Moments felt like entire ages while sitting on one of the Thrones, feeling the Spire’s wails echoing through your body. The screams of the electrical mechanism reverberated through bone, flesh and blood, forcing everything to either uncontrollably shake around as if possessed by an angry spirit, or to stand completely still and petrified in place while the burning sensation pushed through. Baraqiel tried to resist the pain with all of their might, as they did every single time it was their turn to sit at the Spire.
Don’t give up… don’t play into his game, don’t…!
But it was all to no avail: once all the needles had pushed their way into every little nook and cranny of the Angel’s body, there was no way to stop them from taking over.
Air burnt through their throat as a scream pushed its way out, but Baraqiel couldn’t even hear it: their ears were ringing loudly, invisible bells singing their discordant song right inside of the Angel’s cranium as the blood in their veins turned into nothing but red steam, and all images in front of their eyes became an incomprehensible mix of sparks and colours.
…
Months, years, weeks, moments, Baraqiel didn’t know how long they were gone until it all suddenly stopped. Just as quickly as it started, the searing heat burning their flesh turned into an uncomfortable cold, the discordant screams broke into quiet, pathetic sobbing, and the all-consuming light died to give way for the darkness of the Dungeon to take over once again. This had to be it, the very experience of Death, until Baraqiel heard the echoes of angry stomping coming their way. They were barely able to feel a thick and powerful hand squeezing their neck.
No thoughts could be conjured in that state, only groans and loud gasps for air. It would take a moment before the Angel’s eyes could finally focus once again.
Not dead yet…
Indeed, they were not dead yet. The pain would return to their numb body in slow waves, as the cold hues of the dungeon once again painted their depressing reality. It was blurry, but that’s because the Demiurge was, once more, shaking them while screaming. He demanded something, an answer to some questions Baraqiel never really understood, the same ones he always asked them after the torture.
“Tell me the name of the gods! Describe the sacred runes of Origin! You saw them, didn’t you!?”
Baraqiel didn’t know what a rune of Origin was, to them it was nothing but nonsense spat on their face, but there was no way to make the Demiurge understand that. It felt like every failure only made the man less and less rational in every way possible.
After shaking the child for long enough to convince himself that, once again, there were no new answers to his questions, Father Enrico let out an enraged snarl and dismissively threw the bodies of each of the four poor fools tied to the Spire back to their cages, so he could begin preparations for a new procedure.
The world turned upside down for a moment as the Angels' malnourished bodies flew through the air, right before slamming loudly against the cold iron bars of their prisons. Baraqiel could only muster enough lucidity to take a deep breath before impact, trying to brace for the shock… but then, they felt something new, right as their back hit against the floor. Something cracked very loudly, moving deep inside their back with enough force to elicit another scream from them, and then—pain. Waves and waves of pain, pushing down their back and pulsing through every little wound left by the Spire’s tendrils on their way to the pelvis. And then lower, to their weakened legs.
Baraqiel held the air in their lungs for another moment, trying not to break into frustrated, aching sobs, until a realization came to them.
…Hold on just a moment…
Feeling reason returning to their pained mind, suddenly caring less about the pain around them and the feeling of blood flowing from their many stigmata, Baraqiel slowly tried to crawl and stretch their body a bit more comfortably in the cage, while the Demiurge zealously closed and locked each of them again and walked to his desk.
And as he turned away, the Angel closed their eyes and issued an order to their own body.
Move.
Their legs trembled, and the feeling of numbness starting to recede as it was replaced by the pains of atrophy. It was uncomfortable at best and searing at worst, but it was there. And that could only mean one thing.
Move… again!!
The toes wiggled, twitching once, twice, thrice, each time a bit more pronounced and painful but also easier to do. Pain turned into confusion, and then it all melted into excitement as their knees recovered the ability to flex.
Something had moved back in place, all the pain Baraqiel had been able to just ignore before was now returning to them all at once, but with it also came mobility—and an opportunity. Ideas started pushing against each other in the Angel’s mind as they kept testing their returning strength, suddenly not caring about the blood or the burning sensations at all.
If I could move a bit faster, a bit harder! Maybe I can break through!
