Summoning Sciences | | ofdivineretribution
The dust had barely settled on the wreckage of a holy war and silence echoed in the TARDIS. Time passed painfully slow without a companion but Dean had proven he was not the flying sort. The Doctor frowned at the console, lost in thought.
He was still getting used to the new body which had emerged from the flames. It was strange to feel all of this. To truly be for the first time. The universe had been wandering around his skull since his eight year old self had looked into the Untempered Schism but this was different. This was raw power and destiny and light and darkness pouring through him and it made it just a little hard to breathe.
Out of nowhere the Doctor felt a pull that he could not explain. Something or someone was calling him away. For once it was not the TARDIS simply making up her mind. In fact, he could feel her pulling away. The sharp sting of panic passed between them as he came undone and he realized that he was being extracted and the ship would be abandoned in the vortex.
A moment later the console room was gone, replaced by somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere low and underground. There were people here and as they stared at him, he looked right back into them. Frustration and fear built in his chest and the Doctor planted his hands on his hips, glowering at the room around him. He then fixed the same angry look back onto his summoners, shaking his head in annoyance.
“Do you have any bloody idea what you’ve just done?”
The air was still--not a single blade of grass so much as swayed in a delicate spring breeze, but Raguel didn’t notice. While the plane of human consciousness remained, at least on the surface, mostly unaware of the ebb and flow of spiritual energies, angels were hypersensitive to them, and the presence of it was so sharp and sudden that it might as well have been a nuclear bomb for the way it suddenly invaded his consciousness.
There was only one being he knew of capable of such a thing.
It didn’t matter that no one knew where God was, that not a trace of him had been found even as his own began to turn on each other and the apocalypse threatened to wipe life from the surface of the planet, Raguel knew that he would return. Finally, it seemed he had.
There was only a rustle of wings to signify his departure, drawn to the source of the powerful energy like a moth to a flame. Rather than to simply intrude, he posted himself near to the man in the distance--high enough that he wasn’t immediately within ear or eye shot, but close enough that he could verify his suspicions and collect his emotions.
It didn’t work, of course. Elation, longing, and perhaps even the slightest hint of uncertainty swelled within his chest, and his vessel reacted with the rapid beating of his heart against his rib cage. He was so consumed that he didn’t immediately notice the trap beneath the man’s feet, but once he did, he shot from his perch like a bullet, positioning himself directly between their King and his captors.
“What is the meaning of this?” It was more of an accusation than a question, the cold steel of his blade falling easily into his palm, “Release him. Now.”
