and it feels good to know they can. “You’re not as high and mighty as you think you are, especially to a cat.” Aeson has not been merciful with their blunt, cold reality checks towards Alistair’s inflated ego and sense of superiority over mortal beings. Alistair does not take these reality checks well and usually reacts like a bratty child. This time is now different. Alistair crosses his arms—something he learned from television much to Aeson’s annoyance—and frowns deeply, looking every bit the brat Aeson thinks of him as. “You don’t have to say stuff like that all the time, I get it already.” Oh. Aeson didn’t expect Alistair to react so dejectedly. He usually reacts hugely, saying more, yelling sometimes even, and he normally sounds much angrier. Aeson’s never heard Alistair sound so genuinely heard before. They stall, their hand stopping mid-pet atop Nuggy Chicky’s head. Aeson feels hot with an unfamiliar sense of shame. They need to leave, run away from the tension Alistair’s created. It’s making Aeson feel like the only asshole in the room. Which is preposterous because Alistair has been nothing but insufferable the entire time he’s been staying with Aeson. Aeson gets off the floor hastily and walks briskly back to their studio. They shut the door with a soft click. The clear, overwhelming sense of guilt working its way through them relieves Aeson because it means they’re not a completely horrible person with no hope for redemption. They just need to wait a bit and apologize to Alistair for being a rude asshole to him. Aeson resumes working with a distinct lack of motivation than before. They work for hours, managing to distract themself from the ever-growing guilt inside them from all the self-reflection of their past

treatment towards the angel. Okay, maybe Aeson didn’t fully distract himself, but they did manage to complete their work goal. “Okay, Aec, now that you’re done working, you have no excuse to avoid him. Now stop being a little bitch and go apologize for being a little bitch.” Aeson gives themself a rather harsh but daily needed pet talk after they finish putting all their work away for the day. Going back into the living room, Aeson rehearses in their head their apology, double-checking its sincerity and clarity before they deliver it. Alistair is found on the couch, staring at Nuggy Chicky as she grooms herself on the floor. He still looks hurt but no longer scared by the cat. If anything, Alistair looks intrigued by her. If Alistair notices Aeson arriving, he doesn’t show it. Standing in their own living room has never felt so awkward before. The quiet tension that settled before hasn’t dissipated at all, it’s only gotten worse. Aeson doesn’t know how to start now that they’re here. Apologizing seemed so much easier in their head. They know as the offending party, they should be the one to start, to break the silence themself, but Aeson doesn't know what to say that won’t just create more tension. They stand at the cusp between the living room and hallway, feeling like a fool with each passing second they don’t do anything. “How long are you going to stand there all quietly, human?” Alistair breaks the silence before Aeson can and they immediately regret not being the one to do it first. Taking Alistair’s question as an invitation, Aeson walks stiffly to the couch, stopping in front of the angel. Aeson’s never considered themself a coward. They’re not timid, not shy, and certainly not afraid of confrontation. They are, however, an awkward, asocial individual with very little experience when it comes to apologizing to others. Still, Aeon doesn't let their weaknesses stop or hold them back. “I’ve come to apologize to you.” They just go on and say it. Blunt and clear, that’s how they roll. “I realize now that my words have been hurtful to you on several occasions and so I’m sorry for the way I’ve been speaking to you.” That should be good. If they add too much, it could muddle everything up and they could end up ruining the entire apology. It does feel good, however, to have apologized. They still feel bad but their conscience feels lighter now that they’re trying to make amends. Alistair looks down at the floor, a contemplative expression forming. Such an expression makes the angel look so much older, more mature than his baby-faced appearance lets on. It reminds Aeson that they’re dealing with an immortal being, and they’re suddenly acutely aware of how disrespectful they’ve truly been towards Alistair. Such a thought has Aeson’s head swarming with all the different ways Alistair could enact revenge against them for their behaviour. The fact that the only bad thing Alistair's done in retaliation is simply verbal and nothing more says a lot about his character and level of restraint. Alistair’s silence has left Aeson thinking their apology wasn’t good enough. He doesn’t say anything for a good five minutes, leaving Aeson tense on their feet. They’re about to apologize again when the angel finally moves, lifting his head. He locks his gaze onto Aeson’s eyes, forcing them to look back. Aeson normally despises eye contact, but now isn’t the time to be focused on themself. “Thank you for the apology.” Alistair’s words sound careful like he’s reciting a script. He probably is. The angel has had to familiarize himself with how humans talk to each other culturally. “I’m sorry too. For earlier. You were right, I was bothering your feline and so she bit me.” Aeson quickly glances over to Nuggy Chicky at the mention of her. She’s laying on her side, sleeping. They focus back on Alistair. “She’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Alistair nods, lowering his head, looking down at his lap. Aeson takes the lapse in conversation as an opportunity to sit down. They sit at the end of the couch as far