Their eyes were now glaring at the cage’s lock, an old piece of rusty metal hanging from one of the corners of their prison, so heavy that even the Demiurge seemed uncomfortable when carrying them around. Maybe with enough strength and determination, they could break the lock? Tackle the cage until it breaks open…?
Doubts started to creep in, and Baraqiel carefully curled into a ball to hug their slowly recovering legs. No, there was no way to muster that much force in so little time! If they couldn’t do it before losing all strength, why would they be able to break out now? Would they even be able to run at all? Or even walk?
If I try and fail, that will be it. This bastard will break me in half or something…!!
Cynicism still hadn’t rooted in the child’s heart, their mind couldn’t simply shrug off the idea of Death as if it didn’t matter at all. In fact, they could barely understand the concept itself! Staring into the abyss of eternal unconsciousness scared Baraqiel like nothing else. Maybe… maybe it was better to just forget about it, stay down and survive.
…No… No! I can’t just stay! No more…!
Their leg muscles tugged, practically begging to be used. Who knows for how long they would be able to push them to move, maybe the next time they were pulled into the Spire would rob the strength away from their body again, and forever. Baraqiel took a sharp breath, looking at the Demiurge pacing back and forth while starting another of his long-winded monologues. Another test was afoot, four children were pulled out of their cages to sit down and be buckled to the Spire.
The flickering light of the Demiurge’s torch moved with each little ragged breath his victims let out, trying in vain to stop the much bigger man from tying them up.
Something sparkled on the floor, glaring back at Baraqiel’s eyes.
What even… could it be…?!
The child crawled closer to the edge, careful so the old man couldn’t hear them. The sparkle came from something nestled casually between two bricks on the floor, stuck in the little space: a broken needle. Baraqiel’s eyes widened, recollection coming to them. Yes, it was not unusual for some Angels to violently spasm and jerk around, even after the Demiurge turned off the machine. Maybe a needle broke one of those times? The Spire required constant maintenance so, again, it wasn’t rare to replace them—but he always took care to get rid of all spare materials.
A needle lost so casually and forgotten by the Demiurge, so close that Baraqiel was sure they could reach it if they stretched enough… images of roguish heroes came to the child’s mind, right from old tales they used to think about. Men and women of wits and elegance breaking the rules when they saw it fit, taking what they needed whenever they wanted to, and more importantly, often picking locks and doors with sharp needles and hooks.
These are too many convenient coincidences… it has to be a sign…!!
Baraqiel didn’t often think of gods or fate, but as any child, they clung to the idea as soon as it suited them. So of course this was a sign from the higher powers, a wink of their favor, a chance for the little kid to worm their way right out of that hell.
Doubts were pushed right back out of the child’s brain, a very angry, spiteful kind of hope taking its place. Childhood truly is a wonderful, scary thing.
The experiment will start soon, then it will be around ten hundreds until it finishes…
Time loses all meaning when sitting at the Spire, but when they were left alone in the cages, Baraqiel needed to keep tabs on the flow of every little moment. They calculated how long they had been imprisoned, they counted the times the Demiurge paced around before taking his notes (around three or four depending on how angry he was), and they counted how long people were actually trapped in the gods' forsaken mechanism.
It was enough time for Baraqiel to count to a hundred ten times, consistently.
That was how long they had to figure out how to actually pick a lock and beg the gods not to be caught while doing so.
That fat bastard never turns around in the middle of it all. He just stares. It will work perfectly.
Confidence kept surging as the Angel glared right at the Demiurge’s back, just waiting as he secured the last child in place, and took a moment to breathe. A part deep down in Baraqiel’s mind felt a little bad about using the others as a sort of distraction, but he would have enough time to feel bad about it once they were free.
Come on, come on, just do it already…!
The Demiurge walked over to the Spire’s heart, held his hand over the lever and recited the usual prayer for success.
“May you hear the voices of the Gods and deliver us the light to change this rotten world. Amen.”
The lever loudly groaned when pulled down, and a million little gears, bolts and nuts began to spin, pump and move in the heretical monolith. Baraqiel could see parts moving around the Spire’s amber heart, odd marks and carvings orbiting the huge rock at increasingly higher speeds, before the light started traveling from the gem into the machine.
