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has_a_hornThe world is dark and there's a war in heaven. The blackness of the scene is deep, lit only by the graceful, inhuman figures of his brothers and sisters. They dance viciously, hands clasped around long silver blades, slashing as they turn and evade. They bleed light and die like a star going supernova. Gabriel stands trembling, watching. If it wasn't so horrible, it might be beautiful.
He's wearing the same vessel he has been wearing for so long now-
Briefly, the scene shifts. He's kneeling before this vessel, a hand cupping the slightly stubbled chin. He'll shave properly, when he takes it. The man smiles, nods. It looks so sincere.
Gabriel smiles back, in awe of him.
-except he can feel the weight of his wings, the power contained there, his own potential for destruction. Behind him, they sweep up at least twenty times his height, closed in and tight against each other, a gigantic extension of his own horrified posture. Next to any of the rest, he would look so small like he is now. Inconsequential. Still, they'll want him to join in, soon. Michael will come looking, or Lucifer. Enough will have died that he will be needed on one side or the other.
He wonders if this slaughter is really what God wanted, then chastises himself for thinking it. He should fight for heaven, for God. Another supernova lights up the black canvas. A triumphant shout echoes back to him along with a ghost of bright piercing pain. How can they deny the feeling that quakes through them with each death? Is he the only one?
He can't bring himself to take a single step forward. Instead, he drops to his knees and prays. The sounds of his prayers rend the air around him, harsh, beautiful, and useless. No one turns to him, and God isn't listening.
He searches for something, any feeling in the darkness that isn't this, isn't here. When he feels something, he pulls on it like a lifeline.
[[ooc: Gabriel has passed out following events that will be happening in this thread. He doesn't have control over his dreaming, and chances are he won't know he's dreaming most of the time, so expect horror, and expect him to take over the dream.]]
He's wearing the same vessel he has been wearing for so long now-
Briefly, the scene shifts. He's kneeling before this vessel, a hand cupping the slightly stubbled chin. He'll shave properly, when he takes it. The man smiles, nods. It looks so sincere.
Gabriel smiles back, in awe of him.
-except he can feel the weight of his wings, the power contained there, his own potential for destruction. Behind him, they sweep up at least twenty times his height, closed in and tight against each other, a gigantic extension of his own horrified posture. Next to any of the rest, he would look so small like he is now. Inconsequential. Still, they'll want him to join in, soon. Michael will come looking, or Lucifer. Enough will have died that he will be needed on one side or the other.
He wonders if this slaughter is really what God wanted, then chastises himself for thinking it. He should fight for heaven, for God. Another supernova lights up the black canvas. A triumphant shout echoes back to him along with a ghost of bright piercing pain. How can they deny the feeling that quakes through them with each death? Is he the only one?
He can't bring himself to take a single step forward. Instead, he drops to his knees and prays. The sounds of his prayers rend the air around him, harsh, beautiful, and useless. No one turns to him, and God isn't listening.
He searches for something, any feeling in the darkness that isn't this, isn't here. When he feels something, he pulls on it like a lifeline.
[[ooc: Gabriel has passed out following events that will be happening in this thread. He doesn't have control over his dreaming, and chances are he won't know he's dreaming most of the time, so expect horror, and expect him to take over the dream.]]
