When first she landed back in the place that was once her home, she knew only darkness. Afriel inside of her was roaring to be released, but she managed to get her under control and back under a semblance of the imprisonment sigils. Afriel grumbled at the fake sigils, but she swore to get Ariel through this before she stuck back into that pitiful state that she was when she was born anew in Hell.
Now once again completely Ariel and more coherent, she was dragged through the halls in chains, two enforcer angels holding on to her shoulder joints as they hauled her dead weight. Her wrists and ankles were bound with shackles that could never break without a key, her wings retracted permanently until the one who had summoned her decided otherwise to break the sigil that was carefully drawn on her back. The angels that were her family and comrades-in-arms turned away at the sight of her gross disobedience, whispering words of another Lucifer as she closed her eyes and tried her best to ignore them all. At the doorway to the room, she was dropped to the floor without any ceremony, her head yanked back by her hair to stare up. Zachariah simply stood over her, that pompous triumphant look on his face.
She didn't struggle, not this time around. She had been to Hell and back, literally. What could Heaven do to her that was worst then that? He, apparently, had other plans for her.
"Well, well." He knelt before her, carefully not to get any of her blood on him as he rubbed her face in a mockery of concern. "You've been a naughty girl, haven't you, Ariel dear?" He moved a lock of her hair off her face. "Or should we just call you Afriel instead?"
"Fuck you, Zachariah." She spoke softly. That earned her another punch in the chin; she could feel her jaw break but then slowly knit back together. Afriel wanted so badly to break her false imprisonment, but she didn't want Ariel to go through more pain than was necessary. Besides, if she played along with the act of being harmless, then they would, most likely leave her alone.
"Now, now, Afriel. You know the rules for disobedience as well as I do, remember?" That smile on his face, it was more than enough to make a saint swear. Those words barbed her heart, making her remember her past before the Fall. She, however, maintained her external cool.
"When was I disobedient to my Father, Zachariah? I only follow his will, not yours!" Her anger seeped into the edge of her voice; she could feel her eyes growing black with her anger; Afriel wanted out, and she just might let her. But it was too dangerous for that, for both of them.
"But then, you never received the memo, did you? All that time spent on Earth and not up here." Standing up, he began to circle around her, letting go of her hair. "Father handed power over to me and the other senior angels some time ago; gosh, it would have been after the death of the Messiah. We're in control now; have been for a long time. So disobedience against us is like disobeying our Father." He pointed his chin towards the room behind them and smiled wickedly down at her, knowing full well that she was aware of what was behind the locked doors. "You know, you would've made a good sidekick, big sister."
She made a promise to herself as the angels dragged her to her punishment kicking and screaming until one of her enforcer brothers decked her out cold: she would get out of here, and then she would kick Zac's righteous ass from here to kingdom-fucking-come.
He was waiting for her to come to, his tools against the walls displayed in order to show fear when she woke up. Kushiel sighed out loud, warming his hands in the fire, as he waited patiently for the next penitent. Zachariah, his much older brother, had told him to expect someone special to 'correct a small matter of disobedience'. He wasn't expecting his oldest sister to be dragged through his doors, her wrist chains hung over a hook in the middle of the room. His quarters were to become her new home for as long as Zachariah deemed it. The rack, the fire, the tools: it was a rather muted down version of Alastair's choice of venue, but still enough to strike fear into those that had not experienced the same setup in Hell. She wasn't one of them, as she finally came to of her own accord.
She looked around nonchalantly, a far different response from the weeping and soiling of the disobedient ones that came before her. It was like this was not enough to frighten her as she turned her head to him. "Kushiel." She nodded her head as he walked towards her, her face that of acceptance. There was nothing that she could do now. Fighting would earn her no respite. In fact, it would only make the torture go worse.
"Ariel." Kushiel, for all of his Inquisitor personality, was one of the most beautiful angels she had ever seen, besides Castiel and Michael. He had black hair pulled off his face into a tight braid that ended at the base of his shoulder blades. His eyes were pitch-black; most angels, when they saw him, would consider him a demon if they had never seen a demon before. However, this was simply the way that he was created. Instead of upgrading his look to the modern times, Kushiel preferred to wear the commoner clothes of the Renaissance era: loose trousers, a simple tunic of dark colors, and a leather belt.
His hands were soft as they gently inspected the restraining charm that Zachariah had drawn on her back; it was crude, but effective for its purpose. Tutting quietly to himself, he got some hot water from the pot near his fire and carefully began to rinse it off. The water was beyond boiling, but Ariel bit her lip to avoid screaming so soon into the torture- no. In Heaven, it wasn't torture: it was punishment for disobedience. Funny, it was like that in Hell, too.
Once the sigil was destroyed and her wings were released and more comfortably tucked under her skin, Ariel let herself relax as much as she could against her hanging weight. That was just frankly uncomfortable, but she knew that this was only the beginning. As Kushiel removed her chains from the hook and led her to the rack, she just cocked her head to one side. Well, this wasn't so much a rack than a table. It brought back horrible memories of Hell: the screaming, the fire, the joy of the torture... no, that was a different life.
