Chapter Text
One of the hard won lessons Mariah took from her first few hunting expeditions was to not catch too many specimens too quickly. Instead, it was best to space them out as much as her quota allowed. The reasons were twofold:
First, even when dealing with Outcasts and the kinds of Kyriotates who tended towards solo-work, too many disappearances in the same area within the same short timespan would call in more scrutiny than any fieldworker needed. And when looking at celestial-level timescales, which even young angels like Mariah needed to do, time and distance were both closer than they appeared.
Second, as past experience had taught her, the faster Mariah filled her quota, the shorter her deadlines became. Not that Procurement would have sufficient external demand for the Dominations, but Tizzy would take the opportunity demand a surplus from an assistant to serve as insurance against having to do fieldwork herself when something—or someone—out in the world inevitably came along to incapacitate her assistants. Well, Tizzy’s previous assistants, anyway. Mariah had done this job almost a decade longer than any of her known predecessors, and that mattered to her, even if no one else would acknowledge it. As dangerous and terrible as it was, she was good at this job.
So, when Mariah was one Kyriotate closer to her quota—no name given or requested, smoky quartz catcher, nothing interesting to say—she took the opportunity to relax for a little bit. She had a rented hotel room for privacy, cheap coffee from the convenience store to warm her up, and some inane human-made drivel on TV to keep her company, or at least provide some background noise. Mediocre as all these corporeal niceties were, it was still a blessed sight better than the Hell-side breakroom.
Mariah leaned back against the headboard. She sipped her coffee and winced only slightly at its bitterness. Did her fellow Punishers take their coffees black because they liked it or did they do so as a display of false strength? Her whim told her it was the latter. Hypocrites.
If only Kira could be here. Maybe one day, when the Kyriotate understood her place better, Mariah could bring her along on one of these hunts. It was a pleasant thought, but ridiculous. Keeping Kira in Mariah’s possession was the priority, and bringing her up to the corporeal would inevitably cause more problems than pleasures. Honestly-meant hell-side promises aside, Kira would attempt to escape once the daily essence started to accumulate. Mariah was sure of that. The proof was in how Kira could have attempted to convince Mariah to bring her along. Kira would have if she could have done so without the risk of dissonance. But she never tried. Therefore, she couldn’t.
Kira was not nearly so clever as she thought she was. Her obligation to speak only truth in Hell meant that even Kira’s silence made statements and provided constant invitations for Mariah to read between the lines everything Kira never wanted to say. It was a weakness in the Kyriotate’s manipulations, though not one Mariah would fault her for. The situation forced weakness. Navigating it was a test of its own. Every time Kira spoke, she had a choice. Would she choose the disadvantageous truth, the telling silence, or the damning but strategic lie? With Kira, it was always the first two and never the third. It was what made Kira less unworthy than any of the other specimens.
And, of course, it was a given that Kira tried to manipulate her. Hell ran on manipulation, and part of Mariah took comfort in the knowledge that a Heaven-angel would choose to participate rather than pretend to the sort of pure and hollow holiness usually characteristic of Heaven-angels, but the attempted manipulation also cast a shadow over their relationship. No matter how much Mariah wished it otherwise, she could only truly trust one thing about Kira. So long as she remained in Hell, Kira would be dissonance-bound to tell the truth. So, Mariah would be smart to trust that, and only that.
Which was unfortunate. It would be nice if Kira could be trustworthy enough to merit trips to the Corporeal—in the Force Catcher at first but maybe even in bodies eventually. It would be useful to have something flying up high to keep a watch on the area, and maybe something on the ground to check for more immediate threats.
