WRATH: A Hannigram Fanfiction

Prologue

Hell is empty

And all the devils are here.

- William Shakespeare; The Tempest

There is a beauty in confliction. There is a serenity in the contrast of bright stars against a dark sky, a cool drink of water in the middle of a drought, a fire warming your body as it shivers. Polarity is necessary, for that is how we achieve perfection: through the perfect combination of both sides.

No one knew this better than the Devil. The antithesis of God's Light, both of them knew exactly how to manipulate each element. They created a homeostatic world, a world where everything came together in perfect harmony. With each element came an Angel, and with each Angel came a little help. The Creators needed it, for they had a lot to take care of.

The first rift in Heaven's perfection was when the Angels began to get hurt. It began with the interaction between Tranquility and Chaos, their mere presence around each other creating a burst of harmful energy that ended up traumatizing them both. It was then that the Creators learned that some elements just do not mix. They cannot.

Lucifer stayed with Tranquility for days until the Angel finally healed from his injuries, caring for him and protecting him from further damage. He brought Rain and Joy and Pleasure to sit with him, their musical laughter echoing in the sky. God did not do the same for His Angel Chaos.

Heaven moved along smoothly no matter the circumstances. When Angels began to get hurt, the Creators implemented rules for their safety. The Angels would do anything to protect each other; they loved each other, and the Creators loved them dearly. They were all equally vital to the world's beating heart.

The rift turned into a chasm with the creation of humans.

It was God's idea: to create a species similar to the Angels, just without the powers. They could have the capacity to worship, to idolize the Creators and carry on their sacred missions on Earth. Spread their love as far as the humans could take it. Strengthen their faith by giving them free will; if they have the ability to turn away from the Creators, and yet they refuse to, that would mean their faith was even more unwavering. Those, God said, were the kind of humans that would be valuable.

Lucifer wanted no part in it. His Angels were enough, he said. He was in love with all of his Angels; they were important to him. He didn't need anyone else's worship, as they were always going to be enough for him. Weren't God's Angels enough for Him? Or would He keep seeking?

God conceded, and Lucifer figured that the conversation was over. It wouldn't be brought up again.

Then one night, while watching Tranquility create something beautiful, the mirror to the world below reflected something completely new. Angels on the ground, on the Earth, Angels without wings and with darker skin.

Tranquility had gasped. "Angels," he'd whispered. "Why are they down there? Where are their wings?"

Lucifer, enraged, had shaken his head and walked away.

There was harmony-- up until one side decided they were better than the other.

Up until one side decided to take matters into his own hands.

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Doctor Hannibal Lecter sat in his office, legs crossed in his chair as the voice of one of his patients droned over his head. Franklyn cried, clearly in despair, but Hannibal's face remained smooth as stone. He wasn't paying any attention, but over the years he had learned how to expertly appear that way. He couldn't discuss anything with Franklyn, couldn't witness such gross displays of narcissism without wanting to scoff. How, he asked himself, could humans be so absorbed in themselves that they don't notice what's right in front of them? They were animals, plain and simple. Franklyn was pitiful, a kicked puppy, only much more disgusting.

He glanced down at his watch, watching the second hand tick over to the exact minute. Five o'clock. Perfect. Franklyn had devolved from words into just crocodile tears, so Hannibal didn't have to worry about interrupting him.