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brainwormcity · 19 hours ago

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Chapter 42 is available now! This chapter sees Aziraphale and Muriel taking a journey through unfamiliar terrain.

The Boundless Echoes of Liminal Skies

AO3

Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley

Summary:

Aziraphale bears witness to the Fall of the Starmaker and finds himself helpless to look away from his transformation. Forever changed, the two weave a complex, millennia-spanning web of moral ambiguity, mutually repressed longing, and combating powerlessness in the face of human tragedy.

It was the day of their judgment and God was nowhere to be seen. As of late that had become an increasing normality but Aziraphale was surprised nonetheless. The circumstances were anything but ordinary. After all, Lucifer, God's most beloved prince, was to be cast out of heaven at any moment.

He and the others watched from the wings as the legion of rebellious angels knelt upon the sterile white floor under the Metatron's scorching gaze, Lucifer at the forefront. His eyes scanned over those before him with incredibly deep anguish at the angels (now devils) with whom he would never have the opportunity to form friendships. He couldn't understand why anyone would turn away from good so vehemently that they would literally fracture the unity of Heaven.

Still, he forced himself to pay careful attention to the faces before him as the Metatron passed down his judgment, listing a scroll's-worth of crimes that had, so far, taken nearly a day to read over. There was no protest. There was no defense. There are some things even Heaven could not forgive. Or wouldn’t.

Aziraphale’s eyes fell upon a burst of bright red hair, the likes of which he'd only ever seen once before. The Starmaker; he had never asked his name and now he never would. He remembered though, standing beside him watching nebulas and stars erupt before them, whose lights and radiance humans’ far-off invented fireworks could never begin to compare. He had been inextricably moved by the event and then he’d never seen him again. Until this moment.

Aziraphale had found the Starmaker quite odd. He had, of course, said things aloud that terrified Aziraphale even just to think… Even though in his deepest heart of hearts, he agreed. It was an absolute terrible waste to obliterate such uncompromised beauty. Despite the tremendous fear he’d felt from his questions, Aziraphale had found him beautiful. He'd never admit it but even with the birth of the stars erupting before his eyes, he had struggled to look away from the angel whose warm, brown eyes flashed with the crackle of galaxies forming light-years away. Aziraphale's chest was tight as he watched the Fallen angel glare despondently at the bleached white floor under his knees, his robes frayed and torn from the guardians’ vicious corralling.

It had seemed like ages ago. However, when you were of the celestial body, time flowed differently. It could have been just a day for all one could tell. The vibrant smile that had graced the Starmaker’s face then was nowhere to be found as his judgment was handed down. Aziraphale couldn't recall seeing the traitorous angel on the battlefield. He may have just been lost in the distance, obscured by the glare of his flaming sword but if he had really not been there... Well, that would mean that he'd neither hurt Heaven nor helped the Fallen angels. Aziraphale wasn't sure what that would mean.

He thought of the questions the angel asked that had mirrored those he, himself, had carried in his mind, with more than a little shame. Was voicing those questions really all it took for one to be evil? When he had warned the red-haired angel of the trouble of his vocal criticisms of the Great Plan, he had never imagined this would be his punishment.

The angel suppressed a shudder and a ruffle of his wings. He vowed to himself, in that moment, to never put himself in that kind of position. He wasn't entirely sure what their punishment would look like but disconnection from the Heavenly host seemed terribly frightening, in and of itself. However, he couldn’t hold back the tendril of pity that floated to the forefront of his mind, despite knowing that this devil was his mortal enemy from that day forth.

As if on cue, the Metatron, looking down his nose at them, announced in a thunderous voice, "With these charges in mind, under the holy authority of the Lord, I condemn each of you to the fiery sulfur pits, wherein you shall have your celestial form stripped apart and mutated by the primordial ooze to reflect the foul monstrosity that lurks behind the eyes of your corporeal bodies." Aziraphale knew that by monstrosity the Metatron referred to their curiosity and rebellion. To morph their angelic bodies though? To take what their Creator made and mar it seemed a blasphemy in and of itself. Of course, Aziraphale did not dare not object. His eyes fell, again, upon the Starmaker with his red hair and brown eyes, and couldn't imagine him as a grotesquery now or otherwise.

