blessed be thy martyrs

“Brother Ventus.”

Ventus adjusted the rags in his arms and glanced over his shoulder. The archbishop stood there, his figure illuminated by the light filtering in from the windows, his expression unreadable. 

“Oh, Your Grace,” Ventus turned to face Eraqus properly. “Is everything alright? If I may be bold, Your Grace seems troubled…”

The archbishop stood tall before him. “Lately, there have been whispers spreading throughout the church,” he paused, his stern gaze on the priest. “And at the center of many, is you, Brother Ventus.”

Ventus frowned and shifted the rags so that one arm was free. “What sort of whispers has Your Grace overheard from the clergy? Or is it from the townspeople?” His eyes widened. “Surely none concerning my sermons I would hope!”

Eraqus let his gaze wander briefly, assuring that there were no prying eyes. It appeared to be only the two of them in the quiet house of God. Still, one could never be too certain, so he spoke quietly, taking care not to disturb the sleeping saints.“The clergy speak that you have become involved with malignant spirits.”

The bells outside chimed loudly. The next mass would be held soon. 

Shock crossed Ventus’ features. He placed a hand over his heart, deep hurt visible on his face. He shook his head slowly, reeling from the words. “Your Grace, I,” he swallowed thickly, “I assure you that no such thing has occurred.” His hand gripped the front of his robes painfully, as if the accusations had physically wounded him. “For the First Estate to even think such things of me… ” he bowed his head, and Eraqus noticed the lone tear that fell down his cheek. “To have incurred such doubt, what transgression had I committed?”

The archbishop searched his face. The priest kept his head low, bowed in shame.

After a pregnant pause, he let out a sigh, the archbishop’s shoulders relaxed. 

“One is to wonder why such thoughts were ever entertained. However,” he addressed Ventus kindly, his expression no longer harsh, “Rest assured, Brother Ventus. I will put the clergy’s doubts to rest.” He offered a polite smile. “My sincerest apologies for holding you from your services.”

The priest took a step forward into the light, his face now serene. “No, Your Grace, the fault lies with me for casting such doubts with my fellow men and women of the cloth, especially on the eve of such an important mass.”

For a brief moment, Eraqus imagined the angel Lucifer standing before him, with his charming eyes begging for forgiveness. He shook the thought from his mind, disturbed.  

“Nonsense, Brother Ventus,” he said, voice giving away nothing of his moment’s doubt. “Your services here have helped many people. Surely it was all a simple misunderstanding.” 

Ventus smiled, his face framed by a halo of light.

Eraqus felt dread heavy in his abdomen.

“Your Grace, your praise is too generous for a simple priest such as myself.”

Thirty pieces of silver for the deed. Thirty pieces of silver for the greed. Thirty thirty thirty—

The archbishop turned to leave in haste. He had to oversee the upcoming mass. The priest giving today’s sermon was recently inducted, and he had to be there to oversee that nothing went wrong. There were many things he had to do.

And not one of those things was to think of his own priest a traitor. His footsteps echoed as he walked further and further away from the priest.

If Eraqus had stayed a moment longer, perhaps he would have caught sight of glittering glass from the depths of the rags in Ventus’ arm. Perhaps he would have noticed the glimmer in Ventus’ eyes, or the way his smile was a tad bit too sharp.

If he had stayed, perhaps the archbishop would have noticed many things about the priest.

But he did not.

Instead, too ashamed of the guilt fostering in his mind, Eraqus walked out of the nave, leaving behind a snake basking in heaven’s light.

“Trusting only in thy merit, would I seek thy face,” Ventus sang out quietly as he made his way to the old church located in the back. His services were not going to be needed for today’s mass, and all the clergy and people would gather in the main building. He smiled cheerfully.

There used to be rumors that this town birthed saints. That God left remains of His seraphim in the vessels of the children born here. Naturally, it drew the attention of weary travelers searching for a moment’s reprieve.

The town could not handle the sudden swell in growth.

No matter how hard Archbishop Eraqus and the rest of the First Estate tried, corruption took root and festered in the town. Crime increased, disease spread, and many began to starve.

