For a few moments Gabe was admittedly dazed--more from the blow than the building--which was an odd sensation as a human. As an angel? He felt as if he was staring at everything at once, but unable to move or touch any of it. Then all at once sensation and cognizance rushed in again and the Archangel stirred, pushing pieces of debris off him.
He didn't try to call out to Skul, didn't dare strain his voice in such a way, but his humanshape and wards were beginning to be a burden too. He dropped them both, aside from those which dulled the Faceless Ones' whispers.
The effect was almost as if a star had begun shining behind the stone, a white glow surrounding the cracks and seams. With a careful sweep of his wings, aimed more for leverage than pure force so as to save the aching limbs, Gabriel brushed off the rubble and rose in the billow of dust. He ought to have been dirty, but he wasn't. His clothes were blindingly white. His copper skin shone, and his wings were shot through with opalescent rainbows; his brown eyes glowed near-gold; his hair was so dark that it seemed to absorb the light around it and throw it back in a halo around his head.
Lucifer's brightness put the beauty around him to shame. Gabriel's presence drew it out, making every rock, every pebble light with their deepest hues brought to the surface. The dust glittered like golden motes in the air and the ground itself looked as carpet. Even Skul's bones became polished, almost pearlescent; his hat and his suit, rather than seeming the ragged remnants they were, looked like clean-washed velvet, colours deep and healthy. The pure scent of the desert stone permeated the area, deep and earthen and warm.
"I'm alright," the Archangel whispered, but rather shakily; even still his voice resonated faintly in a way it didn't quite when he wore his human cloak. It wasn't often he got taken by surprise while in flight. He looked skyward, toward where the Faceless Ones circled far overhead, quickly lowering. "But I don't think I should try that again."
At least they were a little closer to the portal now, though Gabriel would rather they avoided more of a fight. He held his wings close to him, gingerly and half furled, not exactly obvious in their discomfort but obvious enough if Skul knew anything about wings.
no subject
He didn't try to call out to Skul, didn't dare strain his voice in such a way, but his humanshape and wards were beginning to be a burden too. He dropped them both, aside from those which dulled the Faceless Ones' whispers.
The effect was almost as if a star had begun shining behind the stone, a white glow surrounding the cracks and seams. With a careful sweep of his wings, aimed more for leverage than pure force so as to save the aching limbs, Gabriel brushed off the rubble and rose in the billow of dust. He ought to have been dirty, but he wasn't. His clothes were blindingly white. His copper skin shone, and his wings were shot through with opalescent rainbows; his brown eyes glowed near-gold; his hair was so dark that it seemed to absorb the light around it and throw it back in a halo around his head.
Lucifer's brightness put the beauty around him to shame. Gabriel's presence drew it out, making every rock, every pebble light with their deepest hues brought to the surface. The dust glittered like golden motes in the air and the ground itself looked as carpet. Even Skul's bones became polished, almost pearlescent; his hat and his suit, rather than seeming the ragged remnants they were, looked like clean-washed velvet, colours deep and healthy. The pure scent of the desert stone permeated the area, deep and earthen and warm.
"I'm alright," the Archangel whispered, but rather shakily; even still his voice resonated faintly in a way it didn't quite when he wore his human cloak. It wasn't often he got taken by surprise while in flight. He looked skyward, toward where the Faceless Ones circled far overhead, quickly lowering. "But I don't think I should try that again."
At least they were a little closer to the portal now, though Gabriel would rather they avoided more of a fight. He held his wings close to him, gingerly and half furled, not exactly obvious in their discomfort but obvious enough if Skul knew anything about wings.