Mariah took another sip of the bitter coffee. She imagined Kira in a human host drinking from her own cup while she lounged on the bed next to Mariah. Kira probably didn’t take her coffee black, not unless she actually liked it that way, but Mariah had no way of knowing if that were so. Kira had come to her already trapped, and all of Mariah’s speculations as to what hosts Kira preferred and how she moved in them was pure conjecture at best. As it was, Mariah found her imaginary visuals for Kira almost entirely lacking. Instead, Mariah could imagine Kira’s words and turn the the droll commentary Kira made about Mariah’s coworkers in Hell towards the human monkeys making fools of themselves on the television screen.
Mariah laughed, grimly, bitterly. Talk about absurdities. Kira would not tolerate being in this hotel room, not with one of her choirmates stashed away in a dresser drawer. Mariah’s corporeal work was one of those conversational topics Kira deliberately floated around, and the silence left clear implications. Nearly three years in Hell, and the Hive still had too much sympathy for her Choirmates. Never mind that most of the specimens—much like the one in the room with Mariah right now—were nowhere near Kira’s league. Impolite, unfriendly, unworthy. Her informal observations classified the one with her as a likely-Outcast from a particularly militant Word. She estimated it had a 30% chance of Falling before it became someone else’s problem. In other words, typical.
Mariah turned her attention from useless fantasizing back to the television. The program had just changed over to some boring courtroom show. Like justice could even exist in the Symphony as it stood. Just look at her own situation. She had only committed one major mistake in her life, one resonance bounce at the wrong time and just see how harsh her punishment had been. Bitterness welled up in Mariah, even stronger than the coffee’s. She scoffed. The past wasn’t worth dwelling on. Just be strong, endure it, and overcome. Mariah flipped the channel over to something else. Anything else. Some quiz show, apparently. Humans did love to make shows that put their stupidity right out on display, didn’t they?
A tap sounded against the glass and called Mariah’s attention. A little red-breasted bird peered through the window. A beady black eye met her gaze.
Mariah didn’t need her mood ring to tell her it was furious.
The Kyriotate in the smoky quartz must have not been Outcast after all. Worse, it must have still had enough Forces free to take another guise and track her down to this location. And if her luck weren’t bad enough with just those two facts, it had come with reinforcements. When it chirped, Mariah could hear the multiple pairs of boots thundering across the pavement towards the bird’s location.
Fear had its own somatic reactions—the color draining from her face and the hard swallow that landed in the pit of her stomach. Specimen hunting was, by nature, a dangerous job. There was always a risk of catching a specimen bigger than the Force Catcher’s capacity, and this was Mariah’s first time at the wrong end of that risk. Mariah contemplated her escape options—no one was around to witness her cowardice. She could grab the empty catchers and the documentation that gave her a minimal defense against mortal authorities, abandon her motel room, and leave the specimen behind. But how would she flee? The only immediate exit was the door to the front, likely already swarmed with Heaven-angels. Assuming she could somehow duck past them well enough to make an initial run, could she count on her ability to evade multiple pursuers? No. Not without confirming there were no Ofanim among their number. Not in the beat-up Datsun she hadn’t had a chance to upgrade yet.
So, Mariah stayed where she was and steeled herself for the impending confrontation. She would be strong and endure what came next, and if she overcame the odds against her, Mariah promised herself she would learn from this mistake and do better going forward.
Or at least improve her firepower.
The lock gave way and two males—one tall and broad, the other short and slight—and a statuesque female burst in through the door, their mortal-tech weapons at the ready. Mariah wished she could get into good enough standing to get her hands on a decent bit of artifact weaponry. If her job required her to run up against Heaven like this, Mariah at least deserved a working pistol, laser-type preferred but even a projectile-spitter would be better than nothing in a situation like this.
The bird was the last to fly through the open door, and it landed on the drawer holding the filled Force Catcher.
The door then closed, and the short male not only locked it behind him, but leaned up against it. He nodded to the others.
Three Heaven-angels—or a combination of Heaven-angels and Soldiers, as if it mattered—looked her way. There was nothing but a wall behind her. No easy escape.
Was this how Mariah’s run would end? With one bit of bad luck?
If she was lucky, they’d just kill her vessel and dump it somewhere.