from Alistair as is allowed. Now that they’ve apologized and so has Alistair, Aeson doesn’t know where to go from here. It’s not like the two of them are friends. The room still feels awkward but it’s different now, a lighter, less intense sort of awkward. The kind that happens between strangers with nothing to talk about. Aeson is not about to engage in any sort of small talk though. They hate small talk and would rather subject themself to an awkward silence than participate in small talk. Alistair does not share this opinion. “So,” the angel starts, clearly still thinking of something to say. Aeson doesn’t move. “Is everything okay now? Are you still angry at me?” Alistair surprises Aeson. That’s not small talk. That’s big talk, deep talk. Aeson’t wasn’t expecting the angel to be so bold to want to talk feelings but then they remember he’s an angel and probably doesn’t know about humans and their reluctance to open up. Aeson shakes their head. “No. Not anymore.” Thinking back, they’re not sure if they were even really mad at Alistair in the first place or if they were just mad at themself for being such an unreasonable dick over the past few weeks. Aeson knows they’re not a paragon of kindness but they don’t want to actively be a bad person either, which they have been to Alistair since the start of their strange cohabitation. “Oh, I’m glad.” Alistair sounds disappointed like he was hoping Aeson would say more, open up more. Alistair slides across the couch not at all subtly, really, he makes quite a show of it, making little grunts of effort as he shimmies, shaking the cushions. Aeson watches in the corner of their eyes, wondering what the angel plans to do now. “Did you finish your work?” Oh, there’s the small talk. Alistair must’ve noticed that Aeson doesn’t want to talk about today’s conflict anymore. Aeson, against their better judgement, reluctantly nods, engaging in the small talk they hate. Alistair smiles at the reaction, his face lighting up like a child’s. “Then, could we do something together?” Aeson’s stoic expression cracks a bit, their jaw going slack. “You . . .” they start and stop, “you want to do something with me?” The notion that the angel actually wants to spend time with someone who’s always rude to him is shocking. Aeson’s first instinct is that it’s a trick, but Alistair’s too good for that. Sure, he’s annoying with a huge ego and superiority complex, but at his core, Alistair's one of the most morally purest people Aeson’s ever met. They attribute that to his literal angelic status. Alistair laughs like Aeson’s just a hilarious joke, further confusing them. ��Of course,” he says easily, “why else am I here?” I want to be in your company. I’ve said so since the start.” The light, carefree tone in Alistair’s words set Aeson’s paranoid instincts at ease. “Okay.” Aeson decides not to fight Alistair on this. They’ve been a jerk for long enough. “What do you want to do?” If Aeson thought Alistair was a giddy child before, they’re floored by how he looks now. Alistair jumps off the couch and pulls Aeson to their feet. He drags them through their apartment, a destination already in mind. Alistair stops in front of Aeson’s studio. “Please, show me how you work.” Alistair doesn’t let go of Aeson’s hands. In fact, he squeezes, urging Aeson to say yes. They do and consequently spend the rest of the day indulging Alistair and his requests.

[roxywashere]

Knee Deep in the Dead

Roxy takes a Vacation

Contrary to what you might think, Hell is a veritable Paradise for an Angel. Especially those Angels who take pride in and derive enjoyment from their ability to slay Demons.

Roxanne is one such Angel. And she had one Hell all to herself, after the associated Earth and Heaven attached to it had disappeared from the face of the Multiverse, leaving only the Demons and their prison behind. However, she’d been an Angel for so long that she had started growing bored with her personal, as it were, Hell.

