"We are each our own devil and we make this world our Hell."

-Oscar Wilde

-Ω-

"Sir, with best regards I do not wish to participate in this endeavor," Perseus murmured, wringing his hands nervously. Every word that came from his mouth was calculated to a point, and his tone was respectful yet firm, stating that yes, he would partake in the event if he was ordered, but he'd much rather not. His face, aside from the bloody tears that occasionally dripped down his cheeks, was a mask devoid of any emotion whatsoever, though his messy hair, however normal that was, was also dirty, suggesting that he hadn't had a very good rest the night before. His jet-black feathers, which usually gleamed like the waxed hood of a car, were ruffled and laced with grime. The other angels, however, didn't question his appearance since all angels, despite the area they participated in; whether they be angels of death or nature, were created to be soldiers, and soldiers needn't ask questions about their higher-ups, though they did cast wary glances in the messenger angel's direction.

The angel whom Perseus was addressing, the Metatron, was nothing short of dazzling. Personally, Percy though Michael to be much more beautiful because his splendor was much more toned down than the Metatron's, whose magnificence was blazing from him in a way that made it a bit difficult to focus around him. Michael was soft and quiet, like rustling like or trickling water, but the Metatron was a blaring symphony that was like a smack in the face, which wasn't very pleasant. His wings were no different, but they were unique in the fact that, though they were slightly below average when it came to size, there were six of them. Six beautiful, snowy appendages that were adorned with feathers that dazzled Percy if he regarded them from a certain angle, forcing him to avert his eyes. Even his clothing was as in-your-face as humanly possible.

All of the angels, including Perseus, were wearing simple tunics and roman sandals, along with silvery breastplates, greaves, and belts, which carried sheathes that contained their blades. Of course, the materials used the make the clothing were anything but earthly, and therefore not even a 50-caliber bullet could penetrate the tunic's material, which looked as thin as cotton. The Metatron, however, wore a complete suit of armor made solely out of a metal that appeared to look somewhat like gold. His long amber hair was braided back, the tips reaching a few inches below his shoulders, however on his head was a golden circlet made up of several interwoven metal pieces. It portrayed thirteen equal circles with lines from the center of each circle extending out to the centers of the other twelve circles, forming what humans called the Metatron's cube. His vibrant gold eyes matched his circlet as well as his armor, and he held a long spear, engraved with Enochian letters and sigils, in his right hand.

"As you know, Perseus, your…acquaintance has been less than cooperative in our efforts to help him see reason," he informed the messenger angel in a rich and smooth voice, his full lips pursing into a thin line. "So we must resort to the last possible option." The Metatron paused, as if subtly urging him to guess what that last possible option was.

"Torture?" Perseus whispered thinly, forcing his hands to stay folded. At this, the Metatron seem quite astonished.

"Absolutely not! Are we not angels whose mission is to protect humanity, Perseus?"

"We are," the black-winged angel responded, lowering his head as shame absorbed him, and had he been human his face would have been flushed bright red. The Metatron, instead of looking cross, softened quite a bit. He even chuckled.

"Though I suppose that does sound like that would be the option, does it not? I suppose we are ready. Shall we walk?" And with that he took off at a brisk pace down the hall, his cape, which was like that of a Roman's, flying behind him. The other angels hesitantly followed, for it was not a secret that the Metatron could be quite imposing at times. Currently they resided in his palace in the first Heaven, and as they followed their new leader they began to whisper amongst themselves. Of course, the only one not participating in the conversation was Perseus, for his companions, who were supposed to be his brothers and sisters, were nothing but mere strangers to him. Had they not been angels, he would be a bit hesitant to trust them, but then again he still wasn't sure that he had confidence in them completely, angels or not, after his ascension.

The Metatron turned down a hall that was so narrow and small that Perseus couldn't even spread his wings to their full length within the space. Due to the Metatron's towering figure and his three sets of wings, Perseus couldn't really see the thing that they were walking towards, but pretty soon they reached a floor-to-ceiling door, embellished with golden plants and peacocks that stood out against the pearly white, marble-esque material. It didn't look like the door to a prison, but if Jason was behind it than that statement was a bit debatable. Every angel exchanged apprehensive glances as they worried at their tunics, however instead of out of fear like the rest, Perseus was doing it out of guilt, and he quickly wiped away a bloody tear with the red-stained kerchief that he'd started carrying around with him everywhere. The Metatron raised his hands and the doors swung open silently, revealing a dimly lit hall that the scribe of God wasn't the least bit intimidated by, though his guests trailed behind him like shadows, watching their surroundings with the wary gazes of wild animals.

