Multiple Settings 【Ｗｈｅｒｅ ｉｓ Ｇｏｄ？】【IC】

[e v i]

chapter I: congregation

where is God?

B

ruges, Belgium.
June 6, 1999, 2:29 AM
1 Week since God's Disappearance.

Churches or cathedrals in any part of the world of Michael's choosing were normally the destination of their meetings. It was to center them, perhaps, but energy of churches varied. The church chosen, St. Waltburga, remained simple as the day its bricks were laid. Rows of chairs all stood in single-file lines. In a few hours, they would be filled.

Tears, noses to knees, hands clasped, murmurings. Desire, guilt. Repentance. The oldest story since conception.

Some archangels chose to use them while others stood. Candlelight and shadows made love on the white walls of the church. It was shortly before the meeting began. The tension, one could sink their teeth into. Beings who were centuries old rarely had a need to speak or ponder around one another -- not that their roles ever afforded them these luxuries.

A depiction of Jesus Christ's Resurrection north of the altar watched its flock of soldiers. Cruel irony. To an archangel, a week only felt like a minute, yet the loss of their Father started to slow the clock.

sugar coded ♡

 

[e v i]

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  click here

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  a lot of screams for so little wool,
  said the man who sheared the pig
  - Lindqvist

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  almost blue

  
  
  

  chet baker

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Gabriel

  
  
  
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  "I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news."

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Clouds. The first time the archangel had been engulfed in clouds, he knew of one forbidden desire. If he had the aptness to die, he wished to become one. A lovely mass of mist and ice that surveyed the Earth and only occasionally touched it. The first thing he learned of humans over the years, especially the little ones, had been the belief God was in the clouds. Gabriel wished to tell them about their Father with the same zeal Michael had about him.
  
  The youngest archangel stood as a marionette, pulled upright and straight from the stern hand of Heaven. The meeting was to begin soon, and he was to listen. His wings curled tautly against his shoulder blades. Gabriel was not one to take up too much space. Not in mind or body. Earlier in the evening, he had diligently conducted his investigations in Antarctica. No one outright argued with his selection of continent. It was to keep his hands from wandering. God Himself found few interests in Antarctica, and Gabriel doubted their Father would be there. There was a lightness about him as he surveyed the vast tundra of land. He found even greater intrigue in the Arctic Ocean. How he sunk deeper and deeper until the light of the sun no longer reached him.
  
  The corner of his mouth twitched. A candle near him blew out. His shoulders tensed, and he trained his tired eyes forward at the painting in the church. They lingered on every detail of The Son's face.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  Bruges, Belgium

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  interactions

  
  

  n/a

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  mood

  
  

  pensive

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[monkeydoll555]

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  click here

  
  
  
  

  You said it was true love, but wouldn't that be hard? you can't love anyone cause that would mean you had a heart

  
  
  
  

  I tried to help you out, now I know that I can't, cause how you think's the kind of thing I'll never understand

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  vampire

  
  
  

  olivia rodrigo

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  jophiel

  
  
  
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  jophiel

  
  
  
  

  hate to give the satisfaction asking how you're doing now "hows the castle built off people you pretend to care about?"

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  The air in the church was colder than Jophiel had expected.

  She had been in colder places, Siberia, the Arctic, blessing those who her Father commanded her to with the utmost grace. But this was different. There was no Father to watch from over her shoulder, to reguide her hand whenever it had been misplaced, to keep it steady whenever she shook. She had trusted Him, had had faith in it all. How could she not? The last person who hadn't... well, she dare not speak of her eldest brother. She had seen enough of what happened, she did not want to remember the blood, the guts. There was no beauty in that.
  
  She had convened upon the agreed upon location a few minutes earlier than she should have. Why? She wasn't sure, but she had come early, and only a few blocks away. The church itself had been nothing short of a beacon, even in this small, slender frame, so she had chosen to walk. She had felt the gaze of mortal beings, the envy, the lust, the adoration. She had walked, for minutes that seemed like hours, until she had entered the church. Gabriel had caught her attention first, the only younger sibling she had, and she pretended not to notice yet. She walked nearer to the altar, stopping just short of it, and moved to the first pew, sitting down in it. June 6th. 1999. It had only been a week... so she considered. So why was she so nervous? Why was she so afraid?
  
  Their Father had to come back, surely this was all just a test. But what if it wasn't?
  
  What if He was truly gone?
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  bruges, belgium, st waltburga church

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  interaction

  
  

  none

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  mood

  
  

  nervous in a place of worship

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[Helioflos]

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  click here

  
  
  
  

  Your absence has gone through me
  Like thread through a needle.

  
  
  
  

  Everything I do is stitched with its color.
  - W. S. Merwin

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Canary in a Coal Mine

  
  
  

  The Crane Wives

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Raphael

  
  
  
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  Raphael

  
  
  
  

  GOD HAS HEALED

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Across the street from the white building bearing the symbol of their Father, stood a figure that looked human from the onset, but was in truth anything but that. He had the air of someone lost in reminscience, and had been standing on that street corner for a bit longer than could be considered normal. People passed him, rushing toward some unknowable goal of theirs, and yet, he was in no hurry. When the traffic light turned green, he crossed the street at a brisk walk, glancing both ways, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, which had recently been patched up at the elbows. Stopping before the double doors of the church, he took in the worn wood, the simple craftmanship. It was not a novel sight; a church no different from any other, and yet Raphael knew what awaited him inside.
  
