Skulduggery was on the move. That made things harder, especially since Gabriel was currently confined to a two-inch-long insect, and particularly as the sudden speed indicated the detective had something to run from.
The hollow, crumbling boom of buildings collapsing didn't help either. Hard enough to track a moving target using dragonfly wings as a musical medium; worse to try and do so while being buffeted by the throbbing, methodical bass of destruction. More than once Gabriel lost any sense of the thread, his wings buzzing furiously as he shot aimlessly through the streets, past Faceless Ones and through clouds of dust, until he picked it up again.
Then Skulduggery stopped moving, the threads leading to his soul vibrating with the stillness, and some part of Gabriel clenched. If Skul wasn't running, did that mean he'd been caught?
Frantically the Archangel zoomed in the direction of the quickly-strengthening thrum of Skulduggery's soul, a dragonfly on a mission, angelic senses extended to divine the best route. He shot through gaps in the stone, beneath falling debris, over a wall and there, finally, the cords veritably shook with the detective's closeness.
The Archangel had hardly made sure there weren't any Faceless Ones in the immediate vicinity before he shunted off the cloak of his dragonfly-shape. He didn't quite kneel so much as sink beside Skulduggery, reaching out to seize the skeleton's arm, too anxious to even be worried over the fact that the man, well, wasn't a man anymore. This was Skulduggery; that was all Gabriel needed to know.
"Are you well?" he demanded, his voice raspy and breaking slightly in his urgency. "Have they hurt you?"
Gabriel checked himself almost at once at the silly question. Skul was missing an arm; of course they'd hurt him. But why had he stopped running? There weren't any of the Faceless Ones here in the alley, but they were certainly close by. The wash of their whispers said that.
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The hollow, crumbling boom of buildings collapsing didn't help either. Hard enough to track a moving target using dragonfly wings as a musical medium; worse to try and do so while being buffeted by the throbbing, methodical bass of destruction. More than once Gabriel lost any sense of the thread, his wings buzzing furiously as he shot aimlessly through the streets, past Faceless Ones and through clouds of dust, until he picked it up again.
Then Skulduggery stopped moving, the threads leading to his soul vibrating with the stillness, and some part of Gabriel clenched. If Skul wasn't running, did that mean he'd been caught?
Frantically the Archangel zoomed in the direction of the quickly-strengthening thrum of Skulduggery's soul, a dragonfly on a mission, angelic senses extended to divine the best route. He shot through gaps in the stone, beneath falling debris, over a wall and there, finally, the cords veritably shook with the detective's closeness.
The Archangel had hardly made sure there weren't any Faceless Ones in the immediate vicinity before he shunted off the cloak of his dragonfly-shape. He didn't quite kneel so much as sink beside Skulduggery, reaching out to seize the skeleton's arm, too anxious to even be worried over the fact that the man, well, wasn't a man anymore. This was Skulduggery; that was all Gabriel needed to know.
"Are you well?" he demanded, his voice raspy and breaking slightly in his urgency. "Have they hurt you?"
Gabriel checked himself almost at once at the silly question. Skul was missing an arm; of course they'd hurt him. But why had he stopped running? There weren't any of the Faceless Ones here in the alley, but they were certainly close by. The wash of their whispers said that.