Death: Question

Gabriel leans against one of the columns, spinning his sceptre in one hand so that it whips rapidly enough to produce an echoing, whistle-like sound. As if his usual sound of bells was not enough to irritate even the most patient of entities.

“Ah, Death,” he grins, stopping the sceptre so that it taps the floor.

“You finally have news for me.” I do not bother to hide my frustration that it took Gabriel well over a human’s week to return.

“Finally? My, my aren’t we impatient. Yes, I have information regarding your anomalous human.”

“Tell me.”

“First, you tell me why Famine was the one who spoke with me on this matter before you.”

I arch a brow. “What matters which Horseman reports so long as you are informed--”

“Did you not wish to know what she had to say?”

“She felt an angelic presence that did not belong to you and is now aware that there is a human on Earth that can see us,” I cross my arms over my chest. “What more is there to know?”

Gabriel waits a beat and then laughs, shaking his head.

“This amuses you?”

“Quite the contrary,” he chuckles. “Nothing about the situation amuses me -- and yet everything is rather amusing. You, as well, my darling Death, never cease to amuse me.”

Amuse him, my foot.

I glare at the archangel, “Tell me what you know.”

Gabriel’s laughter dies into a sigh; he is clearly disappointed I did not take the bait. But I did not come to trade banal conversation that he believes to be the height of wit. Unlike him, I do not view my duty as an amusement or pastime.

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“The human,” he says, “is, well...not entirely human. It appears my baby brother had a dalliance, the boy is the result. I’m surprised, really,” he frowns, “it’s not like Luce to actually procreate. Well, not for...I’d say probably well over a couple thousand years by this point. Honestly, I lose track of human time after a while.”

Luce.

“That human is the child of Lucifer?” I shout, the question reverberating up into the high dome of the ceiling.

How could this have happened? Why am I asking such a thing -- of course Lucifer engaged in such activities. Of course he defiled one of God’s creations and produced a child. The more pertinent question: why did I not suspect such a thing before Gabriel told me?

That feeling down the bones of my spine, that pricking at my seal...the ghost of another feeling...one I had never felt. Even the last time the Four had ridden together, ridden then with the archangels, it was something breathtaking and glorious, but not…

No, it could not possibly--

“The Apocalypse,” Gabriel says. “You feel it brewing, don’t you?”

My shoulder blades pull back as if in response, and I resist the urge to rub at the mark that brands the back of my neck. “I would not know,” I answer honestly. “I have never experienced such a thing. And you should not throw that word around so readily.”

The Messenger snorts, “Of course you have -- well, you’ve certainly experienced a human apocalypse. Don’t you remember the last time?”

How could I forget? It was beautiful. It was terrible. It was destruction so pure that it makes me want to weep and laugh and mourn and rejoice all at once.

I look up at the great domed ceiling of the inner sanctum, and the host of stone angels that stand guardian up and along its expanse. “But you are not speaking of such a thing,” I sigh. “You said the Apocalypse: the great War between Heaven and Hell that shall cull the Earth and begin it again anew. The conflict that shall be the beginning of the end, as the end becomes the beginning.”

“Essentially. Ah, it’s been such a long time since a situation like this. Last time--” Gabriel cuts off and when I look back to him, the Messenger is smiling -- he looks more devil than divine with so delighted a grin. How can he possibly smile if what he intimates is to pass? How can the thought of such an event bring him joy?

“What do you mean? And what has the human to do with any of this?” I ask.

The grin widens, and in his usual flash of light, Gabriel is gone.

“GABRIEL!” I roar.

I hate it when he does that.