  These days, his face was more lined than it had been in years; eyes darkened with fatigue born of restlessness and worry. There was much to do– his duties had not disappeared, the prayers still flooding his thoughts, asking for reprieve from pain, for swift recovery, for healing. The sick were not all suddenly wade well, and wars still carried on across the planet. And then, beyond that, was the issue weighing so heavily on all their minds as of late. The world did not stop turning, even if some part of Raphael felt it should have. What were a few sleepless nights in the face of that?
  
  Pushing open the wooden doors, lingering a moment to feel the rough texture under his fingers, Raphael steped inside. The door did not squeak– someone had oiled it not long ago. His eyes crinkled at the corners, gratitude warming his heart. Someone had taken the time to care for this place of worship. That spoke of use, of need for such a space.
  
  His footsteps echoed against the polished stone flooring, as he passed by rows of chairs layed out for the coming service. It was an odd thing, to step from the steady noise of the outside world to this still silence, and Raphael couldn’t help but think again of his past as he had done on the street corner outside. Nostalgia, he named the feeling in his mind, the longing for something now gone.
  
  Almost instincutually, his gaze ended up being drawn toward the mural at the front of the chamber, the colors faded with dust and time, yet the image still evoking a sense of familiarity. A reminder in these trying times, he thought to himself, and didn’t resist the smile that graced his lips. How very much like Michael to pick this place.
  
  Shoulders relaxed, and that same smile still in place, he walked down the central aisle until he stood before his fellow Archangels. With his presence, the flickering of the nearby candles steadied, and the light pouring in through the stained glass windows seemed to soften, color dancing on the ground. The shadows cast by the dim light formed the shape of long wings behind him. He looked at his youngest sibling. If he were somewhere else, if it were a different time, then he would have placed a calming hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, would have drawn him into an embrace. Instead, he contented himself with a gentle sigh and a meeting of their eyes that spoke of more that he could put in words.
  
  He turned, then, to Jophiel, and greeted her only with a nod, one born of understanding and compassion. They all had felt the impact of last week's events, and perhaps he could offer her some comfort, a way to fill the emptiness. His heart lurched at the reminder of it's own loss, and it took more effort than before to keep the smile steady. He moved away with a murmur that was more intent than words, and took a seat toward the back. Inside his pockets, his hands scrabbled around for something to latch on to and found a slightly crumpled page of paper.
  
  He pulled it out, fingers moving without thought as he began to fold the page this way and that, creating crisp creases and firm edges. It was a distraction he’d taken to as of late. The sound of moving paper helped disrupt the heavy silence from before. Every so often, he would glance up, gaze sliding past the other two, to rest instead at the entrance, before returning to his hands.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  Bruges, Belgium, st waltburga church

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  interaction

  
  

  none

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  mood

  
  

  hiding behind a smile

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[Shadow Alpha]

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  click here

  
  
  
  

  Love is the strongest yet most fragile emotion man is capable of experiencing

  
  
  
  

  Failure to stand for your love will lead to a painful descent into hatred

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Heaven Can Wait

  
  
  

  Michael Jackson

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Chamuel

  
  
  
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  Chamuel

  
  
  
  

  Biblically accurate Cupid

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Unbridled excitement seemed to roll off of in waves as Chamuel continued to shift her weight from the balls of her feet to the heel. She had spent the last two weeks awaiting the designated meeting time as she wanted to interact as much as she could with the people of Belgium. Her current vessel stuck out quite a bit from the general population but that tended to be a simple yet effective conversation starter. Seeing how they cared for one another in a manner vastly different than in Thailand was interesting to her. A soft breeze brought her out of the reminiscent state she was in as she focused the architecture of the building before her. The details seemed to sprout from the very foundation in a way that shouted its maker's ever-spilling love for Father. It filled Chamuel with a sense of longing and unease as her reason for being here raced to the forefront of her mind.
  
  Father had left them. He has yet to be spotted, and she could sense the growing tension fueled the lack of knowledge on His whereabouts amongst her brethren. Her concern was more on how the others were taking the news than her problems. What they had seen as a sort of betrayal, Chamuel saw as God still showing his love for them by believing they could carry on without his presence. It wouldn't be too far to assume her deep interest in humanity also served as an active distraction from the manhunt Michael had them focused on. Chamuel had questioned him at the beginning on how they, as nothing more than infants in comparison to God, were expected to find the being that clearly did not want to be found. She had taken the following lecture from the elder siblings with a few grunts and sighs of acceptance.
  
  Walking into the nearly empty chapel brought up a different type of seclusion that reminded her of how they must have appeared to the lower angels. Large husks representative of divinity that were fairly empty without the source of holiness present, dolls that had begun to rot without their ventriloquist's hands to keep them upright. Chamuel had taken it upon herself to be the shining beacon of positivity that allowed them to show a united front still holding on to hope. Whether her own emotions played a part in manipulating that of the ones around her or if they were genuinely trying to remain level-headed for their own sake is something still undecided.
  
  Her body sank into one of the pews closer towards the front and stared up at the rather ornate ceiling. Another meeting, another petty argument over who has been searching, if they were really searching, and how to proceed. The conversation was a repeat from the other meetings that brought all of them together. A tedious event that often left Chamuel craving the rationality that Jophiel often shared when Chamuel was feeling overwhelmed by the general chaos of the emotions gathered. Times like that made her grateful although she was too aware of the turmoil that was rearing its head inside Jophiel. Her attention was harder to get these days and Chamuel was reminded of how their Father maintained a larger plot of space within Jophiel. She was understanding, feeling abandoned by HER person and Father, yet still understanding. It was a loneliness that she had not been prepared for after millennia of existing.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  BRUGES, BELGIUM, ST WALTBURGA CHURCH

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  interaction

  
  

  N/A

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  mood

  
  

  Excited to meet her siblings

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[ven]

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  click here

  
  
  
  

  I'm a very observant person. So if you think I didn't notice, I did—I just decided to keep quiet and avoid the drama.

