The Ashes of Eden

Angelic virtues

 ~Flashback!~

The virtues of an angel sounded simple, as long as they were only words, taught in Aziraphale's training.
Castitas, Temperantia, Caritas, Industria, Patientia, Humanitas, and Humilitas always had been his companions throughout his immortal existence. During all those centuries he had tried to cherish them all the time, also use them as guidelines for each and each of his actions.

Unfortunately, once he had met god's newest creation, called "Humanity" he had to learn another, rather a bitter lesson. "The seven virtues were easily moralized but barely applicable during the challenge of dealing with mankind."

With all his willpower he had managed to lead a life almost without disregarding any rule of heaven. Sometimes he had fallen... no tripped into a small temptation. Still his life had been a prime example of angelic virtue, at least in his own opinion.

1st of September 1939.

That day he fell for the conviction of humans being worse savages than demons. Never before he had sensed so much pain, grief, and destruction in the air. The intensity sent him to the floor. Pain struck him like a hammer smashing a hot iron into the back of his head. He heard their screams... the hail of bombs shattering thousands of innocent souls within the battlefronts.

All his efforts had been pointless.

No matter how much he had talked or even miracled, Germany was captured in the grip of the devil, playing them like his puppets. That monster had formed them into toy soldiers, who happily indulged in the seven deadly sins now.

When the first bullet wretched an innocent heart into pieces, humanity plunged into the darkest abyss of its history. Aziraphale stood on its edge, trying not to fall into it. Nietzsche hadn't been right about many things, but right there the archangel learnt to believe: "If you stare into the Abyss long enough, the abyss stares back at you."

Of course, the angel tried his best to limit the damage by carrying the seven virtues into the world. Back in the first world war, they had already won the battle against the seven deadly sins. So why not again?

This time... Oh lord, he had never felt weaker or more desperate than during that year.

Fate proved him wrong there only a few weeks later.

In pure despair he tried to reach out to Crowley. They hadn't met for nearly a year, causing the angel to get more and more worried. Usually, they had always bumped into each other at a certain point. Of course, always on "accident." Also, there was a question burning in his chest, stronger than the holy light.

"Was any of this Crowley's fault?"

He would never accuse his old friend to be involved with the Nazis, but after all they clearly were on hell's side. Still, he refused to believe the vicious voices inside of his head, trying to convince him his companion had started something so terrible.

It took him until the 1st of May to find a small hint about the other's whereabouts.

A general, called Adolf Strauß, answered one of his letters, claiming they were working with Anthony J. Crowley. At that point Aziraphale wasn't sure how to fell about that. Relieved or depressed? Also, Anthony? What kind of name was that? Nothing really traditional...

Communication was the key to solve this situation, so he exchanged a few letters with general Strauß trying to figure out his friend's location. All of this was wearing out his already scratched nerves. Those letters were pure torture, the way this man talked felt so fateful.

Each of his words was soaked in a devious poison. That kind of poison you finally notice, when it's already too late.
It had nestled inside of his chest, from there his heart pumped it through his entire system. It numbed his nerves, caused his thoughts to grow darker... and his self-esteem to hit the rock bottom.

At the verge of losing all of his hope, he gave in. He asked that scornful, nasty individual directly about Crowley's whereabouts.

One of the biggest mistakes in his entire existence.

The answer nearly knocked him off his chair in pure shock. His hands were shivering. His throat started to burn, just like his eyes. He was on the verge of breaking down. Unbelieving he kept staring at the letters in front of him, silently begging them to reform. In his head the words stayed the same. Just like the message.

"Dear Mr. Fell,

It's quite interesting, no rather amusing that you played along in this game for so long. I was already starting to wonder, if you really wanted to figure out where your "friend" was or if you were enjoying getting humiliated by each of my letters.

Finally, you've had the courage to ask me about his fate. I am glad to tell you; he's with us. So much to the good news.

The bad news are we have taken him to church.
Of course, you now will be wondering why we would do that, except if we knew about his true nature. Well, let me put it like this: yes, we do.

