Gabriel had had absolutely no idea what to expect after leaving his universe, at least not given the fashion he was leaving it on this occasion. He hadn't really stopped to consider it, because if he did he would surely second-guess himself, and in any case he needed his full concentration on what he was attempting to do. He'd never done anything like this before. He'd never imagined doing anything like this before. His magic needed time to build to a sufficient crescendo, and then he needed to dart through the opening without letting it falter.
The Archangel had heard people use phrases like 'falling into an ocean' before, all with implications of being set adrift. He hadn't quite understood them until now. The resonances of his own universe were known, loved, understandable. This … this was a cacophony. The noise—for lack of a better word—was beyond incredible; it was excruciating. There was no physical sensation, no sight or smell or taste or touch, no concept of time, nothing except that sound.
Gabriel almost gasped, and it could have been the last of him. As it was his song faltered and the notes around him, through him, wavered discordantly; then he picked it up again. His voice steadied. Part of the Archangel wanted to turn back, find where he’d come—but he couldn’t. For a moment he resisted, but his song and the ones around him clashed, and with that blinding flash of realisation he relaxed and segued into it instead.
Almost immediately the cacophony seemed to lessen, but not enough. It was all too loud, too distracting; the noise beat at him like almost a physical thing. Gabriel dropped his human shape and angled his wings; he resonated his music off them, let it rebound and form a shield around him. The music flowed around him like water around a stone, and finally the Archangel felt able to divine the individual melodies.
He was searching for only one.
Just one. The song belonging to a knotted rosary, the one he’d given to Skulduggery and seen the man have just as they were all parted. It wasn’t just a single note; even simple objects had a more complicated, unique rhythm than most would believe. It was a rosary, its basic tune. It was a knotted and beaded rosary, with a beaded cross and no medallion. A rosary made by hand and given for luck, offered with love between prisoners in a place where hope was lacking; a gift from an Archangel to an undead man, both turned human.
All this Gabriel wove into his song, a constant thread, a guide beneath the higher and clearer melodies which protected him from the buffeting. Frequently it caught on a tune which was similar in some respect, but then the differences would jar them apart again almost at once.
If time passed, he couldn’t tell. He walked, and sang, and something in him strained. He’d known pain as a human, but this was different—he was an angel again. It wasn’t a sensation in any single limb; it felt more like an ache from deep within him, as if he was being twisted. The Archangel wasn’t sure how long he could continue, and yet didn’t dare entertain the thought lest he lose the all-important threads of his music.
A resonance caught, held, strengthened. Gabriel followed it, such as he could; he wove his song with it until that melody became the backbone of his music instead of just a thread. The shield around him which parted the cacophony thinned. The resonance pitched louder, drowning out everything but that particular song.
Quite suddenly, Gabriel stepped forward and his foot hit stone. His wings swept forward instinctively to catch him; he winced at the thrum of a single universe abruptly discernable. He let those last protective strains wind up to a close which left the fabric of this universe supple and curtained as it should have been.
And then he sat down right there where he was, not gasping because he didn’t need to breathe, but aching. He felt as bit as if he’d been taken apart and put back together again … as if his form had been shaped and bludgeoned. As if he’d been stuck as something unnatural and been forced out of it again, not unkindly but ungently because of how twisted he had become. Gabriel shuddered, his wings rustling with the discomfort of that memory. This sort of pain wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to feel again.
Finally the Archangel rose again, curling his wings around him and weaving his human form back into existence with a whisper. His voice was hoarse—hoarse. His. The way it caught in his throat was as unsettling as the aching throb deep inside him. But there was no time to wait, no time to stop for any longer than he already had. He had to find Skulduggery. Gabriel turned and was stopped short almost at once by the sight before him.
“Oh,” he murmured with awe at the sculpted shapes of the city, the red and the gold of the landscape. He felt the heat beat down on him but was unaffected by it; in fact tilted his face up to feel it. For a hell, it was pretty.
At least, pretty if you weren’t at risk of heatstroke.
Gabriel shook himself, mentally and physically, and hummed experimentally. His voice cracked in a way that made him flinch, but it was enough for him to draw up the faint resonance of the rosary somewhere down there in the city.
His wards took a bit longer; he couldn’t afford to mess them up, given what Skul had implied were here. He was an Archangel, above all his brothers and sisters save three, but that didn’t mean some of his younger siblings couldn’t take him in a fight if he wasn’t careful. Best to assume the same was true of the demons here.
