Begging the Heavens

Malachi stood at the precipice of the mortal world, his presence both commanding and otherworldly. The night was thick with the scent of burning wood and distant echoes of chaos. Haniel’s handiwork, no doubt. He had been sent to apprehend the demon for disrupting the balance, for spreading discord among humans. But when Malachi found him, he was nothing like the bloodthirsty fiends he had battled before.

Haniel stood like a figure carved from dusk itself, his tall frame radiating an aura of quiet power. His eyes, a piercing golden hue, gleamed with an intensity that could cut through the thickest of mists, yet there was no trace of malice in their depths.

The stark black wings at his back, wide and imposing, fluttered gently as if caught in a breeze only they could feel, the dark feathers gleaming with an almost ethereal sheen. His robes clung to his tall form, trailing like midnight fabric in the wind, their edges worn from time yet still holding an air of regality. They seemed to absorb the light around him, making his presence even more haunting, as though he was a part of the crumbling cathedral itself. Ancient, yet unfathomably ageless.

“You’re late,” Haniel said smoothly as if they were old friends meeting for a casual rendezvous.

Malachi didn’t rise to the bait. “You know why I’m here.”

“Indeed.” Haniel straightened, stepping toward Malachi. “What if I told you I have something that could save thousands of lives?”

Malachi narrowed his eyes. “A trick.”

“A deal,” Haniel smirked. “An artifact that can heal and protect.”

Malachi’s gaze bore into Haniel as he weighed the words swirling in his mind. The rational part of him screamed to strike the demon down where he stood and end this treacherous encounter before it could escalate. The urge was primal, but his sacred duty demanded protection and balance. If Haniel truly held the artifact in question, rejecting it could unravel the fragile threads of peace between worlds.

Malachi’s brow furrowed, his brown eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the air thick with tension. “What would you gain from this?” His voice was measured, yet the underlying suspicion was unmistakable.

Haniel’s golden eyes flickered, and for a moment, the air seemed to shift around him. Then, to Malachi’s surprise, a small, almost playful smile tugged at the corners of Haniel’s lips.

“Your friendship.” 

Malachi scoffed. “Friendship?” he repeated, his voice cold with disbelief. “You expect me to believe that after everything you’ve done?”

Haniel’s smile didn’t waver. “You doubt it?”

The moment stretched on, tension hanging in the space between them. Malachi’s eyes flashed with frustration. Still, his sense of duty overpowered his pride. He exhaled sharply. "Give me the artifact."

Without a hint of hesitation, Haniel reached into the folds of his dark robes. With a fluid motion, he pulled out a glimmering relic, its surface adorned with markings that seemed to dance in the dim light. He extended it to Malachi without a word of protest.

Malachi took the artifact, his grip firm as the weight of it settled in his palm. His eyes studied its authenticity, and there was no denying it. The artifact was real. The faint hum of its power thrummed through the air, a tangible presence that could not be mistaken. As Malachi held the artifact, his mind whirled with the implications of the deal, the strange sense of unease creeping over him. Was this truly a step toward preserving balance, or had he just walked into the devil’s trap?.

Malachi said at last, “This changes nothing.”

Haniel chuckled. “Oh, Malachi. You wound me.”

“I didn’t realize demons had feelings to wound.”

“You must be fun at celestial gatherings.” Haniel clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slowly around Malachi like a predator assessing its prey. “I imagine you standing in the corner, arms crossed, judging everyone while sipping on some divine nectar.”

“Can we focus?”

“Oh, I am focused. On you, in fact.” Haniel grinned. “And that delightful scowl you wear. Does it ever change?”

Malachi sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Don’t worry, Malachi," Hanield said. "By the time this deal is done, you might even smile.”

“Unlikely.”

“A demon can dream,” Haniel murmured.

Their arrangement was simple. Malachi would meet Haniel at designated times, learning more about the artifact and its origins. But nothing about Haniel was simple. He was intelligent, enigmatic, and infuriatingly charming. He spoke of the demon realm not as a place of eternal suffering but as a land of outcasts, beings cast aside by the Celestial Realm.

“Angels see the world in black and white,” Haniel said one evening as they stood on the outskirts of a war-torn village. “But the truth is far more complicated.”

“Demons spread corruption,” Malachi replied.

“And angels spread judgment,” Haniel countered. “Tell me, have you ever questioned the rules you follow so blindly?”

Doubt, insidious and persistent, crept into Malachi's mind.

Haniel’s grin widened. “Then tell me this: why stay?” 

“Because I have to.”

Haniel tilted his head. “Ah, yes. Duty. That must be why you watched me for five minutes before saying a word. Very professional.”

Malachi crossed his arms. “I was assessing a threat.”

Haniel stepped closer, a smirk playing on his lips. “And what did you conclude?”

Malachi hesitated. “You’re... unpredictable.”

Haniel chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment. For all your rigid devotion to rules, you seem to enjoy our time together.”

Malachi was silent.

Haniel hummed in satisfaction. “Don’t worry, angel. Your secret is safe with me.”

