2. Kushiel

Kushiel felt the burning through his skin, down into his very bones, like they were made of molten metal. The further he went into hell, the deeper the burning. He remembered, vaguely, the first time he had ventured below at the behest of the Almighty. He had thought the skin would be flayed from his body and had been shocked to see that he looked completely fine. Even then, the price had seemed small for his task.

He tried not to think about how much less it hurt now. The burning was a dull ache, but a familiar one. He didn't know if part of it was that he had gotten used to it, but he did know he was irrevocably changed by his job.

Sometimes it saddened him. He belonged nowhere now. His work was singular, and it was a lonely existence.

So lonely.

Once he had known the brotherhood of angels. But visit after visit to the underworld had taken its toll, and he wasn't sure where the pain was greater, in hell or in heaven.

The burning saturated his core in hell, but in heaven… the coldness was almost unbearable. It sunk through him and made his gait stiff, his teeth grit to avoid shivering. It felt like everything in him was made of ice and he would crack at any moment and shatter into a thousand pieces. Perhaps it would not hurt so much if other angels would share their warmth, would embrace him and offer comfort, but there was no comfort from his angel brethren.

He didn't even remember when it had started. Small, of course—a chill that he hadn't even thought about, a strange look in passing from another angel, as he glowed a little less brightly than they did. Eventually, his glow was gone, and no angel brethren touched him or spoke to him. He became what he was now.

The gray angel.

The outcast.

The fallen one.

The only comfort was in his demon brethren, and he did consider them brothers, more so than anyone upstairs. They accepted him for what he was, at least. He put on a cheery face, like nothing bothered him, like he felt no pain, and he reveled in the nonchalance and casualness with which they all treated him. When their hands touched his overheated and pained skin in the underworld, he tried not to flinch, because any touch was a blessing, even if it was painful.

Sometimes, Kushiel thought they were the only thing keeping him tethered to existence. His loyalty had probably switched, as had been proven when he had gone to the demon Arioch and Michael to warn them about an angel, but he knew that he was doing what was right.

Doing right was all he ever strove for, even if the cost often seemed too high.

Kushiel scoffed at himself. His musings were melancholy today. Despite the cost, he had faith still. He was not the pure being he had once been, but the price he paid was worth saving souls.

With that thought he shook his mood off and looked ahead at the mountain of Erebus. It was a black stone mountain that seemed to absorb all light, with jagged outcroppings and caves spread throughout it. The sky above it was bathed in red, like a beautiful sunset that had gone wrong. There were dark clouds always floating on the horizon, like at any moment a torrent of needle-like, acid rain might come pouring down. Sometimes it did, and sometimes Kushiel was inside a cave doing his work. If it prolonged his stay rehabilitating a wayward soul, perhaps that was not a bad thing.

The trek was long and hard to reach the top, and he knew he could use his wings, but a price had to be paid, and his toils would help to pay it. Yes, the souls needed to pay much of the price, but Kushiel helped where he could. He took pride in helping souls in Limbo find peace and move on, whether their choice was heaven or not, but this work—this was the work that truly made the universe better.

He tried to hold within himself the hope he had for today. He had been working with one particular soul for decades, and each time, he felt that spark of light within it get a little brighter. The soul did not even remember its name or anything about its existence, and often that was for the best. He had hope that whatever it had done, it was ready, finally, for redemption. Perhaps today was the day he would see another soul transition from hell.

Not all souls lost to hell had to stay lost, and Kushiel was the only one who could help them find their light once again. When he succeeded, it made all his pain, all his suffering, all his loneliness, worthy beyond measure. Perhaps it was prideful to think that he was the only one who could do such work, but Kushiel had to have some comfort.

He reached the top eventually, his fingers bloody, his nails broken, but it was no matter—he would heal. He traversed the thin ledge to the cave where his charge was kept, noticing for the first time how quiet the mountain was. Often he would hear the sounds of the damned inside their caves, but a silence that was eerie pervaded the mountain. As he climbed into the small cave barely large enough for his wings, he called out the traditional greeting.

"Kushiel, the Rigid One of God, Angel of Punishment, has come to seek a soul who would find redemption."

He waited, but only silence greeted him. No murmuring answered from the darkness.

