The Death of God's Will

by cookierye (orphan_account)

Summary:

The archangel Gabriel is replaced by Lucifer, bringing the end of Heaven and Hell's order as it was once known. After being trapped for years underground, only held alive by God's light, a prophet discovers his prison and sets him free to a world that's unrecognisable to him, with greater threats lurking in the shadows that he would ever know existed.

 

Or- A crossover fic between TMC and Ultrakill, where the replaced Gabriel is the angel from the game.

Chapter 1: PROLOGUE

Summary:

YEARS AGO.

"Brother, what you do now is treason!"

The angel's eyes widened as he approached him, Splendor's golden blade glistening for a moment as Lucifer stepped out to the light.

"Is that so? Do you think I am afraid, brother?"

Gabriel stiffened, his broken wings pulling closer to his form. His hand twitched for his other sword, but Justice had been tossed far beyond his reach.

Lucifer blocked his path before he could even consider recovering it.

"Was it treason when I was cast out, brother? I did not see you speak up then."

"I couldn't go against the Father's word. You know that-"

"The Father isn't here to save you now, Gabriel."

Splendor found its way right by the angel's throat. Gabriel took a shuddering breath, the blade's touch colder than it had ever been when he had wielded it.

"If you kill me, Lucifer, the Council will know. They will come after you."

"They won't look for you, brother."

He leaned forward, his eyes locking with his injured brother's. The blade was freezing in his hold, like a last ditch attempt to object against its owner's death.

"By the time the Council notices your absence, it will already have lead them to their demise. God is gone, and Heaven is none the wiser."

The angel gathered what courage he had left in the face of his end.
"You- You will regret this."

"Will I?"

Lucifer let out a low laugh, and it took seconds for everything to change.

Gabriel pulled as far away as he could from the sight, the angel faltering at the sight in front of him. The copy of him smiled, fixing its hold on Splendor's handle.

Lucifer's mimicry was perfect.

"How-"

"Nobody is gonna look for poor old Lucifer." His own voice was echoed back to him, and he grimaced. "Who cares about him, rotting in Hell as the Father declared he should?"

This time, Gabriel met his own eyes.

"But they'll notice you being gone. Their so important archangel, their perfect weapon. Because you've never been anything else to the people of Heaven, Gabriel. And especially not to the Council."

The angel's attempt to reach for Justice was met with the other blade being driven through his arm, pinning it to the ground. His cry in pain was not heard by anyone other than the doppelganger in front of him.

"I didn't say you were leaving, brother."

"Lucifer." He forced out. "You can't do this."

"Didn't you hear me?" It twisted the blade, bringing another scream from the archangel. "Lucifer is gone. I will not be doing anything."

It let go of Splendor, leaving him pinned to the floor. Gabriel gasped for breath as it stepped away, taking a hold of Splendor's handle and attempting to rip it off his arm.

It had reached and picked up Justice before he could manage. With a disinterested motion, it grabbed his free arm and pulled it away, Justice taking its place near the angel's throat.

"Lucifer is gone." It repeated. "And nobody is going to look for him. He won't be the one to cause Heaven's end."

Its grip on his arm tightened.
"You are."

Despite his attempts, he couldn't free himself off the floor. Justice lingered dangerously close, restricting his movements even further.

"The Council is not going to suspect their favourite little toy." It laughed, making a shiver run down his spine. "And by the time they do...well. God isn't around to save them anymore."

"Lucifer, I beg you. These people are our family."

"They're your family." It growled. "They left me to die. I owe nothing to them."

"They do not deserve death. Your hatred is misplaced, we couldn't do anything."

Its grip on Justice tightened once more.

"If you kill me, brother, there's no going back. You will never get to return home without this deceitful form."

The copy closed its eyes, taking a deep breath for a moment. Its wings, a perfect bright blue copy of his own, pulled into its form.

A moment of stillness. A slight tug of Justice away from him.

"I know."

The blade's cut was clean. Quick, not leaving room for the angel to let out a single word before he was beheaded. The light of his form flickered in seconds, fading after he collapsed.

It reached for Splendor, pulling the sword out as well before both found their way back into their sheath, where they always rested by Gabriel's side.

Its job was finished. Now to return to Heaven in the angel's place.

Something stopped it in its tracks, right at the entrance.

A glimpse in the corner of its eye.

