wrong side of heaven

With gingerness and grace, a slender figure alights on the ground. The balls of his shoes touch the scorched earth first, then his heels sink down to the ground too. His clean white vestiments billow in the draft created by his landing. The buildings still stand tall around him, untouched by the havoc currently being wrought. It's only the souls that have been purged, leaving the shells of their physical bodies behind. It is a good thing the usual life of the city has come to a complete halt. Having cars attempt to navigate the bodies that scatter across the streets would be a momentous task in futility. The business of Rapture, it seems, has no sense of timeliness. At the very least, it has little regard for where they stand when it chooses the next lot of souls to ascend.

It isn't only the mass ascension, though. Demons have been crawling out of their infernal woodwork too, taking advantage of the general chaos Rapture has plunged the world into to claim souls as their own or leech off of the piteous few left. Shoto is lucky to have encountered few on his routine trips to Earth. He hopes it will stay that way.

Most of this city has already been cleared. There's little work left to do here. There are a few stragglers, though: lost souls who needed guidance to Heaven before unsavory hands could come to collect them. That's why Shoto and his partner are here today. Though they're supposed to be working together, he was abandoned halfway down. That's fine. He prefers to do this alone, anyway. Neither of them see the partnership as necessary, so neither of them heed it. There will be fire and fury for ignoring the rules. ...but only if they are caught.

So, it's alone that Shoto makes his way down the street. He studies the architecture as he passes, taking in the shape of every building. In many towns, they all look the same, and this one is no different. They are largely tall, boxy structures, filled wall-to-wall with smooth, shiny windows. He always enjoys taking in the scenery on his trips to Earth. It's a small thing, but a pleasant one. There's so much to be learned about the humans he collects from the way they structure their surroundings and their lives. There is a quiet longing in his heart that comes from studying them, a pulse in the back of his head, but Shoto rarely allows it to breed. Still, he does let himself indulge in this minor form of tourism.

Before his thoughts can truly start to wander, a wavering voice pulls his attention away. Soft cries of confusion, pleas for help, echo from nearby. Shoto's head turns instantly and he spots a woman crouched on the ground by a nearby building, her arms folded over her head, which is tucked between her knees. A distant pang of sympathy echoes through his chest as he takes her in. It is always difficult, and a little uncomfortable, to see the state lost souls often find themselves in. It makes Shoto wonder how he handled his own expiry. He cancels the thought before he can follow it far and pivots on his heel to make his way over.

"Hello," he says gently as he approaches. She recoils at his approach, nearly tipping herself over. The sight of him does not immediately soothe her. She takes a sharp gasp and her eyes rake over his face and she tumbles properly, then. Shoto's expression does not shift as she starts to scramble away from him, but his wings draw in closer to his back. "I'm sorry if I scared you," he goes on softly. Slowly, she takes the rest of him in: she must have processed the white fabrics that pour over him, the rippling wreath of fire and light that sits above his head, the dove-white wings that extend from his back. She starts to relax.

Before she can ask them, the questions circling in her thoughts spill into Shoto's mind. "Yes," he answers to spare her the tremor of asking, "I'm here to save you. You are safe now." He extends a hand down to her. Shakily, she takes it, and he pulls the woman to her feet. "Go, now." He takes both her hands in his and gently presses them upward. Her feet start to rise from the ground.

It is then that a sudden chill runs down Shoto's spine. His feathers start to bristle and the hair along the back of his neck starts to rise. His stomach rolls with the strong sense that danger is nearby. It seems his luck has run out today, for one of Hell's little pests is nearby.

He blinks and refocuses on the woman, now floating just slightly above him. "Go." He raises his hands with hers, higher and higher, until her fingers start to slip from his. "Keep rising. There will be others along the way to help you." She nods, though even if she'd disagreed, gravity has already released it's hold on her spirit. There would be no returning to the ground now, not as the call of Heaven pulls her upward. Shoto watches her for several beats, and while he does, ice begins to spread across the ground beneath his feet, cracking as it expands. It crawls up his arm, too, like a gauntlet.

Footsteps echo down the street behind him. He swallows thickly, but does not turn around yet. Only when the woman is out of earshot and cannot be frightened by their encounter does he risk a glance over his shoulder. He knows better than to make proper eye contact with demons, but he wants to have a line of sight on whomever approaches. And there he is: a shorter figure than he, making his way down the street. He's too close for comfort. Shoto's wings swell out to make him appear larger, though they don't open fully, and he turns his body just enough to keep the demon's movements in his vision. "I suggest you leave," he calls out. His voice is cold and sharp, holding no trace of the gentleness he'd just used. "There is nothing for you here, and you'll regret coming too close to me."

These days, the whole world smelled like death.

Truly, it hadn't been that long since the change, but Izuku's found that time is funny for the dead, the celestial and the infernal; it felt like a blink of an eye and an entire lifetime since the last time he was able to walk the surface without finding flame, destruction, and above all, death. Day by day, bit by bit, the unique beauty of the world is crushed out of it, and no matter how hard Izuku tries, there seems to be nothing he can do to stop or even slow the inevitable. Walking through an empty city, hearing his footsteps echo on pavement that once was bustling with life...