Lucky for her, she wasn't limited to one Hell. She had infinite Hells to pacify.

Roxanne stood on a cliffside in her private Earth, barren of humanity, which she had christened Altar. She unsheathed her magic sword, Dawnherald, and pointed it out over the cliff, which faced a pristine blue ocean.

She spoke to the sword. “I think it’s time we took a vacation, eh? You pick this time. Try to surprise me.” She released the hilt, leaving the blade floating in the air. Dawnherald then minutely vibrated, in an increasing frequency and tightening amplitude, until it’s subatomically sharpened point snagged on a subatomic wormhole and then ripped an orange-red swath through the blue sky.

Roxy peered through the portal and examined the universe Dawnherald had chosen. “I’m intrigued... tell me more.”

Dawnherald continued ripping open the wormhole until it completely enveloped Roxy, bringing her into the world Dawnherald was proposing. She saw an endless plain of sulfur, interrupted only by towers of sulfur spitting clouds of sulfur like smokestacks.

The air smelled of sulfur, and napalm, and melting flesh, and burning plastic.

She saw movement, in small patches, on the edges of the horizon: Imps, scrambling towards the holy presence of Roxy and her semi-animate gear, enraged at her consecrating effects on their infernal home.

Roxy pointed at Dawnherald and traced a curve from where it was now to it's sheath on her back, which Dawnherald followed until it clicked snuggly into its home. Roxy took a calm, deep breath, and then rocketed towards the squadrons of imps so fast she left a vacuum which sonic-boomed in her wake.  

She stopped among a group of imps as fast as she had gotten going, knocking to the ground all but the one she had stopped in front of and held still by wrapping her ethereal wings around it. Her hand was outstretched towards it, her pointer and index pressed gently against its forehead, and her middle finger was pinned towards her palm by her thumb. When she released the coiled-up flick, the minor Demon's head exploded backwards in a jet of steam, literally vaporized by the energy Roxy's smallest possible attack had imparted.

“Come on, put up a fight. Make me earn my vacation.”

The Demons snarled and indulged her, all attempting to pounce on her at once. She grabbed one, palming its face, and used it as a club to bludgeon the rest. Its neck failed after only three Demons, the body detaching from the head and flying off into the near distance. She then pitched the head at a tight cluster of imps, splattering the head through all 6 of them.

These imps were no challenge for Roxy at all. As soon as she realized she had already exhausted her enjoyment from this particular encounter, she reached back to Dawnherald, pressing the button to release it from its sheath and help dispatch the imps.

As soon as the last imps splattered across the ground, Roxy heard a steady, rhythmic pounding. She smiled. “There we go...” She zipped in the direction of the sound, and as she grew closer she tracked it as coming from beneath the ground.

She set down on the sulfuric stone, and punched down at it, shattering the relatively thin floor she had been standing upon, revealing the chamber below.

It was massive.

It was several hundred feet across, and the bottom of the chamber was so far down that it was obscured by the glowing smog of sulfur dioxide that filled the low-lying regions of this world. She could see flickering sources of light, and shifting shadows, but no details.

The walls of the chamber were smoothed and shaped sulfides, with a whole wall of pure carved native Sulfur. The Sulfur wall had a door 50 feet tall, and behind that door was the source of the pounding.

Roxy wedged her fingers between the crack of the doors, and ripped a hole through it, the soft stone crumbling in her grip. As soon as she did the great fist of some Greater Demon punched through the door, grabbed her, and pulled her into the pitch darkness. It drew her close to its face, and opened its eyes, revealing six charcoal flames, and then opened its mouth and snarled, revealing a bright furnace burning white-hot.

It exhaled rocket exhaust at her, and her semi-mortal flesh melted away, stripping her down to little more than a golden skeleton wearing golden armor, which the demon released to watch clatter to the ground.

The skeleton dropped down to the floor, and then instead of collapsing jumped back up and head-butted the Demon. Roxy pulled her disk shield, Aegis, off her back and held it up, where it surrounded her with an impenetrable sphere of light.

