“Let me go!” Samael snarled, struggling against the hands that forced him to his knees. Swan white wings beat futiley against his captors, shedding snowy feathers across cold stone. He managed to wrench one arm free, hand outstretched towards the single familiar form in the watching, disapproving crowd.
“Remiel!” He cried, voice cracking as the figure turned away, unable to watch. A blow caught him by surprise and he crumpled. A cold hand one the back of his neck drove him to the ground.
“Samael, you are hereby stripped of rank and title.” A voice like thunder and ice ripped through him, with such a weight of dissappointment he could have wept. “You are marked, Samael.”
Pain and heat and the stench of his own burning flesh tore a choking shriek from his throat as he writhed and struggled beneath their hand. Then the restraining hands were gone, and he was falling. Fingers grasped at tendrils of cloud and thin air, grapling for anything to hold on to. Cold air whipped past him, sliving cruelly into unprotected flesh. There was no telling how long or how far he fell, intervals of conciousness fleeting and irregular even as his body struggled to heal the damage already caused, sapping what energy he had.
After a while, the panic subsided. He was wrapped in a shocky sort of calm, detatched and unthinking. He noted the increasing heaviness of the air, his own struggle to breathe foreign air.
It never occurred to him to flap his wings.
Samael cried out as he smashed into the sparse canopy, thin branches lashing out to tear and maim, ripping feathers from his wings and freeing a cascade of blood to rain down on the dry earth. He broke through the obstructions and slammed into the ground, feeling his wings twis beneath him, muscle and skin tearing, bones snapping. He let out a high pitched keen, rolling onto his stomach with a low, animalistic whimper that turned into a yelp as his wings dragged and pulled. He managed to get to all fours, ragged breaths wheezing in and out of his lungs.
A rough tongue swiped his cheek and Samael reached up with a soft noise, digging his fingers into warm, rust colored fur. An identical feline form came up on his other side, washing salty tears from his face. He leaned heavily on them, trying not to make the small, pained noises that tried to escape with every shaky breath. He could feel hs muscles trembling. Never before had he felt so incredibly weak.
“Agony-“ His voice caught in his throat and hius body shuddered with a coughing fit that jarred his maimed wings, causing him to bite back another cry of pain. “Agony and Ecstacy. What are two creatures of mine doing here?” His voice was a rasped whisper. He could feeling the sickening great of bone and the pull of flesh as his body tried to pull itself back together. To heal.
“You may have created them, lover, but they followed me from grace- not you.”
That drawling voice, so familiar. Samael slowly raised his head, straggles of blonde hair falling into his eyes, mated from sweat and blood. His gaze finally focused on the young man languidly reclining against a tree not far, a shining prince dressed in robes of black.
“Morningstar, I was never your lover. You know as well as I.” Breathing didn’t hurt quite so much anymore, though it was still a struggle. Like trying to breathe water.
“Unfortunately. And I am no longer the Morningstar, Samael.” The clear, bell like laughter mde Samael shudder for it’s bitterness.
“I call you as I knew you, Lucifel.” He didn’t hear him move until the ringing slap caught him across the face, sending him sprawling against Agony.
“I am no longer of God, Samael. Just as you are no longer His.” Lucifer hissed. There was a moment of silence as Samael collected himself, slowly getting to his knees. The other fallen angel dropped graceful to kneel across from him, demeanor shifting abruptly. Soft, gentle hands cradled his face, tilting it so their eyes met. “Oh ye who were God’s poison, He who hath forsook you knows not what he hath lost. You who cast me out, now you are but a few steps from Hell’s Gate.”
Gingerly, Samael pulled back from Lucifer’s hands, rising awkwardly to his feet with the help of the twin lions. Looking down at the still kneeling sovreign of Hell, Samael shook his head, sending Agony and Ecstacy back to he who was now their master.
“He may have forsaken me, Lightbringer, but I have not yet forsaken him. I was a lord while in grace, and I would no sooner serve under you than He would take me back.” He turned his back and began to shuffle away, each step slightly less painful then the last. He paused when a delicate hand touched his shoulder, but did not turn around.
“Even if you will not be mine, Samael, you are marked. They’ll know you for what you are.” Cool fingertips swiped over the back of his neck, and burning pain sent him to the gorund, curled over his knees with his forehead pressed to the leaf litter as he tried to will away the pain, and anguish that welled up inside of him in response. He didn’t hear Lucifer leave, black robes billowing around him and twin rust colored lions stalking at his heels.
After a while, the pain did ebb. Panting softly, Samael pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the tree he’d used to help himself up. He staggered on, not really seeing his surrounding, and pausing every few steps to rest. He left bloody footprints in his wake, though he was beginning to numb to pain. He could hardly feel his body anymore, moving clumsily, slowly. His wings dragged, but he felt nothing beyond a strange wrongness on his beck, making his skin twitch and itch.