  
  
  
  

  may the flowers remind us why the rain was necessary.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  chemtrails over the country club

  
  
  

  lana del rey

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  uriel

  
  
  
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  uriel

  
  
  
  

  As water reflects the face, so one’s life reflects the heart.
  

  Proverbs 27:19​

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  Melancholy hung heavy in the air, surrounding Uriel. The burden of responsibility was ever present, pushing against her shoulders and squeezing her lungs in a way that left her almost breathless. The feeling had become prevailing these past few days. Fear ran through her, clotting with her blood, feasting beneath her skin.
  
  The ramifications of reality had already begun disrupting the balance she’d grown used to. Their father was missing, and she could already sense the strings that held everything together loosen. Uriel could see it in Michael’s eyes, the unraveling, the uncertainty, the worry. Each flash of emotion was so foreign it left her terrified of whatever outcomes there were besides finding their father. What if the answers they found were not ones they wished to hear? If they couldn’t find God, who would take his place? Could someone take his place?
  
  A sound, light and full of mirth, roused Uriel from her racing mind. A child laughed as he played with his mother. She observed them, her heart aching for a reason beyond herself. Hysterical giggles erupted from the tiny human whose mother smothered their faces in kisses. Uriel smiled, a small laugh escaping her lips at the scene before her smile sagged. What would it be like to experience such a thing? The thought was fleeting, but clear enough to give her pause.
  
  Uriel swallowed, but it felt as if a rock had lodged itself in her throat. Her breath quickened, and a persistent sting began in her eyes. Standing suddenly, she turned from the mother and child. It was time to leave, anyway. She didn’t want to be late. Uriel couldn’t leave Michael to fend for himself against their siblings, who no doubt had more questions than he had answers to.
  
  With that, Uriel left, leaving the happiness that wasn’t hers and the thoughts she knew better than to think. She wasn’t far from the church in which they were all to meet. By the time she arrived in front of its doors, she had realigned herself, her thoughts no longer raced, and her eyes no longer stung, pristine just as god intended her to be. The pillar that Michael needed, and the support to guide her siblings.
  
  The building was not unlike the others that had used to gather before. They all held the same air of reverence and sanctity, but it was the atmosphere of her siblings that marred the space today. No one spoke, but their discomfort permeated the space, and Uriel found herself faltering. Her mouth opened, wanting to offer something to her siblings. Words of comfort, something to dispel their concerns, but nothing came out. How pitiful, an archangel of wisdom who had none to bestow.
  
  Instead, Uriel bowed her head in acknowledgment to those she passed before taking a seat in the front.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  Bruges, Belgium, st waltburga church

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  interactions

  
  

  none

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  mood

  
  

  panicked and ready to cry

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[comfortable]

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  click here

  
  
  
  

  and suddenly all of my devotion becomes violent
  

  
  
  
  

  so I will feel it as deeply and express it as violently as I please
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  me & the devil

  
  
  

  soap&skin

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Zadkiel

  
  
  
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  Zadkiel

  
  
  
  

  "I begged god to save me and he shoved more torment down my throat to keep me quiet."

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  The coffee burned in his hands, but instead of switching it to his other hand, he held on, savoring the sharp sting. It was a tangible reminder that today had passed without the suffocating presence of his father.
  
  No oppressive unseen gaze boring into him, no silent judgment from beyond the clouds, where even in purgatory, his father’s presence seemed to be.
  
  The night was unusually beautiful, though the world appeared darker through the dark-rimmed sunglasses perched on his nose. Zadkiel had no desire to attend this meeting, but the thought of Michael hunting him down and dragging him to Belgium was even less appealing.
  
  In truth, he couldn’t stand the thought of either Michael or Gabriel, but as he pushed open the wooden doors, a bright, almost mocking smile played on his lips.
  
  The air was thick with doom and gloom, a palpable tension that Zadkiel could almost taste as the wooden doors slammed against the walls with a satisfying crack.
  
  He strode down the church’s aisle with an air of icy confidence, relishing the sight of his siblings' faces, each one marked by a perfect, worried crease. Taking a slow sip of his coffee, he settled into a chair in the far corner.
  
  Nearly everyone was present, save for a few stragglers, but he didn’t bother looking for Michael. He could hardly bear to glance at Gabriel, who stood at the front, as immovable and cold as a marble statue.
  
  Zadkiel frowned slightly as he pulled a small, well-worn pocketbook from his jacket. The edges of the paper were frayed, softened by years of use. He began to write, the hushed silence of the church offering a perfect sanctuary, isolating him from the faint sounds of the outside world.
  
  He scribbled furiously, pausing only to take long sips of coffee, then glancing back at the words he had written. Each line was carefully scrutinized before he continued the cycle.
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  mood

  
  

  content

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  Bruges, Belgium

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  mentions

  
  

  everyone

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  outfit

  
  

  here

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[cwosont]

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  click here

  
  
  
  

  You were the model of perfection, full of wisdom and perfect in beauty. You were in Eden, the garden of God…

  
  
  
  

  You were on the holy mount of God; you walked among the fiery stones. You were blameless in your ways from the day you were created till wickedness was found in you.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  PRIDE

  
  
  

  KENDRICK LAMAR

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  lucifer

  
  
  
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  lucifer

  
  
  
  

  I will ascend into Heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God.