If she was unlucky, they’d drag her to a Tether, force her to take her true form, and leave her to burn up in the locus like an ant under a magnifying glass. And wasn’t that just one more example of the Symphony’s injustice, that an angel could burn in a Heavenly tether just because she lived amongst demons and worked in Hell?
The female and the tall, broad male laughed. Mariah scowled. She needed to hide her expressions better. The short male’s face remained neutral enough that Mariah became positive that he must be an Elohite. That distracted her from her melancholy. Everyone knew that Elohim were especially weak to the Habbalite emotions. Mariah could ball up this panic and…probably end up eating it herself, assuming her Discord even allowed her resonance to work. As it was, Mariah’s body froze, the most useless of the fear responses.
“We believe you have our comrade.” The statuesque female said, her face now perfectly composed. “And let me say it directly: If you want any chance of surviving this with your soul intact, you will release them now without protest.”
The bird—a robin—chirped dubiously. Mariah got the impression that it wouldn’t have objected to pecking out her eyes, if only it didn’t need her to take care of some business first.
It took Mariah a few tries to get the Kyriotate out of the catcher. Not because she was dumb, but because Tizzy had recently implemented what she had called a ‘password policy’ that utilized challenging sequences of random glyphs and numbers rather than the traditional pithy phrases that any month-old Vapulan would know by heart like the Third Law of Infernal Robotics or the chemical formula for Cyanide.
Mariah almost considered just breaking the blessed crystal to preserve her dignity. It’s not like the specimen deserved better treatment. The looks the four of them gave her suggested doing so would be a bad option all around. Besides, at the size she required, replacement catchers were expensive. Tizzy wouldn’t appreciate Mariah salvaging as many resources as she could from this ordeal, but someone else up the line might. Those decisions were what could prevent Mariah from becoming part of another one of her master’s experiments.
Provided the Heaven-angels didn’t rend her of her celestial forces first.
Finally, Mariah hit on the correct password. The forces released back into the world and faded, showing only a momentary trace of rust and iron mist from the Kyriotate themself. If they took another host in the meantime, Mariah had no way of knowing and no reason to care.
The four Heaven-angels exchanged a look.
“Now that that’s done. We can take our time with this demon” The tall, broad man jerked Mariah’s hands behind her back hard enough that a joint popped. A sharp shooting pain identified it as her left shoulder probably. The Heaven-angel at her back dragged her to the desk chair and pushed her down none too gently. “No disturbance, so not a Shedite then. Miranda, you want to play?”
Mariah had always known Heaven couldn’t be that different from Hell. She was familiar with this kind of play. It happened in the break room all the time. What was a little physical torture of her vessel compared to what happened to her every week in Hell? Compared to what her own Archangel had done to her a decade ago? Heaven-angels didn’t have the fortitude to match that. If this was how her end came, Mariah would face it with dignity, and she would correct their mistakes to the end.
“Not a demon!” Mariah practically spat the denial. Heaven-angels never understood these matters, not even Kira.
The statuesque female—Miranda, Mercurian—smiled a sharp angry grin. It resembled the ones on Mariah’s own Choirmates faces just before they turned their resonance towards the unworthy. A hand caught under her chin. Long nails not quite so sharp as those Mariah had made for her native form dug in. “Guess that confirms which Band this one is. Don’t mind if I—”
The words cut off suddenly.
The Mercurian’s grip didn’t loosen, but the nails stopped digging in so intensely. The Mercurian’s dark brown eyes searched Mariah’s as though she were a Lilim trying to discover an obscure Need. “I don’t understand her relationships.” She turned to the short male. “Bethan, what are you making of her emotional state?”
The short male—Bethan, Elohite—approached with caution. It was a pi—it was unfortunate that Mariah couldn’t reliably resonate, or else he would be the one trembling. As it was, Mariah allowed him to stay Elohite neutral—empty, even—and how did even he stand it? Emptiness was always the worst emotion to have to swallow and Elohim chained themselves to it. He crouched, getting down to Mariah’s eye level and searched her gaze.
