Divine Weapon

You've amassed so many eyes. They're all over your face, they're all over your arms, they're all over your chest and back. You don't remember which ones you had from the start and which are new. Your wings are solid steel, dotted with tiny openings that feathers and more eyes protrude through. The skin around their base is beginning to turn gray, a hard, stony gray befitting one of His angels.

You are becoming a projectile. A self-guided missile carrying divine judgment in its flaming payload. You are Sharp and Bright in equal measure and these boons are more than worth the loss of Stillness. Everything lit by your halo's glow is subject to your righteous fury, your many eyes keeping watchful vigil in all directions.

You are the sword in His hand. With every passing day you become more refined. Your blade sharper, your weight more balanced, your handle more perfectly shaped to His grip. The flame that bursts forth from within you will sear most entities to ashes before your cutting edge ever reaches them.

On the rare occasion that you are sheathed, your dreams are troubled, mind racing through dark corridors and blind alleys. You sleep less and less. Thanks to the fire burning inside, you don't need very much anyway. Better to spend that time delivering punishment, venting this heat and pressure into whatever poor fool has misstepped in the eyes of your Lord. You live to serve. A life that was once meaningless and empty is now shining with divine Purpose, burning with Meaning, incandescent in a world of fog. The thought of going back has never crossed your mind.