He was terrified to see how his wings looked after this. His imagination conjured greusome possibilities to the forefront in his mind, getting darker and darker with each limping step he took. Morbid thoughts scattered when he stepped suddenly into bright sunshine, breaking through the perpetual twilight of the wood. Samael squinted, peering out into the sunlight that spilled over an amber field. He saw bronze backed mean weilding scythes, harvesting the last of summer’s bounty, a village in the distance.
He recalled helping Remiel to choose their ancestors, to teach them the lore and law, and what purpose they were to serve. The community had grown since he’d last seen them some centuries ago, but they still guarded this wood and those strangers that stumbled out of it on occasion, hurt and not quite human. One man spotted him and waved, hollering to get the attention of the other men. Samael took a heavy step towards them and stumbled. His vision went black before he hit the ground.
“So many have fallen, but so few have fallen as far as you have.” The coarse voice pierced into his dark, foggy mind, dragging him out of painfully beautiful memories. Who would have stayed in them forever, yet even that was denied him. Dreams were the realm of those who could truly sleep. His kind was denied that, in any form. Even unconciousness was rare.
“I haven’t been in this much pain since Lucifel ripped out my throat and nearly removed one of my wings.” Samael rasped, his throat dry. He cracked open his eyes, the light thankfully dim. It took a moment to focus on the old woman seated in the corner of the small room- really the only place to sit. His wings were splinted and bound, though when his heart nearly stopped when he realized that there were bandages taped low on his back and high on his shoulders. “No…” He whispered, hoping it wasn’t true.
The woman stood and hobbled over to him, shaking her head slightly. “It is hard enough to keep one pair of wings from rotting away, lord, much less three.”
“Right, right.” Samael muttered, trying to quell the keen knife of sorrow. They would have fallen off anyway. Best to just get it over now and avoid the smell and the pain. He shifted and bit back a small noise from the pain, studying the wings he had left. They were in much better shape then he’d thought, but he could see them changing already, turning the color of dirty snow.
“We had to rebreak and set them. You should still be able to fly when they heal. Lord Lucifer was worse than you when we took him in, and he still flies.”
“He saved his wings with black magic, and grafted himself a pair of bats wings constructed of human skin.” Samael snapped irritably. “He only flies because he has no problem with throwing away lives.”
The woman nodded thoughtfully, wringing out a damp cloth and dabbing his forehead, more for something to do than because he needed it. “You must be why he’s in such a tizzy lately. He wandered down from his gates and tried to get in and see you but we know the rules.” She nodded sharply. “He as the first chance at you poor birds, but if you make it us, he can’t touch you until you leave.” Samael shifted cautiously, relieved to find the pain was bearable.
“I know your laws, I helped to draft them.” He muttered, trying to get comfortable. “How long?”
“You’ve been out for less than twelve hours. Most are out for the first full day while their body adjusts. I suppose we should expect you to recover fast.” She hummed tunelessly under her breath, dropping the cloth back into the bowl and whisking away. “I’ll bring you something to eat. Your mind not be recognizing it, but you’ll need to get used to eating. You may not be mortal, but your body needs feul to work. Most get used to it, but you wouldn’t be the first to have a seperation of mind and body in this.”
Samael frowned but nodded, pushing himself slowly up, trying not to disrupt the complicated looking apparatus that kept his wings outstretched. They felt stiff, not held close enough to be relaxed and not stretched far enough to feel stretched. He couldn’t heal when he wasn’t awake, but now that he was concious, the healing was catching up. There was an uncomfortable tightness in his muscles, where he assumed he’d pulled or torn and it had already healed up.
By the time the woman came back in with the promised food, he was working at the splints and bindings. They pinched his feathers, itched, and were driving him absolutely crazy. She gave a soft tutting and set the tray aside, hands on hips.
“You’re all the same, I swear. Well, if I help you get those off, promise not to flail too much?” Samael nodded slightly.
“I’ll try. But it’s driving me crazy.” She sighed and brushed his hands away, deft fingers working the bindings and splints from his wings, utangling it gently from the suspension frame. He hissed softly when he was holding his wings up by his own power, feeling tender muscles pull, bones not quite fully knitted together. The woman pretended not to notice the small noises that slipped past gritted teeth as he stretched his wings out fully then gingerly drew them in until they rested on the bed.
She pushed the tray into his hands as soon as he was settled, crossing her arms. “Alright, now eat. I’ll be back to pick up the try and check your back.” She hobbled out, closing the door firmly behind her. Samael sighed and studied the tray in his lap, then settled in to do as told. Taking orders from a mortal. Could life get stranger?
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