Under the roar of the black water, the last trace of an angel fights with the last remainders of strength left within it. The vessell is barely containing them all now, stretching to breaking point and groaning under the strain.
The angel is hardly existent; no voice nor light.
Its attempts to fight back are feeble and useless.
If one steps back to truly think about it, the plight of the angel is all the more devastating.
Once a being whose form could not be perceived due to its ultimate power.
Now silent. Barely a glimmer in the pit of its human convoy.
Humiliation.
You'd presume that's what the angel's last feelings are; to be torn down from such greatness?
No.
The angel feels so crushingly remorseful that the intensity of the emotion is the only thing keeping it in existence.
Sadly, it is not enough.
As the vessel explodes, and its inhabitants released, a microscopic shimmer sinks down into the depths of the lake.
It extinguishes before it reaches the bottom.