Gah! Forgive for the licencia poetica, and the "Good Omens" crossover. Just for the record, I don't own Angel Sanctuary or "Good Omens", and I'm not making any money from it.
In this story, God is so far beyond all the petty scheming of Heaven and Hell that it isn't even funny, and His supposed 'regenerative sleep' is nothing but BS used to give His children choice.
Also, Katan is a part of the Living Blades, an unit that answers only to God Himself, and is used on His missions in all realms. They aren't well-known, although Lucipher might have heard a word or two… Neither Rosiel nor Alexiel have, though.
Enjoy!
How would they be surprised, Katan thinks fleetingly, to see me now. So very, very surprised, as he whirls and laughs and steel clashes with steel. His opponent, an angel who has been stationed on Earth for far too long, is laughing too.
Katan misses his family continually, and moments like this one, when he can just let go and find himself again in the beauty of a battle, are few and far between. He's learned to enjoy them, and when Aziraphael's meek-and-mild-mannered-bookseller mask fell for a while, he eagerly asked for a sparring match.
The angels around are those he considers his family – lovely, short-tempered Vaerel, with dark green eyes and a darker smile. He is quick as lightning to anger, and even quicker to forgive. He never forgets. Caphriel who was the Serpent in Eden and has an air of sadness around him, yellow eyes and slitted pupils and a hint of scales under his skin. And Amerit, with her ever-present sketchbook, doodling various poses taken from the fight even then, brown shoulder-length hair tucked behind her ears. She's squinting. Too many hours in front of a computer, probably, he muses and smiles at the people he belongs with.
The Living Blades.
Katan snorts internally and parries a broadsword's thrust, and slashes at his opponent in return. With a katana, of course. Wouldn't do to have a different weapon of choice, with a name like this, now would it?
He sneaks another peek at the others. They certainly don't look, or act, like an elite fighting unit. They don't need to. Because when something happens, Heaven and Hell are forgotten, and Aziraphael drops the illusion of flab he always has on, lest he accidentally tempt someone, and gets into fighting gear. Quickly. And so does Caphriel, with his guns enchanted to never run out of ammunition, and Vaerel with his saber and knives. 'Meri always disappears in the shadows, and you wouldn't know she's there, but for the sound flying shurikens make and blazing hazel eyes.
A bookseller, a flash bastard, an abused street kid and a Catholic schoolgirl. Well, and a Cherub who is widely regarded as the most brainless sycophant of the Inorganic Angel ever. Yeah, right. He only stays for the inside information, he tells himself, ignoring a flash of gold eyes and soft hair and tainted, ethereal beauty. He nearly believes it, too.
He doesn't know that Amerit isn't doodling fighting stances. She's making a mental map of Rosiel's mind, the scars and the places it has healed all wrong, and the 'squinting' is her contemplating how to blackmail Vaerel and Caphriel into helping her shatter his mind again in those exact places. Then, Aziraphael would feel obliged to help with the healing, and this time, it would be done without a crutch that Alexiel and vanity have been, which meant…
Katan actually getting a chance at happiness. And if the healing process hurts like hell… well, it isn't her fault. Really. Just a side effect of speeding up a difficult process.
So when Katan is summoned back, and his weapon gradually fades from view, but never disappears from its place at his side, she hugs her brother goodbye and lets him run off to play the loyal servant. Then, she orchestrates a war council. And the others better take part in the Sane Rosiel Up operation, or she's going to…
And here she threateningly announces:
- And if you don't cooperate, I'm going to make sure every single piece of music you try to listen to from now on turns into Modern Talking's "You're My Heart, You're My Soul". And that's a promise.
The look of horror on their faces says it all. Amerit smiles far too smugly for comfort.
Somewhere in Tokyo, the Inorganic Angel asks his servant whether he is beautiful. Of course you are, Katan says, and his wings are well on their way to turning the shade they've always been meant to be. Quicksilver, just like the Cherub's well hidden mercurial moods.
'Meri's are the exact shade of good whiskey.
Vaerel's resemble the metal guns were made of – dark, steely and oh so very dangerous.
Caphriel's are rich, dark green, like a serpent's scales.
And Aziraphael is probably the only angel around with off-white feathers.
After all, why should Katan be different from them? Rosiel might have given him a body, but it was them, his family, that gifted him with purpose and understaning, he smiles mirthlessly to himself and clouds his eyes with all-too-genuine worry for his master to see.