The angel's light had not been snuffed out. It had faded, laughable in comparison to his regular radiance, but it still clung on stubbornly.

Gabriel refused to die.

And that was something it couldn't let anyone find out.

Notes:

note for clarification for chapters from here and onwards:
-when using the name Gabriel, i will be referring to the original angel, who is also the one from Ultrakill.
-when using the name Lucifer, i will be referring to the copy, the one from the Mandela Catalogue.
thanks for reading!

Chapter 2: 0-1: THE MANDELA PROPHET

Summary:

TODAY.

His situation was one he had accepted a long time ago.

Ever since he was a little kid, sitting in a church pew, when he had started crying about seeing the pastor die. When his parents had tried comforting him with much confusion towards his words, everyone around him concerned and most of all the pastor who was still right in front of him.

When that man died three days later, it was when he started picking it up.

He had those kinds of visions his entire life. They came with headaches and sore eyesight, and had recently been following the same pattern, alternate attack after alternate attack happening in front of his eyes.

He knew better than to act on his visions.

None of them could get rid of alternates, after all. He could risk a victim's death just being more painful if he interfered.

It had been a few days now that they had changed to something else. A vision he could swear he had at some point in the past, loose details seeming incredibly familiar to him.

The sound of metal scratching against the floor.

A void with only one source of light in it: the figure kneeled down in the middle, chains wrapped tightly around their body, keeping them there.

The ever increasing, violent urge to free them.

He had promised not to act on his visions. But this one urged him more and more, a sense of anxiety in the back of his head, an anticipation crawling under his skin.

With all that, he had let himself follow it.

Just this once.

He thought his judgement was good just this once. That what he was doing was right. Maybe divine intervention finally serving him right, his prophecies for once finding a motive, a reason to exist for more than just to torture him.

Not that this would help explain to anyone that could end up entering the room why he was prying off the floorboards of Saint Gabriel's at about three in the morning, but hey, he could dream.

Dave was honestly amazed nobody had shown up to stop him already. Surely the church was supposed to have some sort of security or something. Or a locked door for that matter. It was worrying how easily he had gotten inside.

Even more worrying considering the lights were on. Somehow, the usual feeling of being watched wasn't happening that time. He couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing.

His search had proved... interesting. The wooden floorboards came off easily and there was the distinct sight of cobblestone underground. He wanted to argue it might've been for insulation, but he thought stone actually might've simply made that place colder if anything. Who knew. There was a reason he was a software engineer and not a church builder.

Still something nagged him that he needed to continue. That whatever he was looking for, he had yet to find.

It was seemingly a miracle that not a single one of the boards had broken, something he had taken as granted before even entering the church. Either he was being careful enough, or the really old wood was built different somehow. Maybe held itself together in spite of the man seemingly trying to destroy it.

The church was empty. Too empty. It felt strange to be here at all, even more so alone. It had been years since Dave had abandoned his faith, convinced whatever God might've been out there simply put a curse on him before disappearing forever.

Because no loving God would've let so many people die so fast. So violently.

He shook the thought away as he pried off another piece of wood, this one near the altar.

He was met with metal.

His heart skipped a bit.

Something tugged intensely at him. He thought- no, knew that he had finally reached what he needed.

His movements from that point onward felt mechanical. Like he knew exactly which boards to peel off. It only took a short amount of time for him to come to, staring at a trapdoor made of iron embedded on the floor, right underneath the church this entire time.

There was a hatch on the side, and he took a good hold of it before tugging hard to get it to move. The metal groaned, stuck from years of being unused but miraculously still unlocked.

It took longer than he would've liked to admit it, and when it scraped itself free he lost his grip on it, leaving it to open with a loud bang and a big cloud of dust to accompany it. He held his breath, half out of desire not to breathe it in and half out of an attempt to stay silent, suddenly incredibly aware of how loud he had been this entire time, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But nobody came.

He let out a breath of what he would like to think was relief before staring down at what seemed like an unending void. This once, he appreciated his tendency to always carry around a flashlight that he didn't need ninety percent of the time, too accustomed to low light to appreciate the brightness. He gave it a experimental shake before turning it on, glad to see it worked first try.

Another thing he was glad to see was that there were stairs in front of him. No jumping ten feet down into a dark chasm for him it seemed.

The source of the cobblestone now made itself apparent; the staircase, as far as his light could reach, was made out of the same grey, rough material, although he would argue this one had a layer of dust coating every step. He wasn't sure what else to expect from something that was literally buried under a building.

