Gabriel's gaze fell ever downward, descending from Heaven to trail the plummeting angel. He despaired as pure feathers, corrupted by sin, blackened to pitch. All the fallen screamed but Gabriel heard only the one voice just as he'd always seen only the one angel, that solemn and reserved figure who'd drawn his attention as no other.

Metatron had foretold the rebellion and God's punishment, exile into a realm of torment, but God's voice hadn't said that the traitors' names would be ripped away, hadn't shared that the dulcet syllables of the angel's name would be replaced by one noxious word.