The messenger in the cell was thinking about time a lot recently. Time, how it oozed by, and how ridiculously slow it could seem when you were counting it tick by between sessions of torture and agony.
For whatever reason, the demon – Azazel, its name was – had given him a spot of honor in a filthy cell. The long elevator ride down to the depts of this laboratory had been tenacious enough, trapped between the demon’s disdain and the mocking threats of the Auditor Voltaire. All around him he could experience the pain of others in new and interesting ways; this one smelled like part of it was rotting, that one made gurgled whimpers and still another one in another cell was banging its body against the hardened steel. At first he’d thought it was to escape, but Mariel had later become convinced that it was probably unaware that it was even doing it. If that were his fate, he hoped he went with the gurgled whimpers, as the other options seemed terribly undignified.
Littered with bruises, cuts, and claw marks, the messenger curled his wings around himself to press himself further into the corner of the cage. His arms ached where they were bound behind his back, and around his neck the faint electrical hum of the collar buzzed as a constant reminder that his powers were off-limits. Without it, he could have zipped through the material plane straight home to the Divine –
The Divine. Where was it? With a messenger cut off, surely they would have sent someone by now. No, they wouldn’t have. He was a messenger. Just a messenger. A messenger that had been sent on an unimportant errand to deliver a message that was a mere formality. They wouldn’t send anyone and he knew it. For all of the physical pain and humiliations he’d endured in his short stay in Nervana Labs, the lack of his Divine Voice guiding him was the most anguishing.
Hours continued to crawl by, and he became aware of something strange settling on his body. It was like dust, but more so. Like bugs, but less so. He felt the crawling sensation like a sickness upon his flesh, bruised and torn as it was with claw marks. It felt like parasites in his feathers, blackened and tarnished as many of them were. “What the hells is this, then?” he hissed. Clearly the amount of begging and screaming that he had recently done had not broken his spirit very much, he was still as catty and cantankerous as ever. His wings drew up around himself, acting as a defensive extension since his arms were not available for him to use.
The mass of nanites gathered to Mariel, trying to burrow into his healing wounds, trying to find any way into the angel’s body. Crawling into his feathers like annoying mites, the swarm gradually growing larger as more continued to rain from the overhead cell light in a metallic shower. Mariel gave a look of revulsion and tried to shake them off, only to realize that his movements were having little effect. In fact, any movement he did served to reopen the half-healed wounds that he’d already managed to close. The raking claw wounds arcing across his body still seeped golden blood and provided access points, but as the microscopic shower hit his wings the feathers immediately begin to shake and flap in a desperate attempt to get rid of whatever was touching the pristine feathers.
As they began to infiltrate his body the messenger would hear the sound of laugher, malicious and sharp as it was transmitted by the nanomachines. “How unfortunate. Azazel should never have left his toy unattended.” the voice said to the angel in an amused tone.
Mariel stilled when he heard that laughter, his eyes narrowing. “If you are trying to intimidate me you shall need to drive far harder than that, worm.” His voice was deathly cold, the energy that had been expended into trying to heal himself now shifting into conservation mode as he let his gaze roam the room, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. It seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once, unable to be placed. “And which toilet is it that you scrub, little one? Are you some petty creature looking for revenge?”
At the remark the voice laughed again, “Indimidate you? No. Ruin you, yes.” The swarm gradually slimmed as the miniscule machines worked their way into him. “Well, you’re correct on the revenge part at least.” it said with amusement. “Azazel threatened what is ours, and it’s going to cost him his toy. Maybe I should have my swarm break down those cuffs and collar after I mess you up a bit? Let you take all that anger out on him next time he visits you in your cell,” he mused, “For now you could say I’m just getting into position.”
“If you think that I can be ruined by a sentient patch of haze, you clearly have no idea what you’re dealing with.” The celestial scoffed, though he did give pause at the strange sensation that was tingling at the edge of his periphery. It was obvious he had no idea what the nanites were, and assumed it was just some glittering cloud of…something hovering around him. Now, however, with the machines infiltrating his bloodstream he began to realize that the voice was coming from within his head. “I am not something to be ruined by the likes of you,” he chuffed with indignant irritation, unwilling to admit to the comfort offered by the placement of a voice where his Divine Voice had gone silent.
Again the voice chuckled at his words. “Maybe not, but wouldn’t you like revenge on that goat eyed demon as well? Soon my swarm will all be nicely hidden in your blood, and he’ll have no idea.” the shifter goaded, entertained by the angels spirited remarks. “You know as well as I that he’s never going to let you go, after all. He’s probably going to mount those lovely wings of yours as a trophy on his office wall.”
“I don’t require your assistance to an act for revenge on that demonic insect,” Mariel replied with a huff, but that last statement definitely gave him pause. There had been an uncomfortable amount of discussion about the presentability of his wings in that elevator ride, something that seemed to be the only thing to really shoot a pang of terror down his spine.
“You sure about that? Looks like he has you right where he wants you between the collar and cuffs,” it said doubtfully.