Malachi huffed, but he couldn’t fight the small, unwilling smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The Archangel Uriel had always admired his fellow angel’s dedication to the Celestial Realm. After all, Malachi had a pristine reputation in the Heavens. But lately, something has changed. Malachi was distant, distracted. At first, Uriel thought it was just exhaustion from his duties, but then the late-night disappearances started and conversations ended abruptly when Uriel entered the room. Determined to uncover the truth, Uriel followed Malachi. He kept to the shadows, masking his presence. Through the veil of night, he watched as Malachi descended to the mortal realm. It was not to confront evil but to meet with someone— Haniel.

Uriel’s breath caught in his throat as he listened to their conversation, the easy way they spoke, the familiarity that should not have existed between an angel and a demon. His heart clenched with betrayal. Malachi wasn’t just meeting Haniel. He was engaging with him, speaking as if they were equals, as if some unspoken understanding bound them together. It was a sight Uriel never thought he’d see, and it shook him to his core.

“You’re compromised,” Uriel accused, his wings flaring with barely restrained anger. “He’s manipulating you.”

Malachi’s own wings tensed. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” Uriel demanded, his voice sharp with frustration. 

Admitting the truth was a line he wasn’t ready to cross. His chest tightened, his mind warring between duty and the undeniable pull he felt toward Haniel. He had spent so long convinced that love, especially for a demon, was impossible. Yet the thought of severing the bond now felt like losing a piece of himself.

“End this, Malachi,” Uriel pressed, stepping closer, his wings quivering with barely restrained emotion.

Malachi had tried to deny it, to push it away, but the truth was undeniable. Every argument with Uriel only solidified it further, every moment spent away from Haniel left a hollowness he couldn’t ignore. His emotions surged, breaking through the dam of self-deception he had built so carefully.

“But I care about him!”

The confession hung in the air like a thunderclap, raw and unfiltered. Malachi’s chest rose and fell heavily as the weight of his own admission settled. He had finally spoken the truth, and there was no taking it back now. Uriel recoiled as if struck. The silence between them was suffocating, thick with unspoken judgment, the weight of centuries pressing down on them both.

Then, everything shattered.

The skies darkened, rolling with storm clouds that had no place in the Celestial Realm. The air vibrated with raw energy, a crackling tension that sent shudders through the heavens themselves. Malachi barely had time to react before he felt the pull. His connection to the divine severed in an instant.

He was Falling.

The wind howled around him as he plummeted, his body twisting in freefall. His wings, once radiant with celestial light, ignited in divine fire, burning from the inside out. The agony was indescribable, scorching through his very soul. Feathers disintegrated, leaving behind charred remnants that crumbled into nothingness. His grace, the essence of his being, was torn from him like a limb ripped away, leaving behind only emptiness.

But the impact never came. 

Strong arms caught him before he hit the ground, the force jarring but steady. A presence wrapped around him, warm, grounding. Malachi gasped, barely able to process anything beyond the pain still coursing through him.

Haniel held him tightly, his expression uncharacteristically grave. There was no amusement in his golden eyes. “I’ve got you,” Haniel murmured.

But Malachi barely heard him. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe. His hands curled into Haniel’s tunic, gripping it as if it were the only solid thing in a world that had just collapsed beneath him. Above them, Uriel stood motionless. His face was unreadable, carved in stone, his gaze locked on Malachi with something that looked like sorrow.

Haniel turned his head toward Uriel, his hold on Malachi tightening. For the first time, the demon looked desperate. “Give him another chance. Please.”

Uriel’s gaze was unyielding, his white-hot wings casting long shadows over them both. “He broke the laws of Heaven.” His voice was a blade, cutting away sentiment, stripping the moment down to the cold, unforgiving truth. “An angel cannot love a demon.”

Haniel didn’t flinch, his posture unwavering as he met Uriel’s icy gaze. His golden eyes burned with a fierce defiance, their glow like molten fire. “He followed his heart,” Haniel countered, his voice steady but laced with an undeniable edge. “Is that a sin?”

The words echoed in the heavy silence, a challenge to Uriel’s unwavering sense of duty. Haniel’s gaze never wavered, his defiance a stark contrast to the stoic angel standing before him. His heart, twisted by centuries of betrayal and loss, burned with an emotion that Uriel could not ignore.

Uriel’s fingers curled into his palms, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back his rising emotions. The rigid control he had spent millennia perfecting seemed to crack. A flicker of hesitation broke through the iron fortress of his resolve. He had known Haniel for eons and watched him falter, stumble, and rise again in his pursuit of something beyond the cold dictates of celestial law. But to see him now— unrepentant—brought the truth into sharp focus. Love, that forbidden, mortal emotion, had always been Haniel’s downfall. 

And yet, Uriel could not bring himself to hate him for it.

Finally, Uriel exhaled slowly, the weight of his breath a quiet surrender. His shoulders, once tense with unyielding resolve, dropped imperceptibly, though his jaw remained clenched. He stood, still the soldier, still the protector of the divine order, but something had shifted in him.

