Author's Note: This is written from the POV of one of the anonymous angels in the season finale.
Some wave of energy, of change, of wrongness flings itself across all of Creation, and I feel my wings seize in midflight.
It is heart-stopping, and I can see my own horror reflected in the faces of the angels around me as their pinions give them a few seconds' worth of coasting, then their momentum draws to a close.
And we begin to fall, fall, fall.
We fall across dimensions, dropping where we are. We descend through stratosphere, puncturing atmospheric layers like needles through cloth. Wind shrieks in my ears, makes my eyes stream, rips at my skin and feathers, and that's never happened before. I've got a long time before I impact, though, to think it through.
Streaking all around, like floating embers from fireworks, is my at-odds family. The fire of the plummet is due in part to our power burning away, encasing us in flames. Not the honeyed, crystalline blue flames of our holy Grace, but the incensed, wicked fires of simple physics. A body with wings falling to earth. The sacredness of flight no longer applies, and now, Newton's laws take over.
We are grotesque mockeries of meteors. Once-powerful wings drag like useless fins behind us as we dive without volition, the feathers singeing then melting then blowing away into ashes that liter our trails in the form of smoke.
What is happening? What has HAPPENED?!
I can feel the mental empathic howl of every last one of my brothers and sisters as the earth and ocean loom closer...