Skulduggery didn't have nearly as much power available for shadow-walking as he anticipated without the armour. He only managed to get a few metres closer to China, stepping out of the darkness with shadows already pointed, sharp, speeding towards her, intent on ripping through.
They didn't. They shattered instead against a sudden force so bright and blinding that Skulduggery had to take a quick and painful step backwards.
A painful step.
The moment the light slid over the darkness that hovered just over his bones, it was like hundreds of little knives sliced right into them. The brilliant and radiant glow of the divine clashed violently with the grimy and lurid darkness of Necromancy, and Skulduggery was caught unceremoniously in the middle. The pain and the rage washed together in a storm that gave his power one last surge for a desperate strike, which he instantly tried to take full advantage of - right before Gabriel's hand brushed against his suit and a brief flash of the same dream-like state from the other dimension flickered through his explosive consciousness.
The next thing Skulduggery became aware of was an altar crashed against his back with all the metaphysical speed of a freight train, and yet that wasn't painful. It was about the gentlest time anyone had ever slammed him against anything. The shock of the impact seemed to stun his thoughts, rather than his body, freezing everything the Necromancy was using for fuel and throwing it into sharp relief. Throwing Vile into sharp relief.
No. No, Skulduggery hadn't become Vile. But given a few more minutes, given even one murder, and he might well have.
No.
Gabriel was standing above him, and for a single moment, Skulduggery was sure this was it. Sure that the Archangel would make an exception to his usual policy - that Vile, he would smite. Skulduggery, the anger, the danger and the threat. Gabriel would get rid of it all.
But the moment extended, lengthened, and passed, and Gabriel didn't do anything. He just looked at Skulduggery; no judgment, no anger, not even the barest hint of disappointment.
It stung. It stung much, much more than a simple smiting would have. For another short second after that, Skulduggery found himself hating the Archangel for not being able to make the decision - and then, so quickly and smoothly that Skulduggery couldn't quite believe it at first, that hatred dissipated. It, along with all the bitten fury and anger, just... vanished. Vanished, and in its place, it left...
... nothing.
For the first time in Skulduggery's undead life, the ever-present and underlying anger borne from overwhelming grief was no longer there.
Gabriel's voice echoed soothingly throughout an empty chamber, and it was so... peaceful. Comforting. Gentle. The embodiment of the phrase 'lighter than air.' Skulduggery felt nothing, and the strength - the control - it built back up so naturally that it was practically dizzying.
Gabriel's enveloping presence was so absolute that even when the anger keeping Skulduggery in existence began to trickle back in, the flow was slow, and it remained perfectly under his intact control once again. Slowly, surely, Skulduggery felt his mind return to its normal, familiar state, carefully balanced and freeing higher processes up for the objective thinking Skulduggery was so good at.
It was also the first time in centuries that the return to clear thinking and reason was, to Skulduggery, the most unwelcome thing in the world - and not just because of the few moments of sheer bliss he would have been happy to experience for eternity.
He didn't want to sit up. He didn't want to see the others' reactions. He didn't want to face Gabriel, knowing now that the Archangel would be instantly forgiving, and Skulduggery didn't know which would be worse - getting what he deserved for what just happened, for what he did during the war, for what he did to Ghastly; or getting forgiven for it.
no subject
They didn't. They shattered instead against a sudden force so bright and blinding that Skulduggery had to take a quick and painful step backwards.
A painful step.
The moment the light slid over the darkness that hovered just over his bones, it was like hundreds of little knives sliced right into them. The brilliant and radiant glow of the divine clashed violently with the grimy and lurid darkness of Necromancy, and Skulduggery was caught unceremoniously in the middle. The pain and the rage washed together in a storm that gave his power one last surge for a desperate strike, which he instantly tried to take full advantage of - right before Gabriel's hand brushed against his suit and a brief flash of the same dream-like state from the other dimension flickered through his explosive consciousness.
The next thing Skulduggery became aware of was an altar crashed against his back with all the metaphysical speed of a freight train, and yet that wasn't painful. It was about the gentlest time anyone had ever slammed him against anything. The shock of the impact seemed to stun his thoughts, rather than his body, freezing everything the Necromancy was using for fuel and throwing it into sharp relief. Throwing Vile into sharp relief.
No. No, Skulduggery hadn't become Vile. But given a few more minutes, given even one murder, and he might well have.
No.
Gabriel was standing above him, and for a single moment, Skulduggery was sure this was it. Sure that the Archangel would make an exception to his usual policy - that Vile, he would smite. Skulduggery, the anger, the danger and the threat. Gabriel would get rid of it all.
But the moment extended, lengthened, and passed, and Gabriel didn't do anything. He just looked at Skulduggery; no judgment, no anger, not even the barest hint of disappointment.
It stung. It stung much, much more than a simple smiting would have. For another short second after that, Skulduggery found himself hating the Archangel for not being able to make the decision - and then, so quickly and smoothly that Skulduggery couldn't quite believe it at first, that hatred dissipated. It, along with all the bitten fury and anger, just... vanished. Vanished, and in its place, it left...
... nothing.
For the first time in Skulduggery's undead life, the ever-present and underlying anger borne from overwhelming grief was no longer there.
Gabriel's voice echoed soothingly throughout an empty chamber, and it was so... peaceful. Comforting. Gentle. The embodiment of the phrase 'lighter than air.' Skulduggery felt nothing, and the strength - the control - it built back up so naturally that it was practically dizzying.
Gabriel's enveloping presence was so absolute that even when the anger keeping Skulduggery in existence began to trickle back in, the flow was slow, and it remained perfectly under his intact control once again. Slowly, surely, Skulduggery felt his mind return to its normal, familiar state, carefully balanced and freeing higher processes up for the objective thinking Skulduggery was so good at.
It was also the first time in centuries that the return to clear thinking and reason was, to Skulduggery, the most unwelcome thing in the world - and not just because of the few moments of sheer bliss he would have been happy to experience for eternity.
He didn't want to sit up. He didn't want to see the others' reactions. He didn't want to face Gabriel, knowing now that the Archangel would be instantly forgiving, and Skulduggery didn't know which would be worse - getting what he deserved for what just happened, for what he did during the war, for what he did to Ghastly; or getting forgiven for it.
He had to start somewhere.
'I'm sorry.'