gabriel my bbg
no major warnings here except for some death threats and blood but that's par for the course
Lights off. Paperwork a flood. The hooded archangel stretches and groans to himself, pushing his chair back in before heading for the exit. Even immortality cannot free us from the shackles of exhaustion.
He twists the doorknob. The first time his hand slips and he makes an annoyed ‘tut’ sound, turning it again—
The doorknob holds fast. He’d removed the lock on the inside to prevent his colleague—the bastard—from locking himself in here to take his naps.
But he never locks himself in when he works. Perhaps he’d forgotten. He searches for the key—ah, he must have left it on the desk.
A soft golden glow casts itself over the walls, draping over his chair and desk. He looks around, nervous, but the room is empty.
The key is not where he left it.
There is a second presence here. That golden glow, overpowering the paler blue that is left to crawl along the floor. The Councillor spins around wildly, hand growing cold as he refuses to let go of the doorknob.
‘Greetings, Councillor.’
The Councillor jumps at the sound of the voice. Someone is sitting on his couch in the corner, legs crossed, swords sheathed on his lap. His wings are draped casually over the pillows, and his halo is still as bright as ever. He is not wearing armour, instead dressed in a shirt and pants, the topmost buttons of the shirt undone.
‘Gabriel. What is the meaning of this?’
Gabriel does not look at him directly. He tilts his head back, as if observing the ceiling, but the Councillor knows him well enough. Gabriel’s hands rest on the hilts of his swords. One false move here, and those swords will be out of their sheaths, sharp and gleaming.
Summoning all his authority, the Councillor speaks. ‘I forbid you to take one step further.’
‘I was not planning to.’ Gabriel uncrosses his legs and sits up straighter. The Councillor looks around—a binder would do nothing against swords, and—
‘I request only one thing from you.’
‘More time?’ The Councillor sneers. ‘Face it. You have failed. Your skills are needed here.’
‘Restore my divine light.’ Gabriel’s head snaps in the Councillor’s direction. ‘Or I will gladly take your life.’
‘No. My conditions hold. Return to your rightful place, and I will free you from your spiritual pain.’
‘Am I not already where I should be?’ Gabriel tilts his head, hand gliding over the hilt of his swords. ‘I have found an answer, Councillor, to the Father’s Will.’
‘We know His Will better than you ever can.’ The Councillor stands where he is, even though his legs have turned to jelly.
‘Very well. I need not waste time on explaining to those who will not listen.’ Gabriel draws one of his swords—Justice—and holds the blue blade up to eye level. The Councillor grasps the doorknob tighter. ‘It is time I answer in kind to your law of force.’
‘Gabriel,’ says the Councillor, watching him draw Splendour as well. ‘See reason.’
‘Why should I? Is this not what you have taught me?’
‘Traitor. The rest of the Council—they will know, and your heresy—you will be stripped of your divine light in full, blasphemer—‘
The Councillor’s knees threaten to buckle as Gabriel stands up, drawing himself to his full height. In the glow of his wings, the sheen of rust that covers Splendour along the entire blade shimmers. The smell hits the Councillor next, heavy iron, still fresh.
The Councillor collapses to the floor, back against the door. The phone is too far away, and Gabriel stands between him and the rest of the office.
‘Brother.’ Gabriel’s voice is soft, too soft for what he plans to do. ‘My request is simple.’
‘You’ve lost your mind,’ the Councillor rasps.
‘It’s different when it’s you, isn’t it?’
‘God will judge you.’
‘Face it. None of us have spoken to the Father in years. Centuries. He is gone, or dead. The world falls into our hands now.’
And both of them know it to be true. Gabriel lifts his weapon and the Councillor flinches, raising an arm as if that will block the blow.
‘I will no longer uphold your cruelty.’
‘You cannot hope to tread a path without us,’ says the Councillor, desperate. Gabriel’s wings flare an even brighter gold.
‘We shall see. Now, choose. A dead man’s philosophy, or your life?’
The stench of blood is all-consuming. The Councillor attempts to stand up, falls back onto the floor. ‘God’s Will is eternal.’
The sword comes down too fast to be seen. The Councillor screams as the blade cuts through his mask, slashing a deep cut into the face underneath. He doubles over, trying to staunch the wound even as blood splashes hot into the carpet.
Justice, stained red, is the only thing he can see.
‘Your choice.’ Gabriel does not move.
The Councillor raises a hand, and Gabriel tenses, weapons at the ready.
‘You can have your light back.’ Blood trickles down his throat. ‘You can have… everything you want from us. Just leave. Please.’
The process barely takes a minute. Nothing about Gabriel changes when it is done; he is as radiant as before. That strikes the Councillor as strange—he should not have this kind of strength with his divine light weakened—but his thoughts are left scurrying when Gabriel points his sword at him again.
‘I’ve done as you asked! LEAVE!’
That saps all the strength from the Councillor and he curls up on the floor, clutching his face. Gabriel stands, as if considering, then slides his swords back into their sheaths.
‘Never… come back,’ gasps the Councillor,
‘I cannot promise that.’ Resolute, firm. ‘Your order has caused enough suffering—suffering that I have contributed to. Rest assured, I will right my wrong in any way necessary.’
Gabriel inclines his head in a mock bow and disappears in a flash of light.
Shaking, the Councillor drags himself over to his desk. The phone falls to the floor when he tugs on the wire, and reaching for the number pad is pure agony.
‘Help,’ he says into the receiver.
Static, then silence.