This room was unique in the sense that it was dark, much unlike the glittering grandeur of the rest of the Metatron's palace. They wove through a maze of passageways, each one only illuminated dim florescent bulbs, and it made it difficult for Percy to pick out the details. Their footsteps echoed, and the messenger angel wondered just how large this prison was, and why it was needed if all of the big baddies in Heaven were locked away in the second Heaven. Finally, the hallway opened up into a decent sized room, and the only light came from behind a huge pane of glass that served as the right wall. It was like an aquarium, or like the nocturnal section of the zoo. Percy felt blood begin to roar in his ears.

"Don't fret, Perseus," the Metatron soothed as if he could read Percy's thoughts, and with the abilities that the scribe had, he didn't doubt it. "From in here we can see him, but if he looks through this window he sees only his reflection." The person on the other side of the pane of glass was exactly who Percy had expected, and though it didn't show on his emotionless face, it seemed to carve a part out of his heart as his gut twisted with the guilt he felt about it all.

Jason sat in a metal chair, his wrists strapped to the arms and his ankles strapped to the legs. The straps had soft padding, so that if he struggled his wrists wouldn't bleed. A pillow waited to support his head, however the human was sitting up in his chair, every muscle tenser than ever before. It was so endearing to see him young again; his skin was smooth and flawless, his mop of blond hair back in its original place, however his face was etched deeply with lines of panic an anxiety as his bright blue eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape. Some angels had demanded that he be put in the second Heaven for denying servitude, and Perseus shuddered when he thought of what he would see if they had gotten their way. An image flashed before his eyes:

Jason lying in a pool of his own blood, so still he could just have easily been dead. It took only two weeks in the cell to make him paper thin, served a meal but once every four days, and the portions were small. So very, very small. Blood would drip steadily out of his ears, his nose, and the corners of his mouth, and he was rendered blind and deaf from torture that was supposed to be for fallen angels. His voice would be hoarse as he pleaded for mercy and food, his blood-coated hands clasped together in a begging gesture. He would tug on the legs of the angels that came to feed him, asking for just one more morsel over and over since he would not be able to hear the answer. The angels who fed him would take pity, and those who were rebellious would sneak him extra water and food, but it would never be enough. In six months he'd be dead, starved and tortured to insanity in ways that humans have not yet invented, but still he never said yes, never agreed to spare his own life.

"Perseus? Perseus!" The messenger angel was ripped from his reveries by the soft and insistent voice of one of the other angels.

"How may I be of service to you, Persephone?" the messenger asked, forcing a smile onto his face that almost certainly looked like a grimace. Persephone, an angel of nature with a kind heart (though still quite distant and reserved when it came to Perseus) was not all bad. Despite the obvious, yet unvoiced, disapproval of the other angels, she had accepted him and was willing to interact if Percy initiated the conversation, though she herself was unwilling to begin a chat; this time was quite a surprise to the messenger angel.

"There is blood on your cheeks," she replied, her tone brimming with concern and her expression pinched. She mimed wiping it away. Perseus thanked her and cleaned himself up as best as he could, though he could see the other angels staring at him as if he were some sort of twisted demon. He didn't need their condemnation, though. He already hated himself more than any of them ever could. The Metatron turned to them and clapped his hands together, the sound resounding throughout the room and causing several, including Perseus, to flinch slightly. Percy's wings twitched a little in his nervousness, and anxiety hung thick in the air like a blanket. There were only a handful of angels present, though Perseus was still wondering why he just had to be one of them, and all of them were on edge, their eyes trained onto Jason as if he would suddenly break free of his bonds and kill them all.

"So, let's get down to business," the scribe of God announced, his voice much too jovial, considering the occasion. "Jason Grace, eighty-seven years old, son of Beryl and Zeus Grace. Strong will. Not even we can crack his noggin to see what he's thinking. Sadly, despite his obvious strengths, he is unwilling to help us with our slight…problem. We have attempted reason, however he was having none of it, so we must resort to the last option," Everyone inhaled sharply, the room so quiet that one could hear a pin drop, "possession."

NO! Perseus screamed internally, and the fact that he didn't wish to fall from Heaven was the only thing preventing him from screeching it out loud. Possession? Angels would never make an unwilling person their vessel; that was what demons did. It was savage. Barbaric, even. Angels didn't usually need vessels, since they'd learned to create their own vessels to give themselves a human form. If chosen wrongly, vessels could be burned out completely if occupied by an angel. Perseus had seen many articles in the paper pertaining to teenaged angels who'd fallen because, in some form of play, they'd taken a vessel without testing their limits first and their divine power had burned the poor human to a husk.