It weighed heavily on his soul, sat like a stone in his stomach. He spent more time than not on the surface, rarely even going home to rest. Saving as many as he can, protecting the pockets of humanity that still exists (for however long that will be; life is such a simple, easy thing to stamp out.) ... Aizawa tells him he's wasting his effort, that he'll burn himself out, but how could Izuku not at least try? Sure, there are bigger goals to work towards, but soon there won't be much of humanity left.

It is the almost-empty cities that Izuku spends the most time in, ducking the overwhelming, overbearing presence of Angels and seeking out human life. Death and cloying Grace; its a combination Izuku has learned how to stomach, even if makes him waver a bit every time. He sees it, feels it like a change in the pressure in the air, whenever another soul ascends. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, refreshes that combination in the air, and renews the sense of urgency that drives him forward.

Never enough time, never doing enough.

It's funny. When Izuku was human, he remembers spending his life wishing he just had the power to do a little more. You'd think that becoming the  kind of Demon Izuku has in his death would've granted him his long-held wish, but he feels just as helpless as he did as a mere mortal. It seems that uselessness is a sensation that would haunt him until the day his soul ceased to exist.

Izuku had only caught one glimpse of heaven, when he died. Before his fate was sealed. He hardly remembers it now, it's mostly just sensation. At the time, Izuku had been devastated, but now he felt as though he'd gained the better half of the deal. He still doesn't know why he was sent to hell, why an infernal nature was his path to walk, and he doubted he ever would. But he did know of heaven, know recounts of it from those who had fallen, and he knew he never wanted to try to reach it. When he saw the source of the cries he'd heard already occupied by another, he felt a pang in his chest.

He was too late to reach her before an Angel found her first. He stayed concealed in the shadows, watching with sad eyes, and he'd intended to take his leave. However, he'd noticed something that caught his attention. This Angel was alone. Angels always traveled in packs of two or more, and a lone Angel was an incredibly rare sight. If he knew nothing else of heaven, Izuku knew that the rules were strict. And from his hiding spot, he could see something stranger still, there was a mark across the right side of this angels face. A faded, old corruption mark, it would seem. Angels did not have imperfections; each have been sanded down to be exactly the same. Yet this one was different. Curiosity spiked in his chest, and inspired Izuku to move. He had been tucked up on the roof of a nearby building, but he took a few steps forward and fluttered silently to the ground below, gliding down on his wings before tucking into the shadows to continue to observe.

He'll give Heaven this:

This angel is resplendant. Downed in the white robes common to his kind, which dance around him with each of his movements. Big, downy white wings with spots of red feathers throughout. His hair was red and white too, split evenly down the middle without a single hair out of place. From this angle, Izuku couldn't see as much of his face as he worked, but he heard his voice. It was gentle, soft, calming. In the woman's place, he'd trust him too, if he didn't know any better. Izuku observes his hands as he guides the woman upwards, studies the glow of his halo about his head. His fingers twitch. He'd never been this close to an Angel without a fight breaking out. He risks a few steps closer.

And it seemed he'd gotten just a step too close, because the moment the woman was out of earshot, ice begins to spread across the pavement, filling the air with sharp cracking sounds. Izuku flutters up half a foot and moves backwards away from where it stops before settling back onto the ground, watching with interest as the ice moves up the angels arm as well. Izuku watches his wings fluff up defensively, and his own body winds up tight in response, muscles bunching in preparation for movement. Now when the angel speaks, his voice is as cold and hard as the ice he just created; Izuku gets the feeling it's the more common way for his voice to sound. There was no slight hesitance when he speaks this time. His voice was full and sure-- and a clear and direct threat.

Izuku, on his own, would normally back off if challenged by an Angel. He avoided them whereever he could. They do, after all, travel in packs, and Izuku travels alone more often than not. He's no where near foolish enough to believe he could handle two angels on his own, especially if they happened to be high level, and the fight would likely be pointless and destructive besides. One angel, however, Izuku felt more confident at least in his ability to get away from. He's fast. And he knows this particular area well, having been here before. He stays where he is, rather than leaving.

Still, he'd rather avoid any conflict, so he lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm not looking for a fight. I mean you no harm."

As far as demons go, Izuku is a fairly unintimidating sight. Short, ruddy-cheeked and still spouting the freckles of his human form. He was broad, but most of that was covered by the clothes that he currently wears; simple, dark clothing that was easy to move in. His long sleeved tunic is tied with a dark green rope around the waist, and he wears chunky red sneakers. One foot lifts up and taps by the toe rhythmically on the pavement, a nervous tic. Big green eyes with a cats pupil, sharp canines exposed in his hesitant smile, and curly rams horns to match his dark curly hair.

Izuku's wings shift with his nerves, and though he keeps his body language relaxed, he watches the angel's like a hawk, waiting for the moment it seems whatever tentative truce they have breaks. "My name's Izuku." He lowers his hands slowly, resting them at his sides. "I usually don't see angels by themselves. You seem... a bit different from most I've met." He comments softly. "Did you get separated from your partner?" He knows why the angel is avoiding his eyes, of course, but curiosity has him wishing he could catch a true glimpse at his face.