As Roxy’s flesh reconstituted behind the barrier, she slowly paced around the Demon, examining it in the new light. It was 30 feet tall, with skin like bubbling tar, the face of a gorilla and the horns of a ram, cloven hooves, and fingers like foot-thick obsidian blades.

“You couldn’t have picked a more typical form,” she enunciated as soon as her lungs, throat, and mouth had grown in. “Got a name?”

“Ba’al-Beirut,” it growled in response.

“I’m Roxanne. Tell your friends.” With that said, Roxy took Dawnherald and smashed it against Aegis. The two rang out with a thundering clang, and the sphere of light exploded, sending Ba’al-Beirut flying through the ruins of the door and down into the chamber below.

Roxy’s human form had completed repairing. She walked up to the edge of the chamber, just in time to see Ba’al-Beirut scamper off whimpering before the sulfur dioxide smoke filled the Ba’al-Beirut-shaped hole that had been punched through it. She dropped down into the darkness. She landed in a gentle kneel among the smog, surrounded by hundreds of pairs of embers.

“Hello, boys. It’s time to fucking party.” She reach back towards Dawnherald in its sheath, and without even touching the catch pressed it and then flicked her wrist upwards, an action Dawnherald mimicked, launching into the air. “Shine.”

Dawnherald ignited with the light of a sun, blinding every single one of the five or so hundred Demons in the chamber with Roxy. Roxy could still see perfectly, however. While they were all still stunned, Roxy zipped around obliterating the Demons in approximate order of ascending power. By the time she had eviscerated the imps, the other Demons had recovered.

They all competed to be the one to kill her, accidentally attacking each other in their frenzy. Roxy took advantage of the confusion by hovering in places that would lead to more collateral damage when they missed her. She managed to kill almost a quarter without laying a finger on them.

It wasn't much of a challenge, but it wasn't effortless either. Once Roxy had almost completely cleared the room, the surviving greater Demons turned tail and ran.

“You fucking cowards,” Roxy yelled at their backs. “You call yourselves Demons? Get back here!”

She took her time tracking them through the endless system of sprawling tunnels under the surface of this Hell. She slowly, patiently, paced every foot of the 100,000 miles that quest required, killing a million other Demons along the way. But after 10 years, more or less, she found them all, and killed all but one.

She had left Ba’al-Beirut alive, out of some fleeting whimsy to see what his driving fear of her would lead him to do.

She saw him journey across Hell for 20 years after she had finished killing the other Demons she had first come across. He consulted with hundreds of Demon fortune teller and magisters, seeking what it would take to get this implacable Heaven-Spawn off his trail.

Every place Ba’al-Beirut passed through would be shortly thereafter wiped from the infernal map, so the longer his quest drew on the more resistance he found from other Demons not wishing to be marked for certain annihilation at the hands of a bored rogue Archangel.

But eventually his quest led him to the answer he thought would work best.

After utterly destroying the demonic temple that had given him his final solution, Roxy caught up with him as he was adding the final touches on an enormous magic circle.

It was a massive pentagram made of crushed up cinnabar, with lettering in greek, arabic, and norse runic along the edges, and surrounded by more geometric shapes extending out almost a hundred feet from the center. Ba’al-Beirut had spent a day tracing it, making sure that each line and curve were perfectly drawn, to minimize the chance of failure. Thousands of other Demons had gathered to watch.

Roxy recognized this ritual: she'd seen it attempted six dozen times across the Omniverse before; it was the ultimate ritual of local Multicosmic Demonism. Never once had she failed to stop it.

But this Hell was a sandbox. She wanted someone else to play with.

Roxy sat in the air above the circle, legs crossed patiently. When Ba’al-Beirut stopped to run and cower, she zipped into his path, still sitting lotus.

“Finish the ritual,” she commanded of him. Not only did Roxy not interfere with the process, she actively aided it: when Ba’al-Beirut reached the final step, and went to kill a random imp for blood sacrifice, Roxy stopped him.

“He’s more likely to answer if it’s somebody he knows,” she advised. She stood in the center of the pentagram and used Dawnherald to slit her own throat so deeply her head technically wasn't connected to the rest of her body. Her blood pooled within the pentagram, not spreading past its 5 sides. It poured out of her until her heart ran dry. “Call to him,” Roxy ordered.