There was no hope. People cried that Satan had tricked them into living here. The rumors were lies, a ploy by the church to convert the masses. The people began to turn against the clergy. All seemed lost, and everything was left in ruins.

Except for one day, when—

Ventus greeted the people he passed by. They were all weary from the recent skirmishes outside the town. The mass was one of the few moments of peace they had now. He noticed a trail of scattered feathers, and Ventus tried not to sprint into a run. He continued his song, delight alive in his heart. “Heal my wounded, broken spirit. Save me by thy grace!”

(There was no hope for the town. They had forsaken God after all.)

Ventus finished humming the song cheerfully as he entered the old church, his footsteps echoing as he crossed the dusty nave.  He smiled as he looked past the sanctuary, his dearest sitting atop the altar. He could ignore that the angel was wrapped around his dearest like a leach for the moment.

Only for the moment. 

“And here I thought I was a sinner,” he directed at the angel currently peppering kisses along his dearest’s neck. “Are you sure that you’re a divine spirit, Roxas?”

Roxas lifted his head to glare at him. Ventus merely smiled. Roxas’ shoulders tensed, his wings ready to strike him down.

The priest laughed, readying himself to retaliate. He had long grown accustomed to tearing down the playthings of His Holiness. 

But instead of having angel feathers embedded into his flesh, his dearest patted the angel’s arm.

“Roxas,” he said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “There’s no reason to fight.”

Just like that, the angel relaxed, his gaze refocused to the demon in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Sora,” he said apologetically, placing a sweet kiss to his forehead, “I just don’t like what the bastard says.”  

Sora giggled, tilting his head so that Roxas could place more kisses. “It’s okay, Roxas.” His gaze drifted to Ventus, a playful smile on his face. “That’s just how Ven is.”

Ventus nodded. “That’s right, Roxas,” he said delightfully, “That’s just how I am.”

The angel ignored him in favor of Sora’s neck.

The bastard.

Ventus turned to his dearest, a small frown on his face. “Besides, I was just a little sad that you two did not wait for me…” He eyed Sora’s body openly. “ I do not wish to be left behind.” 

Sora opened his mouth to answer, most likely to utter an apology like the saint he was meant to be, but a low moan escaped him instead. Roxas sucked at his neck loudly. Ventus felt his eyebrow twitch.

The angel pulled back, a deep hickey marred his dearest neck beautifully.

The priest grit his teeth.

Fucking angels trying to mark what was rightfully his.

“It’s not nice to keep Sora waiting,” Roxas said in that God awful infuriating tone of his. The one that made Ventus wish he could set angels aflame. “Besides,” he continued, nibbling at Sora’s ear, “I don’t need some perverted priest to help Sora out.”

A content sigh left his dearest’s lips, Sora leaning in to Roxas’ touch.

Ventus was not without his own aces. He nodded, humming thoughtfully. “I see, you have a point there, Roxas. But,” he smiled sharply. “Without this perverted priest, you would be nothing more than a shit stain left on Heaven’s gate.”

Roxas snarled.

“Wait!” Sora yelled, spreading his wings to stop Roxas. He turned to the very, very enraged angel. “Roxas… I…. I do need Ven,” he grabbed Roxas’ hand softly. “Just… just for a little while, okay?”

Roxas stared down at Sora.

Ventus smiled. He knew he had won.

The angel threw him one last glare, and then settled back down, content with just holding Sora for now.

“Alright,” he told his dearest quietly, “Just for now.”

Ventus tried to calm the tremor in his veins. His dearest, beautiful Sora… Calming the wrath of the holy, for his traitorous desires.

His mouth watered. 

“Hey,” Roxas called to him, drawing the priest from his rapidly derailing thoughts, “We need to start already.”

Ventus tsked, but the angel had a point. He set down the rags and pulled out a glass bottle. The two spirits stared at it curiously. 

“Is that—” Roxas began.