“If you insist on treating me like a fool, you will receive only disdain in return,” the angel stated flatly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about with this swarm business, but do not insult me. I am not stupid enough to think that any of this would be ‘worth my while.’ Your type like to use lines like that, to give hope. I am a Messenger. I am hope. Offer me revenge for the pain, and perhaps we will talk. I am not so stupid to think that we are allies or that anything you do for me will come out in my favor.”
“My swarm are the tiny machines infiltrating your body as we speak.” the voice, now firmly settled in the back of the messenger’s mind, elaborated. “Very well. I am Gears. One of the experiments made in this location. The demon that accosted you is a problem for myself and my allies. If you would like revenge for the pain, I would consider assisting you.” Gears said. There was much he wished to do to the demon, but for now taking Azazel’s toy from him would do.
Machines infiltrating his body? He looked down at the claw marks raking across his skin that shimmered just a bit more than they really should have. Well that made his stomach absolutely turn a flip. He looked very much as though he were about to vomit, though thankfully that wasn’t really an option for him. “W-Well…” He said as he tried to gather his voice again. He cleared his throat, and then tried once more, “Well at least you are able to give a proper introduction. Revenge for the pain he has inflicted on me is a suitable enough reason for me to consider a temporary allyship. What precisely are these filthy machines for?”
“The machines can perform many tasks. They can repair or destroy, they could aid in healing your wounds. They could also give Azazel a nasty surprise next time he tries to mess with you.” Gears explained.
“Hm.” Mariel nodded slightly, but then shifted a little. “A nasty surprise is the best that creature could hope for from me. However, if this collar was deactivated and my power is returned, I could quite honestly heal myself and give him the surprise of a lifetime. What manner of beast are you? You are clearly a captive here, but you are not an innocent.”
“I am a shapeshifter, made through a mix of magic and tech here in this lab. I don’t think anyone in this place is truly innocent, or if they were the doctors never let them stay that way long…” Gears voice was quiet for a moment. “Well then I’ll see what my machines can do about the cuffs and collar.”
There was that look of distaste again. “Ah,” Mariel stated flatly. “One of the manufactured life forms that Lord Stahs had mentioned rescuing. I cannot hear my Voice down here; I don’t know if it’s the collar or the building blocking it, but if I could contact the council I could have this place burned to the ground…”
“Hm. Hopefully not with the lot of us in here.” Gears muttered.
A thought seemed to come to the angel, and he carefully stated, “The demon is a menace, but the auditor is the true danger. You do realize that if the auditor is on the side of the demon, your little rebellion is going to fail, correct?”
“You mean Voltaire? I believe his allegiance is his own. He has both helped us but also cautioned that we cannot currently overtake this place and those like it. The one who orders that demon around won’t allow it.” The consternation was clear in Gears voice.
“Is that what he’s calling himself? Cute.” Mariel sighed. “No, not necessarily with you and it. Lord Stahs was quite adamant that you were creatures deserving of some form of rescue,” he muttered, sounding strangely bitter. “That auditor is only ever on his own side, however if he is fond of the demon then it doesn’t matter. He is legendary, something bigger than you can comprehend, something that even the Council of the Divine won’t touch.”
“Well fortunately for us the demon screwed up and pissed off the auditor by messing with someone he shouldn’t have. If he was fond I doubt he is now.” Gears said, “Not that that means he’s on our side, but at least I don’t think he’s on Azazel’s side easier.
Shifting again, Mariel tried to find a comfortable position as he drew his wings back up to his sides tightly. “I don’t care about you, I don’t care about any of you. I just wish to return to my duties. Had I not been distracted from my duties and lingered on impractical thoughts, I would not have been captured by this filth. Do what you will with these nanites that you have, it doesn’t matter. I feel sick already. I would rather this all simply burn.” And even as he admitted to his capture being his own fault, and the rage that was in his deceptively calm mind, just a few more of the golden cores of his feathers felt a tarnish, one of the feathers even gaining a few strands of black across the shining silver.
“Fair enough. Well, getting these bindings off you seems like a win-win at least if you direct all that fury at the demon that did this to you.” Gears said as he directed the nanites to work at the cuffs and the collar, slowly eating at the demon’s magic like hungry bacteria, while reserving a few to aid the angel’s healing.
Mariel slowly started to push himself to his feet, using the wall for support and stretching his wings out for balance. “My fury is endless,” he said quietly. “Your kindness is self-serving, but it is a kind of generosity none the less. I will take care to ensure that my rage does not burn you. My target is the demon.” He’d had so much spunk and snarkiness and him, but now he seemed to harbor a deep rage, his voice barely a whisper as his strength slowly returned thanks to the work of the nanites.
“Much appreciated. Even if the alliance is temporary and self serving, we both want to see that demon burn.” Gears said gratefully, “I’ll leave you to your thoughts for now and do what I can to assist you in your revenge. Should you need to speak with me simply think of me and I will be aware.”
“I won’t be leaving this place; my only goal is to ensure that he never leaves it either.” With that, the angel went quiet. He was indeed deep in his own thoughts, feathers slowly tarnishing one by one every few minutes. If he had wanted to ruin Azazel’s plaything, he had done just that by nudging him on a spiraling path towards self-destruction.
Now all the angel had was time. Time, and a singular mission of listening for that new voice in the dark.