Hell had grown… quieter.

Not peaceful. Never peaceful. But quieter in the way a battlefield grows quiet once the victor has already passed through it. Corridors once crawling with demons were reduced to torn limbs and evaporating gore. The smell of iron hung thick in the air, mixing with the stale rot of the underworld.

Gabriel had noticed the pattern.

Where the machine walked, Hell emptied.

At first it was an insult. A thing of metal, of mortal creation, trespassing through the layers that Gabriel himself had been appointed to judge. A blasphemy of steel and hunger.

But the machine did not simply wander.

It hunted.

Demons fell by the dozens, their blood drained with ruthless efficiency. A creature that required blood to function slaughtering Hell’s inhabitants with terrifying precision… there was an efficiency to it Gabriel could not deny.

And so, at first as an experiment—and later out of something he refused to name—Gabriel began to intervene.

Before the machine reached a chamber, Gabriel would descend briefly.

Buckets of fresh blood would be placed neatly at the entrance.

Relics of Heaven followed soon after—ancient weapons, blessed artifacts, fragments of holy armaments long thought lost. Objects that should have scorched the hands of something so profane.

Yet the machine could wield them.

Gabriel told himself it was practicality. If the machine was to slaughter Hell’s inhabitants, it might as well do so more efficiently.

He told himself many things.

The problem was that the machine ignored them.

Again and again Gabriel watched from above as the machine marched straight past the offerings. Buckets of blood sat untouched. Relics remained where they had been placed.

The machine did not hesitate. It did not pause to consider divine gifts.

It simply continued killing.

At first Gabriel found the behavior amusing.

Then confusing.

Now it was beginning to irritate him.

Which was why he had finally chosen to confront the creature directly.

The chamber below erupted with violence as the machine tore through another group of demons. Claws scraped across metal, bodies burst apart beneath gunfire, and blood splattered across the floor in wide arcs as another sinner collapsed.

Gabriel descended through the crimson haze, radiant wings spreading as golden light cut through the carnage like a blade.

The machine did not stop.

Even as Gabriel’s armored feet touched the ground, another demon was already being torn apart.

For a moment Gabriel simply watched.

Then he spoke, voice echoing through the chamber with the authority of Heaven itself.

“Machine.”

The word rang through the stone halls, sharp and commanding.

“You walk paths cleared by my hand and yet you refuse the blessings I leave before you.”

Another demon lunged toward the machine. Gabriel did not intervene, watching as it was dispatched in seconds.

His gaze followed the motion of the slaughter with something dangerously close to fascination.

“I have provided you with blood before your battles. Sacred relics. Weapons blessed by Heaven itself.”

The machine continued fighting. Still no acknowledgment. Gabriel’s grip tightened slightly around the hilt of his blade.

“Curious.” There was a pause as another body hit the floor.

The Archangel stepped forward through the carnage, unimpressed by the violence surrounding him.

“To refuse divine favor is arrogance.” His voice lowered, carrying a sharper edge now. “To ignore it entirely…”

Gabriel’s gaze fixed fully upon the machine. “…is something else entirely.”

For the first time since his arrival, the Archangel addressed the creature not as a passing curiosity—but as something worthy of attention.

“You will turn and face me, machine.” His wings shifted behind him, golden light spilling across the blood-soaked chamber.

“Or must I force your attention myself?”