The fall was nothing like what was in the stories. It wasn't some.. Grand event in Heaven. One minute you were there. The next you weren't.

The ache of the Father's light being forcefully taken from you rivaled the sheer anguish of having a clay body undergo a series of changes, creating organs and forcing everything to work.

After about a month of this torture, you'd learned to endure it. The giant cross in the cathedral you lived in was smeared in golden blood, your handprints on the very bottom as if the Son would grant you salvation even after your fall.

V1, unsuspecting and wounded from three very stubborn Hideous Masses, hid in the very church you resided in. Powering down to conserve energy and heal, the flutter of feathers didn't reach its auditory sensors before it powered off.

As it awoke due to blaring alarms, it whirred as it turned on, looking around to find itself on the cross itself, golden substances drawn across its chassis and an angel shoving a nail into the stone, its palm between it.

Its Knuckleblaster and Whiplash had been torn off, considered unseemly. Wires torn out of itself, oozing fuel and unable to repair its body.

Crucified.