After a moment, he glanced back up to the Mercurian. “It’s not usually what I see in Punishers. Or any demon really. She might see reason yet.” He turned his attention back to Mariah. “You don’t have to die. You could leave Hell and come with us. Our Archangel would accept you.” He said all that with no more emotion than it would take to recite the table of elements.
Mariah winced at her own weakness. The offer was more tempting than it should be.
Once upon a time, Mariah took pride in her Habbalite nature. She was one of the angels strong enough to serve in Hell amongst the demons and the damned. She had been blessed with the gift of the divine whims that told her clearly who to punish, what experiments to run, and how to be worthy. At least, they used to be so clear and so close. Even just a couple of years ago, her whims had whispered to Mariah to make a cage and to keep Kira for her own.
Now, those same whims were more than distant; they had all but abandoned Mariah. They left her tangled and twisted in feelings she didn’t even know how to pass on to someone else. Or perhaps, the whims hadn’t abandoned her at all. Perhaps they had simply multiplied when Mariah hadn’t been paying attention, the influence of hanging around Kira for too long or of holding Kira inside her, never mind that Force Catchers did not and could not work that way.
Yes, she still heard the whims. They had simply started to multiply and come into conflict.
One whim told Mariah to go with these Heaven-angels, never mind that Elohim were one step lower than Habbalah and enslaved by the frightful Emptiness, never mind that no Elohim could never hope to instruct the the weak as they needed to be instructed until they learned out to evolve. But as it was, Mariah’s own resonance could barely affect even humans anymore. She already functioned halfway like an Elohite, and her life in Hell had been miserable for years, Kira being the lone bright spot. Heaven couldn’t be worse, could it?
The other whim told Mariah to refuse. To leave with these Heaven-angels was to give up any chance to see Kira ever again. In fact, that was the only guaranteed outcome of leaving with them. Mariah could live and become an Elohite or burn up in the light of Heaven. Either way, Kira would be left behind. But was that even a downside? It would serve that manipulative creature right. Mariah would get to see Heaven while Kira remained stuck in Hell for the rest of her existence.
And that would be…unacceptable? But why? Because Mariah would no longer hold dominion over Kira? Because Kira would be trapped among those who were all unworthy of her? Because if Mariah wasn’t there, no one else would ever find Kira, not with the record of that Force Catcher deleted out from the database? And if someone did happen to find her? Kira would simply become fodder for a future experiment, as happened to all the other Kyriotates Mariah captured.
Mariah shouldn’t care about what might happen to her Kyriotate. Kira was hers to use for as long as she wanted and to dispose of at her convenience. She should have been more than willing to leave Kira behind, for the sake of her survival of nothing else.
So why was it so difficult to say yes?
The Mercurian and the Elohite stole quick glances at each other between bouts of staring at Mariah like she herself was a specimen on display. Mariah couldn’t help but laugh at the inherent ridiculousness of this whole situation. If she were tied and tangled in her dilemma, so were they.
It wasn’t that funny though, and the bitter laugh ended almost as soon as it began. “I don’t know if I can. I can’t—” She turns to face the Mercurian. “I won’t give her up.”
Behind her, the jerk of her arms tells her that the third Heaven-angel was not experiencing the same confusion as the two standing in front of her. “If the Punisher won’t choose redemption while she’s here, then let’s take her back to the Tether, and see if she’ll change her mind then.”
The Elohite shook his head, and looked beyond Mariah to the one who pinned her in place. Mariah would not embarrass herself via struggle, not when she could feel by grip how much stronger this one was. What was the point of those Corporeal forces her Archangel had grafted her when they could not even get her out of this situation? “It would not benefit the Symphony to rush the matter of changing her service. If we allow her to return to Hell—”
“That Punisher is imprisoning angels.” The tall broad male—Malakite?—said harshly.