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Lucifer feels them.
  
  Emerging from one of many Gates of Hell, the congregation of immense celestial energy makes his vessel's skin prickle. Another one of Michael's meetings. Such a loyal son to his father, Lucifer muses. Like a fool still performing for a king that has long since abandoned him. Lucifer hums in amusement, his lips curling into a smile.
  
  Bones of the Catacombes de Paris crunch beneath the sole of Lucifer's boots. He passes vagrants, cataphiles, and more, but pays them no mind. His mind still lingers on his brothers and sisters. Their presence in Belgium is difficult to ignore, although he can not pinpoint exactly where. His power weakens significantly on holy ground.
  
  Lucifer departs from the catacombs, seeking a change in scenery. He settles for the streets of Paris and takes his seat at Le Consulat. He admires the flush of his waitress' cheeks as she takes his order, murmuring her promise to return quickly with his drink. Lucifer hums in approval and watches as she disappears into the overflowing café.
  
  Alone once more with his thoughts, Lucifer wonders how long it will take for the Archangels to abandon Michael in his quest. Will it hurt more to lose his brothers and sisters than it did his Maker? Oh, the unbridled joy relishing in Michael's heartbreak and downfall will surely bring him. Lucifer can almost taste it on his tongue. The moment is near, he can feel it, but Lucifer knows some of the Archangels will hold onto hope for as long as they can.
  
  Lucifer raises his head to acknowledge the waitress' return. "Merci, chérie." He brings the porcelain to his lips, and savors the bitter taste on his tongue. Lucifer leans back in his thought and watches as the mortals pass him by.
  
  Perhaps it is time for him to pay his siblings a visit.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  MOOD

  
  

  AMUSED

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  LOCATION

  
  

  LE CONSULAT, PARIS, FRANCE

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  INTERACTIONS

  
  

  NONE

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[Kovacs]

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  click here

  
  
  
  
  

  Faith is the sense of life, that sense by virtue of which man does not destroy himself, but continues to live on. It is the force whereby we live.
  - Lev N. Tolstoy

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  his

  
  
  

  theme

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  MICHAEL

  
  
  
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  MICHAEL.

  
  
  
  

  "So much the fear, of Thunder and the Sword of Michael, wrought still within them."

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Michael rose slowly from his kneeling position at the front of St. Walburga's Church in Bruges. The ancient stones, worn smooth by centuries of devotion, seemed to absorb his suffering. His knees ached from hours of fervent prayer, his lips repeating desperate invocations that echoed off the dimly lit walls. The choice of this particular sanctuary, with its ancient Gothic arches and the faint scent of incense lingering in the air, had been deliberate. He had hoped that the age-old reverence, soaked in centuries of prayer and reflection, might offer some lingering friction of the divine. Yet, despite his most intense efforts, he felt nothing—no response, no warmth, not even the faintest flicker of divine presence. It was as if he were casting a line into the Dead Sea, hoping to reel in something that had long since vanished into the depths of oblivion.
  
  In the silence that followed, Michael clenched his fists, trying to reattach the severed silver cord that once bound him, bound them all, so closely to their Creator. A week earlier, that cord had snapped, leaving him and the rest of the celestial host adrift in a fog of uncertainty. In truth, the cord had been fraying for months, with commands coming sporadically, like distant echoes of a voice they could barely hear. And now, that voice was gone entirely.
  
  As he stood, Michael forced himself to suppress the sapling of despair that threatened to twine itself against his heart. He turned to face the gathered archangels, their faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight. The layers of damp, pockmarked stone seemed to press in on them all, as if demanding answers none of them had.
  
  Which was simply unacceptable to Michael. He had always been their leader, the one who stood closest to the Throne, who carried out God’s will with unwavering obedience, who always had an answer thanks to the Almighty. But now, with each passing day, his purpose felt like an emptying shell, his authority a sword with an ever-increasingly chipped blade.
  
  He could sense the turmoil in their hearts, the same turmoil he had thus far, stilled within himself. They had all been wrestling with the void left by God’s disappearance, each trying to make sense of a reality they had never imagined. Some clung desperately to their duties, as if by following the last orders given, they might somehow restore the divine order. Others sat in silence, their faith silently eroding under the weight of uncertainty.
  
  Michael clenched his jaw. This was a time for action, not for hesitation. The disappearance of God had torn a gaping wound in the fabric of creation, and it was his duty to stitch it back together—or at least prevent it from unraveling further. Yet, in the darkest corners of his mind, where even Michael feared to venture, a whisper persisted. A whisper that perhaps they had been abandoned, left to fend for themselves in a world that no longer… no longer…
  
  Michael bit his lower lip, nearly to the point of drawing blood. He’d been relentless in his search for answers. He had scoured the Earth, probing every corner of his assigned continent, questioning the loyal, the fallen, and the indifferent alike. But all he had uncovered were more questions. Why now? Why had God vanished at this precise moment in time? How was it even possible? And most pressing of all—who among them could be trusted?
  
  This question drove him to divide the archangels into smaller groups, a precaution and a test. He needed to observe their interactions, to see who hesitated, who seemed too eager. Every action, every word was scrutinized. He had always been a commander, but now he assumed the role of detective—a role that clashed with his very nature and the ocean of love he felt for his brethren.
  