As the trumpets sounded, the floor began to shake violently beneath them. Before anyone could cry out, the ground fell abruptly away, spilling the traitors straight into a freefall. There was a chorus of gasps all around him as Aziraphale watched them begin to plummet into the atmosphere. The victorious host cheered and laughed and funneled out through the opening in the floor to watch the condemned take their punishment.

Aziraphale, caught in a swell of excited angels, was forced similarly through the opening and quickly fanned out his wings, following the spiral of celestial beings swarming around a light-speed drop of what were, from this day forth, known as demons. A funnel cloud of sorts formed around them, echoing the bitter laughter of the angels.

He watched as the demons attempted, in vain, to spread their wings and alter their courses. Purple auras bound their wings to their backs as they tumbled helplessly, head-over-foot, towards the rapidly approaching surface of the earth. He knew that all other eyes were on Lucifer, now to be known as Satan but, nevertheless, he watched the Starmaker flail in desperation with, what Aziraphale knew he must be mistaken for, tears in his eyes.

The wailing screams of demons tore at Aziraphale’s heartstrings as he watched the devils hopelessly tumble through the atmosphere, the ozone screeching with resistance as they entered. The angels simply passed through the atmosphere miraculously to continue to jeer and taunt the losers of The Great War. To Aziraphale, it felt so very wrong. So… unangelic.

The sea below sparkled like rough-cut sapphires, waiting to dice the flesh of the demons.

'The Starmaker! Oh, the poor Starmaker,’ Aziraphale thought as he watched the Fallen angel hit the surface of the water with a bone-crushing splat. They would not die but he knew that the pain must have been immeasurable. The demons smashed into the choppy waters like screaming meteorites, the surface boiling with the heat of their atmospheric entry.

By now, many of the angels who had followed to watch had stopped short, likely with boredom. Aziraphale was again struck by the callous nature the Fall had revealed in the Heavenly host as well as the demons. The scent of their blood left its tang in the water as it ripped at their skin. Some part of him, for whatever reason, felt he owed it to his enemies to witness their unbecoming. He gasped an unnecessary breath and miracled himself a gentle entry into the foamy waves.

Aziraphale had thought that the gelatinous resistance of the water would slow the descent of the Fallen but, alas, its depths seemed to grab them and pull them into the darkness, illuminated only by the purple aura forcibly wrapped around their wings. The angel found the Starmaker again amongst the darkness, fighting the urge to reach out as the red-haired demon clawed uselessly at his own throat trying to force air into his lungs. Their miracles had been blocked and their powers were revoked, at least as long as Heaven was still in charge of their fate. They wouldn’t always be but right now, the demons were powerless. Bubbles poured forcibly from the mouth and nose of the Starmaker as he was dragged into inky blackness.

Pressure built around Aziraphale’s ears as he followed the traitors to depths that would flatten the humans that the demons had used as an excuse to rebel against the Lord. A great rift erupted in the earth, giving way to tremendous force and heat. Aziraphale faintly remembered that the architects of Earth had referred to, what this great crevasse was to become, as the Mariana Trench. He hadn’t thought it possible but the sea grew impossibly darker. Only through his miraculous powers could Aziraphale continue to watch the excruciating Fall.

The waters grew hotter and hotter still as the minutes passed, wordless screams burbling from the mouths of the demons whose descent finally gave signs of slowing. Aziraphale alighted on a nearby cliff face, his face awash with horror. At last, a molten light emerged in the distance. A vent of flaming, boiling liquid stirred at the floor of the sea, rising and falling impossibly as though it were a living being. Boiling tentacles of violently glowing magma began to ascend.