We also know, that you aren't a simple bookshop owner who's worried for a friend. Are you scared now Aziraphale, guard of the eastern gate?
Before you get into panic now, I want you to listen to my offer, before you do something unreasonable.

Your old friend was enjoying our company for quite a while now. We have all agreed, expect for him, that the St. Maria's church in Berlin is the best place to spend some time with each other.
Unfortunately, he isn't as resilient as we are, his condition is worsening every day.

Before you raise your fingers now for snapping him out of here, we have to warn you. We included a very useful device in his collar, that will release holy water out of a small chamber if he gets moved too quickly or too much.

So, here's our deal. You will bring us the books on the list attached to this letter and grant our Führer a little miracle of your own. Then we will let both of you leave.
Yours sincerely,
Adolf Strauß"

Even though he felt like going insane by this message. He forced himself to stay calm. Inside of his chest his heart had stopped within the first few sentences... And he swore himself it wouldn't beat again, until he knew Crowley was safe.

In all those centuries the demon had always watched over him, protected him and now... Now he had to return this favor!

The books weren't his reason to worry. All of them except for one were stored up in his private library... What truly worried him was that miracle. He felt sick in the stomach, only imaging what terrible things that monster would wish for.

Yet Aziraphale comforted himself with the conviction, that once he had gotten his old friend out of there, they could change everything. Together.

While he was hurrying around the bookshop, trying to gather all his little treasures together, another thought popped up in his mind. Immediately he froze in the middle of the room. How did the Nazis figure out their true natures? A frown scurried over his face, while he placed the first of Nostradamus' works in the leather-bag.

Obviously, they knew who they were. Otherwise, they could have never trapped someone as cunning and distrustful as Crowley. If they had gathered enough knowledge, they probably would have taken security measures... Maybe he should call heaven and do the same?

What if they called him back up? Or even worse, forced him to stay away, so his old friend's death would haunt him forever. His fingernails dug into the handle of the bag tighter.

The worst scenario was, they'd let him fall, because he hadn't worked cautiously enough and revealed their existence to humanity. The thought caused his throat to tighten, no matter how deeply he inhaled he couldn't get oxygen into his lungs. Panic increased inside of him.

No. No. NO. He needed solving this on his own! He could do this... he had to. For Crowley.

When he was done with packing, he straightened his shoulders. After a few deep breaths, he managed to look less panicked. Even though the despair was still visible in his eyes and the paleness of his skin. At least he hadn't cried. A good omen, wasn't it?

Now it was time to face that disgusting sinner.
They had desecrated a house of god with their actions. In his mind terrible pictures formed of Crowley... His Crowley... chained up... the usually so self-assured, dominant man humiliated by a collar... Peppered with burning marks, due to the contact with consecrated ground.

Immediately, he felt nausea. With a shake of his head, he tried banishing those terrible imagines, otherwise he would have lost either his mind or control.

Instead, he snatched a piece of paper from the desk in front of him. This time he renounced the use of worthless pleasantries. He got straight to the point. A point of no return. Maybe if he had been more persistent earlier, his old friend would have already been with him at this point... No. The times of politeness was over.

"Got all the books. Meet me at the church. Now." He demanded, fighting back his bad conscience, usually he never ordered people around. Yet their actions have been unforgivable for him... With a snap of his fingers, the letter vanished in front of his eyes.

~Patientia lost. ~

Usually, the travel to Germany would have lasted at least 4 days, full of people calling him a traitor or even insane to voluntarily visit that hellhole. Fortunately, he could use a miracle to skip that unpleasant experience.

At his arrival, the air raid sirens greeted him with their deafening howls. Around him destruction ruled. In the air lingered the smell of fear, ashes, and death... Aziraphale felt even more sick. He avoided looking around. Here so many innocent existences had been destroyed. They needed stopping this.

Crowley and he needed stopping this!

