Cain watches, transfixed, as cold lights and colors blur into each other. Lightheaded. Present yet not in the way only partial consciousness can elicit.
Everything is too out of focus; headache-inducing in its lack of clarity.
Then again... that might be due to the overwhelming scents of lavender and cleaning alcohol throughout the room - they're so strong Cain struggles not to gag.
Pale purple and silver stands tall. Cold and distant. No body language can be read, but body language isn't needed with the tone of voice used. Expectation blankets every garbled word. So heavy it's suffocating.
White and gold moves, tension plain to see despite their lack of detail. Resignation echoes in every stilted step. The certainty in each one isn't confidence, but rather familiarity.
Gold grows larger, slow yet steady, flowing through the space like honey spilling over porcelain.
Briefly, there are more colors, more sounds, more bodies moving about - then... silence. Something like a door latch clunks locked, distorted like all other sounds before it. The weight of it hits the same regardless.
Silver and purple speaks one last time - indecipherable the words may be, their inflection alone sends dread soaring up Cain's spine.
The alarm bells screeching through his mind are proven correct not even a moment later as the delayed yet distinct sound of feathers being plucked ripped out fills the room.
While the color may be different, Cain is far too familiar with the coppery scent of blood to ever mistake the liquid splattering his vision for anything else.
Then... the screaming starts. Distorted. Fluctuating in pitch, yet unmistakably masculine.
Disturbingly familiar, but too off to properly discern.
It's both forever yet far too soon when, suddenly, Cain is thrown out of the gorey scene. He sits up quickly, head spinning to find himself back in bed at home. An anticlimactic picture after the nightmare he'd just had.
With a few deep breaths, Cain sighs and flings his comforter off his legs to plant his hooves on the worn wood floor of his bedroom - fully knowing there'd be no more sleep to be had that night.
About to get up for the day, he freezes as a voice he hasn't heard in eons roars through his mind like a stampeding herd of water buffalo.
ILL ENDURE THIS FOR YOUR SAKES!
FOR YOUR SAKES ILL ENDURE EVERYTHING SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO!
Crystal clear. In the same language he was raised speaking. The same language he taught to all of his own children, not wanting to lose the only reminder of his birth family he'd had left until recently.
In the same exhausted and terrified voice he remembered from his childhood - from so very many moments where he or his siblings could have been seriously hurt or even killed. Falling from large heights. Hunting dangerous animals. Unexpected accidents. Illnesses lingering too long and nearly taking one of them away...
Cain wasn't wide awake before, but he is now. There are goosebumps on his arms and all the hair over his body is standing on end. His tail, nearly long enough to reach his hooves, involuntarily wraps itself around one of his legs.
Trying to calm down, he pulls his legs back up to sit cross-legged in the middle of his bed.
He focuses on his breathing, drawing in air slowly and exhaling even slower. It's only once his heart rate has steadied that he finally turns his focus to the voice that had demanded his attention. Slowly, surely, his extends his magic -his consciousness- outward.
His first try ends up a bust; he's rebuffed immediately.
This stops him for but a moment as he realizes he's forgotten one key component. If he wants entry where he wants to go, he needs either an invite or a ticket of some kind... and he has one such thing. He hopes so anyway.
Retrieving the gift from his father's lieutenant -the feathered dagger- from his bedside, he tries again.
It takes a long time to reach the person he has in mind. Longer than any other attempt at astral projection he's ever made. He has no doubt it's Heaven's boundaries doing their due diligence - guarding the innocent souls beyond the sacred Golden Gates, but Cain brushes against them -passed them- without fear. He's never tried something of this magnitude before, but it doesn't take a genius to understand the rules of his visit. It's all fine by him, he has no intentions of harm.
He's just here to check in on one person and then he'll leave.
Unburdened by the lack of a body, he lets the spectral form of the dagger's feather guide him where he needs to go. It'd had a dimmed shine to it before, but it holds a glow now. A glow that grows brighter with every step closer to its original bearer.
The search for his father is less a scenic tourist visit and more of a fervent race against time.