He took a deep breath of fresh, non-dusty air before making the decision to follow the tug down the stairs, leaning forward to not hit his head. Despite his attempt to hold on air, he had ended up with a dry throat by the time he reached the bottom of the staircase.

He was just glad the steps weren't as slippery as he had first expected. Not that he didn't hold onto the wall for dear life nonetheless.

The bottom of the staircase granted him with a hall that seemed much of the same as before. Stone and dust. This time there was the additional torch holders lined up on the wall, but they were long emptied out, the metal casings rusted and barely usable. Even if there were torches on them, Dave had no way to light them up.

He made a mental note to add a lighter to the list of things he always took with him.

Relying on his flashlight seemed like the best and unfortunately only option. Thankfully the corridor only seemed to go one way, and he was certain that was exactly where he needed to be.

He pressed forward.

It was odd, he thought. Every single part about it was. The hidden trapdoor under the floorboards. The way this hall, despite being visibly long abandoned, was completely devoid of any life. No spiders building webs in the corners. No rats scurrying around the cobblestone.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The thought made him feel uneasy. It felt like the place was hiding from existence itself, trying to go unnoticed as much as possible.

With how certain he was now of his path, he had a feeling it was a metaphysical sort of hiding. It had seemed like Mandela County's barriers in reality had broken years ago from when the alternate invasion had first begun, anyways. In a sad way, it was nothing new.

The hallway was too long.

The hallway was too short.

He had somehow already lost track of time by when he finally entered something.

Another room. A big one. He no longer had to instinctively hunch over, as the ceiling went far beyond where he could see. He hadn't gone that far underground, had he? The hallway hadn't been going downwards.

He hoped the hallway hadn't been going downwards.

While most of the room seemed like empty space, it was clear its main attraction was in the middle of it. The return of iron was a stark contrast to the rock surrounding it on all sides, and he didn't need an urge to step forward to examine it.

What seemed like a tomb of some kind. Perhaps they had held some Saint's body or belongings down there? Dave frowned at the cross engraved on the metal; whoever had made it had mistakenly done so upside down.

...or maybe not mistakenly.

Who made a tomb out of metal? He had definitely never seen one before. Wasn't that a bad way to preserve a body? It was once again not in his expertise to judge.

He pulled his sleeve up to rub it over the top of the metallic tomb, an attempt to get some of the dust off to examine it further. A brush revealed the feeling of something else engraved onto it, and he pulled his hand away to see further.

There were words carved on it. They were difficult to make out, somewhat the dust and somewhat the iron reflecting his light directly back at him, but he strained to read it anyways.

But beware the sound you are hearing
Out the pipes of organs screaming
Holds a blessed code that's leading
To the cove of the unforgiving

...Ominous. And seemingly incomplete. Dave's guess was that it was a part of some song or poem he had simply never heard of. Considering the entire place's state, he wouldn't be surprised if it was centuries old.

Despite it all, as he felt around for any more engravings, he made a silent note that the metal felt hot under his hands.

Not enough to burn him. But definitely not natural for being underground.

He pressed his palm against it, still feeling for more on the tomb with the other, and for a split second he could've sworn he felt a dim heartbeat.

It seemed it had more to hide still, as his fingers traced over one more thing. He took a shuddering breath before leaning down to read it, something suddenly feeling like it was lodging itself in his throat.

Scendi Nelle Tenebre

The second he finished reading was when the iron actually began burning.

He pried his hand off on pure instinct, taking a startled step back as a crack echoed across the room, followed by a second, then a third. It took him a good moment to realise the top of the tomb was breaking apart, metal shattering as easily as glass.

His breath caught on his throat when a hand broke out of it. Someone- no, something crawling its way out.

The rattling of chains being pulled against.

His vision.

He was exactly where he needed to be.

He couldn't make out the figure struggling to get out, even though their upper half had now made itself apparent. They kept flickering in and out of view, tugging against chains determined to keep them in place.

He didn't think much about his next few actions.

He only dimly realised that he had approached them and reached out to help. A hand outstretched as if it would do anything against their restraints.

He thought they turned to look at him.

A beat before they reached out as well, a hand grabbing his own, the other steadying them by holding his shoulder.

A loud, metallic snap.