“Yes,” said the Elohite, “but do you really think she chose this job of her own will? It is more likely this demon does this work at the command of someone else. Do you think that those who command her won’t send more to do this job once this one is disposed of? How long will it take us to stumble upon that one, and who will get hurt in the meantime? It is more advantageous to let this one go and consider a longer-term plan. We know this agent, and she is one who is protecting at least one angel from a worse situation than they might otherwise have. We can work with that.”
“That this Punisher took a liking to one of her victims is not a mark of honor,” the one behind her retorts. He’s definitely a Malakite. Never suffer a demon (or Hell-angel) to live, after all. Yet of these three in the room with human bodies, he’s the least dangerous. What could a Malakite see in her, anyway? That she captured Kyriotates and kept Kira for herself? The first should already obvious to even the densest of celestials, and the second should have meant nothing at all. It barely meant anything to Mariah’s colleagues, who appropriate work-equipment and specimens all the time.
The Mercurian stood up. “I would like the opportunity to speak to other parties before we do anything permanent. We can continue the conversation later once we have more information.” She took a quick glance around the room, likely assessing the the items strewn around for anything that could be traced back to Mariah.
There wasn’t much. Bits of her vessel—hair or nail clippings if Mariah were lucky, actual pieces of her if they were more interested in causing pain—would be most reliable for them, assuming they didn’t kill her vessel first. Otherwise, Mariah didn’t keep many belongings for long. The clothes were changed periodically and then replaced as soon as they wore out. The beat-up cars she bought and fixed never stayed hers for longer than one trip. The only items that truly mattered was her work equipment: her flimsy paper ID, the keychain loaded with the twists of wires cut from her catcher’s stock, and the catchers themselves. Those would be a pain to lose, and might be useful for tracking her down with the right song. At least none of those item were strictly Technological, not enough to cause her dissonance anyway. All she had to worry about on that front was her ring. Would they even notice that? Mariah dressed her vessel more like a typical ex-hippie than a scientist. The mood ring blended in perfectly, just like the perfectly ordinary crystal she wore around her neck.
Mariah hoped they would discount the jewelry as unimportant. She could accept vessel death, but not even a single note of Dissonance was acceptable. Mariah couldn’t take Discord again. Not after what happened the last time.
Wait. More information? What other connections had the Mercurian seen in Mariah’s? The weakness with Kira, yes. But more too?
The robin chirped behind Mariah, but the Heaven angels all stood in stony silence, looking at each other, and looking down at Mariah. The four Heaven-angels in this room were in disagreement. That much was clear. It was a small bit of joy in this miserable day to watch them fight. At least, it would have been if they hadn’t been fighting over how badly they wanted to fuck Mariah over.
The Elohite turned to the Mercurian, “There’s some cord back in the truck. Once we get her secured, we’ll have time to deliberate how to best resolve this situation.”
—
The deliberation—more like an argument—went on at the far end of the room for longer than Mariah cared to pay attention. Their voices were loud enough that Mariah could classify the conversation as definitely an argument but low enough that only isolated words actually reached her. It didn’t matter. The body positioning told the story clearly enough. The Elohite and the Mercurian stood to one side. The Malakite stood opposite them, the Kyriotate’s bird perched on its shoulder. The votes were at a deadlock, two for messy soul death, and two for an alternative.
The two on the former side were just Heaven-angels being Heaven-angels. Mariah lived in Hell, therefore she must die. That was simple enough to understand. The two on the latter side though, puzzled Mariah. The Mercurian and the Elohite had both looked into her and seen Kira’s influence on her, all of that apparently unsuccessful manipulation not quite as unsuccessful as Mariah had supposed. The conclusion hit her all at once. Their arguments on her behalf of Mariah’s life—and thus the possibility that anything of Mariah might remain ‘alive’ once the Heaven-angels were done with her—were, in part, because of Kira.