And a few moments later, as the light slithered its way through every little line in the Spire like white rattlesnakes, the children tied to its thrones began to tense and breathe sharply. The light went from the body of the Spire into its tendrils, right into the little Angels—and they all began “singing”, as the Demiurge liked to call it.
This must be how the demons sing in Hell…
Four children howled in abject pain, their eyes wide open, their screams harmonizing with the Spire’s strange clockwork wails. The Demiurge was enraptured by it all.
Now!
Baraqiel’s arm slid right between the bars of their cage, tapping the floor in front of them and trying to feel the cold metal hidden between the cobblestones. Their shoulders screamed, not used to this much work or to be in that position at all, but the kid ignored them. They simply did not have the time to slow down, and despair was waiting on every little corner, preying upon them.
To doubt now would mean to stop and not do anything at all. They simply couldn’t allow themself to stop.
Come on, where is it? Where is it now…??
There!!
They winced slightly when the sharp end of the needle poked their finger. The tip was bent backward? Hooked, probably by the spasms of the kid who broke it in the first place. Baraqiel prayed for it to still work despite that. They let the needle sink a little into their finger just to pull it from the floor, and quickly grasp it with both hands. There it was, their only chance.
Please work, please work, please work…!
More doubts were trying to break into Baraqiel’s mind, marauders trying to destroy the already fragile doors of their mind. Like bandits sieging a castle, battering ram slamming against its gates with unrelenting force. The child closed their eyes and held the lock in place, begging the Demiurge to keep his attention away, as they pushed the needle deep into the lock’s hole.
Tick, tick, tick, tick. They felt many odd stumps on their way in before the needle hit the end of the lock. Perplexed, Baraqiel moved the needle around, just, feeling those little pieces. One, two, three… no, more… Eight?? Yes, eight stumps!
Levers??
Why was it always levers with these things? Did they need to pull all of them? Only some?? The ramming on the kid’s mind gates grew louder, as it became obvious that they had absolutely no idea what they were doing. But they did not let that deter them in the slightest.
There’s still time, there’s still time, just be careful.
One by one, Baraqiel started to tug and pull at those odd stumps, starting with the closest one to the end. They expected a click, a noise, a feeling of any sort… nothing.
Same with the second one, and the third.
No no no no…!!
Their motions began to feel more desperate, practically stabbing the lock with that needle over and over again.
Open, open, open!!
Pleading had turned into anger, to the point where those stabbing motions became pushier and pushier, until.
Click.
A nice half of that long metallic needle fell off the kid’s hand. They still had enough, barely, to stab the lock fully… but the sight froze the blood right in Baraqiel’s neck. Nervously they grabbed that needle half and, without thinking much about it, they jammed it into the lock as well.
It’s good, it’s good! They always use two tools, right?? Maybe it’s for the best, right?
They weren’t sure, but they couldn’t really question the logic when their composure was on the brink of breaking down under the attack of the highwaymen in their mind.
Stabbing motions recommenced. Things immediately felt different… click, click, click.
The levers, they moved! They clicked! Harder, and harder, some of them still refused to give but many did feel like suddenly jumping at the kid’s motions.
Baraqiel heard how the Spire’s song came to an end, the Demiurge let out a frustrated sigh. Another failure.
Come on, come on…!
The fifth lever gave up, the sixth made no noise, and the seventh was pushy and hard to move.
Almost…!!
“Why must you make a mockery of all my efforts, angels!? Why must you hate me so!?”
The Demiurge cried, kicking one of the children’s shins. Baraqiel’s motions became harder and faster.
Open, open, OPEN!!!
“What is that clicking noise…?”
The towering figure turned around right as Baraqiel opened their eyes. This was it, they took too long.
And then. The lock suddenly jumped in place, the springs inside tenderly pushed just right. Open.
“Baraqiel, what do you think you are—?!”
They didn’t even know how or why. It all became a mess of emotion when the lock fell heavily on the stone floor, and the cage opened slightly. Baraqiel’s body pounced right out of its prison, their legs gaining a strength they never had before while a desperate roar ragged the child’s throat.
They were not even trying to escape. They forgot all about the plan.
They simply jumped at the source of all their pain, hands at the ready, thumbs sinking as deep as they could into the Demiurge’s eyes.
