They didn't need to push him into the cell. Without letting his gaze catch on any one of them, Gabriel waited patiently for them to open the door and then stepped inside himself. He paused there for a moment, just inside the entrance, as they slammed it shut behind him and had no reaction to the abrupt sound and billow of air.
The Remnant leaned on the table before him, not studying him so much as in anticipation. There was a gleam in his eyes, a broadening grin on his face.
"Saint Gabriel," he breathed, in almost the exact same tone Lucifer had when he'd requested the stakes for his last wager with God: as close to eroticism as a still-metaphysical angel could get. Gabriel looked at the Remnant flatly.
Through and beneath his human facade, he was prickling--not with fear, but with the wash of evil and twistedness of the Scream. Inside a stone room such as this, the Remnant's soul built upon itself, much like Sanguine's soul had while underground and cocooned within his own magic.
"Let's get this over with," Gabe said tersely.
The Remnant nodded. "Yes, I quite agree."
It wasn't with stoicism that Gabriel watched Kenspeckle's veins bulge, as the professor's lips turned black while the Remnant clawed its way out of him. Gabe had never been able to manage stoicism. But he didn't move, either; he just observed quietly, gnawing lightly on his lip and wincing at backlash of the Remnant's soul against the professor's before, finally, Kenspeckle was free. Unconscious, but free, and he collapsed to the stone ground in a way that made Gabe wince again. If only he could move any quicker than a slow walk ...
The part of the Remnant that was physical bounded around the room. Its soul filled it, like a mist or a smog, and Gabriel closed his human eyes to take a deep, slowly and controlling breath. Smog or not, it still left a trail in its wake, its soul turning with its intent. It had no body to give it limit, and with a lack of physical memory to call its own to imprint upon the soul, it was ... wilder. As if its edges were dissolved, like Myron Stray's. It meant that there was no buffer between it and Gabe save what the Archangel manufactured himself, and that meant, this close, there was very little in it that Gabriel couldn't divine.
It shot toward him and bounced past his shoulder. A tease. A play. Gabriel didn't flinch, but he released the breath slowly. Then he raised his hand, gathering to him the energy of the metaphysical and the matter of the mundane both. It wasn't anything so obvious as the ball he'd held under the mountain; this was but a spark. A spark, a bolt of flickering purple lightning which came out of nowhere--from within the walls, through the walls--and was guided to his hand as if it was a lightning-rod.
Straight through the Remnant zipping toward him. It tore through its physicality, broke it apart as if static had run through it, disrupting the cacophony that made it. With a vaguely startled aftershock in its soul, the Remnant imploded with a subsonic rumble. The room tremored. Blue and purple light framed the door. Tiny offshoots of the lightning pattered everywhere, darting across the table and walls and Kenspeckle himself. Wherever they touched that wasn't a piece of Remnant, it left a faintly purifying glow and the sensation of warmth and comfort.
The lightning washed the smog of the Remnant's soul away so it wasn't much more than a bad smell in the air. In a room like this, it would linger--but it would be useless. Unobservable, except to someone like Gabe. Gone.
Gabe dropped his hand and made, with all the speed he could muster, for Kenspeckle.
no subject
The Remnant leaned on the table before him, not studying him so much as in anticipation. There was a gleam in his eyes, a broadening grin on his face.
"Saint Gabriel," he breathed, in almost the exact same tone Lucifer had when he'd requested the stakes for his last wager with God: as close to eroticism as a still-metaphysical angel could get. Gabriel looked at the Remnant flatly.
Through and beneath his human facade, he was prickling--not with fear, but with the wash of evil and twistedness of the Scream. Inside a stone room such as this, the Remnant's soul built upon itself, much like Sanguine's soul had while underground and cocooned within his own magic.
"Let's get this over with," Gabe said tersely.
The Remnant nodded. "Yes, I quite agree."
It wasn't with stoicism that Gabriel watched Kenspeckle's veins bulge, as the professor's lips turned black while the Remnant clawed its way out of him. Gabe had never been able to manage stoicism. But he didn't move, either; he just observed quietly, gnawing lightly on his lip and wincing at backlash of the Remnant's soul against the professor's before, finally, Kenspeckle was free. Unconscious, but free, and he collapsed to the stone ground in a way that made Gabe wince again. If only he could move any quicker than a slow walk ...
The part of the Remnant that was physical bounded around the room. Its soul filled it, like a mist or a smog, and Gabriel closed his human eyes to take a deep, slowly and controlling breath. Smog or not, it still left a trail in its wake, its soul turning with its intent. It had no body to give it limit, and with a lack of physical memory to call its own to imprint upon the soul, it was ... wilder. As if its edges were dissolved, like Myron Stray's. It meant that there was no buffer between it and Gabe save what the Archangel manufactured himself, and that meant, this close, there was very little in it that Gabriel couldn't divine.
It shot toward him and bounced past his shoulder. A tease. A play. Gabriel didn't flinch, but he released the breath slowly. Then he raised his hand, gathering to him the energy of the metaphysical and the matter of the mundane both. It wasn't anything so obvious as the ball he'd held under the mountain; this was but a spark. A spark, a bolt of flickering purple lightning which came out of nowhere--from within the walls, through the walls--and was guided to his hand as if it was a lightning-rod.
Straight through the Remnant zipping toward him. It tore through its physicality, broke it apart as if static had run through it, disrupting the cacophony that made it. With a vaguely startled aftershock in its soul, the Remnant imploded with a subsonic rumble. The room tremored. Blue and purple light framed the door. Tiny offshoots of the lightning pattered everywhere, darting across the table and walls and Kenspeckle himself. Wherever they touched that wasn't a piece of Remnant, it left a faintly purifying glow and the sensation of warmth and comfort.
The lightning washed the smog of the Remnant's soul away so it wasn't much more than a bad smell in the air. In a room like this, it would linger--but it would be useless. Unobservable, except to someone like Gabe. Gone.
Gabe dropped his hand and made, with all the speed he could muster, for Kenspeckle.