Gabriel :: ULTRAKILL

From the cobbled stone of the floor, to the carved granite walls and their ornate glass inlays, this room was dyed in red. The scarlet hue of rage had pervaded the area, seeping from the seething angel who sat at a massive organ in the center of the room. Gabriel's anger was plain to see, his silver and gold armor having turned crimson in his fury. His wrath. That radiant light of his was yellow like the sun, his wings and halo blazing with unwavering frustration. From his fingertips fell the chords of the holy gospel, the keys of the organ just barely enduring the frenzied touch of the gauntleted hands coasting over them.

Make no mistake. Gabriel was pissed.

The machines had been carving their way through Hell further and further, and the Virtues at his command died in droves. The fact that these filthy objects would invade the afterlife in search of blood was abominable enough, but to spread holy ichor on the ground as though it were nothing? To drink deeply, to use it as fuel?

Gabriel slammed his fists into the organ abruptly, his angelic facade faltering in the wake of his outrage. Humanity had failed to teach their machines to respect the holy word of God, though the archangel doubted that the creatures of steel were even remotely capable of such a thing. Wrought from metal and oil and blood, all those creatures did was seek more. Their very existence was an affront to life, and for proof, one need look no further than to the extinction of humanity at the vicious thirst of their own creations. Even their immortal souls were not safe, with angels and demons and husks alike carved down with each layer the machines conquered.

Why the Father did not come back to intervene, Gabriel would never know. Never understand. He held faith that someday God would return, and that his absence had some meaning. To question otherwise would be blasphemous. In God's stead, for the will of the Council, Gabriel would punish the machines and cut them all down one after the other. His wings sagged low as he lifted his fists from the crushed keys of the organ, shards of ivory dusting the bottom of his gauntlets. "Fuck." It was unbecoming of an angel to swear. He did not care. He was over the pomp. His rage outweighed the need to project his holy image.