“—holy water?” Sora finished, moving out of the angel’s embrace to lean in close. Ventus practically purred at the way his dearest’s legs hung off the altar, the black shorts he wore only further accentuating them.

They were just begging to be claimed.

“Yes,” he responded to his dearest adoringly, moving the glass bottle to where Sora could get a better look at it. He swung the bottle lightly, laughing as Sora jumped in surprise. He reached up to cup Sora’s face. His heart fluttered when his dearest nuzzled against his palm, lidded eyes staring into his soul. “Are you ready for me, Sora?”

Soon, the priest would properly get to claim what was his.

Then, no messiah or beast could ever part them.

Sora would be his. 

Before he could receive an answer, Roxas pulled Sora away, staring him down.  Ventus tried to remain calm at the sight of his dearest flush against the angel’s chest. Why did the damned spirit insist on getting in between his time with his beloved? Honestly, there was only so much that Ventus could tolerate.

“Where did you get it from?” the angel asked in a clipped voice, his body caged around Sora protectively. “How do we know it’s any good?” 

Ventus rolled his eyes, but held back from saying anything that would ruffle the angel's feathers any further. He had waited for Sora for so long, he supposed he could hold his anger for a few more moments. Besides, he understood the need to protect Sora.

(Even if Roxas had not been previously good at that. Ventus made sure of that.)

“The baptistry of course,” Ventus answered curtly. He would not waste anymore time bickering with the pest. “I would not use anything less for Sora. The mere thought of it disgusts me.” With a gentle hand, he cupped Sora’s cheek lovingly. “Nothing but the best for you, my dear.”

Sora nuzzled into his palm, drawing out a stuttered breath from the priest.

If only his dearest knew the effect he had on him.

“Father Ventus,” Sora turned his face to kiss his palm almost reverently, gracing Ventus with praise he was unworthy of. “I’m ready for my absolution.” 

Ventus smiled, leaning down to give Sora a chaste kiss, tears welling in his eyes.

It was finally time to seal the oath.

(He was not worthy of Sora’s forgiveness.)

With reluctance, he pulled back, amused when Sora tried to follow him. His lips glistened with saliva, and Ventus had to force his will to focus on the task at hand, lest he be tempted by Sora again.

The seal on the glass was broken, and Ventus pressed it to his lips, the holy water filling his mouth. The spirits stared at him, one with apprehension, the other with wonder.

Ventus smiled at his dearest. He leaned forward and tilted Sora’s head back. Pressing a kiss to his swollen lips, Sora drank the holy water from his mouth greedily, sharp teeth biting his. Ventus moaned as he tasted his blood in the kiss. He swiped his tongue along Sora’s, wishing to share his essence with him. 

Sora followed along, pulling Ventus’ bottom lip in between two sharp fangs, gently biting down. Ventus pressed closer, his mind foggy.

Sora, Sora, Sora. He needed more.  

Unfortunately, Sora was yanked away from him, Ventus gasping when blood trickled from his now split lip.

He glared at Roxas, who merely stuck his tongue out at him. 

Sora gasped loudly, drawing their attention.

He squirmed in Roxas’ arms as the holy water made its way through his body. Roxas tilted his head back, leaning down to press a sickeningly sweet kiss to his dearest’s lips.

Ventus would have rolled his eyes, but he was too entranced by Sora.

Sora was squirming in pain, crying as the effects started to hit him with full force, tears sliding down his cheeks, Roxas’ swallowing his sobs.

(Sora was breathtaking. Ventus would never forget this moment. 

Not now. Not ever.)

Roxas pulled back, wiping the tears from Sora’s eyes, saliva still connecting them. A whimper escaped Sora, his chest rising with labored breaths. His eyes were unfocused, hands reaching up with no destination in mind.

“I…”  his dearest spoke softly, nothing more than a broken note carried by the church’s draft. “I-I’m ready…” The angel gently focused Sora’s gaze to Ventus, and the priest almost cried at what he saw reflected back. Sora reached for him, and Ventus placed his hand in his with utmost care.

Briefly, Ventus closed his eyes, overcome with emotion.