Cain doesn't give a single fuck about how beautiful Heaven is. Not when his father might be in pain somewhere within one of its many towering buildings. It immediately loses hospitality points for that.
There are Winners out and about, but he doesn't pay them any more mind than they mind him. That is to say none. He isn't visible or tangible to them and has no plans of changing that.
As much as he'd love to see Abel too, there's no time for detours right now, much less chit-chat.
Their father had Called for the first time ever and Cain would do his damnedest to Answer.
Soon, but not nearly soon enough, the now brilliantly shining feather practically tugs him into an otherwise exquisitely forgettable building, followed by a much too slow elevator. The moment he steps out of which, he immediately knows he's on the right track. It's the same horrid smell from his nightmare.
That Fucking Antiseptic Mixed With Lavender.
It's an assault on his sensitive nose and he almost outright stops himself from breathing before he remembers he's not physically present in the sickly floral smelling hallway. Adjusting his sensory intake, he continues down the corridor. Wherever the disgusting odor is strongest would be where he'd find his Pop.
With that in mind, finding the right one is simple. A tentative peek through the right door reveals that, yes, this is the same room, and yes, it's still screwing with his sight and hearing.
Whatever occurred in the room during his nightmare is over now, but the scent of blood lingers beneath the nearly overwhelming floral disinfectant.
Not trusting his eyes or ears in such a state, Cain tries feeling with his magic instead and grits his teeth.
Well, that sure as fuck explains the screwed up sight and sound...
Cain eye the seal around the door with utmost disdain. Enchantments of disorientation. How... q u a i n t.
But not impervious - as proven by the fact the user hadn't thought to dampen the sense of smell alongside the other two.
It ultimately ended up being what gave them away.
Too bad for them; Cain never did learn how to keep his nose out of other people's business.
Two choices: either I can use my own magic to eat away the original sealer's magic and supplant my own in its place...
Bracing his hands on the doorframe, Cain begins channeling his own magic into the seal.
Or I can outright destroy it by flooding the seal with more magic than it can handle.
He chooses the latter, quicker of the two.
The seal glistens ever brighter and brighter, until it finally begins to burn. Its angelic script, previously just written over the doorframe, is left smoking and charred into it by the time he's done. Rendered illegible and completely inert.
The blurriness sharpens into crystal clear detail, and Cain's stomach drops.
His Poppy is so bloody... and his wings... fuck, they've been nearly plucked bald...
He's barely holding himself up and clearly on the brink of collapse.
Cain rushes to his side, but -just as he's about to reach out, to help his father up- his attention is wrenched away as the person he now recognizes as The Head Angel speaks. Her tone alone lights a fury up his spine, and Cain has to bite his tongue to avoid bringing attention to himself. He's not supposed to be here, and he has no doubt the punishment would be severe if he was caught.
But in his invisibility, he has no qualms of showing his disgust.
He can see the guilt in her face. In every inch of her body. Can hear it in her trailed off words.
He doesn't care how guilty she feels. Clearly her guilt isn't enough to stop her.
Guilt means nothing if the actions don't reflect it, and hers were the furthest thing from.
Seeing her stand over them, so entitled and demanding. Worried more about appearances than the person in front of her. More focused on herself and how g u i l t y she is than actually taking the steps to rectify the cause of said guilt...
The blame for her guilt is not said yet clear none the less, and it isn't her shoulders she's chosen to lay that albatross across.
His Poppy is in no condition to answer yet she still commands it, and Cain feels the last shred of his self-restraint and patience snap.
Against his own will, his magic lashes outward. It fills the room, as sharp and quick as a whip and heavier than a hammer to the chest. In a single second, all of the windows and lights in the room are blown out.
Glass falls over the floor as a large shard is sent singing past Sera's head to lodge itself in the locked door.
The lavender and antiseptic smell are gone now, replaced by a lingering scent of cinnamon and wet clay
Cain immediately comes back to consciousness in his own bedroom.
Putting his head in his hands, he groans as he allows himself to fall back into his now cold bed.