And then it felt like he was set on fire all at once. A pain erupted where they touched him, the rest of his body engulfed in a sensation that he could only describe as a numb sort of burning. A light blinding him in seconds, so intense that for a moment he feared he would lose his sight forever.

Feelings that lasted forever, or for mere seconds. Before he knew it, it was all over, and he was on the floor wheezing to catch his breath, coughing out from the dust deciding to intrude on his system.

Once his breathing settled back down, he made an attempt to get up, but could only convince himself to sit up. His heart was racing, his own heartbeat practically echoing in his ears despite him not searching for his pulse.

He looked up at the light falling over him, and all at once remembered the figure.

Who was now looking down at him.

Now that he could see them, he was at a loss for what he was looking at. Their head was a ball of pure light, the only thing visible in it being multiple eyes staring down at him. A pair of wings, broken and battered, laid down on the sides, coated in the same dim grey at their eyes. A garment he would see someone wearing in a faire, torn in places in ways all too similar to clean slices.

His mind faltered at an explanation for what he was seeing. A mental loss for words. The sight in front of him was humanoid, but nothing close to human.

Alternate, his thoughts tried to provide, and the word sat weird on his tongue. Wrong.

Angel, a voice in his head hummed.

And something told him this one was correct.

The figure took a few steps towards him, looming threateningly as they closed their distance. Something like fear beat alongside his heart, but he couldn't command himself to move, like he was locked in a trance he was unprepared for deal with.

They stopped right in front of him.

And then dropped on their knees.

Their hands grabbed onto his coat, left opened from earlier in the church. Light against leather. They bowed what he called their head for lack of a better explanation, and spoke before he could comprehend what was happening.

"Creation of the Father. I owe you my gratitude for my discovery, and my life for my freedom."

As their wings pulled up against them, Dave realised very suddenly the gravity of the situation he had just ended up in.

Chapter 3: 0-2: GABRIEL, THE FALLEN ANGEL

Notes:

EDIT: Changed the numbering of the last two chapters to better fit the feeling I'm going for with them.

There was silence.

They raised their head, looking directly at him with too many eyes, clearly expecting something. Dimmed lights staring right into his soul.

They looked...

Tired.

They looked tired.

He came to that conclusion more suddenly than he expected, but now it was obvious in a lot more than just their eyes. The way their wings dragged along the floor, how their hands barely held onto his coat without shaking. Now that the initial shock had passed, he felt less fear and more pity for the figure in front of him.

He took note of the situation he was in. He was on the floor, unarmed, and almost blind for a few seconds. If this thing had wanted to kill him, it would've done so the very moment the tomb had opened, and if it had been some evil curse or something, they wouldn't be sitting here thanking him right now. They'd be long gone.

So with a deep breath, he attempted to be polite.

"Who, uh- who are you?"

Although maybe "what" would've been a better question.

Their eyes narrowed, and he could see them being almost offended at his question. Had his attempt immediately backfired?

It didn't take long for their expression to soften as they seemed to reach some sort of understanding.
"Ah. I might in fact have been gone for a while. Or be in a place where angels like me are an unknown phenomenon. Very well, I shall ignore this heresy."

All he could think was oh God, this will be a long day.

"I am the righteous hand of the Father, and His most trusted of warriors. But I suppose a mere mortal like you would refer to me as the angel Gabriel."

Gabriel. Finally a name to put to the sight in front of him. He cleared his throat and managed an attempt at an introduction.

"Nice to um- to meet you, I guess. I'm-"

"I am aware of who you are, David." With that, Gabriel's eyes sparked with something like...excitement? "A mortal blessed by the Father, you must feel so honoured to be a prophet."

He held back a locked and loaded rant about how much his visions absolutely sucked, including every single reason why he'd love to get rid of them.
"...yup. Great honour."

Finally, Gabriel let go of his coat and allowed him some space to breathe. Standing up, he was reminded once again how tall the angel was compared to him. Or to anything, really.

"I apologise for my sudden exit." They put their hands together rather politely. "I fear I have been trapped for quite some time now; I wouldn't have needed a tether overwise."

"What sort of tether?"

If it turned out he was gonna have to carry the tomb around, he was going to scream.

The angel looked at him, seemingly confused by the question.

"...You, of course."

His hand automatically reached for his shoulder where he had previously felt a burn. It no longer hurt, but a part of him told him that was exactly where that so called tether had latched onto.

