Description

A Glimbow centric story set in ajulexcelestial's Celestial AU.

Glimmer is a demon, memories of her past obscured by the Shadow Weaver's dark magic. For hundreds of years, she's served Hell's dark purposes under the corrupted fallen angel once known as Adora, using her powers to torture souls. She's never had a taste for the dark work but she doesn't have a choice… she's only safe as long as she's useful.

But when they capture two angels who've come to earth asking the wrong questions- the cat girl Adora took to deal with herself and the archer that's her latest project- for the first time in all these centuries in shadow, she sees a glimmer of light.

Written for Glimbow Week Spring 2021.

Author Notes:

A while ago, I read about ajulexcelestial's Celestial AU on Twitter (#CelestialAU) where Adora is a fallen angel, Glimmer is a demon and Catra and Bow are angels sent down to find them. (Well, specifically Bow is Cupid/Eros.) Alas, the Twitter page explaining the AU is gone so I decided to take the basic premise of what I remembered reading about it and do my own thing so please don't expect this to be that strictly beholden to any one version.

Fair warning, this is a big darker than most of the stuff I write but, as always around here, it does end happily.

Also I apologize to religion. Just, like, all of it.

There were no doors in hell. Just endless cold corridors of dark stone, like arteries leading to a long dead heart. The one she was walking down now was narrower than most, rarely traveled. It went downward, which down here meant nothing good.

But there was no other way to go, not if she wanted to survive.

The walls on either side of her oozed with something that could have been blood, if there was enough light to tell. There was so little light down here. She shivered.

Her victims suffered from the heat. It blistered their flesh and cooked them down to melted bones. But hell kept creatures it could use preserved. She'd never known anything but the feeling of ice in her veins, the sharpness of it searing her skin.

A scream. Hollow and tortured. She paused, closing her eyes against it, never sure anymore if it was real or something echoing in the dark corners of her mind. Considering what she and Abhora had done in these rooms over the millennia, it wouldn't surprise her if the screams had somehow become part of the stone itself.

Pathetic. She shook it away and clenched her fists at her side. She was a demon. This is what she was for. What she had been made for. If Abhora knew about this guilt… this weakness, if the Shadow Weaver did… she'd be send to the fields of punishment, tortured for thousands of years. Or they'd simply destroy her, rip her essence into a million pieces. A non-existence, forever.

Immortal didn't mean they couldn't be killed. It just meant they had longer to understand there were things far worse than death.

Abhora may have a use for her demonic powers, had dragged her into her plans and sometimes her bed, but she was under no illusions of where she stood. The moment she was no longer useful, she'd be destroyed. Especially now the woman was in a rage, the angels they'd captured igniting the old rumors, threatening all their dark plans.

Those eyes glowing, angry and wild. Abhora's pale biceps veined red, like her skin itself was cracking, the malice inside too much for it to contain. Her sword a terrible thing, pulsing with living veins. As if that creature of destruction could ever have been celestial being, least of all one called Adora.

They had whispered about the demon too, centuries ago. Jealous gremlins, terrified of how quickly she mastered the dark magic, become the Shadow Weaver's new favorite. They'd mocked her, calling her a princess of heaven. Which was ridiculous. She knew what she was. Darkness all the way down.

Not a glimmer of light anywhere.

She reached the end of the tunnel and drew the rune on the stone, the rock tearing opening like a gash. She stepped into the small chamber, the wall closing up behind her. The dark dealings of this room were too much, even for the rest of the twisted souls of hell.

The air in the room was fetid and stale, making every breath sour. Grotesque splatters stained the floor from her past projects, the sickly sweet and metallic taste almost making her wretch. Fresh pain still dripped from the chains that hung on the wall, staining the blades of her tools, keeping a maddening tick count of all the terrible things she'd already done.

She turned to her latest project and squinted, unprepared for the sudden illumination after the darkness of the tunnels. The prisoner was bathed in a golden illumination that seemed to emanate from his body itself, making this cave she'd spent so many hours in look unfamiliar and exposed.

Right. An angel. They wanted her to torture a fucking angel. Torture and then, when they got what they wanted, destroy. She exhaled.

It was different when it was a sinner, already tried and sentenced. This wasn't a demon like her or one of the lesser devils who loved causing pain. Or an imp or pit spirit, made for cruelty. It was a heavenly being. Goodness and light and all that. And this one… he'd barely put up a fight.

No. She grit her teeth. The Shadow Weaver was right. The angels were a bunch of sanctimonious do-nothings ready for a reckoning. Insisting on being worshiped and then letting the humans slaughter themselves anyway in the name of money and power. Soft and comfortable on their fluffy little clouds, too righteous to get their hands dirty.

Well, her hands were plenty dirty.

The angel let out a faltering, shallow breath. He faced away from her, hung from chains suspended from the ceiling. His wrists held all his body weight as the rest of him slumped forward, no strength left to hold him up. They'd left him on his knees, though he'd find no mercy here.

