Goretober - 2024

16. Fallen Angel || Good Omens - Crowley

"-------, do you know what is happening?" The angel's voice echoed loudly, painfully. His name sounded blurry, he couldn't quite make out the letters.

"No," he whispered. His bright red hair had fallen into his eyes, and he wanted to move it, but was too scared to pull his hands apart from how they were clenched together.

The angel's face twisted in sympathy, though he wasn't sure how he knew that because their face was blurry, nothing even remotely significant about them.

He could feel a few other angels behind him, watching. One of them was his friend, and he really didn't want his friend to be here.

"Why are we here?" His voice sounded like he was underwater, heavy in the air.

"I'm afraid that you've become unfit for Heaven," the angel said, their voice several others, many mouths moving to speak.

"Wh- No, that's not right, I haven't done anything," he said weakly, his wings tightening against his back, his hands clenching even harder.

"You broke one of the only rules, -------."

"What rule?" His breath was starting to shallow in his chest, his words threatening to shatter.

"You know which one."

He did know. He really wished he hadn't wondered about how much trouble he could get in for asking a few questions, because at the time he hadn't been thinking about the consequences, but he sure was now.

"----------, would you bring me that sword?" the angel asked another gently.

"Er- what?" the second angel asked, his voice almost as weak as Crowley's.

"It's a new thing, it's just that in the corner. If you could just bring that to me-"

The second angel, his face blurry as well but Crowley could see his curly white hair, retrieved the sword, and handed it to the first angel.

"I charge thee, a fallen angel."

Against his will, Crowley could feel his wings start to stretch out behind him, and then the sword was slicing the base of them, severing them away from his back.

It happened so quickly that he didn't even know what they had done, until both of his wings fell to the floor and disintegrated, melting into the white floor.

Blood started running down his back, staining what he was wearing, and then the floor gave out and he dropped.

The pain from losing his wings wasn't that bad, once he started burning. His hair curled and lengthened around him, covering his eyes so he could no longer see where he was falling, every vein inside of him boiled, setting him on fire from the inside. Maybe he was screaming, but he couldn't hear it if he was.

The bones in his back felt like they were rearranging, something sharp stabbing out of his skin, then on the other side. Just next to his shoulder blades.

He couldn't decide which was more painful, being on fire on the inside, or being torn apart, but decidedly this was not an experience he wanted to have again.

The things in his back shoved and pushed and grew, and then they were wings, shiny black feathers that he couldn't see.

Then he slammed into the ground, his new wings nearly snapping from the force.

Crowley cried out, a scream dying in his throat where it had stuck, sucked away by the lack of air. But when he opened his eyes, all he saw was the dark ceiling of his flat. He was alone, and had fallen thousands of years ago.