Corrival Deuce wasn't precisely atheist. He was more agnostic. He hadn't really believed in the Faceless Ones but hadn't been entirely surprised by their existence either. It was just that he'd never seen any evidence of any of it, and therefore saw no point in philosophising even as far as saying God, or gods, couldn't exist. He had better things to do with his time than espouse a belief either yay or nay.
So he'd been sceptical of Ghastly's claim in God, because logic said insanity-via-Faceless-Ones was far more likely, but in the end simply decided it wasn't worth thinking about in the face of life.
His whole philosophy had just been turned upside-down.
Corrival wasn't used to being in a state of mind in which he could do nothing. He was a general. He could always find action. Except right now, when he stood dumbly, stopped short of following Anton himself, and stared at Gabriel. At the way the Archangel's light slowly illuminated the skeleton beside him, the room around him, the scarred tailor opposite. At the way the Archangel composed himself, the way he spoke, the gentle graciousness.
Something in Corrival trembled. Something broken, something snapped. Maybe it was insanity, part of him thought dazedly. An insanity of awareness.
Gabriel was what Ghastly said he was.
Which meant Ghastly wasn't exaggerating about his meeting with God.
Which meant God existed.
Corrival turned that thought over and over in his head, slotted it into the way he'd viewed the world, and decided that in some ways it wasn't actually all that opposite to how he'd viewed things. Especially not with how Gabriel had described him--Him?--to Shudder. There were some things that didn't quite match, but Hell, Corrival was only human. He could cope with not understanding some things about how the world worked.
Actually, it was Gabriel himself which held Corrival stunned for the moment. Not exactly because of his appearance, although there was that. Not exactly because of Anton's accusation, although there was a part of Corrival which matched it up to the things he'd seen, his own suspicions, and found it suitable.
It wasn't a stun, exactly. At least, not after the first few minutes. By the time the apology came Corrival was in quiet contemplation. A dazed sort of contemplation, but contemplation nonetheless.
Gabriel had rescued Skulduggery from the Faceless Ones. Very well.
Gabriel was an Archangel. An angel. A being precisely opposite to the Faceless Ones in morality.
A being of the same power? Maybe. Maybe not. Hard to tell. Archangels were meant to be the cream of the crop, after all.
But if Gabriel was a being precisely opposite to the Faceless Ones in morality, then ...
Then did that mean the Faceless Ones had another name?
And if they did, how come they were here in this universe, when there weren't any angels? If there were, wouldn't Ghastly or Skulduggery have mentioned Gabriel attracting their attention?
Did that mean the Faceless Ones had won a war against angels?
And if so, what did it mean that God was apparently still gallivanting around?
Too many questions, but one basic premise. One very basic premise to which Skulduggery had just given him a prime opening. Because Gabriel had flinched when Skulduggery spoke of the Faceless Ones. Of killing one.
Gabriel bit his lip, looking down at his hands, turning over in his lap. "You do," he said softly. "Especially you. But I--I'd rather if I didn't have to answer for now."
"Then answer me," Corrival said abruptly. Part of him was wincing at his own tone, because a smart man didn't antagonise beings that were worlds more powerful than he was. The rest of him was too driven, too shocked, too everything. He leaned back against the wall, his gaze still on Gabriel, and folded his arms, hiding the tremble of his fingers.
"I find it strange that we've got beings of complete and total evil in this universe, and nothing else. I always have. Generally speaking things like that tend to have a balance. Something opposite. So where's what was opposite to the Faceless Ones? It wasn't the Ancients. The Ancients were their servants. Unless, of course, their opposite had been driven out. Or destroyed. Or--" The next possibility came to him in a blinding flash. "--Or maybe the Faceless Ones didn't come from here at all. Maybe, since they can travel between universes, they came from somewhere else. Somewhere they did have an opposite."
Stillness was no good. He had to move. He needed action. The adrenaline demanded nothing less. Corrival pushed himself back off the wall, moving closer with long, measured strides. Gabriel's eyes had closed. "You know what else I've heard can do that? Angels, apparently. Angels which, if I'm not mistaken, are the polar opposite to everything the Faceless Ones are. Divine, to their demonic. Pure, to their taint. Grace, to their insanity."
He stopped in front of the Archangel, and every nerve in his body was alight with realisation, with the utter and certain awareness that he was right. "That's what the Faceless Ones are, aren't they? They're not demi-gods. They're fallen angels."