It was to his silent terror that he watched a flaming tendril wrap around the Starmaker’s bare ankle with a sizzle, yanking him down relentlessly. His hands groped uselessly above him as his once finely-kempt hair fanned around his head, its red paling, even in near-pitch darkness, only in comparison to the molten sulfuric being he was being pulled away by.

It was only as the Starmaker disappeared into the magma, with a horrible sucking sound, that Aziraphale allowed himself to look away. His eyes burned with the salt of the ocean and unshed tears. It all felt so wrong. In all of his existence, he’d never witnessed something that had been so very gruesome, even in the heat of battle. It shook him so deeply to his core. They were their enemies, yes but were they not, also, living creatures? Had they truly not been worthy of mercy?

He knew he should go. He was now the only angel beneath the waves and the task had been done. He had fulfilled his moral obligation. The Fall was complete. Still, Aziraphale found himself latching onto the ledge staring into the bubbling ooze, his cheeks stinging from the burning vents below. The darkness was frighteningly silent for quite a long time. Regardless, the angel found himself frozen where he lay against the cliff face, hot, sharp rocks digging into his front.

Suddenly a sound akin to cannon fire filled the trench. First, one enormous fireball launched through the darkness disappearing into the distance. Aziraphale knew by the energy level alone that it had been Satan. All at once, a cacophony of thump thump thump erupted, like so many bottle rockets launched into separate directions. Into the black of the ocean. Before he understood it, his senses had latched upon a particular aura. It was mangled and twisted but still terribly familiar. He couldn’t stop himself from launching after a glowing, writhing mass of flesh through the dark water.

He was operating on instinct and ethereal senses alone. The saltwater burned his eyes and pulled his typically coiffed curls flat against his scalp as he ripped through the water after the being. He only barely managed to keep up with the impossible speed at which the demon had been cast out. He could not make out the exact shape of what he was following. Between the darkness and the speed, all Aziraphale could see was a rapidly warping black mass.

The aura was then abruptly ascending in the water. Light began to pool on the surface and before long, the demon shot out of the water, leaving tidal waves in his wake. Still, Aziraphale was helpless to stop himself from following at a speed that humans would likely always struggle to imagine, let alone achieve. The being seemed to be locked in a catapulting motion, circling the earth over and over in a way that might have made Aziraphale dizzy, were it not for his being ethereal.

The air screamed at the speed. He surmised that it had likely been a few hours since the Fallen had been expelled. He could see the creature splitting and writhing and bubbling with it’s continued mutation. Aziraphale knew very well that he had no reason to be here.

He could feel the strain on both his corporeal form and his miraculous energy yet all he could think was, ‘You poor, foolish Starmaker! I’m so sorry!’ Then the creature was rocketing toward the Earth, no longer gathering speed but moving quickly enough that Aziraphale knew it would likely leave a crater in the face of the planet.

Lush rainforest came hauling into view and Aziraphale tucked his wings back and dove ever after the demon. He could feel the slash of branches cutting against his face but as if possessed, he was being pulled by the dark energy before him. His heart was absolutely thunderous against his sternum.

A deep, brown lake rose into view and Aziraphale stopped short with a gasp as the creature, yet again, smashed through the surface of the water. Then everything grew quiet, save for the croaks of primitive insects and amphibians in the distance, Steam rose from the surface of the lake which was now significantly more shallow than it had been just moments before. The air had become moist and sticky. It clung to his skin and robe as he moved to perch on the top of a tree, on a long branch. There, he watched. Waited. He began to pray. It felt antithetical to everything he'd been told but he began to pray under his breath for him. With his eyes squeezed shut, he prayed for the demon who used to be the Starmaker.

He began to lose heart with each moment with no signs of life from below the muddied waters which remained steaming, despite its stillness. Aziraphale feared that maybe he had been destroyed after all. The deep hurt he felt at that moment was incomparable to anything he'd known before as he stretched his wings in preparation to take flight. They ached dreadfully against his back and the feathers felt stiff and smelled strongly of salt. He chided himself for the bitter taste of his own vanity in the face of the atrocities he had just witnessed, as he ran his fingers over a white primary feather. It was as he stepped toward the tip of the branch that he heard it.

