The night lay heavy upon the secret glade, cloaked in starlight and whispers of wind.
For a fleeting moment, the world seemed still, as if the heavens themselves had grown weary of watching forbidden love bloom in silence. Gabriel and Luzbel stood side by side, their hands brushing lightly, the fragile peace of their union a fire burning against eternity's cold decree. But peace is fragile, and shadows are patient.
Within Luzbel's heart, storms gathered like black clouds pressing against the edges of his soul. The voice of Belial—the eternal whisper, the serpent's hiss—still haunted his mind. Jealousy dripped like venom into his veins, slow but relentless, turning tenderness into unease, and love into torment.
Gabriel, radiant and serene, sensed the fracture but not its depth. To him, Luzbel was the wound and the cure, the sinner and the beloved. But to Luzbel, every word of love came chained to doubt, every embrace shadowed by the phantom question: What if Gabriel is nothing more than a mask of light?
The Torture of Doubt
Luzbel could not escape it.
When he closed his eyes, he saw Gabriel's smile—gentle as dawn. Yet in the next instant, Belial's poison would twist that image into deceit, and Gabriel's golden eyes became daggers gleaming with betrayal.
He wandered alone in the abyss, pacing beneath cavern arches carved by fire and sorrow. His wings spread wide, shadows clinging to each feather like ash, trembling with unrest.
"Is he mine?" Luzbel would whisper into the void.
But the void only returned silence.
Belial's voice filled that silence.
"Angels do not change. They destroy. They cannot love one such as you."
The words, soft as velvet, wrapped around Luzbel's mind like chains. They sank into his soul, and even though he longed to reject them, they pulsed with the rhythm of his own secret fear.
His heart was a battlefield where Gabriel's light and Belial's venom clashed ceaselessly. One moment he drowned in longing, the next in fury. His love became both sanctuary and torment, a flame that warmed him only to scorch his flesh.
The Whisper Made Flesh
Two nights passed without Gabriel's presence. Two nights that stretched like an eternity, where silence deepened and suspicion thrived. Belial waited for this moment—the crack in Luzbel's faith.
From the darkness, he conjured illusion. With a gesture cruel as it was precise, he painted the air with visions: Gabriel in council with angels, his lips moving as though plotting, his golden eyes turned cold. Their voices, though fabricated, whispered betrayal.
"See," Belial hissed, his voice echoing like thunder inside Luzbel's skull. "I told you—he is no lover, only a spy. He speaks of destroying you. He plays with you as Heaven commands."
Luzbel's chest tightened, his breath ragged. The vision burned into him like molten iron. He wanted to reject it, but Belial's words had already dug roots in his heart. His love faltered, collapsing under the weight of fear.
The Accusation
That night, Gabriel came. He descended into the glade, his wings shimmering white and gold, his face lit with quiet devotion. He carried no weapon, no shield, only the love that had bound him to Luzbel in defiance of Heaven's laws.
But Luzbel's eyes were already poisoned. They blazed with blue fire, rage and despair braided into one. His voice was thunder, trembling with anguish.
"Is this true, Gabriel?" Luzbel roared, stepping forward, his aura a storm of shadow. "Have you deceived me? Have you been playing with me all along?"
Gabriel froze, stunned by the venom in his beloved's tone. Pain flickered across his face like lightning. Slowly, he reached out, palm trembling.
"No, Luzbel. Never. I would sooner burn my wings than betray you. This is Belial's trickery. Do not let his lies consume you."
But his words struck only walls of suspicion. The seed of jealousy had already sprouted into a monstrous tree, its roots coiling around Luzbel's reason.
"Lies!" Luzbel's voice cracked. His hand rose, and from it burst a torrent of dark energy, searing the night with its destructive glow. The force struck Gabriel, forcing him back, though he did not retaliate. His wings shielded him, light shimmering against darkness.
"Luzbel, please—listen to me!" Gabriel begged, his voice breaking with desperation. His shield of light flared, not to strike but to endure, refusing to wound the one he loved. "Do not let Belial tear us apart!"
But love, once fractured, can become a blade sharper than hate. Each plea only deepened Luzbel's fury, for to his tormented heart, Gabriel's calm sounded like mockery.
The Battle of Light and Shadow
The glade became a crucible of war. Shadow and flame erupted from Luzbel's hands, tearing the earth, uprooting trees, shattering stone. Gabriel's light met it, radiant but restrained, protecting but never striking back.
It was not a battle of enemies, but of lovers—one desperate to prove his innocence, the other consumed by the specter of betrayal.
Above them, the stars trembled, as if Heaven itself wept at the sight.
Belial stood hidden in the treeline, watching with delight. His laughter—low, venomous—rippled through the night. This was his triumph: love turned to ruin, devotion twisted into war.
The Surrender
At last, Gabriel lowered his shield. His golden wings dimmed, his arms spread wide in surrender. His voice was soft, but it thundered in Luzbel's heart.
"If you must hurt me to believe me, then strike. If only my blood can prove my love, then take it. For even shattered, even broken, I am yours, Luzbel. My love will not change."
For an instant, Luzbel faltered. His heart screamed to fall into Gabriel's arms. But the serpent's venom was louder. In a cry torn from anguish and rage, he unleashed a final torrent of darkness. The blast struck Gabriel full, shattering his divine essence. His cry echoed across Heaven, a sound so terrible that it reached the throne itself.
The Judgment
In the sacred hall above, seven archangels gathered: Michael, Raphael, Uriel, Jophiel, Zadkiel, Azrael—and once Gabriel. Now there were six.
They had long whispered doubts of his secret meetings, but the cry confirmed all. To them, Gabriel had fallen—not into rebellion, but into forbidden love. His devotion to Luzbel was betrayal enough.
Michael, his voice heavy with sorrow, pronounced the sentence:
"There is no other choice. Gabriel has chosen the abyss. His wings shall be torn, and he shall wander in the realm of ice for eternity."
Their judgment was swift, merciless. With divine fire, they tore the white-and-gold wings from his back. Gabriel's scream rang like a bell of doom. Light poured from his wounds, fading into darkness.
The Fall
Struck both by Luzbel's fury and Heaven's decree, Gabriel fell. He plunged into an endless abyss, torn from sky and flame, stripped of his radiance. His wings, once the pride of Heaven, dissolved into dust upon the wind.
Luzbel watched, frozen in horror. His rage evaporated, leaving only grief—grief so immense it clawed at his very soul. He reached out, but it was too late. His voice cracked the heavens:
"Gabriel!"
The name echoed through the glade, through the stars, through the abyss itself. It was a cry of love, of despair, of a man who had slain the very one he loved most.
And in the shadows, Belial's laughter spread like wildfire. His triumph was complete. The serpent had devoured its prey.
Luzbel collapsed to his knees, tears burning trails down his marble skin. For all his power, he was powerless now—left only with the memory of a love destroyed by jealousy, poisoned by lies, and condemned by Heaven itself.
Closing
Thus was Gabriel torn from light and cast into ice, and Luzbel left with nothing but ashes in his hands. Belial rejoiced, his echoing laughter forever entwined with the memory of betrayal.
And so the secret glade, once a sanctuary of stolen kisses, became a graveyard of love, haunted by the cry of an angel and the silence of the one who had cast him down.