The darkness rolled back at him, and Gabriel knew in the split-second before it did that his plea wasn't going to be enough. Now it was Skulduggery who was too far gone, Skulduggery who needed to be pushed, to be illuminated--to be stopped before he destroyed himself entirely.
There was no thought. The shadows gathered, drew up, but Gabriel was already moving. He wasn't a blur, because he moved too fast to be one. In that microscopic second as Skulduggery's shadows lifted and enveloped him, the Archangel had vanished.
He reappeared in front of Skulduggery in full glory, his light so abrupt that it was almost searing in contrast to the necromancy's darkness. The shadows dissolved under its force, the pseudo-armor not vanishing but blown back as if so much smoke. The Archangel's wings were spread, filling the whole room, cocked high like a hunting eagle's and washing rainbow light everywhere even with the unhealed gouges at their backs.
Gabriel didn't slam into Skulduggery. Didn't use much force at all. In fact, there seemed to be a moment in which he was suspended, when he reached out and touched Skulduggery's chest with infinite gentleness.
Then they moved in a sweep of those wings and abruptly Skulduggery was slammed back against the altar, making it splinter under their weight. Gabriel stood over Skulduggery, glorious and tragically gentle, his cheeks wet with tears but golden eyes endlessly patient and gaze locked with the detective's. The contrast of his presence against the necromancy threw a nimbus around Skulduggery, two wisping shadows slanting out against the wall. One, black armour dark and flanked with necromantic streamers, its slitted visor completely obscuring the wearer. The other a man, his face wracked with such grief and rage that it cut straight to the heart.
Skulduggery's soul pulsed under Gabriel's touch, and the Archangel did nothing.
He could have released the detective's soul into the after.
He could have banished the fury which kept him anchored and replaced it with something else.
He could have spoken Skulduggery's true-name and ensured Vile would never again be a threat.
Instead the Archangel made his presence known without forcing it on Skulduggery, taking in the detective's rage and anguish. He absorbed it on top of his own pain as if it wasn't a burden at all, and released it to his Lord with a silent plea of benediction. And he whispered, gentle and enveloping, unmistakably there and unmoving, a shield and a blanket in one.
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There was no thought. The shadows gathered, drew up, but Gabriel was already moving. He wasn't a blur, because he moved too fast to be one. In that microscopic second as Skulduggery's shadows lifted and enveloped him, the Archangel had vanished.
He reappeared in front of Skulduggery in full glory, his light so abrupt that it was almost searing in contrast to the necromancy's darkness. The shadows dissolved under its force, the pseudo-armor not vanishing but blown back as if so much smoke. The Archangel's wings were spread, filling the whole room, cocked high like a hunting eagle's and washing rainbow light everywhere even with the unhealed gouges at their backs.
Gabriel didn't slam into Skulduggery. Didn't use much force at all. In fact, there seemed to be a moment in which he was suspended, when he reached out and touched Skulduggery's chest with infinite gentleness.
Then they moved in a sweep of those wings and abruptly Skulduggery was slammed back against the altar, making it splinter under their weight. Gabriel stood over Skulduggery, glorious and tragically gentle, his cheeks wet with tears but golden eyes endlessly patient and gaze locked with the detective's. The contrast of his presence against the necromancy threw a nimbus around Skulduggery, two wisping shadows slanting out against the wall. One, black armour dark and flanked with necromantic streamers, its slitted visor completely obscuring the wearer. The other a man, his face wracked with such grief and rage that it cut straight to the heart.
Skulduggery's soul pulsed under Gabriel's touch, and the Archangel did nothing.
He could have released the detective's soul into the after.
He could have banished the fury which kept him anchored and replaced it with something else.
He could have spoken Skulduggery's true-name and ensured Vile would never again be a threat.
Instead the Archangel made his presence known without forcing it on Skulduggery, taking in the detective's rage and anguish. He absorbed it on top of his own pain as if it wasn't a burden at all, and released it to his Lord with a silent plea of benediction. And he whispered, gentle and enveloping, unmistakably there and unmoving, a shield and a blanket in one.
'Let him go, Skul. Let him go.'