The imps that had dragged him down had already done their work. They would have had to, to keep him captive. Even like this, in chains writhing with dark power, angel magic was powerful. There were puncture wounds from their tridents all over his dark skin, oozing golden ichor. The thick blood of immortals pooled underneath him on the floor, turning rust where it dripped onto his white pants. From the sound of his labored breathing, they weren't just surface wounds. They'd punctured his lungs, maybe more than once.

One wing hung at an unnatural angle. Where it connected with the angel's back, the feathers were soaked with golden blood. His back was exposed, slashed raw from spiked whips. There were chains around his ankles too, but they hardly seemed necessary. The golden light around him flickered, sputtering in and out like a candle nearly spent.

Shit. If he was too far gone, she'd have to risk a spell, keep him alive long enough to answer her questions. This was why she was so good at this. She could break and fix, only to break again. Let them come all the way to the brink, only to yank them back over and over. Break their body and mind all at once until they begged for release.

Paradise for a demon. The ability to inflict endless torment. To play your victims like an instrument, their screams sweet music. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed it down, forcing her hands to stay steady at her sides.

She was right behind him now, the air around him thick with sweat and divine blood. She reached out and touched the edge of his broken wing, the white feathers flecked with red, gold and brown, much softer than she would have thought. They reminded her of… something.

I don't want to do this.

The thought was sudden, sharp and dangerous. She shoved it back down. If they were watching, if the Shadow Weaver's shades saw her hesitate…

She closed her hand around the top of the broken wing, feeling the fragile bone underneath the soft feathers. A couple of stretched sinews were all that connected it to his back. She'd tear it the rest of the way off. That kind of pain would keep him lucid enough to answer her questions.

She gripped the wing, settling her hand on his bare back.

It was stupid, really. An instinct to brace the rest of his body so when she wrenched off the wing, it didn't twist his damaged lungs or jerk his chained wrists. Absurd to be trying to spare him pain when the pain was the whole fucking point.

But she knew immediately something was wrong. Images, sounds, a million movies being played overtop one another, faster than she could understand them. An assault on her senses, and all the while it drained her, pulling her entire nervous system out through her palm. It was too much, she'd never… she'd been trying to help… they weren't doing enough up here and she couldn't just… she needed more, mom, or she couldn't…

With a shout, she yanked her arm back so sharply she stumbled backward and nearly fell. The dead thing in her chest thumped wildly for the first time in centuries, her breathing frantic. Her mind was quiet, the pictures gone, but her hand tingled, pins and needles. When she held it up, she watched as dark tendrils of smoke hissed from her palm, twisting in the dim light of the angel's fading life force like snakes.

What. The. Fuck.

The angel's body jerked, and he made a shuddered gasp. His muscles tensed as he struggled against the chains, but the curses held. Finally he collapsed forward again, breathing in small choking gasps. On his back was a handprint, smoking like a fresh burn.

Had he… had he felt that, too?

No. Oh, no no no. She didn't want anything in common with this creature she had to break and then kill. Didn't want this feeling, like she'd remembered something for a moment and then forgotten again, her thoughts tracing a hole where the memory should be. Especially didn't want this headache like a pinprick of light where a moment ago there had been the familiar chill of darkness.

"Hey! What the fuck was that?" She was shaking. Her power. It had almost taken her power. The only thing that kept her useful, kept her safe. Anger, not fear, is what she needed right now. She stalked to the rack where her tools hung, gleaming blades and other sharp cruelties. She pulled a long, rusted sword from the wall. Not her usual, but after what had just happened, she didn't want to get any closer to him than she needed to.

She stepped in front of him, tapping the toe of her boot in what she hoped was an intimidating way, since it was all he could see of her. His head hung to the ground, a large gash on the side, his thick curls dark with ichor. His back rose and fell with stuttering breaths, his arms tensed against the pain. An angel like him had would never have felt pain like this. It wasn't like being a demon, where you were raised and tested on torment daily.

"Here's the part I can't figure out," she said out loud, keeping her voice even and cold, not letting any of the fear this creature brought her slip in. A tremor went through him at the sound of her voice, but whether it was fear or something else, she didn't know. "The other one, the seraph. Your buddy Catra? She put up a fight. It took an army of the damned to take her down. But you just let them take you. Barely fought back at all."

She choked on the last word. Everything still felt fractured, and something like pity was seeping in through the cracks. She'd watched from below when they'd taken him. His hands up like a surrender as they descended on him, ripping him apart. The almost resigned look on his face as they'd dragged him down. He hadn't fought back, and it had hurt to watch. He'd done nothing to them, and yet they'd…

She tightened her grip on the polished bone handle of the sword.

"The others? They think you're weak. But I'm kind of an expert on pain. Angel or not, the beating you took, those injuries, the curses in the chains… most beings wouldn't even be conscious right now. Which means you're stronger than they think you are and way too strong to have been taken this easily." She grabbed at her head with her free hand, the usual dull ache at the base of her horns becoming a stabbing pain. There was an itch in the back of her head, becoming harder to ignore by the minute. "I'm supposed to be asking you what you know about the fallen angel, slicing and burning the answers out of you with blades and runes. But I'm kind of stuck on the fact that I think you let yourself get captured."