( There’s a saint in town , was what was whispered that day. What’ll the saint do? What’ll the saint do! Give his body to the Lord of course. Cut the saint up all nice and thin, till there’s nothing left but skin.

He had not deserved Sora. None of them had.)

“Ven.”

He opened his eyes to see Sora staring at him so lovingly, that it stole the breath from his lungs.

“I’m ready to repent.”

(Ventus was too far gone. There was no going back.)

He raised Sora’s hand to his lips, bowing his head to place a gentle kiss. He could sense the angel’s ire, but he knew that the other was wise enough to not interfere with what was about to transpire.

Ventus pulled back, releasing Sora’s hand with great care. He reached into his robe and pulled out his misericorde. The archbishop had banned them after the first sacrifice went horribly wrong, but once Ventus earned the clergy’s favor, it was no difficult task in reacquiring a few.

He held the knife flat, pouring the remaining holy water over it as the angel slowly unbuttoned Sora’s blouse, who shivered at the sensation.

“R-Roxas…”

Roxas kissed the side of his face, bringing his wings in closer, as if to shield Sora from the world.

“Soon, it’ll be better,” he said, moving to lock his arms with Sora’s. “Soon.”

Sora nodded, his body slick with sweat.

The sight was utterly divine. Ventus could have, would have, kept staring, but the angel cleared his throat, breaking his focus.

“Don’t keep Sora waiting, again,” he all but spat out, violent eyes contrasting to the gentle hold he had on Sora.

Ventus rolled his eyes.

Leave it to the holy one to try and kill the mood.

He moved the knife to trace lightly on Sora’s skin. His dear gasped, only remaining in place because of Roxas.

Ventus smiled. 

And pressed the knife hard enough to break the skin near Sora’s collar bone.

The result was immediate.

A scream clawed its way out of Sora’s throat, violently thrashing in Roxas’ arms. The angel held onto him tight, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. The priest could not help but giggle, the Enochian the divine spirit spoke falling on deaf ears. 

Ventus lightly scraped the knife against Sora’s skin as he moved down towards a pert nipple, a bright red trail following its wake. Sora bit his lip hard to try and contain his screams, a thin trail of blood rolling down his chin.

The priest groaned at the sight. 

This was it. This was his guerdon. 

How long had he waited for this moment?

Staring down at Sora, Ventus found that he no longer cared about how long he had waited.

Because now, Sora and he would finally unite.

The priest moved his knife to Sora’s abdomen, and worked the blade in. Sora let out an unholy cry as the knife made its way into him, his blood sizzling as the holy water filled him. Ventus watched, fascinated, as Sora’s wings spread out violently in their small space, cutting into Roxas’ arms.

The angel winced, his clothes and feathers now dyed with the beautiful red of Sora’s life essence. Still he held on, continuing on with his sweet promises to his former ward.

It was sickeningly sweet in a way, the angel’s determination to protect his dearest even now. Ventus guessed that he could not blame Roxas for following Sora to the depths of hell.

(After all, he had done the same.)

Ventus pulled the knife out swiftly, blood pouring freely from the wound. He shivered as Sora continued to cry, and brought the knife to his lips, his tongue swiping the blood off of it. He groaned at the taste.

Everything about Sora was so utterly divine. 

“God!” Sora screeched out, his body burning. Ventus could hear where his wings dug into the skin of Roxas’ chest. The angel gave no further indication of his pain, appearing as starry-eyed as the priest. Ventus panted as Sora screamed again, his movements getting blood everywhere.

Oh, God. Oh, God , how blessed he was!

“God!” Sora cried out, voice echoing in the church.

Ventus lifted his misericorde toward the heavens. “Hear this damned soul call out to you, Heavenly Father!” he all but roared out. “Accept his bloodied body and cleanse him of his sacrilege!” 

Roxas hooked his legs over Sora’s, restraining them to the altar. His dearest bucked his hips up in reflex, and Ventus watched as the blood on his body trailed beneath the waistline of his shorts.