  Still, Michael’s suspicion of a traitor in their midst was not without basis. Despite the trust he placed in Uriel and Gabriel, Michael couldn’t shake the whispering doubts at the back of his mind. The sudden disappearance, the growing unease among the angels, the strange occurrences on Earth—it all pointed to a deeper conspiracy, one that had likely been festering long before God’s absence became known. This was not some random event; it was orchestrated, and Michael was certain of that. Until the truth was uncovered, he could trust only his left and right hand.
  
  Indeed, his heart swelled with pride whenever he looked at his youngest brother, who had grown so much from the idle, carefree angel he once was. Now, Gabriel stood as his right hand, a partner in this desperate quest to maintain order in God’s absence. They had already begun scouring the Scriptures together, seeking any clue, any hint that might explain God’s disappearance. Gabriel’s commitment was unwavering, and Michael found comfort in his presence, often waking him gently after long nights of study, grateful for his steadfast support.
  
  But, as always, as they all knew, it was Uriel who truly anchored him.
  
  Dear, sweet, beloved Uriel. As he cast a glance her way, a selfish twinge of possessiveness gnawed at him at the thought of her working with anyone else. She had always been by his side, the one who steadied him when his resolve wavered. The very notion of her distant, supporting another as she supported him, felt almost unbearable. He needed her close, to help him mend the fraying fabric of creation. Yet, he knew it was unfair—Uriel was not his to possess. She was her own angel, dedicated to their divine mission.
  
  And yet, if there was ever one who beginning to embody the very antithesis of dedication, it would be that dark horse, Zadkiel. Once a figure of contemplative intellect, now seemed encased in a mantle of icy detachment. As his heavenly general, Michael had once hoped that natural reticence would protect him from the corruption of Purgatory, but instead, it had curdled into a bitterness as gray as the realm he was condemned to govern. The archangel’s outward disdain masked a seething anger, a fury not only at the fallen but at the perceived injustice of his own existence. Michael saw past the veneer of disdain to the raw jealousy and sorrow beneath, and chose to count it as a reflection of that younger brother’s struggle to align his role with the vast emptiness left by their Father’s absence.
  
  Michael’s gaze then shifted to Chamuel, whose once-joyful spirit had become a double-edged sword. Chamuel’s mood swings, which had once been a source of endearing charm, now posed a dangerous unpredictability in their current Christ-less crisis. Of course, Michael respected Chamuel’s capacity to spread love and light, yet he was cautious of the volatility it introduced. Chamuel’s temperament underscored the most important thing they were pressed to maintain—balance. Too much complacency could enable Lucifer's most effective work, while succumbing to his seductive words of despair could swiftly lead to corrosive defeatism.
  
  And if there was ever a being Michael feared defeat would crush most wholly within its fist, it would be Jophiel, whose quest for beauty in the mundane had been marred by the atrocities she had witnessed. He could almost feel her heartache, the profound sorrow she carried for a world increasingly stripped of the beauty she cherished. Jophiel's compassion, though a remarkable strength, also rendered her deeply vulnerable. Doubly so considering this was her first ever experience taking on a vessel, especially at such a tumultuous time, with their Father gone.
  
  Finally, Michael's gaze rested on Raphael. Raphael had long been the mediator, tirelessly working to reconcile the rifts among his siblings. Yet, now Michael found himself exasperated by the toll Raphael’s boundless empathy had taken. He could no longer tolerate seeing his brother’s relentless dedication to healing and comforting others, because it often came at the expense of his own strength—strength they needed to find God.
  
  Shaking off his troubling thoughts, Michael addressed the gathered archangels, his voice firm, imbued with the deep, velvety weight of his vessel’s Russian accent. “We are in a time of trial,” he began, words resonating through the still, dawn air. “Our Father is gone, and it falls upon us to hold the line, to keep His creation intact until we find Him. This is not a time for hesitation or doubt. We will continue our investigations, and we will do so together. No one is to act alone. We cannot afford disunity.”
  
  He took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping over the assembly as he began to walk among them. “We must change our approach,” he continued, his accent lending a steely edge to his determination. “The vastness of our assigned continents has proven too unwieldy for solitary investigation. From now on, we will work in smaller groups of two or three.”
  
  As he spoke, Michael moved deliberately, pausing beside Zadkiel. He placed a hand on the seventh-born archangel’s shoulder, his touch both firm and what he’d hoped to be reassuring. “Each group will focus on specific leads and findings, discussing their observations and insights,” he said, meeting Zadkiel’s gaze with cold resolve. “We must share our knowledge and collaborate more closely to piece together the puzzle before us. This will ensure that we do not miss any crucial detail and can act with a unified front.”
  
  Michael continued his circuit among the archangels, letting the gravity of his decision settle in. “No archangel is permitted into Heaven or Purgatory; Earth will be our only domain. We must work within its boundaries and adapt to its challenges.”
  
  He paused at the center of the group, letting the silence of the church weigh heavily upon them. “I know some of you have questions,” Michael said, his tone softening slightly but retaining that signature resolve. “Believe me, so do I. But we must remain vigilant and focused. The fate of all creation depends on it.”
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  location.

  
  

  Church of St. Walburga, Bruges, Belgium

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  interactions.

  
  

  e v i ; monkeydoll555 ; comfortable ; Shadow Alpha ; cwosont ; ven ; Helioflos

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  mood.

  
  

  desperately resilient

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[e v i]

chapter II: latria

where is God?

A

nywhere.
June 7, 1999
1 Week since God's Disappearance.

