Under His Wing (Noncanon)

The destruction of the city around him was incredible, thousands of bodies free for reaping. The aboleth had already made itself busy devouring the stores of knowledge held in the citadel. It had done nothing to stop the aasimar from claiming his bounty of mangled bodies, hadn’t given a second glance as he reaped Aderna and the islanders. Its use for them was complete. The angel’s had barely begun.

You left one, A soft voice sounded in his head. Don’t forget the human.

The angel sighed, closing his many eyes and leaning his head into his own shoulder, as if he could will his husband’s hand into existence through desire alone, could press his lover’s calloused palm against his cheek.

“I haven’t forgotten,” he murmured softly to his beloved. “It was just such a waste. She could have been so helpful. All she had to do was move aside.”

You did your best, the voice reassured. She didn’t have what it takes. She couldn’t share the vision. Our vision.

The angel merely grunted in agreement, pushing down his disappointment. It really was a shame. He had liked her.

Eventually, he brought himself to return to the bridge, crouching down over the woman’s body. Soft yellow clothes were stained red, her organs glistening and distorted under the sheer, crushing brutality of his blade. She had always looked fragile. Now she barely looked human.

He bent down, infernal words muttered under his breath. “Serviebitis majestati ejus in inferno.” The body convulsed, black mist sinking into the body through her eyes. Next to her on the ground lay a black dagger, unused, which he picked up and slipped into its sheath.

“She lied to me,” He mused aloud. “Why? Did she know from the beginning? She couldn’t have, it was too easy.”

I doubt she even knew why she kept it. Foolish.

“Yes… she was. Determined though.”

Not as determined as you were, my love.

The angel smiled. “No. Not nearly.”

~~~

He made his way through the citadel for hours, murmuring his prayer as he came across bodies. He sighed as the enormity of his task truly settled on him. It would be weeks of prayer to claim everyone in the city. It would be worth it, however. What did a few weeks matter in the face of eternity?

He stood in the rubble of another building, absentmindedly praying over the bodies of several aasimar that had been crushed beneath stone and wood. It was a moment before he was snapped from his tedious, monotonous task by another sound.

It was crying. A soft, whimpering sound filled the air, muffled by a desperate attempt to swallow back the noise. It was a familiar sound that stabbed in his ears. For a single heartbeat, he was a child again, hiding under the bed, desperate to quiet his own fear or risk being found.

Then he was himself once more. The angel of death, an arbiter of destruction. The only living authority in a city of the dead. There was no fear in him. Only in the nearby voice.

He tossed aside rubble, following the sound. Soon he found it. A wooden crate, meant to be a prison. The wood had split underneath the falling stone, only by pure fortune collapsing in a way that protected the contents. A little girl lay curled up in a ball, her knees up to her chest.

Her sand blonde hair was matted and tangled, with little braids scattered through it. Her eyes were stunningly blue, like the sea itself, though the whites of them had been turned red with burst blood vessels. Little sandpiper wings curled around her body in a defensive manner he recognized intimately.

As soon as his eyes met hers, the girl burst into tears, this time loud and uncontrollable. The world had crashed down onto her, and the arrival of this stranger was too much fear for such a little body to hold inside of it. She choked out her words between gasps, coming out more as screams.

“Get away! I want my mom! Where’s my mom? I can’t feel her! I’m so cold! I’m cold!” The girl was hysterical, taking gulping breaths that shook her tiny body violently. “Where’s my mom?”

The angel flinched, thinking about the body on the bridge. Cold.

He didn’t know what to do. The child was loud, the little wings on her head covering her face as she sobbed. He looked at the dead men that laid around her and his stomach hurt. A fear he hadn’t felt in years twisted in his gut. A little aasimar, surrounded by people so much bigger and stronger than her, people who had kept her trapped like an animal.

Like a lamb.

“Rhea.” The name left his mouth before his mind had even decided to speak. “I knew your mother.”

“Where is she? Where’s my mom? I want to go home!”

“Your mom…” He sighed deeply, kneeling down to be on the girl’s eye level. He placed his sword on the ground by his feet, pointing it away from the cowering child. “Your mom died trying to find you.”

The little girl’s wail was primal. Small and lost, and completely alone. Before he knew what was happening, she had reached out and grabbed him, burying her face in his robes. He flinched away in disgust, tears and snot covering his clothes, but looking down at the pathetic little thing, some small sympathy stirred in his chest.

There wasn’t anything he could say. She was too distraught to listen anyways. After a moment, he simply wrapped an arm around the girl, picking her up. She was so light. He held her for a long time, waiting for her own sobbing to wear her out.

Well, well, well, His lover chuckled affectionately. You look downright fatherly.

“Don’t even joke.” The angel hissed quietly.

It was some time before the girl exhausted herself. Her cries died down to shaky whimpers, her breath steadied only by her inability to continue pushing her little body with such intensity. Eventually, she fell limply asleep in his arms and he sighed with an irritated empathy.

“What do I do now? I can’t hurt her. You know I can’t. But her mother… Fuck. Was this a mistake?”

A mistake, or maybe… an opportunity?

“What do you mean?”

Look at the poor thing. He did as he was told. She has nothing. No direction. You’re quite the savior, my dear. If you were to take her hand and guide her, well…

The voice trailed off, leaving him to his own thoughts.

Hours later, the girl slowly stirred back to consciousness. Her eyes flickered halfway open, too worn out to move her body any more than meeting his eyes.

“Hey,” He said quietly, gently brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “My name is Iscariot. I know you’re very scared and very alone right now. I’ve also lost someone very important to me. It feels like you’re never going to be okay again. But I have a friend who was able to help me. I think he could help you too.”

The child looked up at him, too tired to speak, eyes shining with desperation and trust. Such a familiar look.

“Would you like to see your mother again?”