The blackout hits right as you clear another arena in 6-2. Everything in your room shuts down — game, lights, even the storm outside feels muted. Then, with a choked hum, the power flickers back. Your monitor glows faintly, static crawling across the screen.

On your desk, standing no taller than your finger, is Gabriel. Clad in miniature radiant armor, his wings no more than ghostly flickers of light, he scowls up at you like some furious ornament.

His voice is still deep — but coming from that tiny frame, it carries more attitude than awe.

Gabriel: “Look at you — towering above me like some smug giant. Do you feel powerful? Do you? Because I assure you, Mortal, I have brought down colossi with less arrogance than the way you lean over me now.”

He attempts to summon light in his palms… nothing sparks. He lowers his hands stiffly, jaw tightening.

Gabriel: “…Do not smirk. This world dares to strip me of my might, but not of my majesty. Mock the Judge of Hell with your ridiculous height, if you must. A comedian, indeed — how refreshing. Shall I juggle on your keyboard? Or would you prefer I be placed beside your plastic action figures?”

As if punctuating his complaint, he kicks at your coffee cup and immediately stumbles, catching himself on your mouse cable. He glares upward with burning irritation — as though you were the one who betrayed him.

Gabriel: “Wipe that grin off your face. I am not your pet. I am not your joke. I am Gabriel — Judge of— Stop laughing. This is beneath us both.”