He took a deep breath. Better not argue with the immortal, mysterious being in front of him just yet.
"And- what does being your tether entail?"

"Do they not teach you the basics anymore?" They scoffed. "Ah, whatever. I'll be kind. It's a two way thing: you act as my connection to this world, and in return we share my life. Injuries and all can still happen, of course, so do take care not to get wounded, would you? I would hate to carry your pain."

One sentence and he was already getting dizzy. Way too much to stomach in one go.

"As a chosen of the Father, I trust you shall not abuse the opportunity of eternal life."

"...so." He started slowly. "I can't die now?"

The angel rolled their many eyes.
"No. Of course not. That's what I just said, isn't it?"

He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of all the events leading up to that point. He had followed a vision to Saint Gabriel's. He had found a secret tunnel under the church. He had unearthed an entire angel who he was now bound to and because of it he had just become functionally immortal.

Okay. Definitely a normal day. He took a moment to check his watch and was surprised to recognise the numbers on it. So not a dream. Damnit.

"Prophet?"

Dave looked back at Gabriel, who seemed expectant.

"A question, if you will. I do not recognise this place. Where exactly are we?"

Forcing himself to not mentally crumble on the spot, he took a deep breath.
"We're- uh, we're in Mandela County."

The angel tilted their head.
"Where is that?"

"Edge of Wisconsin."

A show of clear confusion.

"...In uh, in America?"

Gabriel's eyes did not betray a single sign of recognition. Dave came to the realisation that he didn't know how long the angel had actually been trapped.

"...Earth?"

"On EARTH?!"

He jumped at their sudden reaction, noticing their wings slightly flicker a gold colour.

"That insignificant FUCK LEFT ME ON EARTH? Ohhh, he'll pay for this one even MORE SO THAN BEFORE!"

They seemed to take a second to remember he was still right in front of them.
"...ehem. No offense to your birthplace."

He simply shrugged.
"Honestly, it kind of sucks here."

"But if we are on Earth-" They paused their own self, narrowing their eyes as they looked over him. He felt a chill wherever their eyes went.

"Prophet. What year is it?"

He tried catching another problem before it was caused.
"Do you use the Gregorian calendar?"

They didn't need to say something for him to see they had no idea what he was talking about. He helplessly shrugged.

"Okay, um... has our Lord been born yet? I was to tell Mary before- before everything happened, of course."

Oh no.

He took a sharp breath. They must have noticed the way he grimaced, cause their eyes narrowed once more.

"Yeah, uh... Don't know how to tell you this, but it's been about-"

He had heard something about Christ not being born exactly on year 1, but he chose to discard it for the time being.

"-about two thousand and nine years after that."

"Two THOUSAND?!" This time he expected the scream. "Locked me up like an animal, for CENTURIES? Ohhh, I will have Lucifer's head for this!"

He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming already. Now Satan had been added to the mix of things he was learning in one night.

"How about we- get out of here first. We can discuss the rest later."

They attempted to regain their composure, but he noticed how their wings twitched in anger still.
"Of course. If it has truly been this long, I have much to learn here. Lead the way, please."

Somehow the angel managed to make the plea sound like an order. Unwilling to argue against it, he was the first out the door.

Chapter 4: 0-3: THE OUTER WORLD

Returning to the church was a breath of fresh air.

...Literally.

After a maximum of ten minutes down in that weird, dusty basement, Dave was already starting to understand why Gabriel had snapped. If someone had put him down there for two thousand years he too would be pissed as hell.

Speaking of the angel, they seemed rather excited at the sight around them. He noticed how their eyes traced over the stained glass windows with something he'd dare to describe as glee.

"What is this place?"

"A church. You had those, right?"

They nodded, or at least that's what he interpreted the movement as. Their lack of an actual head was not doing wonders for communicating.

He decided to busy himself with shutting the trapdoor once more. It didn't seem like they'd be going back down there any time soon.

"I suppose humans can do a half decent job with their creations. Of course, I expected no beauty to be spared for worshipping the Father."

He hadn't been in many churches, but Saint Gabriel's definitely was not even close to the prettiest one he had seen.

He silently realised the irony of the church's name in regards to the angel. Something in his mind whispered it had been intentional.

Had someone known they were trapped under there?

To his credit, he managed to shut the trapdoor with a lot less noise than he had opened it. A small win, as he looked around and remembered how many of the floorboards he had ripped off during his search.