His eyes wandered up and down the church in front of him. There was only a little minor damage. Probably due to the air-forces using the clocktower as another landmark. What a terrible reason to reprieve holy ground, simply because it was useful in their sick twisted games...

In the distance he could hear the panicked screams... The roaring engines of the bombers. His angelic nature could barely stand that. He wanted to help... He NEEDED to help... to help Crowley first.

~ Humanitas lost. ~

Never before he had approached a church more hesitantly. The huge gates looked more like the gate towards the bottomless pit. Inside of him his mortal guts had entirely forgotten how to function. Only his determined thoughts were forcing him to step closer to the wooden door.

Before he could lay a hand onto the handle, he closed his eyes for a few seconds. Calm. He needed staying calm. No matter what he'd see now, the greater good was more important!

With a creaking sound, that caused his blood to freeze, he pulled down the doorknob. He took a step after the other, finally overstepping the doorstep. Inside not the usually calming and loving aura greeted him.

He was surrounded by darkness.

"There shall be light." He whispered hurriedly, before his anxiety could take over. Immediately the church was illuminated by pure, white light. The benches were empty. Everything looked desolated. His knees were shivering, while he walked towards the altar. Where did they hide? Was this all a game of hide and seek?

He looked around, trying to get rid of the paranoid thoughts that in the dark those monsters were lurking at him. No matter, where he turned, he couldn't spot a single soul. Neither Crowley... Nor those sinners.

"Good evening Mr. Fell. I'm afraid you won't spot what you're searching for." A dark voice purred.

Immediately he spun around. The source had been close to the doors. He even dropped the books, while trying to look defensive.

"Nice trick with the light." The stranger complimented him, scornfully. "A true angel... Hm... I would have expected something more... awe-inspiring to be honest." A dark chuckle followed. The heavy German accent became more obvious with every word.

Aziraphale knew who he was dealing with right away. "General Strauß, where is Crowley? I brought the books." He hissed, secretly surprised by the hate his words were soaked in.

The entire situation made him uncomfortable, he couldn't see the man's face. It was still too dark in the room. All he could spot was the bulky stature of the silhouette hiding in the shadow behind the door.

Fate did him another "favor."

In its hands something light up. For a mere second he had to turn his glance away, for getting unblinded. Every lightning would have been jealous of the brightness. The angel was caught off guard, causing his concentration to snap. The holy light around them extinguished.

"That's impossible..." he whispered full of disbelief; his voice nearly cracked in fear.

"Recognize this?" the man's voice asked him again. Steps approached him. Too paralyzed to run, Aziraphale stood there, trying to turn his face towards that monster.

"How did you... Impossible... God have mercy..." the angel muttered, silently praying his procrastination wasn't true. It was... Finally, his eyes had gotten used to the light. That mortal... That worthless mortal was holding his sword. The sword he had given to humanity, so they'd use it for the greater good. Now that savage was holding it. Even turning it against him...

~ Humilitas lost. ~

"There is no God, expect for the Führer." General Strauß corrected him. The tall man stood in front of him. His mocking gaze wandering over the weak creature in front of him, almost pitying him.

"Aren't you ashamed of your blasphemies?" the angel growled, eyes not turning away from the flaming sword inside those bloody hands. He couldn't show more fear. Otherwise, this was already a lost battle. "We had a deal. Where is Crowley?" he demanded to know, but only earned another dark chuckle.

The general played with the sword in his hands, purposely approaching him a little more. "You know what those flames are made off, aren't you?" he purred, trying to elicit that fearful word from him.

Aziraphale did his best not to stumble backwards, when he felt the heat so close to his skin. He swallowed the barbed wire, holding his tongue hostage. The word slipping past his lips sounded like his own death sentence. "Purgatory."

"Exactly." The military man praised him, like an obedient dog.

Before he could continue to humiliate him, the angel felt his patience snap. "Spare me that nasty show. Answer my question. Or I swear to God, I will send you to hell myself! You've pleaded yourself guilty in so many points, purgatory won't be enough for you. You've got one last chance." His words were filled with so much rage, while he even dared to step closer. "Where. Is. Crowley?" he repeated himself one final time. Brown orbs filled with the same terrifying intensity as the sword's blade.