The angel let out a short breath that she could almost have mistaken for a laugh. Something about the sound of his voice made her tense. She should kick him, jab him, anything! But standing this close to him was disorienting.

"You got caught on purpose. You let us do ALL THIS to you on PURPOSE." She kicked at the growing puddle of ichor, splattering the angel's pants and turning the toe of her boot gold. She was shaking from fear or fury, she wasn't sure which. "An incredibly stupid thing to do, honestly, and you're going to die for it. But first you're going to tell me why."

He heard her. She knew he did. But either he couldn't speak or wouldn't and all she could do was watch him suffer, his life dimming as he ran out of time. She'd watched so many creatures meet their end like this, but it had never hurt like this before. It was agony worse than any punishment she'd ever faced, and she did not understand why.

"You're an angel. What could possibly be worth all of this? What could be worth giving up an eternity in paradise?" The power was supposed to help. She'd wanted to help. And now… She couldn't think, couldn't focus. Familiar faces she'd never seen before swam in her mind, new memories that felt old, the blanket of darkness that had made everything seem so simple before coming apart, like a night sky dotted with stars. "Don't you understand? I have to kill you! I have to or they'll rip me apart!"

It was barely a movement, just a small nod, but the meaning was clear. He understood. He didn't hold it against her.

Permission.

"What are you doing to me? What are you DOING?" The unfamiliar sensation of her heart thumping against her chest made her anxious, like someone trapped inside her trying to break free. She swallowed it back, her throat dry and constricted.

Fuck it. Abhora could pull the information they needed from the other one. She'd run this one through right now, free herself from whatever this is. She raised the sword, hands shaking…

And sliced through the chains that held his arms and legs.

The angel collapsed over his knees like a broken puppet. The shattered links of chain sizzled as their curses oozed out of the runed metal, no longer poisoning his body. But it was too late. His light was only a faint glow.

And why should she care? He was nothing to her, just an innocent stranger.

But that was why it clawed at her from inside, why her head throbbed, fighting against walls she hadn't even realized were there before now. She'd wanted to HELP. Wanted the power to help. Hadn't been content to sit and watch and pass judgment from on high like her mother, wanted to get down there and fix things, end the wars, power at any cost because she was going to use it to save everyone. For good. A promise long lost under layers of shadow peeling back now like paper in a fire. Her intentions warped and corrupted to serve hell's fiery purpose.

No. No no no. All the things she'd done, the realization of what she'd let them turn her into stabbed like knives. The sword clattered to the ground, and she grabbed at her head, trying to control the feeling of being split apart. She pulled at her hair and her horns crumbled to dust in her hands, the skin underneath them tender and new. She was being pulled apart by her own sins, and she deserved it.

No. She couldn't fix everything, but she could fix this. And she would. She would fix this if it took everything she had left.

Her hand shook as she drew the healing rune and lunged forward, grabbing his shoulder just as his glow went out and the room plunged into darkness. There was a roar in her head of sight and sound, but she ignored it, putting everything she had into the healing spell. Then the only light was her power glowing between her hand and his skin, desperate violet, lighting the smoke that hissed from her hand and poured out between her fingers.

No. No! She could feel the smoke sapping her powers. Please, I need them. There's so much to fix! She drew a second rune and put her other hand on his skin too, desperate to at least try to heal him before her powers were gone entirely.

It was pain beyond anything she'd experienced, but she didn't stop. She didn't care what happened to her anymore, but she would NOT let the angel die. The healing spell and the smoke were in a race to drain her, and she was losing hold of consciousness. She could feel the smoke yanking out the dark tendrils of magic the Shadow Weaver had spent centuries weaving into her. The darkness pulled away like a curtain that hid the sun.

This was it. This was how it all ended. She wished she could have explained to her mother, at least, that she'd never meant to… that it had all gotten twisted, but she'd tried to…

Then, just as she felt herself losing consciousness, there was light. Everything so bright it was like her eyes had turned to glowing purple stones and her body pulsed with an unfamiliar energy. What before had been a few small glints exploded into a galaxy, and she was in the center of it all, a gleaming moon. Something felt like it was ripping and tearing at her back, and she wanted to scream, but she didn't have a voice, maybe not even a body anymore. She was only pure, pulsing BRIGHT.

Then she felt herself crash, hard and wet in what she realized dimly must be the blood-soaked floor of her workshop. The brightness had receded into a pale pink glow and through it she could see that the cave had been destroyed, was collapsing around them, rocks crashing to the ground.

Strong arms wrapped around her and she saw only a brief flash of golden light, feathers, and a face that looked almost familiar before she was surrendering to a different darkness, her eyes closing as she slipped into unconsciousness.