Moments felt like entire ages while sitting on one of the Thrones, feeling the Spire’s wails echoing through your body. The screams of the electrical mechanism reverberated through bone, flesh and blood, forcing everything to either uncontrollably shake around as if possessed by an angry spirit, or to stand completely still and petrified in place while the burning sensation pushed through. Baraqiel tried to resist the pain with all of their might, as they did every single time it was their turn to sit at the Spire.
Don’t give up… don’t play into his game, don’t…!
But it was all to no avail: once all the needles had pushed their way into every little nook and cranny of the Angel’s body, there was no way to stop them from taking over.
Air burnt through their throat as a scream pushed its way out, but Baraqiel couldn’t even hear it: their ears were ringing loudly, invisible bells singing their discordant song right inside of the Angel’s cranium as the blood in their veins turned into nothing but red steam, and all images in front of their eyes became an incomprehensible mix of sparks and colours.
…
Months, years, weeks, moments, Baraqiel didn’t know how long they were gone until it all suddenly stopped. Just as quickly as it started, the searing heat burning their flesh turned into an uncomfortable cold, the discordant screams broke into quiet, pathetic sobbing, and the all-consuming light died to give way for the darkness of the Dungeon to take over once again. This had to be it, the very experience of Death, until Baraqiel heard the echoes of angry stomping coming their way. They were barely able to feel a thick and powerful hand squeezing their neck.
No thoughts could be conjured in that state, only groans and loud gasps for air. It would take a moment before the Angel’s eyes could finally focus once again.
Not dead yet…
Indeed, they were not dead yet. The pain would return to their numb body in slow waves, as the cold hues of the dungeon once again painted their depressing reality. It was blurry, but that’s because the Demiurge was, once more, shaking them while screaming. He demanded something, an answer to some questions Baraqiel never really understood, the same ones he always asked them after the torture.
“Tell me the name of the gods! Describe the sacred runes of Origin! You saw them, didn’t you!?”
Baraqiel didn’t know what a rune of Origin was, to them it was nothing but nonsense spat on their face, but there was no way to make the Demiurge understand that. It felt like every failure only made the man less and less rational in every way possible.
After shaking the child for long enough to convince himself that, once again, there were no new answers to his questions, Father Enrico let out an enraged snarl and dismissively threw the bodies of each of the four poor fools tied to the Spire back to their cages, so he could begin preparations for a new procedure.
The world turned upside down for a moment as the Angels' malnourished bodies flew through the air, right before slamming loudly against the cold iron bars of their prisons. Baraqiel could only muster enough lucidity to take a deep breath before impact, trying to brace for the shock… but then, they felt something new, right as their back hit against the floor. Something cracked very loudly, moving deep inside their back with enough force to elicit another scream from them, and then—pain. Waves and waves of pain, pushing down their back and pulsing through every little wound left by the Spire’s tendrils on their way to the pelvis. And then lower, to their weakened legs.
Baraqiel held the air in their lungs for another moment, trying not to break into frustrated, aching sobs, until a realization came to them.
…Hold on just a moment…
Feeling reason returning to their pained mind, suddenly caring less about the pain around them and the feeling of blood flowing from their many stigmata, Baraqiel slowly tried to crawl and stretch their body a bit more comfortably in the cage, while the Demiurge zealously closed and locked each of them again and walked to his desk.
And as he turned away, the Angel closed their eyes and issued an order to their own body.
Move.
Their legs trembled, and the feeling of numbness starting to recede as it was replaced by the pains of atrophy. It was uncomfortable at best and searing at worst, but it was there. And that could only mean one thing.
Move… again!!
The toes wiggled, twitching once, twice, thrice, each time a bit more pronounced and painful but also easier to do. Pain turned into confusion, and then it all melted into excitement as their knees recovered the ability to flex.
Something had moved back in place, all the pain Baraqiel had been able to just ignore before was now returning to them all at once, but with it also came mobility—and an opportunity. Ideas started pushing against each other in the Angel’s mind as they kept testing their returning strength, suddenly not caring about the blood or the burning sensations at all.
If I could move a bit faster, a bit harder! Maybe I can break through!