Something broke the surface of the water with a violent gasp and Aziraphale quickly retreated to the cover of leaves he’d previously been hidden within. He stared into the dark water trying to make here or there of the shadows cast across the water from the dense foliage overhanging the water. He stifled a gasp as his eyes fell upon something or someone moving through the water with a ripple. Aziraphale’s curiosity felt to him like a cruelty to bestow upon the creature below.

He could hear harsh breaths ripping through the forest floor below. Aziraphale’s hackles rose at what the Starmaker had become. He felt a flash of terror at that moment. He couldn’t think of another time in his life he had felt such palpable fear… Had it been his? It felt alien in his chest but he knew that that was impossible. Right?

The water sloshed riotously for a moment and then slowly, ever so slowly, something emerged onto the shore of the lake. Aziraphale had never seen anything like it before. What lay upon the ground below him was a massive serpent. It’s scales were a vibrantly shining, inky blackness, reflecting the dimming sunlight with a blazing orange sheen. It was as if it- No, he was radiating a fiery glow beneath his flesh.

Without warning, the serpent curled upon himself, writhing in the mud. His body twisted at impossible angles, serpent or not. One moment, he appeared to Aziraphale as an absence of light. A black hole. The next he seemed to fold in and out of dimensions that the eyes that the Lord had bestowed upon Aziraphale couldn’t quite seem to comprehend. He had thought that the transformation had been completed. He had watched it happen for hours.

He was struck with a sudden realization. This creature was no longer helpless at that moment. He was willfully reshaping his own existence. He was rejecting the mutated form forced upon him by the primordial ooze and like he had that day with Aziraphale beside him, was forcing something entirely new into existence. Aziraphale tensed with anticipation.

It was with a shock of lightning and boom of thunder that everything ceased. The rainforest was deadly silent, though out of fear or reverence, Aziraphale could not say. The air was tense with static and ozone and the angel was all too aware of the thrumming of his heart against his chest.

A plume of black smoke billowed up from the forest floor, and from behind its curtain emerged a figure. The being before him stood bare at the water’s edge. Waves of hair cascaded down the demon’s back in loose ringlets, an impossible searing red-orange. The strands bifurcated at his shoulders revealing jet-black wings, intimidating in their span and iridescence.

He seemed to tremble on his feet and for a moment, Aziraphale thought he might tumble to the ground. The demon instinctively spread his wings to balance and right himself. He appeared startled by the sight of his own marred feathers and in a manner that was just nearly, but not quite, amusing, he turned about in a circle, trying to glimpse his new wings in their entirety.

He eventually settled for gripping a feather, at one wingtip, between two fingers before letting it drop. He had abruptly become absorbed by his own fingers. They were as slender and lithe as Aziraphale remembered but now they were tipped with deadly sharp, black claws. He watched the demon access his work. He seemed to count each finger and toe and test each joint to ensure they moved properly in the way that his previous corporeal body’s had.

Aziraphale felt ashamed. He understood that what he was witnessing was something terribly intimate. He was an interloper upon this damned creature but he could not… Refused to look away. Underneath the shame rang out a feeling of deep purpose for which the angel had no name. Against all logic, there was a certainty that he had to be here.

Finally, the demon moved his clawed fingers from the hollow of his own chest slowly up his own throat. Aziraphale could feel his hesitation. The demon probed gently at his own face, as though accounting for each contour of his cheek and the jut of his chin. Aziraphale had yet to see the demon’s face clearly because of his halo of red hair. Its shade was somehow even more striking than it had been that day before the Beginning.

The demon seemed to huff a laugh. Perhaps, the angel pondered, pleased with his work? It was then the demon knelt before the water and stared into the reflection upon the surface. Upon taking in his own countenance, though, a wave of sorrow so strong slammed into Aziraphale that it wrenched a gasp from his chest. He struggled to stay upright as the sensation battered his body.

