"Soul count.... exactly one trillion, my Lord."
Zane blinked slowly as his attendant gave him the reports of today, while another polished his scythe. He was sitting on his throne, constructed from the precious metals and darkly colored jewels of the Underworld. He pet his guard dog, a three headed beast named Cerberus, as the attendant handed him his scythe.
"Thank you, Sombre." Zane nodded to the attendant, standing up from his throne as he took his scythe.
Walking to the balcony of his throne room, he gazed out at the horizon of his Realm. Some religions called him Satan or the Devil, some called him Hades or Pluto, and others called him Death. While the last one wasn't completely off, his real name was Zane. It was a name shared with the mortals, although not very common or seen as a good sign.
Zane was the Angel of Death, banished to the Underworld by Lady Irene herself because of his powers. Something he had been created with that he was unable to control. That showed how much a coward she was. Lady Irene, the fearless warrior, savior of all the Realms, banishing a single Angel because of his powers. Pathetic.
Spreading his feathered wings, his stone cold expression faltered as he caught sight of the color. His wings, a gift from his creation, were no longer the color of the peaceful Heavens. What was once a pure, snow white blessing was now a wilted and tainted curse.
Straightening his expressing, he prepared himself for the journey from the Underworld to the surface.
~~~~
Gene was a Sanctity Angel, it was his eternal duty to protect the pure souls.
While he personally was disgusted by the mortal races, he could not disobey the words of his lord, Lady Irene. He had been created by her hand to serve as a guardian to the people, and he could not do anything else. He, alongside all the other Angels, had heard the tale of the Angel of Death-- Zane.
Oh, how Gene adored that tale. While the Angel of Death hadn't become the ruler of the Underworld by will, Gene did like what he did. He used his scythe to steal any soul he desired, his cold-blooded hands covering the mortal eyes as their existence came to an end.
Right now Gene was on patrol, scouting out the Sacred Forest for any mortals who had wandered astray. He knew of the elderly Witch who lived in the heart of the forest, Hyria. All Angels knew of her, as she was a close friend to their lord. For just one day Gene wanted to be free from the strings that controlled his existence.
"Who dares to enter the Sacred Forest?" Gene questioned, his head snapping up as he heard a mortal cough.
Flying closer to the sound he had heard, he had stopped just as a mortal body fell to the ground. He looked up slowly, his own teal sapphire eyes meeting the one ice blue eye of the Angel of Death.
At first, all Gene could do was stare. No Sanctity Angel had ever gotten this close to the Angel of Death, and Gene was the only one who had ever really wanted to. The Angel of Death was a sight to behold, even if he was darkly clothed and as pale as the snow.
As part of his punishment, he was cursed to wear a black gothic dress with accents of black strips, lace, and glittering dark blue fabric. A heavy black hood was pulled over his head, a black veil sewn into it to hang over his face. Beneath that veil, a tight dark blue mask covered the lower half of his face, black lace adorning it. A set of black boots with silver lining on the soles, two black straps circling the ankles with small chains hanging from one of the straps, attached to a purple gem. A black circlet with an ornament hanging from the middle was placed on his head, most likely the remains of what had once been his halo. Around his neck was a black choker with several tiny chains, a sapphire residing in the middle. In one hand he was holding a black scythe, a black cross chain hanging from it. In his other hand he held a silver jar, filled with the essence of harvested souls.
Gene glanced down at his own outfit, apparel that was one of the purest in all the Realms. As a Sanctity Angel, his apparel was to be the opposite of the Angel of Death.
A white robe pinned at the shoulders by golden medals, a golden belt tied around his waist. Thin white sandals with feathers covered his feet, golden olive wreaths wrapping around his legs. A golden chain necklace hung around his neck, a purple and white symbol of Lady Irene attached to it. A golden halo floated above his head, ivory olive wreaths woven around it in elegant patterns. Thin, silky gloves reached up to his elbows, also as pure white as his wings and robe. His wings were utterly pure and full of his Holy Spirit, large and wrapping around him. A golden cord was dangling from his belt, his holy sword sheathed by it.
When he looked up, he saw the Angel of Death taking his leave.
"H-Hey, wait up!" Gene called out after the Angel of Death, hurrying to catch up with him. "You're.... You're the Angel of Death, right?"
"Yes. What does it matter to you?" He questioned, giving him a small glance.
"I.... I really like your work." He stated, mentally smacking himself. How had he not realized how cheesy and plain that had sounded?
"How odd." The Angel of Death hummed, letting a bird set on his finger. "A Sanctity Angel taking interest in me, the Angel of Death."
"I know your tale, all the Sanctity Angels do. I.... I remember you, too." He whispered, hesitant with his words. "It's me, Gene, remember? We would play music together all the time, you would play the harp and I would play the flute."
"When we were assigned the positions of judges for the souls, you had sent one to Lady Irene because they could make the best muffins in their neighborhood." Zane recalled, a small smile forming underneath the layers of cloth on his face. "The soul was a pure one, but we were both still lectured on the judgement."
"You remembered...." He smiled, hugging the Angel of Death. "Oh Zane, I thought you were a goner. The real you."
"I suppose I am just a shell of what I used to be..." He sighed, looking at his palm. "I'm no Angel."
"Zane, you're the Angel of Death. You're meant to be different from the rest of us." Gene told him, grabbing onto his hand. "You were made this way for a reason, to pur a balance."
Before either of them could continue the conversation, a bolt of energy crashed down onto Gene. The Sanctity Angel screamed out in pain, his white wings starting to blacken and wither. Zane sliced his scythe through the streak, using it as a shield for them as he picked Gene up. He could feel Lady Irene's eyes piercing through them both, and Zane looked up through the energy with a cold-blooded glare of his own.
Picking Gene up, he transported both of them back to the Underworld before any more damage could be done to the Sanctity Angel.
Years had passed, and over that time Gene had become a shell of a Sanctity Angel, just like Zane had. His wings were as black as the most hideous of souls, almost the same blackened color of Zane's wings. He too wore a hood over his head, serving as both Zane's personal bodyguard and his husband, making him the Lord of the Underworld as well.
Zane, the Angel of Death. Banished to the Underworld by Lady Irene because of the powers given to him at his creation, and his different view of things.
Gene, the Angel of Suffering. Taken to the Underworld by Zane so he wouldn't be completely destroyed, scarred by Lady Irene for giving Zane a chance.
These are the two rulers of the Underworld, watching over the cruel souls chained down and forced to work until they burned into embers. The ones who oppose the rule of Lady Irene, cast away by her because of their views. Not one mortal can hide from their wrath, and not a single soul could hide from their fate.
Choose your decisions wisely, mortals. You never know when a choice that seems so minor could place you in the Underworld, at the mercy of these two immortal deities.
And they show no mercy.
