Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-
Disclaimer:canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion, mild sexual content.
Temenos
Chapter Four
They killed each other about a half dozen times before he started to get bored again.
Not bored of him.
No.
Just bored.
He was trying to understand why. Feeling a whole lot like there was a question - half formed and precious - on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to ask. Only the angel never quite gave him the chance to spit it out before they had to deal with each other's steel.
It got to the point where something had to give.
A bored demon was a dangerous demon, if you were asking him.
Which no one was.
Which was probably half of the problem right there.
There was an itch under his skin now. Enough that a handful of weeks later, when his legion's shift was over and night fell, instead of returning to the nest he followed the light. He chased them from the ground - lunging over the soaring cliffs and vast crevasses - as the angels flew back to their garrison for the night's rest.
He made a pact with the shadows to keep him as he watched the last of the garrison march through the golden gates and close them soundly. The last inside ensuring they were locked and secure before taking flight to join the rest of the squadron.
There were no guards standing watch.
There was no need for them.
And every demon knew why.
He waited until he was sure he was alone before advancing the rest of the way. Sheathing his steel with an impatient flick as he turned his attention on the gate itself. He inspected the golden rods carefully, well aware of their power. Marveling privately at the intricacies in the smithing. At the way that despite having watched the gate open and close he couldn't locate the lock or any sort of mechanism to open it.
He hissed in frustration. Glancing up at the mighty sandstone towers and pillaring clouds that wreathed them like the angel - his angel - was personally to blame.
No demon had ever successfully scaled the gates and gained entry into the angel's stronghold. Heaven's grace ran strongly through the bars like individual lightening bolts. Ready and waiting to cast down the impure. He'd seen it happen before. Having watched a handful of his more curious brothers and sisters try to grasp a handhold on the unforgiving metal only to be scorched. Reduced to a fine, powdering-mist the moment their skin came into contact with it.
Only, that wasn't what happened now.
Because, of course, for reasons beyond him, he'd gone and done it anyway.
Realizing with sudden clarity that though he could smell the sickening tart of burning flesh from where his hands were grasping the bars, he was somehow still whole. Still here. Still, well, for lack of a better term- alive. He cracked a lid, admittedly curious. He'd expected to be plunged back into Hell's healing pits the moment he'd touched the bars, just like the others. Baptized by the agonizing sear of his molecules wrenching themselves back together. Hearing the mocking laughter of the overseers as they cracked their cruel, iron-barbed whips asked - not without ironic amusement - if he had a death wish.
He hadn't expected this.
Whatever this was.
But he certainly wasn't going to waste it.
He scaled the soaring gild-work with difficulty. Finally falling over the opposite side with a tortured groan, breathing hard. Watching the smoke issue from the burning sores now weeping dark black pitch in the place of blood across half his body. Cursing God, the angel, the earthy-soft of the soil and anything else he could readily think of as he looked up at the towering gate with healthy distaste.
For creatures of the eternal light, angels could certainly be exacting in their cruelty.
Even if it was second-hand.
When he regained enough strength to move, he crawled into the shade of a grassy thicket. Digging his claws deep, past the fragrant fronds of ever-blooming palms until he found himself in the center crown of a grouping of fat flower-bulbs with deep wells of sweet honey. Each and every one flowed thick - like oil - over his fingers when he broke them open at the stem and drank greedily.
Something unfamiliar flashed in his mind's eye. Too thin to be a memory. But enough that it rose up like an imprint. An impression of something that had come before. Something this body had experienced. Maybe even enjoyed, perhaps. Either way he allowed the complexity and discomfort it brought to chase him into motion.
The night was well into it's own by the time he'd pulled himself up to one of the fortresses great windows. Looking down into a great hall where the angels were comfortably seated. Clothed in fresh white and singing together in a victorious chorus as pearl-like orbs lit up the room in a pleasant glow.
It was...well- remarkably spartan for one. Most demons believed that the angels lived in splendor while they sheltered in their little earthy hollows. Surrounded with riches and jewels and the beauty of ancient things. But apparently that wasn't the case, at least not here. There was no food or drink, but then again, he didn't expect there to be. Angels didn't need either. What sustained them was the power of heaven's grace. Like mana to the soul, that was what filled them. Did the job better then bread and wine, he figured. From what he could see the vast cathedral was nothing more than smooth lines, spartan stone benches and an achingly pristine sort of cleanliness that almost hurt to look at.
It was comfortable, that much was clear and the angels looked-
His eyes narrowed, nesting an anger in his throat he didn't quite understand.
They looked different from how they were on the battlefield. Complacent? Contented? Peaceful? Like being in this place was akin to the touch of their creator's hand. It reminded him of the stark difference between them. A reality that was easy to forget when the angels were so damned efficient at killing. Demons had been made for this, for battle, war and darker things. Angels, however, had not. Avenging they might be, they were humanities shepherds first.
After what felt like hours of looking - not realizing until that moment he actually was - he found him. His angel. His claws sunk into the sandstone with a gritty scritch. His interest embarrassingly obvious and violently eager. The angel was sitting in a quiet corner on a stone bench hewn out of rock in the form of a pew. Wings relaxed around him in a sheath of softness as he read from a brittle, yellowed tome. Long fingers curled around it's pages with delicate care. Head bowed. Distracted.
He craned his next to see the title. Wondering what it was that'd ensnared the angel's attention so thoroughly. But the language was unfamiliar. He wrinkled his nose. Disliking the idea that anything the angel did was inaccessible to him. Even if it was this little thing.
He was still simmering in the emotion when another angel approached. It was a female, her long brown hair damp and recently freed from its fighting braids. So long that it trailed on the ground behind her in rich chestnut waves. Clearly seeking the angel's attention for herself as her wings shifted – puffing and ruffling like a quiet tell.
For a long moment, the angel didn't seem to notice. Looking up only belatedly when her shadow blocked the light. He watched, fascinated, as the angel blinked apologetically. Sending her an easy smile - the first he'd ever witnessed on the being - as the female settled down beside him. Mouth moving with conversation he couldn't hear as she took the book from his hands and set it boldly aside.
They knew each other.
That much was clear.
But what made it worse was when she turned her back and allowed her wings - ebony with white speckles - to stretch. Inviting his attention as he inclined his head receptively. Reaching up to straighten her primary feathers as she settled into the crook of his chest with clear satisfaction and claim. Accepting his gesture in turn when his wings flared high - a piebald mess of white and brown – before settling them around her to preen. Watching first hand as the angel's expression softened the longer her fingers raked through the soft down of his secondary feathers. Laxing into something that dipped heat down to his belly as the shared pleasure of the act only grew more and more obvious.
It lit something to char inside of him.
Something that reeked of ill-placed jealousy.
Something that made it easy for him to hate her even though he didn't understand why.
He set their golden fortress on fire and watched as a hundred thousand angels wailed and screamed. Their proud feathers withering down to the jarring ivory of naked bone. Unearthing a nervous system humming with the chords of God's love. Burning hotter and hotter, like the souls their father allowed to suffer in the hell pits below, until blinding light started leaking from their eyes and mouths and-
He realized that somewhere along the line he must have closed his eyes. Feeling the heat against his skin - basking in it. Yet, despite his triumph, his dark eyes refused to watch any longer.
He was...conflicted.
Part of him was still raging.
Unsatisfied with the fact that he hadn't seen the angel burn.
Meanwhile, the other part – quiet, but oh so equally damning - was relieved.
It was the beginning of his end as far as hindsight was concerned.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be more to come, stay tuned.