Gabriel wandered endlessly across the frozen wasteland, a kingdom not of stone or flame but of silence and frost. The plains of eternal ice stretched without horizon, a mirror of despair that reflected only his broken shadow. His body—once a vessel of radiant grace—was now torn and frail, his back marred by the violent absence of wings. Where once feathers of gold and ivory had unfurled, now gaping scars bled slowly, the blood freezing into black crystals that clung to his skin like cursed jewels.
Every breath was agony. The air itself was sharpened glass, slicing his throat as it entered, leaving frost along his lips. Yet it was not the cold that tormented him most—it was memory. Memory, cruel and relentless, was the true ice.
The Voices
At first, silence ruled. But soon silence became a stage for whispers. Gabriel heard them in the cracks of the ice, in the moan of the wind across the frozen cliffs.
Sometimes it was Luzbel's voice: tender, pleading, the echo of promises once spoken beneath starlight.
"Gabriel, my beloved. Forgive me."
Sometimes it was the voice of the archangels, stern and merciless:
"You betrayed the light for lust. You betrayed eternity for him."
And then, worst of all, the serpent's hiss—Belial, the poison that lingered even here:
"You were nothing more than a game. He never loved you as you loved him."
Gabriel answered them. He shouted until his throat broke, pleaded until his body shook. He argued with illusions, begged phantoms for truth. His voice carried across the frozen desert, only to return twisted, warped, mocking.
"Luzbel!" he cried, collapsing against an icy wall. His reflection stared back at him—gaunt, wingless, eyes dimmed like dying stars. "You were my light… and my end."
Hallucinations
The ice was cruel; it carved illusions into its depths. Gabriel saw faces trapped within the frozen walls: Luzbel's violet eyes shimmering as though he were near, lips parting to whisper his name. He would stretch his trembling hand forward, desperate to touch—but the face shattered, leaving only jagged glass that cut his fingers open.
Another time, he saw himself—his radiant self, as he had once been. Wings vast, halo blazing. That image smiled at him with pity. Gabriel screamed and struck the ice with bleeding fists until the vision dissolved, leaving only his reflection: broken, unworthy, fallen.
The realm was alive with cruelty. Each illusion was a dagger, each whisper a chain. His body grew weaker, but his mind suffered most—fracturing, fragmenting, until even his own thoughts became enemies.
Luzbel's Descent
Far away, in the caverns of fire and ash, Luzbel sat upon his throne of obsidian. His demons cowered in silence, for the prince of darkness no longer spoke. His eyes were hollow, his body trembling beneath the weight of grief.
Every scream Gabriel loosed in the abyss reverberated through Hell. Luzbel heard them. He felt them. Each cry was a blade driven into his chest, each sob a chain dragging him into despair.
He could not endure the throne any longer. Rising, he wandered through his own kingdom, past rivers of fire and towers of bone. His steps carried him to the mouth of a pit without end, a chasm deeper than night, where even fire dared not dwell.
He stood at its edge, gazing into the void.
And the void gazed back.
Here, Luzbel spoke—not to demons, not to shadows, but to the emptiness itself.
"Gabriel," he whispered, his voice cracking like fractured stone. "My love. My ruin. Forgive me."
The abyss answered—not with silence, but with an echo. Gabriel's scream, distant, distorted, carried upward from the frozen realm below. Luzbel's knees buckled. He pressed his hands to his ears, but he could not silence it.
Dialogue Across the Abyss
At times, their voices crossed the chasm.
Whether it was truth or madness, Luzbel did not know.
"Why, Luzbel?" Gabriel's voice trembled through the void. "I told you—it was lies. Belial's lies. And still… you doubted me."
Luzbel clawed at his own skin, leaving crimson streaks across his pale face. "I know. I know! And yet I struck you—the one I should have protected. I am damned, Gabriel. More damned than you."
Gabriel's answer was a cry that echoed like breaking glass: "Your doubt was my death."
The words shattered what little remained of Luzbel's composure. He fell to his knees, tears spilling down his cheeks—not water, but blood and flame. They struck the stone and hissed into smoke, rising as crimson mist around him.
"Gabriel!" Luzbel roared, his voice a storm that shook the cavern. "I will not let you go. I will tear Heaven apart—I will burn Hell itself—I will bring you back!"
The Poison of Obsession
Luzbel ceased to eat, ceased to rule, ceased to speak to his legions. He spent his days—if days could be measured—beside the pit, whispering oaths into the void. His obsession grew, choking him like vines.
He replayed every memory of Gabriel until they became torture. The way Gabriel's lips had brushed against his. The way his golden hair had glimmered beneath the stars. The way his voice had whispered of eternity. Each recollection seared him like iron, and yet he clung to them as though they were his last breath.
The abyss became his altar, his confessional, his executioner.
"I will find you," he vowed. "Even if I must carve open the fabric of creation itself. Even if I must damn myself beyond all redemption. You are mine, Gabriel. You will always be mine."
Gabriel's Last Flicker
Meanwhile, Gabriel stumbled deeper into the frozen labyrinth. His body failed him, his wounds unhealed, his spirit fractured. At last, he collapsed within a cavern of glistening ice.
There, upon the wall, a faint glow pulsed. Not fire. Not Heaven's mercy. But memory. The memory of Luzbel's love. Twisted, broken, but still alight.
Gabriel pressed his forehead to the ice, tears freezing upon impact. For the briefest instant, warmth flickered within him. "Even here," he whispered, his voice fragile as cracked glass, "your love reaches me. Even in ruin."
The glow faded, leaving only frost and shadow. Gabriel closed his eyes, surrendering to exhaustion, his breath shallow, his heart heavy.
Back in the underworld, Luzbel collapsed beside the abyss, fists striking the stone until blood ran down his hands. His cries filled the cavern, a dirge of rage and despair.
"Gabriel!" he screamed into the endless dark. "Hear me! I will not lose you—I swear it!"
His voice bled into the void, mingling with Gabriel's own cries, until their pain became indistinguishable—two voices, two souls, bound by grief and betrayal, echoing across eternity.
And in that cursed resonance, both angel and demon clung to the same spark:
the memory of their love, faint but unyielding
a light in the darkness.