For a very long moment there was silence. Then Gabriel whispered down into his white-knuckled hands, "Corrival Deuce, you are frustratingly insightful and although it may be uncharitable of me, at this moment in time I wish you weren't."
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So he'd been sceptical of Ghastly's claim in God, because logic said insanity-via-Faceless-Ones was far more likely, but in the end simply decided it wasn't worth thinking about in the face of life.
His whole philosophy had just been turned upside-down.
Corrival wasn't used to being in a state of mind in which he could do nothing. He was a general. He could always find action. Except right now, when he stood dumbly, stopped short of following Anton himself, and stared at Gabriel. At the way the Archangel's light slowly illuminated the skeleton beside him, the room around him, the scarred tailor opposite. At the way the Archangel composed himself, the way he spoke, the gentle graciousness.
Something in Corrival trembled. Something broken, something snapped. Maybe it was insanity, part of him thought dazedly. An insanity of awareness.
Gabriel was what Ghastly said he was.
Which meant Ghastly wasn't exaggerating about his meeting with God.
Which meant God existed.
Corrival turned that thought over and over in his head, slotted it into the way he'd viewed the world, and decided that in some ways it wasn't actually all that opposite to how he'd viewed things. Especially not with how Gabriel had described him--Him?--to Shudder. There were some things that didn't quite match, but Hell, Corrival was only human. He could cope with not understanding some things about how the world worked.
Actually, it was Gabriel himself which held Corrival stunned for the moment. Not exactly because of his appearance, although there was that. Not exactly because of Anton's accusation, although there was a part of Corrival which matched it up to the things he'd seen, his own suspicions, and found it suitable.
It wasn't a stun, exactly. At least, not after the first few minutes. By the time the apology came Corrival was in quiet contemplation. A dazed sort of contemplation, but contemplation nonetheless.
Gabriel had rescued Skulduggery from the Faceless Ones. Very well.
Gabriel was an Archangel. An angel. A being precisely opposite to the Faceless Ones in morality.
A being of the same power? Maybe. Maybe not. Hard to tell. Archangels were meant to be the cream of the crop, after all.
But if Gabriel was a being precisely opposite to the Faceless Ones in morality, then ...
Then did that mean the Faceless Ones had another name?
And if they did, how come they were here in this universe, when there weren't any angels? If there were, wouldn't Ghastly or Skulduggery have mentioned Gabriel attracting their attention?
Did that mean the Faceless Ones had won a war against angels?
And if so, what did it mean that God was apparently still gallivanting around?
Too many questions, but one basic premise. One very basic premise to which Skulduggery had just given him a prime opening. Because Gabriel had flinched when Skulduggery spoke of the Faceless Ones. Of killing one.
Gabriel bit his lip, looking down at his hands, turning over in his lap. "You do," he said softly. "Especially you. But I--I'd rather if I didn't have to answer for now."
"Then answer me," Corrival said abruptly. Part of him was wincing at his own tone, because a smart man didn't antagonise beings that were worlds more powerful than he was. The rest of him was too driven, too shocked, too everything. He leaned back against the wall, his gaze still on Gabriel, and folded his arms, hiding the tremble of his fingers.
"I find it strange that we've got beings of complete and total evil in this universe, and nothing else. I always have. Generally speaking things like that tend to have a balance. Something opposite. So where's what was opposite to the Faceless Ones? It wasn't the Ancients. The Ancients were their servants. Unless, of course, their opposite had been driven out. Or destroyed. Or--" The next possibility came to him in a blinding flash. "--Or maybe the Faceless Ones didn't come from here at all. Maybe, since they can travel between universes, they came from somewhere else. Somewhere they did have an opposite."
Stillness was no good. He had to move. He needed action. The adrenaline demanded nothing less. Corrival pushed himself back off the wall, moving closer with long, measured strides. Gabriel's eyes had closed. "You know what else I've heard can do that? Angels, apparently. Angels which, if I'm not mistaken, are the polar opposite to everything the Faceless Ones are. Divine, to their demonic. Pure, to their taint. Grace, to their insanity."
He stopped in front of the Archangel, and every nerve in his body was alight with realisation, with the utter and certain awareness that he was right. "That's what the Faceless Ones are, aren't they? They're not demi-gods. They're fallen angels."
For a very long moment there was silence. Then Gabriel whispered down into his white-knuckled hands, "Corrival Deuce, you are frustratingly insightful and although it may be uncharitable of me, at this moment in time I wish you weren't."