#i really wrote 2 pieces (one over 1k) after 6 hours of lectures today huh

[astrum99]

Surprisingly, human beings are the only creatures that looked into themselves. Movement of a blade sharpened to max, lightning fast, no hesitation. Peeling back skin and draining sinus. Bodies (alive, young), huddled around bodies (dead, damaged), to examine and poke and tear and say “I see, that one is the Inferior Vena Cava”. These abominable actions saves lives. Curiosity and morbidity guided a way of survival, of rescue. Later, the same sentiments, mixed with desperation, guided a way to destruction.

Bearing the remnants of humans, their organs pulsating in its body. A machine. A child of man.

Angels, on the other hand, are made perfect. Healthy body, strong will, and filled with holy light right off the bat. Vicious in battles. No need for learning, little need for healing. The smoothness and perfection of their skin akin to marble and sea glass. All creations pale in their presence. Nothing beats perfection. Certainly not creatures of cold unfeeling metal. Lightless, soulless, running on a fixed program of 0’s and 1’s set by the expired words of self-destroying, world-destroying, rotten images of God. Heretic. Even in their perishment, they set to ruin. Systems that they themselves can no longer escape from. Samsara of endless pain and death.

It is a wonder then, that when the machine finally tear through Gabriel’s helm, he become faintly aware of the things hidden deep inside. The ugly, raw things inside. The things he must have known but were never brave enough to face: the same pulsing gore that pushes through the gaps of his skin is the same as the one in the mankind’s bodies; the wires that prods through the throbbing organs is the same as that runs through the chassis of the machine. His body echos the lesser beings. For a second, he could not distinguish himself from man nor machine. How ridiculous, he thought, it thought. To be of this state. To see his/its image in his/its body. To have his/its strings/wires cut so late. The taste of spectacular freedom at the last millisecond of his/its life.

As the last drop of holy light seeps through his helm to stain the machine’s optics, he recognizes himself as heaven’s machine, and the machine as mankind’s angel. And now they are the same.

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Insp is this post by @sinew-lattice!

thank u for infesting me w brain worms i enjoyed hosting the wiggly thing very much (also pls let me know if u don't like ppl writing/tagging i can always take stuff down:] )

#gabriel ultrakill #ultrakill #v1 #v1 ultrakill #az thoughts #i love that im creating again but also its 10:33 pm and i still have work to do oh my god oh no #i really wrote 2 pieces (one over 1k) after 6 hours of lectures today huh