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Feb. 1st, 2014 07:09 am[ They stand in a doorway. Beyond appears vista upon vista and Des is vaguely sensible suddenly that over the nearby balustrade there lies below the world.
The world as he has never seen it in all its ages, with all its secrets of the past revealed. He has only to rush to the railing and he can peer down into the time of Eden or Ancient Mesopotamia, or a moment when Roman legions had marched through the woods of his earthly home. He would see the great eruption of Vesuvius spill its horrid deadly ash down upon the ancient living city of Pompeii.
Everything there to be known and finally comprehended, all questions settled, the smell of another time, the taste of it.
There's a strange pull to it that he can't resist with his will save of 14, and he is drawn to it, but the distance to it seems impossible, and suddenly he becomes intensely aware that this vision of Earth will be mingled with smoke and fire and suffering, and that it might utterly demolish in him the overflowing sense of joy. He still has to see, however. He's not dead. He will not remain here.
Azrael reaches out for him, but his legs begun running faster than she can grab him.
An immense light rises suddenly, a direct source infinitely hotter and more illuminating than the splendid light that already falls without prejudice on everything he can see. This great gathering magnetic light grows larger and larger until the world down below, the great dim landscape of smoke and horror and suffering, is turned white by this light, and rendered like an abstraction of itself, on the verge of combusting.
Azrael pulls him back, throwing up her arms to cover his eyes. Des would realize she and Lucifer have bowed their heads, and that they are hiding their own eyes behind him. He hears them sigh, or is it a moan? He can't tell. For one second the sound fills the universe; all the cries and laughter and singing; and something mournful from the depths of Earth - all this sound - is caught in their sighs.
Suddenly, he feels Azrael's strong arms relax and release him.
Looking up, in the midst of the flood of light he sees again the balustrade, and against it stands a single form. Eyes are locked on to his, the gaze terrifying and powerful.
Des is overcome with the feelings he usually experiences only when on the verge of death.
The being draws him towards itself, a light flooding from it that mingles with the light behind him and all around him, so his face grows brighter yet more distinct and more detailed.
And then he speaks loudly, pleadingly to Des, in a heartbroken voice, a voice strong and masculine and perhaps even young. The voice overwhelms, fills him to the brim with every kind of emotion there is. It speaks his name, but it's not Desmond Descant that it says - Des would recognize suddenly an older name of his own, his once, when he was born to the world. ]
You would not do this, to your brethren on earth, to God himself, would you? This is not you, my Son. You are not of their ilk, no - not you!
The world as he has never seen it in all its ages, with all its secrets of the past revealed. He has only to rush to the railing and he can peer down into the time of Eden or Ancient Mesopotamia, or a moment when Roman legions had marched through the woods of his earthly home. He would see the great eruption of Vesuvius spill its horrid deadly ash down upon the ancient living city of Pompeii.
Everything there to be known and finally comprehended, all questions settled, the smell of another time, the taste of it.
There's a strange pull to it that he can't resist with his will save of 14, and he is drawn to it, but the distance to it seems impossible, and suddenly he becomes intensely aware that this vision of Earth will be mingled with smoke and fire and suffering, and that it might utterly demolish in him the overflowing sense of joy. He still has to see, however. He's not dead. He will not remain here.
Azrael reaches out for him, but his legs begun running faster than she can grab him.
An immense light rises suddenly, a direct source infinitely hotter and more illuminating than the splendid light that already falls without prejudice on everything he can see. This great gathering magnetic light grows larger and larger until the world down below, the great dim landscape of smoke and horror and suffering, is turned white by this light, and rendered like an abstraction of itself, on the verge of combusting.
Azrael pulls him back, throwing up her arms to cover his eyes. Des would realize she and Lucifer have bowed their heads, and that they are hiding their own eyes behind him. He hears them sigh, or is it a moan? He can't tell. For one second the sound fills the universe; all the cries and laughter and singing; and something mournful from the depths of Earth - all this sound - is caught in their sighs.
Suddenly, he feels Azrael's strong arms relax and release him.
Looking up, in the midst of the flood of light he sees again the balustrade, and against it stands a single form. Eyes are locked on to his, the gaze terrifying and powerful.
Des is overcome with the feelings he usually experiences only when on the verge of death.
The being draws him towards itself, a light flooding from it that mingles with the light behind him and all around him, so his face grows brighter yet more distinct and more detailed.
And then he speaks loudly, pleadingly to Des, in a heartbroken voice, a voice strong and masculine and perhaps even young. The voice overwhelms, fills him to the brim with every kind of emotion there is. It speaks his name, but it's not Desmond Descant that it says - Des would recognize suddenly an older name of his own, his once, when he was born to the world. ]
You would not do this, to your brethren on earth, to God himself, would you? This is not you, my Son. You are not of their ilk, no - not you!