Though he hated to admit it, Ventus would not have come this far without the angel’s assistance. Nodding a small, but curt, thanks, he kneeled atop the altar, Sora’s body calling to him. He leaned forward to the wound on Sora’s collar bone and sucked the skin, mouth filling with blood.

Sora moaned at that in between his sobs, body arching towards him.

“Dear Heavenly Father,” Roxas began, licking the shell of his dearest ear. He moved one wing to softly caress Sora’s side, briefly knocking the priest in the head.

Stupid bitch.

Taking the higher road and ignoring the little blight, the priest moved his knee to rest against Sora’s core, groaning at the wetness he felt. He pressed further, nearly cooing in delight as Sora tried to rub against the pressure for even an inch of satisfaction.

“Please…” Sora rasped out, his body rutting against his knee frantically. “Please… I need—”

Ventus clicked his tongue when Sora was pulled away, his knee cold. Roxas sneered at him from behind Sora, one hand covering his dearest mouth.

Patience, the priest reminded himself. Once this is done, he probably will not last much longer.

Roxas opened Sora’s mouth, thumb fingering at one of his dearest’s fangs. “Search my heart I pray,” he continued, breaking the skin of his thumb, blood dripping into Sora’s mouth. “And if there is any cherished sin lurking within—”

Ventus positioned the misericorde right underneath Sora’s heart—

“God,” Sora sobbed out. “Save me from my sins.”

—and thrust it straight into Sora’s chest.

Ventus moved the angel’s hand to capture Sora’s lips in a bloody kiss, swallowing his pained wails. Roxas moved his bloody thumb to where the knife was, pushing at the wound and mixing his blood with Sora’s. 

Sora’s body spasmed violently in their embrace, trying to escape the pain. The two held him tightly, Ventus pressing further into the kiss while Roxas trailed his hands over Sora’s body, smearing their blood. 

(Finally. Sora would finally be saved from his fate. 

Heaven nor Hell could ever take Sora from him again.)

Ventus pulled back, his breathing labored and his lips bruised. 

Sora giggled at him through the haze.

“Hehe… I’m… glad… Ven enjoys this,” he slurred out, delirious from it all.

Ventus licked his lips, tasting blood. “I ask that You would root it out,” Ventus managed to continue, his mind blank, “For I know that only the one that has clean hands and a pure heart,” he slowly pulled the knife out, Sora moaning, “May stand in Your presence.”

The angel moved a bloody hand in between Sora’s thighs, applying pressure. Sora laughed again.

“Is this the salvation you seek?” Roxas asked softly, his wings quivering around them. Sora’s body arched as the angel moved his hand, his own wings embracing Roxas. “Has the Lord given you what you need?”

Ventus felt his soul bare as Sora pinned him with heavy eyes.

“No,” he breathed out, rolling his head back on to Roxas’ shoulder, inviting Ventus to embrace him. “The Lord can never save this damned soul.”

(He could have been a saint. Could have been the light to lead them out of God’s wrath.

Sora’s love for people could have saved them from eternal damnation.

But now, they were all going to fester inside these sanctuary walls.)

Ventus could bear the separation no longer. He threw the bloodied knife to the side and moved to hold Sora in his arms. He, who had longed for the holy light for so long, now basked in its gentle embrace.

“Sora, Sora, Sora,” he cried into his dearest shoulder, overwrought with emotion. “We’re finally saved. You’re finally saved!” 

Sora lifted his face gently, and Ventus could still see God’s light haloing him.

(God had been a fool to cast Sora aside.)

He leaned down to kiss Ventus sweetly, wiping away the priest’s tears.

“We’re finally together,” he smiled. His dearest moved a hand to grasp the angel’s, tilting his head to smile at his former guardian angel. “We’re all finally together.”

They held Sora, their bond eternal now.

(There was no God here. But with Sora at their side, hell would be paradise.)

In the desolate little town where the people overthrew God and saw no need for a saint, only the priest and angel sought any means to overturn fate’s hand. 

It was a treasonous act to steal God’s holy light.

But for Sora, they would do anything.

Even if it meant throwing their hearts to the depths of hell.