Their eyes were now glaring at the cage’s lock, an old piece of rusty metal hanging from one of the corners of their prison, so heavy that even the Demiurge seemed uncomfortable when carrying them around. Maybe with enough strength and determination, they could break the lock? Tackle the cage until it breaks open…?
Doubts started to creep in, and Baraqiel carefully curled into a ball to hug their slowly recovering legs. No, there was no way to muster that much force in so little time! If they couldn’t do it before losing all strength, why would they be able to break out now? Would they even be able to run at all? Or even walk?
If I try and fail, that will be it. This bastard will break me in half or something…!!
Cynicism still hadn’t rooted in the child’s heart, their mind couldn’t simply shrug off the idea of Death as if it didn’t matter at all. In fact, they could barely understand the concept itself! Staring into the abyss of eternal unconsciousness scared Baraqiel like nothing else. Maybe… maybe it was better to just forget about it, stay down and survive.
…No… No! I can’t just stay! No more…!
Their leg muscles tugged, practically begging to be used. Who knows for how long they would be able to push them to move, maybe the next time they were pulled into the Spire would rob the strength away from their body again, and forever. Baraqiel took a sharp breath, looking at the Demiurge pacing back and forth while starting another of his long-winded monologues. Another test was afoot, four children were pulled out of their cages to sit down and be buckled to the Spire.
The flickering light of the Demiurge’s torch moved with each little ragged breath his victims let out, trying in vain to stop the much bigger man from tying them up.
Something sparkled on the floor, glaring back at Baraqiel’s eyes.
What even… could it be…?!
The child crawled closer to the edge, careful so the old man couldn’t hear them. The sparkle came from something nestled casually between two bricks on the floor, stuck in the little space: a broken needle. Baraqiel’s eyes widened, recollection coming to them. Yes, it was not unusual for some Angels to violently spasm and jerk around, even after the Demiurge turned off the machine. Maybe a needle broke one of those times? The Spire required constant maintenance so, again, it wasn’t rare to replace them—but he always took care to get rid of all spare materials.
A needle lost so casually and forgotten by the Demiurge, so close that Baraqiel was sure they could reach it if they stretched enough… images of roguish heroes came to the child’s mind, right from old tales they used to think about. Men and women of wits and elegance breaking the rules when they saw it fit, taking what they needed whenever they wanted to, and more importantly, often picking locks and doors with sharp needles and hooks.
These are too many convenient coincidences… it has to be a sign…!!
Baraqiel didn’t often think of gods or fate, but as any child, they clung to the idea as soon as it suited them. So of course this was a sign from the higher powers, a wink of their favor, a chance for the little kid to worm their way right out of that hell.
Doubts were pushed right back out of the child’s brain, a very angry, spiteful kind of hope taking its place. Childhood truly is a wonderful, scary thing.
The experiment will start soon, then it will be around ten hundreds until it finishes…
Time loses all meaning when sitting at the Spire, but when they were left alone in the cages, Baraqiel needed to keep tabs on the flow of every little moment. They calculated how long they had been imprisoned, they counted the times the Demiurge paced around before taking his notes (around three or four depending on how angry he was), and they counted how long people were actually trapped in the gods' forsaken mechanism.
It was enough time for Baraqiel to count to a hundred ten times, consistently.
That was how long they had to figure out how to actually pick a lock and beg the gods not to be caught while doing so.
That fat bastard never turns around in the middle of it all. He just stares. It will work perfectly.
Confidence kept surging as the Angel glared right at the Demiurge’s back, just waiting as he secured the last child in place, and took a moment to breathe. A part deep down in Baraqiel’s mind felt a little bad about using the others as a sort of distraction, but he would have enough time to feel bad about it once they were free.
Come on, come on, just do it already…!
The Demiurge walked over to the Spire’s heart, held his hand over the lever and recited the usual prayer for success.
“May you hear the voices of the Gods and deliver us the light to change this rotten world. Amen.”
The lever loudly groaned when pulled down, and a million little gears, bolts and nuts began to spin, pump and move in the heretical monolith. Baraqiel could see parts moving around the Spire’s amber heart, odd marks and carvings orbiting the huge rock at increasingly higher speeds, before the light started traveling from the gem into the machine.