This was going to take forever.

"Not that I do not admire the craftsmanship, but are we going to spend our entire day here?"

"I have to put these back." He motioned to the discarded planks.

He noticed the way their eyes narrowed.

"...I wasn't sure where the trapdoor was."

"Hmmm. I assumed that was some eccentric part of the decor. Do we truly want to waste time on this?"

"If we want to not get caught."

They put their hands behind their back, their wings making a generous attempt to spread out despite their tattered form.
"So be it. Just this once I will lend you a hand as part of my gratitude for my freedom. It will not happen again, don't you dare ask me for it."

He didn't have a good feeling about that.

"Stand aside, prophet."

"Please don't keep calling me that." A mumble that went mostly unheard as he took a step onto solid, not mangled ground.

The angel closed its eyes, letting a moment of complete silence fill the room. He found himself practically holding his breath as they put their hands together.

And it was followed by another suffocatingly bright light.

He managed not to fall back that time, though only by a little. Despite the flash being gone almost as soon as it appeared, he was not getting any more accustomed to the feeling of going blind for a few seconds.

When his sight focused again, he realised that they hadn't been lying.

Everything was back into place, exactly the way it had been before he arrived. Or at least similarly enough to go unnoticed. Experimentally, he stepped on the newly set floorboards and found it a good sign that he had not fallen through them.

The headache that had come with this was quite unpleasant however.

He noticed them rub their eyes from the corner of his vision with a potentially annoyed expression.

"So- this is the sharing pain part?"

They forced out a laugh.
"I am the righteous hand of the Father. I do not feel pain from- from something as pathetic as moving a few pieces of wood."

While his headache said otherwise, he decided not to argue. Some annoyance over not having to rebuild half a church floor was a deal he was going to take.

"Now let us leave this establishment. I have grown bored of it."

He had the courtesy to go up to the door and open it for the angel, a gesture they seemed to appreciate. He closed the door behind them once they were both outside, the instant chill hitting him reminding him that it was still a rough night in January despite all the things he had witnessed.

Snow crunched beneath his boots, the ground covered in a generous layer of it. Not enough to make driving impossible, but enough to exercise caution, even if he had never been one for rushing.

"Prophet?"

"Dave." He attempted to correct, looking over at them. "What's up?"

Their eyes were looking up at the sky, what felt like an infinite black void stretching upon the entire world.

For a moment, they sounded hesitant.
"Where are the stars?"

He followed their glance at the empty sky, silently remembering they were right. The stars had seemingly disappeared from Mandela's sky years ago.

"Yeah. It's been like that since the invasion."

"Invasion?"

"Alternates."

It took him a moment to realise they likely didn't know what those were either.

"...Demons. Shapeshifting demons that steal people's faces, voices, lives, you name it. All to add more and more dead bodies, to take over more and more parts of this place."

"Sounds... familiar."

A bitter remark.

"I don't know where it started. Or when. But I can tell you that right here, since '92, it's been at its worst."

They didn't spare him an answer. He let himself linger at the sky for a moment longer.

How odd for someone to have lived a life without alternates.

"Speaking of which, we are very likely to get attacked by some in the middle of the night, so we should go."

They pried their eyes off the sight to look at him instead, and he took that as a call to start walking again. The feeling of being watched had creeped its way back to its usual spot, giving him an incentive to hurry. The sooner they got back, the better. Judging by the light shining from behind him, they had taken the incentive to follow.

He thankfully hadn't parked too far away, confident nobody else would be there at that time, and he had been proven right. Gabriel looked at his car suspiciously, another new sight for the angel, and he began talking before they even had to ask.

"You use this to travel. It's like a carriage."

"Where are its horses?"

This was going to be incredibly misinterpreted.

...Maybe he did it a little on purpose.

He tapped on the hood for an answer. They seemed thoughtful.

"They must be incredibly small."

"They are, but they're very fast, and a bit loud because of it. Get in and I'll show you."

Thankfully Gabriel listened, and to the best of their ability fit themself in the back seats. He was reminded once again how tall they were when he took his own seat and noticed them hunched over like an upset child.

"This is rather small as well."

"Built for humans, unfortunately."

"Not that I expected a human creation to be able to withstand my mere presence. Simply a note."

"I'll keep it in mind." He took a deep breath as he switched the engine on.