He crawled deeper into the cave, and he realized what he should have from the start.

The cave was empty.

It should not be possible. Once souls were relegated to the mountain of Erebus, demons did not bother with them. These were souls who had lost themselves to guilt and shame, often not even knowing why anymore, and leaving them to their eternal pain was the most effective punishment. They were not taken from Erebus unless it was Kushiel who took them, and only then because their souls had lightened enough to move on from the darkness. It did not happen often, but it did happen.

Kushiel backed out of the cave and went on to the next on the outcropping. And then the next. And the next. And the next.

It took hours, perhaps even days, because Kushiel lost all sense of time as he checked cave after cave, eventually covering the entire mountain. If tears streamed from his eyes, and if his hands were bloody, his knees scraped raw, and his wings torn from jagged rocks, he hardly noticed. Because by the time he'd made his way to the bottom, he had accepted the indisputable truth, even though it was impossible.

Erebus was empty.

By the timeKushiel made it back to Limbo, he hardly noticed the lack of burning in his very bones. He felt… empty. He was a void. The lack of physical pain just drew him further away from reality.

His purpose had been taken away. He waited for anger, or sadness, but there was… nothing. Just that emptiness. A yawning chasm inside him.

He sat down, barely conscious of where he was. He knew not how much time passed before he realized a presence had sat beside him. He did not look over.

What was the point?

All that work… All those decades and centuries with those souls. He thought of each one, remembering them. He knew intimately every single one that had been housed in Erebus. He knew the shape and feel of them, the texture of their emotions, the weight of their guilt, and most importantly, the bright pinprick of light that existed hidden under the darkness in each one. He had, in his way, loved each and every one of them. He had shared their pain and suffering, and he had seen beyond it to the possibilities of a future outside of the underworld.

All for naught.

"Is there nothing we can do for him?" a voice whispered.

Kushiel knew that voice, but that didn't seem important at the moment.

Nothing seemed important at the moment.

"We can just be here for him, little dude. That's what we can do. We'll sit here until he's ready," another voice replied, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

The hand squeezed, and the action was enough to pull Kushiel's attention to his side.

It was the demon Arioch who had spoken, and in his lap was his mate, Michael. Kushiel had the thought that there was something wrong with Michael being in Limbo, but the thought floated away. They stared at him, and Kushiel had to look away at the pity in their eyes.

"Bruh, are you with us now?" Arioch asked gently.

"Where else would I be?" Kushiel answered.

"You were mourning, I think," Michael answered calmly.

It was like Michael saying it made it true, because Kushiel doubled over in pain, and for the first time he realized that his cheeks were wet with tears. How long had he been crying?

"They're all gone," Kushiel said simply. "What is my purpose now?" he asked, looking at Arioch.

Arioch's eyes were kind, and that hand squeezed his shoulder again.

"They aren't gone, bruh. They have been taken from you, but you can find them. I saw it. You'll go and find them. Someone will help you. I can't see who, but they're in the town Michael is from. You'll get the souls back. You'll set things to right. That's your purpose now," Arioch said, squeezing Kushiel's shoulder again.

Michael's town. Yes, because Michael was mortal. He looked sharply at the mortal soul in Limbo, panic overtaking him for a moment. Would Michael be stuck here now?

"It's okay. I'm allowed to be here. We're like afterlife Internal Affairs now," Michael said, smiling slightly. "I can see you panicking a bit over my presence," Michael clarified when Kushiel raised an eyebrow.

"Yup. Pretty cool job, huh dude?" Arioch said, smiling gleefully. He got serious then. "Anyways, some asshole is fucking with things and causing chaos, which oughtta be my department. The fucker. We're trying to suss out who. But my only vision so far has said only you can find the missing souls, or recognize them, or something, and that there's someone who can help you. That's all I know."

"It is enough," Kushiel replied.

It was hope again. He pushed his chair back from the bar, finally taking in his surroundings. Michael and Arioch were staring at him, both smiling slightly, which was disconcerting with the weight of the events that were unfolding. But he didn't have time to worry about their silly grins. With that thought he closed his wings around himself, preparing to go topside. He heard a muttered "Showoff," before he teleported out of Limbo.

It seemed he still had a job to do, and he would do it. It was all that was left for him.