And a few moments later, as the light slithered its way through every little line in the Spire like white rattlesnakes, the children tied to its thrones began to tense and breathe sharply. The light went from the body of the Spire into its tendrils, right into the little Angels—and they all began “singing”, as the Demiurge liked to call it.
This must be how the demons sing in Hell…
Four children howled in abject pain, their eyes wide open, their screams harmonizing with the Spire’s strange clockwork wails. The Demiurge was enraptured by it all.
Now!
Baraqiel’s arm slid right between the bars of their cage, tapping the floor in front of them and trying to feel the cold metal hidden between the cobblestones. Their shoulders screamed, not used to this much work or to be in that position at all, but the kid ignored them. They simply did not have the time to slow down, and despair was waiting on every little corner, preying upon them.
To doubt now would mean to stop and not do anything at all. They simply couldn’t allow themself to stop.
Come on, where is it? Where is it now…??
There!!
They winced slightly when the sharp end of the needle poked their finger. The tip was bent backward? Hooked, probably by the spasms of the kid who broke it in the first place. Baraqiel prayed for it to still work despite that. They let the needle sink a little into their finger just to pull it from the floor, and quickly grasp it with both hands. There it was, their only chance.
Please work, please work, please work…!
More doubts were trying to break into Baraqiel’s mind, marauders trying to destroy the already fragile doors of their mind. Like bandits sieging a castle, battering ram slamming against its gates with unrelenting force. The child closed their eyes and held the lock in place, begging the Demiurge to keep his attention away, as they pushed the needle deep into the lock’s hole.
Tick, tick, tick, tick. They felt many odd stumps on their way in before the needle hit the end of the lock. Perplexed, Baraqiel moved the needle around, just, feeling those little pieces. One, two, three… no, more… Eight?? Yes, eight stumps!
Levers??
Why was it always levers with these things? Did they need to pull all of them? Only some?? The ramming on the kid’s mind gates grew louder, as it became obvious that they had absolutely no idea what they were doing. But they did not let that deter them in the slightest.
There’s still time, there’s still time, just be careful.
One by one, Baraqiel started to tug and pull at those odd stumps, starting with the closest one to the end. They expected a click, a noise, a feeling of any sort… nothing.
Same with the second one, and the third.
No no no no…!!
Their motions began to feel more desperate, practically stabbing the lock with that needle over and over again.
Open, open, open!!
Pleading had turned into anger, to the point where those stabbing motions became pushier and pushier, until.
Click.
A nice half of that long metallic needle fell off the kid’s hand. They still had enough, barely, to stab the lock fully… but the sight froze the blood right in Baraqiel’s neck. Nervously they grabbed that needle half and, without thinking much about it, they jammed it into the lock as well.
It’s good, it’s good! They always use two tools, right?? Maybe it’s for the best, right?
They weren’t sure, but they couldn’t really question the logic when their composure was on the brink of breaking down under the attack of the highwaymen in their mind.
Stabbing motions recommenced. Things immediately felt different… click, click, click.
The levers, they moved! They clicked! Harder, and harder, some of them still refused to give but many did feel like suddenly jumping at the kid’s motions.
Baraqiel heard how the Spire’s song came to an end, the Demiurge let out a frustrated sigh. Another failure.
Come on, come on…!
The fifth lever gave up, the sixth made no noise, and the seventh was pushy and hard to move.
Almost…!!
“Why must you make a mockery of all my efforts, angels!? Why must you hate me so!?”
The Demiurge cried, kicking one of the children’s shins. Baraqiel’s motions became harder and faster.
Open, open, OPEN!!!
“What is that clicking noise…?”
The towering figure turned around right as Baraqiel opened their eyes. This was it, they took too long.
And then. The lock suddenly jumped in place, the springs inside tenderly pushed just right. Open.
“Baraqiel, what do you think you are—?!”
They didn’t even know how or why. It all became a mess of emotion when the lock fell heavily on the stone floor, and the cage opened slightly. Baraqiel’s body pounced right out of its prison, their legs gaining a strength they never had before while a desperate roar ragged the child’s throat.
They were not even trying to escape. They forgot all about the plan.
They simply jumped at the source of all their pain, hands at the ready, thumbs sinking as deep as they could into the Demiurge’s eyes.
