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mekachu04the once ever present beat of time's sand tricking by is quiet, leaving only the inconsequential hammering of his own corporeal heart to fill the silence. he's on edge, waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop - what has saved him from the wrath of heaven now hunting him in the drag between seconds.
a pause in time this great would have let him empty and drained by now - it would have consumed his own essence to maintain a (hold this long) yet what ever is here seems unrushed and content to only watch him. stalk him.
the baser part of him - the part so unconcerned with the plight and well being of others that caused him to ask callous questions, so hatefully sow discord and distress in his fellow angels that he knew in his heart absolute why he'd been shunned from their ranks - tell shim to press this advantage; to flee while its grasp was still strong and get as far away from heavens great hall in the between-time, to distance himself from the smiting that would no doubt be organized against him as soon as time regained it footing.
the other part of him - the part that once asked a specific angel such cruel questions, only to feel a rush of shame and awe when they blurted out the truth in a rush to someone they knew would hold it against them, to feel a sense of protectiveness toward an enemy so terrified of their choice to help they sought solace in the first being to approach them, never you mind if that was a demon - knew that they could never turn away alone now; they marched on heaven for a reason, and the only acceptable failure in that goal was annihilation. regardless of the outcome, they would never be able to pull this trick a second time. there was no live to fight another day this time.
this wasn't a go big or go home moment. this was a save Aziraphale, because there was no home without him.
He returns back to Micheal. he's already proven this is worth fighting for. he's not going to run away, even form the eyes in the dark. or rather. the eyes in the light.
thousands of them, staring at him around every pillar...
he stops, regarding the pillar closest to him very carefully.
it's not /like/ the pillar is staring at him, the pillar /is/ staring at him. they all are. as far as his senses stretched, they are watching him.
he stalks around the nearest one, and there is a ripple in space, the eyes are not following him so much as new opens opening to watch him, ones that cant see him closing back into the ether.
either the pillar is not a pillar at all, or there is something /inside/ the pillar, looking out though the spaces between atoms back at him.
Something here has manipulated time, but it's more than that, there is a manipulation of space going on too. he can feel it now, hands pressed against stone as his senses press against...
a prison cell. there is an angel inside this pillar - frozen and trapped - staring back at him.
It feels like an (angel class meant to be at god's side), but Crowley's not sure - he's not even sure he's met any even before the Fall.. and.
And.
and he's never even heard of one that Fell.
Before the archangels colluded with Beelzebub for Hellfire - what *did* Heaven do with decedenters? Aziraphale surely couldn't have been the only one to get tripped up in six thousand years, yet there had not been a single new Fallen Angel since the first batch...
with a dawning new horror, Crowley refused to glance around again, at the hall of never ending light. How many.....
Concern about lurking predictors pushed completely from his mind, Crowley pressed his own infernal power into the energy holding the pillar together. He pushed until the facade of stone failed, and he came face to faze with an angel, twisted and contorted, incomprehensible ethereal form trapped and frozen in place.
only the eyes could move, opening and watching him, likely as they'd been doing with everyone to pass though this hall since they'd been (incarcerated). He turned to another pillar, pressing into it, the facade crumbling easier now that he knew how. anther (type of angel).
and again - and other (type).
and again - this time a field angel.
fear, and rage, and disgust, and outrage building, Crowley let loose an out power of power, rippling put across dozens of pillars, all falling away to reveal the same.
hundreds of angels, trapped, looked back at him.
thousands more watched, still unseen.
the fact the eyes rippled in and out of existence as he moved meant that the time lock effecting the unbound angels was completely different that whatever held them (unmoving)
a pause in time this great would have let him empty and drained by now - it would have consumed his own essence to maintain a (hold this long) yet what ever is here seems unrushed and content to only watch him. stalk him.
the baser part of him - the part so unconcerned with the plight and well being of others that caused him to ask callous questions, so hatefully sow discord and distress in his fellow angels that he knew in his heart absolute why he'd been shunned from their ranks - tell shim to press this advantage; to flee while its grasp was still strong and get as far away from heavens great hall in the between-time, to distance himself from the smiting that would no doubt be organized against him as soon as time regained it footing.
the other part of him - the part that once asked a specific angel such cruel questions, only to feel a rush of shame and awe when they blurted out the truth in a rush to someone they knew would hold it against them, to feel a sense of protectiveness toward an enemy so terrified of their choice to help they sought solace in the first being to approach them, never you mind if that was a demon - knew that they could never turn away alone now; they marched on heaven for a reason, and the only acceptable failure in that goal was annihilation. regardless of the outcome, they would never be able to pull this trick a second time. there was no live to fight another day this time.
this wasn't a go big or go home moment. this was a save Aziraphale, because there was no home without him.
He returns back to Micheal. he's already proven this is worth fighting for. he's not going to run away, even form the eyes in the dark. or rather. the eyes in the light.
thousands of them, staring at him around every pillar...
he stops, regarding the pillar closest to him very carefully.
it's not /like/ the pillar is staring at him, the pillar /is/ staring at him. they all are. as far as his senses stretched, they are watching him.
he stalks around the nearest one, and there is a ripple in space, the eyes are not following him so much as new opens opening to watch him, ones that cant see him closing back into the ether.
either the pillar is not a pillar at all, or there is something /inside/ the pillar, looking out though the spaces between atoms back at him.
Something here has manipulated time, but it's more than that, there is a manipulation of space going on too. he can feel it now, hands pressed against stone as his senses press against...
a prison cell. there is an angel inside this pillar - frozen and trapped - staring back at him.
It feels like an (angel class meant to be at god's side), but Crowley's not sure - he's not even sure he's met any even before the Fall.. and.
And.
and he's never even heard of one that Fell.
Before the archangels colluded with Beelzebub for Hellfire - what *did* Heaven do with decedenters? Aziraphale surely couldn't have been the only one to get tripped up in six thousand years, yet there had not been a single new Fallen Angel since the first batch...
with a dawning new horror, Crowley refused to glance around again, at the hall of never ending light. How many.....
Concern about lurking predictors pushed completely from his mind, Crowley pressed his own infernal power into the energy holding the pillar together. He pushed until the facade of stone failed, and he came face to faze with an angel, twisted and contorted, incomprehensible ethereal form trapped and frozen in place.
only the eyes could move, opening and watching him, likely as they'd been doing with everyone to pass though this hall since they'd been (incarcerated). He turned to another pillar, pressing into it, the facade crumbling easier now that he knew how. anther (type of angel).
and again - and other (type).
and again - this time a field angel.
fear, and rage, and disgust, and outrage building, Crowley let loose an out power of power, rippling put across dozens of pillars, all falling away to reveal the same.
hundreds of angels, trapped, looked back at him.
thousands more watched, still unseen.
the fact the eyes rippled in and out of existence as he moved meant that the time lock effecting the unbound angels was completely different that whatever held them (unmoving)