In an ageless and multiversally spread infernal tongue, Ba’al-Beirut cried: “<Therion, I summon thee.>”

There was a flash of light from the center of the pentagram, and a crack of thunder, and the cinnabar dust started glowing.

The blood started roiling and churning, as if it wasn’t only mere centimeters deep. A shape slowly rose out of the liquid, looking like it was composed of the blood itself. It was vaguely human-shaped, though many things often were, but as it rose higher it’s features became sharper. The face of a man became distinct, already smiling wickedly, and before it had risen completely its eyes snapped open.

Therion leapt forward at Roxy, not yet fully formed. His arm shot forward like a tentacle, which materialized into a hand around Roxy’s neck. She still had Dawnherald in her hand, so she swung it to cleave the gripping fist.

She zipped backwards, out of his reach. “I thought She forbade you from entering any Hell?” she interrogated.

“She let me back in as a reward for my good behaviour,” still half-blood Demon answered disingenuously. “I thought She forbade you from using your wings under foreign suns?” he then asked in return.

“She gave me new wings.”

“Well, I guess that all our questions have been answered.” He examined his surroundings, and himself, still partially solidifying out of Roxy’s blood. He saw the figure of Ba’al-Beirut towering over the much more minute Angel. “Though it was her blood that drew me here, the voice that summoned me was not hers. I presume that was you?”

Ba’al-Beirut was in a state of obvious confusion. “I summoned the Demon King, God of Evil, the Immortal Dragon. What is this buffoonery?”

Roxy and Therion shared a rare smile over their mutual amusement at the situation.

Ba’al-Beirut gestured at the random assortment of Demons that had surrounded to watch the ritual. “Kill this imposter!”

Roxy gave him some space, flying straight up to not be in the way, and Therion spread his arms and cackled as hundreds of imps and middling Demons converged upon him and ripped his finally completely solid body to shreds.

Roxy landed upon a hill a fair distance away. Ba’al-Beirut turned his back on the frenzy and walked for a long minute to confront her. “Why did the spell fail? You said he would answer.”

“And answer he did, you stupid impish emberling. Look again, and see for yourself.”

In the minute that Ba’al-Beirut had spent stomping over to Roxy, the scene behind him had changed dramatically. No longer was there a legion of imps tearing at the flesh of some random human, but there was instead an enormous form standing above the imps, stretching up into the sulfurous smog until it could only be seen as a shadow against the ambient glow of this Hell’s atmosphere.

Everything had gone silent. The enormous shadowy figure had never made a sound as it had come into being, and the imps had ceased their squawking out of awe.

A shadow leaned down out of the smog, revealing a colossal draconic head beset upon a long thick snake-like neck. The head was itself beset by a crown of four curved horns. Six other nearly identical heads then leaned down around the first head, their only difference being having a single pointed horn instead of four.

The central head spoke, with a deep, but genial voice. “Therion, The Beast from the Pit, The Seven-Headed Dragon, the King of Demons, at your infernal service. I see you have already met my opposite.”

Ba’al-Beirut fell to his knee and genuflected. “Forgive me for my disbelief-”

“Up! Stand up! We don’t have time to be formal, we’ve got a Legion to organize! No time to waste! Go, rally as many as you can!”

As Ba’al-Beirut scampered off to obey his command, Therion leaned even further down to Roxy. “You think yourself so clever, driving a Demon to insanity to draw me into a far-flung realm and imprison me...”

“You’re the one calling me clever, here,” she responded. “I only wanted to see what would happen if you were summoned to where you were forbidden. I thought maybe the process would finally destroy you.”

“If only.”

Roxy sighed in commiseration. “If only indeed.” Roxy cracked her neck and fingers, her joints popping as loud as firecrackers. “Let’s get to business, shall we?”

Therion reared his six single-horned heads back up and inhaled deeply through all of them. At the very end of the inhale, his four-horned head quietly said “Let’s,” and then roared with all the Wrath and Pride he exemplified, the sound spreading out over this Hell for thousands of miles.