"Giel, please step forward." One of the other angels, an astronomer from the first Heaven who represented the zodiac Gemini, approached the Metatron hesitantly, like a wary deer picking its way through an open field. His shimmering navy wings were no less than amazing, dotted with white specks that formed the constellation that he represented. His wings matched his slick, black hair. The symbol for Gemini, which looked a lot like the Roman numeral two, hung from a cord around his neck.

"I have chosen you, since you are one of the few angels in Heaven who is mortally injured; you have lost the ability to fly," the Metatron stated, and Perseus could see the way that the angel's eyes lit up like Christmas tree bulbs. "This is true, is it not?"

"Indeed, sir. I got into a brawl with a demon when stationed on Earth and it ripped up the flesh on one of my wings. The feathers there have been growing abnormally ever since," he replied, staring forlornly at the very, very bent and crooked primaries on his left wing. Perseus felt overwhelming pity for him, despite the fact that he had been chosen to possess Jason; he knew what it felt like to be rendered flightless, and knew that, when he was possessing Jason's body, the human's healing systems would slowly help correct his feather growth.

"You will not be taking control of Jason Grace, Giel," the Metatron stated firmly, his eyes hard with determination and his tone thick with warning. "You will not be directing his movements or controlling his thoughts. You will, however, help us with Jason's behavior, and you'll soon see how. Now, you must know that since Jason will not be giving out permission any time soon, you will have to enter his body unauthorized. He will try to eject you, his body will try to eject you, but I can assure that if you are as strong as I'd hoped it won't be a problem. The process of possession, however, will be mind-numbingly painful for Jason, and I hope that you are keen to make sure he doesn't suffer for a long extent of time. Whilst you are in his body as well as influencing him, his body will be healing you, so you must make sure that he is benefitting. We do not want parasitism, Giel, we're aiming for mutualism."

Perseus couldn't believe that this was happening. He wanted to scream so loudly Jason could hear him in the next room over. He wanted to drown everyone in his bloody tears and bludgeon them with his wings. He wanted to pull his hair and stamp his feet like a child having a temper tantrum until they let Jason go free, but all he could do was wither and wilt on the inside as Giel squared his shoulders with an expression that was thick with resolve, and there was a stubborn set to his jaw that told Percy that he wouldn't be forfeiting this opportunity anytime soon. Perseus wanted to pull him over and talk some sense into him, but now that the Metatron had given him some motivation he knew it was impossible; like Perseus when he was wingless, nothing would prevent Giel from flying again. Flying was everything to an angel, and that's why they didn't only fall hard physically, but mentally as well.

"Perseus…are you alright?" Persephone inquired, suspicion laced through her voice as the messenger angel furiously wiped away had his bloody tears with his kerchief, staining it an even darker red, and he was pretty sure that there was one drop for every ounce of heroin he injected into his veins, which, of course, was a lot. Despite this, Perseus was pretty sure that she was not, indeed, referring to the sticky red trails on his cheeks, but rather the expression on his face. He was almost positive that she'd never once descended to Earth, and had never really felt many strong negative emotions, but she sure as hell could detect it with the scent of a bloodhound. Perseus nodded absently, not really paying much attention to her despite the fact that it was a bit rude.

"Are you prepared, Giel?" the Metatron asked, his eyes gleaming like 24-karat gold. Perseus prayed that the angel would say no, however hopeless it was, yet the answer was just as he expected.

"Indeed," replied Giel, his face split with a smile that nearly illuminated the room. Perseus felt gut-wrenching guilt for both sides; Jason was going to have to live out the mission he was presented with an angel inside of him, but then again that angel was also healing himself in order to fly once more. Perseus could relate to how elated Giel felt when he was presented with an opportunity to reclaim the breathtaking ability to soar through the skies, careless and free. Perseus was so torn he didn't know which side he should choose. The side of Heaven, which was more powerful than anything and where he had spent most of his immortal life, or Man, the race that taught him how to feel emotion and how good it felt to not be tethered to a higher power?

