Death after bloody death of the innocent and of the guilty littered the streets. Twisted, broken limbs, and pools of blood where everywhere. The carnage ended almost as quickly as it began. The hideous remnants of gore would not soon be forgotten.
Only the dead truly know how life begins after death, and with these undead souls, once lost and now incarcerated to face trial for their misdeeds, they will define that statement. In the blink of an eye… once dually possessing humans and vying for control by any means necessary… are now piled up, one scared apparition after another, on the floor of a grand throne room.
Abandoned yet again, the gathering felt indifferent. Once left to rot on a desolate wasteland, and now trapped in this new place, though much preferable in its shiny, gleaming beauty.
The hall was vast. Many glorious statues of gold and onyx stood abundantly, amidst indescribable art that adorned the massive walls. The floor employed white and caramel marble, cold and flawless; beautiful and majestic. The ceiling seemed open to the atmosphere of heaven itself, swirling with color and the movement of angels.
With all its rich abundance of glory, a deep sense of fear ran through all in attendance, Peter and Savannah inclusive. As breathtakingly beautiful as it was, this was not the place you wanted to be, though unknown still where they were.
They pulled themselves to their feet, huddled closely together, everyone touching. With wide eyes and elevated heartbeats, no words were uttered. Guilty consciences and cluttered thoughts made for enough to barely concentrate on.
The grand lights seemed to flicker, more subtle than not, only detected by a few in The Gathering. Then they dimmed completely for a second and the ground began to shake as footsteps became audible, running, stomping.
Peace Keepers flooded the palatial foyer, seizing and arresting all in attendance. Strong hands gripped The Gathering, two at a time, by the meat of their arms. Last to arrive was Chamuel, the great arc angel and leader of this heavenly army bred to serve. He surveyed the guilty, looking deeply at several of the lost souls. His gaze fixes on Peter, then Savannah and the look is of the utmost disgust, so much that both captives are forced to look at the ground. The chiseled peace keeper Haziel, holding Peter by his arm, placed his fingers on Peter’s chin and raised it. Peter looked at Haziel to which he responded, “Not I. Him.” He pointed to Chamuel who know approached Peter with great speed.
Chamuel wrapped his hand firmly around Peter’s neck and lifted him four feet off the ground.
Simultaneously, he lifted his other arm, making it a fist and holding the salute. All members of The Gathering, Peter included, were raised into the air and restrained fully from head to toe. Surrounded by an orange field of light, they remained practically paralyzed in a state of full surrender suspended well above the floor. Kneeling, with arms wide and head locked slightly upward and forward, they remained.
An array of multiple colors shot out from their suspended cocoons, connecting one to the next, back to front. Like white fire and lightning, with as many variations of vibrant color as a rainbow, their paralysis seized them with no escape remotely possible. Evident on their faces, most tried to struggle but were met with brute restraint.
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