The echoes of their love still lingered in the firmament, haunting like the faint resonance of a forgotten hymn. Even in the deepest dark, their bond glimmered faintly—proof that love, though torn and condemned, could not be silenced entirely.
Gabriel, once the angel of purity and grace, now wandered broken through an abyss without end. His wings, once radiant with fire and gold, had been torn from him, leaving behind only bloodied stumps, scars that burned with every movement. Each moment of his fall had been torment, but the greater torment was what followed: the endless wandering in the Realm of Eternal Ice.
The Wandering
He staggered across the frozen plains, barefoot upon glassy shards that split his skin. The wind howled ceaselessly, clawing at him with icy talons. Each gust was a blade, flaying flesh and spirit alike.
At times, he lifted his trembling hands to the sky—though there was no sky, only a dome of steel-colored clouds—and whispered into the void:
"Luzbel…"
The name slipped from his lips like prayer, like curse, like confession. The sound echoed back at him, distorted, multiplied, until the ice itself seemed to mock him: Luzbel, Luzbel, Luzbel.
The Alucinations
It was not long before the silence fractured into visions. The ice mirrored what was not there. In the frozen walls, he saw Luzbel's face—violet eyes luminous with longing, lips parted as if whispering his name. Gabriel reached for him, but the ice shattered, and the image dissolved into shards that sliced his palms.
Another time, he saw his brethren. Michael, Raphael, Uriel—the six standing as judges, their wings a prison of fire. "You betrayed us," they whispered in unison, their voices cold as the abyss itself. "You betrayed Heaven for lust, for corruption, for him."
Gabriel sank to his knees, pressing his forehead against the frozen ground, his tears freezing upon contact.
"No… no. I loved. I only loved."
But the visions would not relent. At night—if night could be counted in a place where no sun ever rose—he heard voices. Sometimes Luzbel's laughter, tender and low. Sometimes Luzbel's fury, the roar of his accusation. And sometimes Belial's mocking, hissing voice:
"You fell for nothing. He betrayed you as surely as Heaven did."
He spoke back to them. He argued with phantoms, pleaded with illusions. His voice cracked, rising to shouts, collapsing to sobs. His own mind became his tormentor, the ice its accomplice.
The Body Broken
His body bore the marks of his torment. The wounds of his wings never healed. Each time he moved, blood seeped, freezing into black crystals upon his skin. His lips were blue from cold, his golden eyes dimmed into hollow orbs that flickered only with grief.
Once, he stumbled upon a lake of frozen glass. Beneath its surface he saw himself—not as he was now, broken and wingless, but as he had been: radiant, crowned in light. That vision taunted him. He struck the ice with his fists until it cracked and bled into his hands, but the reflection remained, untouched, unmocked, shining eternally in the depths where he could not reach.
Luzbel's Descent
Far below, in the underworld's obsidian halls, Luzbel writhed in his own torment. Though he sat upon a throne carved by flame and shadow, he felt no dominion—only loss.
Every scream Gabriel loosed in the abyss reverberated through the chambers of Hell, stabbing into Luzbel's chest. He clenched the arms of his throne until the stone cracked, until fire burst from beneath, as though the underworld itself could not endure his grief. Yet he bore it. He bore the agony, because it was his punishment. It was his fault.
One night—though nights were meaningless in Hell—he rose from his throne, his steps heavy, echoing through the endless cavern. His demons cowered, but he did not notice them. His eyes were fixed on a pit at the edge of his realm—a shaft that seemed bottomless, a tunnel of black that devoured even flame.
There, Luzbel stood and gazed into it. He saw nothing, but felt everything. The abyss was his mirror. It reflected his guilt, his weakness, his betrayal.
And so he stepped closer. Not into it, but over it, above it, circling its mouth like a beast chained to despair. He spoke into it, voice raw:
"Gabriel… forgive me. Forgive me, my love."
The abyss answered only with the echo of Gabriel's scream—whether memory or truth, Luzbel could not tell.
A Dialogue Across the Void
At times, when Gabriel's agony reached its peak, Luzbel heard him. Whether it was real or madness, he did not care.
"Why, Luzbel?" Gabriel's voice tore through the void like shattered glass. "I told you—it was lies. Belial twisted everything. And still you struck me down."
Luzbel pressed his fists against his temples, clawing at his own hair, his own skin, as though he could tear the guilt out. "I know. I know! And yet I doubted—I doubted the one I should have died to protect. I am the traitor, not you."
Gabriel's voice broke again, a sob turned scream. "Your doubt was my death."
The words struck Luzbel harder than any blade. He collapsed to his knees at the abyss's edge, tears spilling from his eyes—tears of fire and blood. They struck the stone and hissed into smoke, the air filling with the scent of iron and ash.
"Gabriel!" Luzbel cried. His voice was a roar that shook caverns, crumbled stalactites, split the earth. But it brought no comfort. It was only another echo joining the void.
The Poison of Guilt
Luzbel's torment grew. He stopped eating, stopped speaking to his armies. He sat alone at the pit's edge, staring into the nothing, replaying every memory of Gabriel. The way his golden hair had glowed beneath the stars. The way his lips had curved when he whispered promises. The way his voice had trembled when he spoke of eternity.
Now, eternity was silence.
Each memory was not comfort but poison. They stabbed at him, dragged him deeper. He began to imagine Gabriel's suffering in detail—the broken body, the frozen plains, the hollow eyes. The thought drove him mad, but he could not stop thinking it.
He whispered over and over:
"I will bring you back. I will tear Heaven apart. I will break Hell itself. I will bring you back."
The words became prayer. The prayer became obsession. And obsession became his only reason to endure.
Gabriel's Last Glimmer
Meanwhile, Gabriel's wandering did not end. He stumbled upon a cavern of ice that shimmered faintly. Inside, he collapsed, too weak to rise. He pressed his cheek against the frozen wall, and for a brief instant, he swore he felt warmth. A glow, faint but real, pulsed in the ice.
It was not Heaven. It was not mercy. It was memory—the memory of Luzbel's love, distorted, faint, but still alive.
He closed his eyes. For the first time in endless days of torment, a whisper of peace passed over him. "Even here," he murmured, "your light reaches me."
Then the vision faded, leaving him once more in the dark.
Above, in Hell's abyss, Luzbel fell to the ground, fists pounding the stone, fire bursting beneath his blows. His tears streamed endlessly—tears that burned holes in the earth, that lit the cavern red with his grief.
"Gabriel!" he screamed into the void, his voice torn between rage and despair. "Gabriel! Hear me—I will not let you go!"
His cries mingled with Gabriel's echoes, intertwining across the abyss—one voice of pain, the other of guilt—until it was impossible to tell them apart.
In the end, only silence remained. A silence heavy as stone, vast as eternity. But in the heart of both angel and demon, a single spark endured: the memory of their love, faint but unyielding.
A light in the darkness.