The meeting determined private distrust of the majority of angels by archangel Michael. Distrust in their judgement, their loyalty, and their ability to perform in this time of uncertainty. Thus, a system was decreed that archangels were to work in rotating groups of two or three each week to ensure accountability. Michael believed Raphael had not a malicious bone in his body, and he was sent on a lone mission to their Father's former walking grounds. Chamuel and Jophiel, despite Michael's unease about a wandering eye or two, would work in cities of their choosing. There was even greater unease of a threat from Hell. It was quiet. That was the most suspicious part. Zadkiel and Gabriel were sent to investigate areas with a high population of demons and negatively charged energy. That left Uriel and Michael indoors to sift through the Bible or any other ancient text they might find.

That left Lucifer, who coiled in the shadows of people like a serpent. His sights were set on Raphael, a tired vessel of compassion and forgiveness. A quality Michael considered a thorn in Heaven's side.

sugar coded ♡

 

[e v i]

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  click here

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  a lot of screams for so little wool,
  said the man who sheared the pig
  - Lindqvist

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  almost blue

  
  
  

  chet baker

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Gabriel

  
  
  
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  "I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news."

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Zadkiel probably scoffed when Gabriel stated he wished to return to Antarctica (at least he assumed he would). Even Michael, despite his fervent trust in his right hand, raised a brow at the youngest angel's proclamation. Gabriel stated his case as the dark hours in the church waned to daylight. His divine crows flew over and sensed a great darkness there. There were abominable dark corners everywhere on Earth, but in that darkness, there were always people. There were always people.
  
  But not uninhabitable Antarctica. It was suspicious. Could be a rat trap set by Hell, Gabriel said to the eldest brother in casual resignation, his eyes aimlessly cast into the distance. He had just been there, and the way archangels could sense demons, he assumed it was the other way around too. Light and dark. God merged them and birthed humanity. The only breathing evidence such worlds might live in harmony. But in the planes beyond Earth, they were enemies. There was no one who understood more intimately this relationship than Zadkiel. Last week, Gabriel noticed his disinterest in the search. The vitriol in his vessel's dark eyes. A thousands-year old memory seized him -- just a sound. There was nothing like it, nothing that could be replicated. The sound of wings ripping from flesh, from core. His hand trembled as it seized the collar of Zadkiel's shirt. You best search with me, drawled Gabriel in a stressed whisper, or I'm tellin' Michael.
  
  Not much motivation had been needed. Instead of flying up the mountain, Gabriel insisted they walked. He wanted to be thorough. The presence was on the peak of Mt. Vinson, and they were about five miles away. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, the Summer tundra prickling the surface of his skin. It was bitingly cold and windy, and the sun in the sky cackled down at the duo. The presence grew stronger the closer they walked.
  
  "You ain't gonna leave me hangin', are ya?" Gabriel asked the seventh born, but he did not look at him. Only the snow-dusted rocks ahead. Around Zadkiel, he could be as frank as he pleased. If only he pleased more often.
  "The demon on that mountain -- don't reckon they're alone," he guessed lowly. Zadkiel probably sensed it too. Without their Father's scrutinizing residence, he wondered if Zadkiel would stand by if a demon dog lunged for Gabriel's throat.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  Mt. Vinson, Antarctica

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  interactions

  
  

  comfortable

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  outfit

  
  

  click

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[Helioflos]

• .
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• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  click here

  
  
  
  

  And you, my father, there on the sad height,
  Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

  
  
  
  

  Do not go gentle into that good night.
  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
  - Dylan Thomas

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Wish You Were Here

  
  
  

  Pink Floyd

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Raphael

  
  
  
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  Raphael

  
  
  
  

  GOD HAS HEALED

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  He had walked up the mountain following the same path a prophet of his Father had once taken. The air here was colder, and purer than the one down below, but arid still. His famished lungs breathed in that air, as the wind tossed his hair into his face, rearing and rushing to and fro like a wild mare. The sun beat down mercilessly from above, and sweat ran down his brow, yet there was still something otherworldly about him.
  
  He stood on a precipice, looking out toward the horizon. His feet were bare. He had met an old beggar on the path past the monastery, a man with a wrinkled face and dry lips, who had been sitting at the side of the road. The man’s feet were cracked and dirty– his knees were weak, and arthritis had long ago wound around his joints. Raphael had given him his boots. The man had refused to take them at first– humble and gracious as the most impoverished often are– but Raphael had smiled, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He let some of his true nature shine through in his eyes and his smile. “Keep them, please. You have more need of them than I.”
  
  The man had clasped his hands around the angel's, bowing his head and murmuring thanks, eyes alight with understanding. As he left, barefooted, Raphael’s heavenly power wound its way into the man’s skin. He would walk again, without the need of the makeshift cane placed at his side.
  
  The climb had left him winded. If Michael were here, perhaps he would question why Raphael would not simply appear at his destination, but the Fourth Archangel had always believed in the journey one took. And if Raphael felt a desire for some link to those that tread this path before him, if he longed for that closeness, a connection not through words or knowledge, but through the unshakable chain of shared experience, well, no one but him had to know. As he climbed, he wondered if this had been how Moses felt, and marveled at the strength of human faith.
  
  And now, he stood atop the highest crest, having reached his goal. When Michael had set them their tasks, Raphael had thought firstly of this holy site, where once their Father had appeared before His prophet and spoken His Ten Commandments. Perhaps, he’d thought, if there were anywhere his prayers might be heard, it would be here. Or, if that failed, he might still find some indication as to their Father’s whereabouts.
  
  He clasped his hands together, casting his gaze up into the sky, as so many people have done before.
  
  “Father,” he began– and how odd it was not to feel the presence in his soul where once a thin connection had existed. How strange it was to speak, and not be sure you’ll hear an answer.
  