Then he was ready—or at least as ready as he could be. Gabriel shifted out of phase and hummed again, and this time didn’t stop; then the Archangel followed that resonance with a single step, from the cliff to the city below.
no subject
The Archangel had heard people use phrases like 'falling into an ocean' before, all with implications of being set adrift. He hadn't quite understood them until now. The resonances of his own universe were known, loved, understandable. This … this was a cacophony. The noise—for lack of a better word—was beyond incredible; it was excruciating. There was no physical sensation, no sight or smell or taste or touch, no concept of time, nothing except that sound.
Gabriel almost gasped, and it could have been the last of him. As it was his song faltered and the notes around him, through him, wavered discordantly; then he picked it up again. His voice steadied. Part of the Archangel wanted to turn back, find where he’d come—but he couldn’t. For a moment he resisted, but his song and the ones around him clashed, and with that blinding flash of realisation he relaxed and segued into it instead.
Almost immediately the cacophony seemed to lessen, but not enough. It was all too loud, too distracting; the noise beat at him like almost a physical thing. Gabriel dropped his human shape and angled his wings; he resonated his music off them, let it rebound and form a shield around him. The music flowed around him like water around a stone, and finally the Archangel felt able to divine the individual melodies.
He was searching for only one.
Just one. The song belonging to a knotted rosary, the one he’d given to Skulduggery and seen the man have just as they were all parted. It wasn’t just a single note; even simple objects had a more complicated, unique rhythm than most would believe. It was a rosary, its basic tune. It was a knotted and beaded rosary, with a beaded cross and no medallion. A rosary made by hand and given for luck, offered with love between prisoners in a place where hope was lacking; a gift from an Archangel to an undead man, both turned human.
All this Gabriel wove into his song, a constant thread, a guide beneath the higher and clearer melodies which protected him from the buffeting. Frequently it caught on a tune which was similar in some respect, but then the differences would jar them apart again almost at once.
If time passed, he couldn’t tell. He walked, and sang, and something in him strained. He’d known pain as a human, but this was different—he was an angel again. It wasn’t a sensation in any single limb; it felt more like an ache from deep within him, as if he was being twisted. The Archangel wasn’t sure how long he could continue, and yet didn’t dare entertain the thought lest he lose the all-important threads of his music.
A resonance caught, held, strengthened. Gabriel followed it, such as he could; he wove his song with it until that melody became the backbone of his music instead of just a thread. The shield around him which parted the cacophony thinned. The resonance pitched louder, drowning out everything but that particular song.
Quite suddenly, Gabriel stepped forward and his foot hit stone. His wings swept forward instinctively to catch him; he winced at the thrum of a single universe abruptly discernable. He let those last protective strains wind up to a close which left the fabric of this universe supple and curtained as it should have been.
And then he sat down right there where he was, not gasping because he didn’t need to breathe, but aching. He felt as bit as if he’d been taken apart and put back together again … as if his form had been shaped and bludgeoned. As if he’d been stuck as something unnatural and been forced out of it again, not unkindly but ungently because of how twisted he had become. Gabriel shuddered, his wings rustling with the discomfort of that memory. This sort of pain wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to feel again.
Finally the Archangel rose again, curling his wings around him and weaving his human form back into existence with a whisper. His voice was hoarse—hoarse. His. The way it caught in his throat was as unsettling as the aching throb deep inside him. But there was no time to wait, no time to stop for any longer than he already had. He had to find Skulduggery. Gabriel turned and was stopped short almost at once by the sight before him.
“Oh,” he murmured with awe at the sculpted shapes of the city, the red and the gold of the landscape. He felt the heat beat down on him but was unaffected by it; in fact tilted his face up to feel it. For a hell, it was pretty.
At least, pretty if you weren’t at risk of heatstroke.
Gabriel shook himself, mentally and physically, and hummed experimentally. His voice cracked in a way that made him flinch, but it was enough for him to draw up the faint resonance of the rosary somewhere down there in the city.
His wards took a bit longer; he couldn’t afford to mess them up, given what Skul had implied were here. He was an Archangel, above all his brothers and sisters save three, but that didn’t mean some of his younger siblings couldn’t take him in a fight if he wasn’t careful. Best to assume the same was true of the demons here.
Then he was ready—or at least as ready as he could be. Gabriel shifted out of phase and hummed again, and this time didn’t stop; then the Archangel followed that resonance with a single step, from the cliff to the city below.