It was an uncomfortable, erroneous thought, and Mariah dismissed it immediately. She’d rather think about the junk car outside and how she might have fixed it up, given the opportunity.
Still, the argument continued on, long after all points should have been exhausted. It reminded Mariah of a group of bickering Baalites who had visited the facility once arguing over which of the damned souls to take, except now she was the specimen being fought over.
Heaven or Hell, were Warriors always this tiresome?
The sky outside went dark and then light again.
“It’s settled then?” The Elohite asked, voice finally loud enough for Mariah to hear.
The Mercurian nodded.
The Malakite’s response followed, slower. “I will accept that compromise. Reluctantly.”
The Kyriotate didn’t even chirp.
The Elohite approached Mariah and searched her eyes again. She fought the urge to close them or to look away, not that it would matter to him if she did. He wasn’t a Heaven-Lilim (if such things even existed) to see everything she shouldn’t have Needed in that moment but did. All he could see was her emotions, and what were those? Fear, at possibly being killed? Anger, at possibly being killed? What good did reading that information on her do him? He couldn’t change anything. He was weaker than her. Mariah was the next stage of the evolution, one of the angels charged with doing God’s work in Hell, while he kept himself locked away from his own divine whims. The only reason he had control of the situation were the greater numbers on his side and Mariah’s complete lack of weapons.
Yes, she would get more firepower next time. The next set of Heaven-angels to come after her would burn.
The Elohite looked away, and when he spoke again, the tone of his voice was as completely, infuriatingly neutral as it had been this whole time. “I meant that offer I made earlier, Punisher. I can see your feelings. Redemption wouldn’t be out of reach for you. Come with us, and you may serve our Archangel. It would not be nearly so painful as your current service.”
The Malakite stepped across from her, gun in hand, aimed at her right eye. “If you refuse our offer now, your vessel will be killed here.”
The offer still tempted her, never mind that Mariah knew better than to trust heaven-angels, especially Malakim. They could lead her to a Tether and simply torture and burn her under the light of Heaven. None of them were Seraphim. They could all be lying to her.
Or they might not. They spent a long time arguing over what to do with her.
Plus, she liked her vessel. It allowed her occasional freedom from Hell. The mortals in this country generally found it attractive, and it was a good disguise. Few of those in the know would ever suspect the cute hippie who sold crystal pendants at the flea market of being a Technologist. Would the next vessel suit her so well or be so easy to disguise? Would Tizzy even bother putting in the request for a replacement vessel? Or would this go down in Technology’s record as Mariah’s second big mistake?
Mariah mentally assessed what that Malakite could do in its Archangel’s Tether versus what could happen on her own Archangel’s examination table. The former option scared her less.
But in the end—vessels were replaceable. The chance to see Kira again wouldn’t be. It shouldn’t have mattered. There would be other Kyriotates in Heaven. Millions of them, in fact. Mariah could find a better one. And even if the process didn’t work, and she burned before becoming Elohite, that death would at least be the quicker one. Yes, Mariah should follow these Heaven-angels home, and leave Kira, flawed Kira, to linger in Hell with no one to manipulate.
The thought of not even getting the chance to say goodbye to Kira hurt more than the anticipation of bullets.
That attachment was a problem—a weakness even. She was going to lose a vessel for Kira, and the Kyriotate would probably only appreciate it when Mariah instructed her to be grateful. Her muddied divine whims told her that was a problem for later, part of that perpetual command loop of survival: be strong, endure, overcome.
The angels stared at her, all of them awaiting her decision. Of those in the human vessels, the gaze of the Malakite was the least uncomfortable of the three to meet. His lack of pity was an unintentional mercy on his part.
Mariah shook her head.
“Fine. The vessel it is.” The Elohite recited this like a fact. He turned to the Malakite. “Make it clean.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” The Malakite tightened his finger against the trigger.
And that was the last thing Mariah saw.