  “I pray to you now… uncertain and in need of your wisdom. So long, you have been our guide, and now, I fear your absence leaves me unmoored.” He paused, took a shaky breath, then continued. “I know each step we take is part of your divine plan, but I find myself unsure of what task it is that you have set us. I ask that you open my eyes and heart to the direction you wish for me to take.” Again, he stopped, and thought. His last words were delivered quietly, privately.
  
  “Father, wherever you may be, I pray that you guide us forth, and deliver us back to you. As ever, we are your faithful children.”
  
  A smile twitched his lips, albeit joined together with a sadness in his eyes. “Amen.”
  
  For a beat, he held still and waited for an answer.
  
  Instead, a new noise broke through the facade of stillness– the sound of footsteps. Raphael did not need to turn to know who it was. He greeted the new arrival, that same sad smile on his face. “Hello, brother.”
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  Mount Sinai, Sinai Peninsula, Egypt

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  interaction

  
  

  cwosont

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  mood

  
  

  weary, but holding on to hope

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[comfortable]

• .
• .

• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  click here

  
  
  
  

  and suddenly all of my devotion becomes violent
  

  
  
  
  

  so I will feel it as deeply and express it as violently as I please
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  me & the devil

  
  
  

  soap&skin

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Zadkiel

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Zadkiel

  
  
  
  

  "I begged god to save me and he shoved more torment down my throat to keep me quiet."

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Michael.
  
  He had never been one for unwarranted violence or impulsive actions, but the urge to drive his pen through his own shoulder where Michael's hand rested was hard to resist. Cold met steel as Zadkiel locked eyes with Michael, both unwavering in their own intentions. He wondered what it would take for Michael to abandon the search entirely.
  
  Nothing.
  
  A voice answered back.
  
  The archangel would never cease his pursuit. He would hold the group together by force if necessary, even if it meant Michael descending into madness and destroying those around him. Zadkiel knew their father possessed the entirety of Michael's heart; it was painfully obvious.
  
  The fate of all creation depends on it. Zadkiel echoed the words in his mind, a smile creeping across his features.
  
  No, Michael, he thought, you depend on it.
  
  ___
  
  Gabriel.
  
  He had barely escaped the meeting before the youngest of them tracked him down in the burgeoning streets of Bruges. Zadkiel kept walking, ignoring the persistent presence that was Gabriel. A cigarette dangled from his lips, hands buried in his jacket pockets as he hoped his longer strides would deter his brother.
  
  But he was wrong. The fervent emotion in Gabriel’s eyes sparked a flicker of curiosity within Zadkiel, his hand to tremble slightly on his collar. He tilted his head, intrigued:
  
  “Darling, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
  
  Now, standing at the base of Mt. Vinson, all interest drained from him. The wind was unforgiving, relentless in its purpose. He clicked his tongue, checking the time on his watch. His gaze landed on his brother, and he frowned. “And have you run off to Mommy, Michael? I’ll pass.” He brushed past Gabriel, already mentally deducing what his brother began to explain. Dark presence or not, he had no desire to be here.
  
  “Hurry up,” Zadkiel snapped, “I don’t have time to waste on you all day, Gabriel.”
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  mood

  
  

  annoyed

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  MT. VINSON, ANTARCTICA

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  interaction

  
  

  e v i

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  outfit

  
  

  here

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[ven]

• .
• .

• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  click here

  
  
  
  

  I'm a very observant person. So if you think I didn't notice, I did—I just decided to keep quiet and avoid the drama.

  
  
  
  

  may the flowers remind us why the rain was necessary.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  chemtrails over the country club

  
  
  

  lana del rey

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  uriel

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  uriel

  
  
  
  

  As water reflects the face, so one’s life reflects the heart.
  

  Proverbs 27:19​

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  Thick tomes speckled with dust and worn, rotting books littered the mahogany table within the deeper sub-divisions of the Vatican Apostolic Archives. In a normal case, Uriel would have been unaffected by the grime and stale air, but her vessel’s body seemed sensitive to such things. It felt like she had sneezed more than she read within the past few hours. Not the reading was providing any valuable information—the mortal records emulated by what they already possessed in Heaven—At least, in everything that mattered.
  
  Their father had explained as such to them. Petty drama marred mortal beings, conflating and deflating claims of God to bolster themselves into more distinguished positions. Thus, individuals frequently alter and redact their records, if not destroy them. It had taken some time, but Uriel had managed to shift through the bullshit that had weaved its way into their records. Crosschecking what she came across and ruling out things with no true basing. Very few accounts remained true and unique to the mortals, but all seemed insignificant when compared to such a thing as God’s disappearance.
  
  Uriel slammed the book shut in frustration, an unfamiliar emotion that had seemed to permeate her being in these last few days. None of this made sense. Their father wouldn’t wholly abandon his children. Tests weren’t uncommon, and maybe this was one, but every test before contained clues towards the path they needed to tread. Unlike now, where he left without a word, and not even a single thread to follow. What had changed? Uriel wanted to scream, do something to push the anger that built in her body outward. She felt so useless. What good is an Archangel who guides if answers and wisdom evades herself?
  
  Turning to Michael, her hand reaches for his own, unknowingly seeking the comfort his words and presence inevitably brought.
  
  “Nothing is making sense. I can’t fathom how we are even in such a situation. Do you think he’s in trouble, that someone or something could have driven him into hiding? Would God not have advised us? Why didn’t he inform us? Are we no longer worthy?” Uriel spewed, words coming out quicker than she realized, her mind racing in a myriad of overwhelming thoughts, each one pushing to slip past her lips.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  The Vatican Archives, Vatican City, Italy

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  interactions

  
  

  Kovacs

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  mood

  
  

  panicked and ready to cry

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[Shadow Alpha]

• .
• .

• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  click here

  
  
  
  

  Love is the strongest yet most fragile emotion man is capable of experiencing

  
  
  
  

  Failure to stand for your love will lead to a painful descent into hatred

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Heaven Can Wait

  
  
  

  Michael Jackson

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Chamuel

  
  
  
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  Chamuel

  
  
  
  

  Biblically accurate Cupid

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Chamuel's mood ebbed and flowed just as Michael had so ungraciously pointed out as a potential danger. Chamuel was not new to these rather longwinded speeches from him but that didn't make her feel any more than a troubled child that needed to be looked over. Her arms had remained crossed yet relaxed across her chest as her eyes followed Michael as he wove his way among them like a military general raising his platoon's morale. 'The same love that our Father bestowed upon me should never be seen as some condescending power that is a mere double-edged sword.'
  
  Chamuel's thoughts were on full display for any that spared a glance in her direction, even the tension in the room seemed to become a living creature that was being tainted with her irritation. Michael spoke in a way that left no room for intervention as if he had taken up the mantle of being the mouthpiece of God. By the time Michael had finally gotten to important information on where they would be stationed, Chamuel's mood had taken a complete 180.
  
  Once the meeting had been officially adjourned, she leapt over the pews that were separating her Jophiel and herself. Chamuel landed in the fellow angel's lap and offered her a wide grin that exuded her excitement of being paired her other half and knowing that Jophiel would be more lenient than if she were paired with Michael or Raphael. 'This is a sign that Father is still in control from whatever special hiding place he's chosen to coop himself up in. Now, I get to continue my exploration of human relationships and continue the search for Father when the time allows it.' It hadn't been too long since they were last united for an extended period of time, but Chamuel had still felt the length of the separation. Especially Jophiel seemingly having their focus fully on the absence of God with little to spare for Chamuel.
  
  "Jophiel! I've missed you, I shouldn't have to understand that feeling of longing when you won't join me for a fun frolic amongst the humans." Chamuel let out a light sigh as she took one of Jophiel's hands into her own and absentmindedly traced the shape of the knuckles that were jutting out. She maintained eye contact before speaking once more, "So...I know that we've been given a very important task of searching for clues in a spot of our choosing, did you have any place you wanted to explore? After you joined me in my last research journey willingly, I want to go where you desire. Your strong need to find Father diminishes my own so you'll probably have a better sense of where to begin."
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  BRUGES, BELGIUM, ST WALTBURGA CHURCH

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  interaction

  
  

  monkeydoll555

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  mood

  
  

  Ready to prove that she's not a weakness by following the same sense of love that has driven mere mortals and lesser blessed beings into madness

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡

 

[e v i]

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  a lot of screams for so little wool,
  said the man who sheared the pig
  - Lindqvist

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  almost blue

  
  
  

  chet baker

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Gabriel

  
  
  
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  "I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news."

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  And have you run off to Mommy, Michael? I’ll pass.
  
  Gabriel's jaw twitched. The youngest archangel held no remorse for the blackmailing of his brother. He told himself it was for Zadkiel's own well-being. Michael might have sewn his worries in the pretty picture of his vessel as to not alarm the others, but Gabriel (and Uriel more than anyone) could see their leader was one raw nerve. His eyes were on the seventh-born angel, for his aggravated disinterest in the search. Purgatory was mute, a potential rendezvous point between Heaven and Hell. Only Zadkiel understood every crevice of that plane. In a way, Gabriel was almost envious, that Father gave him a whole world to himself. Gabriel ignored the remaining remarks from his brother's mouth and trekked up the mountain. For archangels of their caliber, it was nothing. For a human, it was a death sentence.
  
  Their walk was silent, and Gabriel could sense more than one presence. Once they reached the peak, he saw two vessels. It was silent, the immense power radiating off the envoys of Hell defying the winds. They both stood beside one another. One demon chewed gum. The other held his ally's hand. Demons normally took on vessels as they wished to blend in among humans -- their forms were just as terrifying as an angel's -- but in this remoteness, their need for vessels confused Gabriel.
  
  "About time you two showed up," the gum-chewing demon said, a whole foot shorter than his ally. He must have taken the body of some misguided youth. Gabriel dealt with them many times. Their anger, their need for acceptance.
  
  "Y'wanna get sent home that badly?" Gabriel asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. Just two. He was not worried. But then, he was guilty of the same overconfidence Michael was. In fact, he might have inherited that from his brother.
  
  "Oh? But then you would miss our little meeting," the tallest demon lilted.
  
  Gabriel was quiet. He was unsure how to proceed, and his eyes traced up to Zadkiel. This was not helping his irritation one bit. He blinked, and the demons were now nose-to-nose with them. As if they teleported. Archangels were more in tune to humans. They understood the importance of personal space, of autonomy, but demons were always the touchy type. It made for cutting throats easier. The scent of tobacco and mint curled around Gabriel's nose as the gum-chewing demon snickered and spit his gum at the youngest archangel's shoe.
  
  "Stupid fuckin' look on your face. Rejoice! Both of you! For we know where God is," he chirped.
  
  "You are happy, yes? We know where your warden is," the demon in front of Zadkiel expanded teasingly. The warden of your Purgatory prison, his eyes said.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  Mt. Vinson, Antarctica

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  interactions

  
  

  comfortable

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  outfit

  
  

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