~ Temperantia lost. ~

"Look, the angel dares to man up. What a refreshing turn." Adolf replied, the scornful smirk upon his lips didn't flicker for a second. "Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but he's not here. We changed our plans in the last seconds." He revealed to him, leaning forward a little.

"You did what?" Aziraphale blurted out in disbelief. "Then we don't have a deal." He added resolutely. His mind was racing. Damn... Damn... He had run into such an obvious trap. Perhaps he could still leave if he reacted quickly enough now.

"Yes, you're right, but we don't need an agreement here." The soldier shrugged carelessly. The predatory spark in his eyes intensified. "Fortunately, our new plans work without your consent." He added, stepping aside a little, so he could walk past him.

"What else do you want? I promise you; it will be easier to find an agreement with me than dealing with hell's wrath, when they find out you've captured their ambassador." He threated, while slowly walking past him. Hopefully, he'd fall for that trick.

"Thank you for worrying about our well being Mr. Fell. However, he won't dare to notify his principalities since he's convinced we have you under our force." The general crunched his plan under his foot like a plague.

The angel froze. "He's what?!" he asked, staring at the man in pure horror.

"It was so easy to lure him into this trap, after we had convinced him you were under our force. He's come to save his angel, isn't that lovely?" Adolf explained to him in pure sadistic satisfaction.

"No, he'd never do... Not for me..." Aziraphale stuttered out. A wave of guilt crashed over his head, nearly making his legs give out.

A few seconds later something else caused his knees to give in. His hesitation had made him stop right under the gallery. "Jetzt!" screamed Strauß.

Pain as if he had been showered with melted copper rushed through the angel, causing him to scream out. The torture ate deeper into his skin the more he struggled. The cold ground hit his face, when he stumbled forward. Still he tried fighting off the source of his suffering.

The more he struggled the worse it got. His strength was vanishing rapidly. Every inch of his skin was burning. As if a hot wire wrapped around his limps, cutting them off mercilessly. Out of desperation he unfolded his wings. Light flooded the room. Followed by another pained scream.

His breath faltered, causing him to gasp for air. Again, and Again he hit the floor whenever he tried flying away. The weight of a thousand tons laid on his shoulders. When his power was used up, he crashed onto the blood smeared tiles once again. The burning decreased, was replaced by a constant throbbing in each of his nerves. At this point he was on the edge of passing out. "Crowley..." he whimpered, still trying to get away for the sake of his friend.

"Like it? We've formed a net out of wire forged in purgatory, extinguished with the blood of a few hundred Jews." The general introduced him to their newest cruelty.

He picked up a feather from the ground. Damn he had enjoyed the show of him flapping in that net like a terrified spat. The only answer he received was a groan, followed by more sobs. "No, no, don't cry." He scolded him, while walking closer.

"Aren't those wings beautiful? That's what I mean, when I talk about an angel." He complimented him in a hideous way. His fingers caressed over the golden-glowing, white bones from where the feathers emerged. "too bad we have to prune them." He added sadistically, while lifting the sword up in his hands.

An unbelievable pain rushed through Aziraphale's entire body, causing him to bite his lip bleeding, before he screamed. He screamed out his soul, when the muscles of his wings were chopped into half by the flaming sword. His mind couldn't bear it... From one second to the other, everything went black.

Meanwhile, the marbled, white floor of the church had turned into a bloody masterpiece. Every slaughterhouse would have been jealous of the crimson red painting on the tiles. The artist stood in front of it, admiring its beauty, while purring: "Welcome to hell, Aziraphale, guardian angel of the eastern gate." 

(Sorry updating takes me so long these days, but I have had a lot of stress. I will try to update more frequently from now on. Also please don't rip me into pieces, I am more of a demon, than an angel, so maybe my Aziraphale won't be on point)