He stood as still as a statue as Giel walked through the wall as if he were a ghost, the lines rippling round his form as he passed through. Jason immediately caught sight of him and began to thrash, writhing like a snake in the tight grip of a secretary bird. However, his bonds held him tightly against the chair, and his blue eyes became even more filled with terror and panic. Perseus couldn't seem to find his voice as he stepped towards the window, his face a mask as he filled with such horror it caused his head to throb. Giel was talking, trying to calm the incredibly frightened human as if he were a very, very startled animal. Nevertheless, to Perseus and the other angels it was like watching a TV on mute; Giel's lips were moving but only Jason, the other character in the show, could hear him. His reaction was not at all calm as his mouth opened in a silent scream, struggling even more as his wrists began to develop a large rash from rubbing against the straps.

Then Giel became still, closing his eyes as he concentrated. Jason seemed a bit curious and momentarily ceased his struggles, giving the angel a peculiar look that was filled with a burning interest. But it was curiosity that killed the cat, and Perseus wanted to slam on the glass- with all his strength until it shattered, but all he could do, like always, was watch. Watch as the edges of Giel's body became blurred, with the rest of him following in suit. Jason faced him, unafraid, but Perseus begged him to be scared. Terrified. If he only continued to thrash it would slow Giel down, but the human was completely oblivious to Perseus' silent pleas.

Then Giel dematerialized, his slightly downgraded, for the safety of Jason, pure form. Perseus had to admit that Giel was beautiful, curling in the air as a translucent, unsolid silk-like substance, shining so brightly that Jason was forced to avert his eyes. He glowed gold around the edges, however he remained a dazzling white around the center, circling around Jason's body like an eagle. Perseus was glad that Giel attempted to be a gentleman about it. The tip of his formed pecked a little between Jason's lips, asking for entry, however the human pursed them tightly and screwed his eyes shut, vigorously shaking his head.

Then Giel was forced to resort to Plan B. His pure form, which looked like nothing but an untouchable mist, slammed against Jason and the human's mouth opened in an agonized scream. Giel took the opportunity to dive into Jason's mouth, and Perseus clenched his fists against his sides as the human's back arched with such intense pain that the angel could almost hear his agonized shrieks. Thankfully it didn't take long for Giel to insert himself and Jason's head quickly fell back against the pillow, exhausted, as his skin glowed faintly. Then he opened his eyes, which were once blue, and it was like gazing into a blazing fire. Perseus nearly gasped, but he didn't wish to show weakness or pity towards Jason in front of the other angels, who were very much pro-Giel. Then the fiery depths dissipated and were replaced by normal Jason eyes, which soon fell closed.

The Metatron gestured to the assembled angels, and they all slipped through the wall, however solid it was, like Giel had. Perseus could finally hear what was going on, and Jason's deep, ragged breaths were nothing to be desired. The human must've felt a presence, both inside and around him, for his eyes snapped open.

"Perhaps you should rest," the Metatron suggested, though the human seemed to be having none of it.

"What the hell was that?!" Jason sputtered. "I felt like I was being fried from the inside-out! And where'd that black-haired angel go? I deserve answers!" He scanned the faces of all the angels with critical blue eyes, but when they rested on Perseus he practically shrieked. "WHAT'S HE DOING HERE?!" The messenger tried to tell him, tried to say how much he was sorry through his eyes, but Jason refused to meet them with his own. "GET OUT! I WANT THE LITTLE TRAITOR OUT!" The Metatron cast Perseus a pitying look, but Perseus didn't want his pity. None of it. He just wanted to get this all over with and return everything back to the way it was before he had fallen and come back.

"Of course, Jason. He will leave. We will all leave, but first you must answer this question before we release you from this room." At this, Jason seemed to forget all about his rage as he perked up slightly, though his eyes still remained narrowed.

"I'm listening."

"Will you withhold the mission that we have presented to you?" If Jason had been furious before, he certainly was now. His lips contorted into a hideous scowl and his eyes blazed with such anger that some of the other angels shifted nervously and ruffled their wings.

"N-" Then he choked, beginning to breathe shallowly. The rage was replaced by panic as he tried again, "N-" Then, in a ragged sound that seemed to have been ripped out of his throat, the human choked out the word, "YeS." The episode passed and he collapsed back against his chair, trembling. "What's happening to me?" he begged, looking straight at Perseus for the first time since his capture.

Making sure that nobody else was watching him, too busy whispering in hushed voices amongst themselves, he mouthed, I'll tell you later, but not here. OK? and then gave a subtle jerk of his head over to the others. The hard lines in Jason's face smoothed out as he relaxed, smiling softly and nodding.

OK.

-Ω-

(A/N) PLEASE REVIEW SO I KNOW YOU'RE THERE THAT IS ALL I AM REQUESTING.

Disclaimer: I own no characters whatsoever, whoever I do own the alternate universe that they live in as well as the plot they follow.