“There is one way,” Uriel said, his voice low and weary, the words heavy with unspoken sorrow. "But it comes at a price."

The words lingered between them heavily. Haniel didn’t flinch. They were bound by forces greater than themselves, forces that cared little for the hearts or minds of individuals. And yet, Uriel’s words gave him a flicker of hope.

The decree came down.

The Council of the Divine had spoken, and the judgment was set in stone. Malachi and Haniel, once celestial beings of unimaginable power, were to be cast into the mortal realm. Stripped of their ethereal might, their wings and radiance fading into nothingness, they were bound by human fragility. They would walk as men: fragile, vulnerable, and cursed with the knowledge of their former glory.

The heavens now seemed a distant dream as they were forced to face the harsh truths of a world unkind and unforgiving. Their trials would not be etched in the sacred texts, nor dictated by divine decree. They would be tested by the world itself, by the very ebb and flow of joy and sorrow, of fleeting moments and infinite struggles. Pain, loss, temptation, and the weight of mortality would press upon them at every turn.

No longer would Malachi be the unwavering protector, the mighty enforcer of celestial law. No longer would he be untouched by the pain and suffering of the world. He would experience it all firsthand—the heartbreak, the loss, the fleeting nature of love and life. His divine sense of justice would be tested in ways he could never have imagined.

And Haniel, with his defiance, his heart, and his complicated history with both duty and love, would be by his side.

There was a glimmer of something akin to regret, or perhaps something more personal in Uriel’s eyes. A subtle crack in the unyielding armor of divine authority—a flicker of doubt that Haniel had never thought possible. For eons, Uriel had been the embodiment of the absolute law of the divine. But at this moment, Haniel saw the foundation of everything Uriel had stood for beginning to tremble. It was the first time he had ever seen Uriel question the very thing he had once upheld without a shred of doubt. For the briefest moment, Haniel wondered if redemption might be more than just a distant concept.

Malachi and Haniel found themselves in a ruined chapel, its stained-glass windows shattered, its altar covered in dust. The once grand structure, now broken and forgotten, seemed to echo their own shattered existence. The world around them was desolate, devoid of the grandeur and majesty they had once known. The remnants of what had been stood as a stark reminder of the fragility of power, of divinity, and life itself.

Malachi stood at the altar, his hands trembling slightly as he touched the cold, weathered stone. He had spent so long trying to claw his way back to Heaven, to prove himself worthy of the divine realm, of the honor he had once held. The weight of his failures had always driven him forward, a constant, gnawing force pushing him to be better, to be more. But now, as he stood before Haniel—scarred, exhausted, undeniably changed—he understood something.

He had never needed Heaven.

For centuries, he had clung to the idea that redemption was an impossible standard set by those above him, a divine scale he could never quite balance. But now, standing in the ruins of the chapel with Haniel by his side, he understood. It was never about Heaven. It had never been about winning approval from celestial beings or proving his worth to a higher power.

The world outside the chapel was heavy with the scent of rain. It was rich like the promise of renewal. It was as if the earth itself was aligning with the new truth that had settled in Malachi’s chest. He inhaled deeply, feeling the air fill his lungs, grounding him in the present. The old, familiar ache of longing that had once driven him to chase redemption was now replaced with peace.

Turning to Haniel, Malachi spoke, his voice quieter than usual. “I don’t care if I never return to Heaven. As long as I’m with you.”

Haniel’s eyes widened, the quiet of the moment amplifying the tremor of surprise that flickered across his face. The world seemed to pause. In that profound stillness, Haniel’s expression softened, melting into something far more vulnerable than Malachi had ever seen. Without hesitation, Haniel stepped forward, his hand reaching out, fingers curled around Malachi’s. The touch was so simple, yet it held the weight of everything they had endured together. The years of pain, confusion, and struggle all faded in that one, intimate moment.

“Then let’s make our own path,” Haniel murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, but it resonated in Malachi’s soul.

Malachi closed his eyes for a moment, his chest tightening with the intensity of what Haniel’s words meant. No crowns. No divine mandate. No wings. There were no celestial laws, no higher powers, no expectations. Just them. Together.

For the first time in his existence, Malachi felt free. The weight of centuries of duty, of divine expectations, of the constant pressure to prove himself, melted away like fog beneath the sun. There was no more need to fight against the current of fate or to chase an unreachable idea of redemption. He had found a connection with Haniel that no divine law could sever.

They stepped forward, leaving the ruins of the chapel behind them. The sound of their footsteps echoed softly in the chapel as they walked into the unknown, but Malachi no longer feared what lay ahead. He was not bound by his past, nor was he shackled by the weight of divine judgment. He was free—free to love, free to choose, free to live in a world that was theirs to shape. And with Haniel by his side, he knew there was nothing they couldn’t face.

Their brotherhood was unbreakable. Together, they would carve out a new existence, unburdened by the shackles of the past and unafraid of the challenges that awaited them. And in that moment, as they disappeared into the world beyond the chapel, Malachi knew that no matter what came next, they had already found everything they needed.