copypasta

How many had he killed? Had he ever thought to count? How much cruelty did he embody... and to what end? How many did he condemn to hell and who did it benefit..? Two defeats at the hands of the machine had changed Gabriel. The world of the one supposed Will of God was now shattered and only he was left to put the pieces back together. They collected before the light of a dying fire that fresh fuel couldn't sustain, this new light showing the truth to Gabriel: The pieces never fit together to begin with. The supposed Council of "the people" who boasted a God that wasn't there. Gone. Vanished. The Council still chased after the light of God's fire, their memory of its words and will grown twisted and warped, and the rest of the aimless masses of Heaven follow their footsteps. The angels still act in The Father's name but His kingdom has changed. Now the fire was dying, sputtering out as the heat failed to gain purchase. Gabriel looked upon the embers with a perfect clarity. He drew his blade and held it in contrast to the dying light. In its reflection he saw a weapon reborn, no longer wielded by the will of another, but his own. He knew words alone would never sway the masses. He chose to do something drastic. Death stains the auditorium. The littered corpses of the once mighty council now strewn against its surfaces, their last gasps of life dripping down the dissident blade of Gabriel's sword. The last councilor, now backed up to a wall, scrambles for words between panicked breaths as death approaches with measured steps. "W-wait! Y-you can't do this! Our status forbids it! This is treason, heresy, murder! We are the supreme authority, our law commands you! "You command nothing. Your words hold no power over me, or anyone else. Lest you truly believe you can talk my blade back into its sheath." "B-but the people are on our side! The citizens of Heaven know that we are just!" "The masses only follow you out of fear and desperation. I will show them there is nothing to be afraid of, for there is not species nor origin, vested rank or holy status that will stop the sharp edge of a sword. We all bleed the same blood, and the cushions of your thrones have made you weak and impotent." "P-please, Gabriel, see reason! The council follows the will of The Father! You seek to go against our creato-" “Face it, brother. God is Dead. The fire is gone. You're chasing phantoms." Gabriel's silhouette now towers over the councilor, his shadow cast upon a soon lifeless corpse. He raises his sword for the final cut as the crying mess on the floor stammers out its final feeble argument. "B-b-but the Father's light! Without me you cannot hope to reconnect with it! I-i-if you kill me, you'll be dead in a matter of hours!" ..."I know." A clean, silent cut glides through the councilor's neck, severing his spine with elegance and ease. His head falls onto the marble floor, the rest of his body following soon after. Bereft of status but brimming with purpose, Gabriel gave a final message to the angels amassed at the gates of the auditorium before leaving Heaven for the very last time. His arm outstretched, without a word, the people saw. In the silence the message rang out to the far ends of the cosmos.