10-02-2013, 10:01 AM
Tony's response was seductively calm. The man's tranquility unnerving. Jensen knew that instinctive feeling well. When the winds die and the air smothering moments before a tornado dropped overhead.
He swallowed nervously, and took great notice of the ebb of power blazing, but Jensen found himself intent upon piercing the mirage beginning to hover above this scorching blacktop. For what came next, Tony's sympathies faded in that heat, curled up as dead leaves thrown on the campfire. To Jensen, they were nothing more than meaningless ash.
The string of accusations quaked, and the floor fell out beneath him. The previous flicker of passion blanched his eyes wide with shock. In the logical corners of his mind he was prepared for this, but meeting this ungodly anticipation face to face was like finding a thief in the kitchen.
He withdrew instinctively. Jensen was no hero to run into a burning building, not when there was nobody to rescue. He'd rather chain them both inside until the purification consumed both their bones.
Power ebbed from his companion. It throbbed nearly in beat with Jensen's own heart, and eyes red with fatigue, drink, shock and shame, he clenched his jaw and gripped the edge of the seat, if only to use the cold metal to shock his system with the tangible. And keep himself from fleeing. At the gates of heaven in judgment he would someday stand. Might as well start practicing.
"Four years ago, almost to the day," he admitted between clenched teeth. Disgust curled his answer with cold acceptance. "More than anything on Heaven and on Earth, I wanted retribution." No gust of anger flashed. Jensen long ago accepted what he'd done. "But though said the Lord, 'Vengeance is mine,' I wanted it for myself." He freely admitted that sin. One of a hundred... of a million. More like ten million.
"And when it was offered to me, I seized it without thought for the consequences," and ever since, on the quietest of nights when he could stand the temptation no more, he practiced seizing it again and again until he thought the very substance of his existence was on the verge of ripping apart.
This time, the grappling with that abhorrent force found a solid hold, and he drowned himself in it. It'd been too many days this time since knowing that oneness. Everything sprang to brilliant life. The gleam of the subway tile. The scent of oil and murk. The screech of distant trains.
And the fascination permeating Tony's fixation stank of sulphur. It was with the delirium of masochistic confrontation, and the strength of unnatural powers tightening every muscle, that Jensen found the courage to defend the himself when he would otherwise turn the other cheek.
He perched to stand, an arrow aimed to defend their Father.
But he couldn't do it. The devil gave him a world of power that Jensen literally clutched in his hands, all he had to do was wield it. Smother this accuser, and prove Tony wrong.
But looking upon Tony, a living, breathing man, who may or may not be an agent of evil, but if he were, he did not deserve Jensen's judgment, he abandoned the selfish crusade.
Lot cast, Jensen released the brief grasp of the powers vising his soul. Rather, he turned the other cheek, remained seated and put his face to his hands, silently weeping with all the sorrow of a heart crushed with guilt.
He swallowed nervously, and took great notice of the ebb of power blazing, but Jensen found himself intent upon piercing the mirage beginning to hover above this scorching blacktop. For what came next, Tony's sympathies faded in that heat, curled up as dead leaves thrown on the campfire. To Jensen, they were nothing more than meaningless ash.
The string of accusations quaked, and the floor fell out beneath him. The previous flicker of passion blanched his eyes wide with shock. In the logical corners of his mind he was prepared for this, but meeting this ungodly anticipation face to face was like finding a thief in the kitchen.
He withdrew instinctively. Jensen was no hero to run into a burning building, not when there was nobody to rescue. He'd rather chain them both inside until the purification consumed both their bones.
Power ebbed from his companion. It throbbed nearly in beat with Jensen's own heart, and eyes red with fatigue, drink, shock and shame, he clenched his jaw and gripped the edge of the seat, if only to use the cold metal to shock his system with the tangible. And keep himself from fleeing. At the gates of heaven in judgment he would someday stand. Might as well start practicing.
"Four years ago, almost to the day," he admitted between clenched teeth. Disgust curled his answer with cold acceptance. "More than anything on Heaven and on Earth, I wanted retribution." No gust of anger flashed. Jensen long ago accepted what he'd done. "But though said the Lord, 'Vengeance is mine,' I wanted it for myself." He freely admitted that sin. One of a hundred... of a million. More like ten million.
"And when it was offered to me, I seized it without thought for the consequences," and ever since, on the quietest of nights when he could stand the temptation no more, he practiced seizing it again and again until he thought the very substance of his existence was on the verge of ripping apart.
This time, the grappling with that abhorrent force found a solid hold, and he drowned himself in it. It'd been too many days this time since knowing that oneness. Everything sprang to brilliant life. The gleam of the subway tile. The scent of oil and murk. The screech of distant trains.
And the fascination permeating Tony's fixation stank of sulphur. It was with the delirium of masochistic confrontation, and the strength of unnatural powers tightening every muscle, that Jensen found the courage to defend the himself when he would otherwise turn the other cheek.
He perched to stand, an arrow aimed to defend their Father.
But he couldn't do it. The devil gave him a world of power that Jensen literally clutched in his hands, all he had to do was wield it. Smother this accuser, and prove Tony wrong.
But looking upon Tony, a living, breathing man, who may or may not be an agent of evil, but if he were, he did not deserve Jensen's judgment, he abandoned the selfish crusade.
Lot cast, Jensen released the brief grasp of the powers vising his soul. Rather, he turned the other cheek, remained seated and put his face to his hands, silently weeping with all the sorrow of a heart crushed with guilt.