Kushiel gently tightened the restraints to keep her limbs and hips in place, taking his time to ensure a semblance of comfort: her arms were now perpendicular from her body, her legs secured slightly apart from one another. A leather muzzle went over her mouth and chin to keep her head still; it had symbols etched into the surface that prohibited her from transporting out of here. Afriel kept repeating a mantra in the back of her mind, to keep her thoughts away from the pain that was coming soon. Kushiel gently undid her shirt and revealed her flat stomach as she began to pant with the surge of adrenaline and fear, anticipating the pain. Taking up one of the knives, he began to carve on her right side.
Ah, that blade was like an unwelcome homecoming gift. It entered her side, carving slowly and deliberately to cause as much pain as possible. She tried to scream bloody murder, tried to arch her back in pain, but she was completely immobilized, her voice muzzled and muted. There was nothing that she could do except listen to Afriel's mantra. Tears of silver crawled down her cheeks as Kushiel, with that damnable blank face of his, broke her knees with his bare fists. The agony of the splinters of bone as they dug into muscle was beyond what she could take, and she screamed loud enough to wake the dead. But as she slowly began to heal, there was that small part of her mind told her that it was just the beginning...
It had been six human weeks since she was put on the table; time was measured only in knife strokes and screams, in broken bones and slowly healing. Her Grace made it impossible for her to die, and so she would have to live through this for as long as it took for her to be repentant, but that would never happen and they both knew it. No food and very little water made her weak. Her fingers were broken, a new one each day until he ran out. Her arms had been yanked out of their sockets and now laid uselessly away from her sides. Her legs were broken now in four places, her kneecaps smashed. Her wrists and ankles were chafed and scarred from fighting the leather. Her legs, arms, and torso were riddled with bleeding and scarred sigils from Kushiel's patient work. At least, unlike his now-dead brother Alastair, he didn't gloat while he did his job.
As Kushiel leant over her, he looked up and down the length of her broken body with a sad look on his face. "Ariel, why? Why did you disobey?" He released the muzzle and let her take a few deep breaths. The tears had long since dried out, but she was still holding on... something got her past the torture, past the pain.
"Because... I serve our Father, brother. Not that prick Zachariah." She lifted her neck to see across the room. Across from her was a new set of equipment, as if the room had grown to accommodate another. "What's going on, Kushiel?" Her voice was so hoarse that she could barely speak. Seeing this, Kushiel took a water skin and dribbled a few drops into her mouth. Seeing her try to drink more, he lowered the bag and let her drink enough to allow her to speak. "What's going on, Kushiel?"
He sighed, tossing the water skin aside. "It appears as though Dean Winchester is a bad influence on angels nowadays." Her brow creased as she tried to understand what he was talking about until the door opened and another angel was tossed inside. Her heart wrenched.
"What has he done, Kushiel?" She began to fight against her restraints with new strength as he lifted the unconscious angel and placed him on the second rack. Taking care again as he restrained him, he cut off the trench coat and jacket as the angel began to come to. His blue eyes were so sad, so defeated: it was like there was nothing left for him. Kushiel didn't muzzle him, instead just brushing the disheveled black hair out of his eyes.
"Your mate Castiel was disobedient, like you, Ariel. Only Zachariah has asked me to make his session quick. He is still needed at the front, unlike you." That was the greatest punishment that Kushiel could have come up with: make her watch as he tortured her lover for his own act of disobedience: for trying to help out a human, his charge, he had gone against the will of Zachariah. That was a sad statement in and of itself, if that was now the policy of the Citadel's warriors. Kushiel was much faster with Castiel: carving for a few minutes, and then whispering something into Castiel's ears, something that only the two of them could hear.
That was the killer. Ariel fought her restraints with new-found fury, not caring if Afriel had taken over her and had begun to swear and rant against the angel inquisitor, making promises and threats to fulfill when -if- she was ever freed from this place. Slowly over a day's time, Castiel was set free. He was completely broken once more, obedient to the will of that prick Zachariah and his cronies. It didn't take long; was it a sign of weakness on his part, or was it a sign of her experience and stubbornness that she had stuck it out for so long. As Kushiel released him and gave him back the trench coat in pristine condition, he only looked at her once in angelic blankness before leaving of his own accord, not even a word spoken in her direction.
When Kushiel came back to her, Afriel had disappeared under the weight of the sorrow that Ariel bore. Finally, she was broken. There was nothing left for her to fight for, not anymore. Dean... he was being watched over by Castiel, groomed into the manipulations of the angels that she had once considered her family. Castiel was gone from her; he no longer cared for her that same way that he had before. Michael was off fighting the war- hell, she wasn't even sure if he knew where she was at this particular junction. Even her Father had abandoned her to this fiery pit. As Kushiel carved into her, she just let him. Of course, she screamed, but she would've done anything to carve away at the emptiness that once was her heart.
Zachariah had succeeded. He had turned his greatest rival and oldest sister, the greatest source of angelic empathy and emotions on this plane, and turned her into a void, a blank entity. He had turned her into a true angel.