Anguished wails rang out from below. Aziraphale pressed back against the energy to look upon him again. The creature held himself, knees against his chest, and sobbed the most painful cries Aziraphale had ever heard. He shook violently as he cried and yet more waves of desperate sadness poured from him.

Aziraphale could not understand. Just a moment ago, the demon had seemed so pleased with himself. What could have shaken him so deeply? Reality blurred around its edges as the being wept. He couldn’t stop himself.

Aziraphale began to part the leaves, everything in him crying out that he must go to him. Nothing else mattered at that moment. Though, as he reached the tip of the branch, his wings poised to dive, an echo of The Metatron’s words boomed in his head. He remembered the promise he had made to himself hours before to never allow himself to put himself in this very position. This was dangerous.

He began to step back, and as he did his wings shuffled the moist leaves around him. He froze stock still. The demon below stood suddenly. He was looking away from Aziraphale's direction and all he could see was the demon’s profile. His heart seized in his chest and his hands uselessly gripped at the air before him.

The demon screamed out in a voice wrecked from his sobs, “Who’s there?!”

Aziraphale shivered. He sounded just like he had that moment when they stood side by side, the Starmaker’s wing held above him, shielding him from the stray sparks of stardust. He hadn’t expected that. The demon spun where he stood.

“Have you come to laugh at the abomination?!”

Aziraphale knew that he couldn’t but he wanted so desperately to soothe the demon and assure him that he found no humor in his tragic circumstances. Alas, he stood with his back against the trunk of the young tree.

“Come out, you coward!”

He flailed violently in circles again before falling to his knees, at last, facing the angel’s direction.

He screamed again, with his eyes squeezed shut, “Come out!”

Finally, the demon turned his face to the trees and opened his eyes, searching the leaves. The first thing Aziraphale saw was the black scar at his temple in the shape of a twisted snake. His eyes, though. A gasp wrenched from the angel’s chest. Where his eyes were once a warm brown, they were now two orbs of piercing, molten yellow. The eyes of a serpent.

Aziraphale now understood; he couldn’t get rid of them. No matter how the demon changed his form, he would always have them. The visage that God had bestowed upon him would be forever marred with the constant reminder of his Fall from grace. A haunting sorrow filled Aziraphale, this time all his own. Tragic.

The demon was still so strikingly beautiful. All sharp angles and light, just like he had been then with the lights of stars bursting in his eyes. His cheeks were now speckled with freckles, like stars upon the expanse of space he had once painted upon. One last remnant of who he had been. The face was twisted with visceral pain.

“Where are you?” the demon screamed again, “Come out!”

Aziraphale’s body seemed to move forward of its own accord at the sight of the demon's heart-rending expression. He steeled himself against it, forcing himself back. He desperately fanned his wings, sound be damned. If he didn’t leave now, he knew that he never would.

He burned as he took in the tears pouring from those golden-yellow eyes.

Then softly, “Please.”

Aziraphale stepped from the branch forcing himself to turn away and began to fly in the opposite direction.

“Please!” the demon cried out once more, his voice hoarse and strained, before dropping to nearly a whisper, “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone…”

Still, Aziraphale flapped his wings, carrying himself away from the sound of the demon’s cries and the still-assaulting waves of emotional energy. It was only as he broke the tree line of the rainforest, ascending to make his way back to Heaven, that he realized his own cheeks were wet with tears he hadn’t realized had been shed.

He was going home. He fought back a sob of his own. The Starmaker was all alone and always would be. He would never again feel the light of their home. Where would he go? Aziraphale felt an inexplicable sense of loss.

He would never, ever have the chance to comprehend what had drawn him to the Starmaker from the moment he’d laid eyes upon him. They were never to meet again amongst the stars. He thought maybe he was imagining it, but he could have sworn, in that moment, that he could still hear the demon's lamentations. He couldn't afford to let himself think about it further. He banished it from his head with a soft whisper.

'Goodbye, Starmaker.'

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