Not all halos are meant to be worn. Some are vast impossible beautiful things: spinning butchers knives with the mass of worlds, A blizzard of weaponry blazing with atomic hellfire, a superstorm of neurotoxins and nanoasssemblers, you don’t wear these halos, you ride them.
A lone angel, or even a group of angels, can barely hope to nudge the trajectory of the halo one iota, much less actively steer it. Still, the power and fury of the divine light drags them helplessly along, its unreal mass clipping through the terrain.
Inevitably, the grounding point of the halo and the surface of reality will intersect. A supernova’s worth of energy crushes the angel against the skin of the world as the halo tries to tunnel through her and tear back out of reality. It’s really quite spectacular.
All that energy has to go somewhere, and there’s only three places it could go: into the halo, into the angel, or into the world. Each produces a different result.
First, the halo can shatter, releasing its energy into the unreal, leveling the local conceptual landscape and leaving our poor little angel girl in crying puddle as she mourns the death of an impossible future.
Second, the angel can shatter. This is not immediately apparent, the halo guts them and drags their still breathing corpse along for a few months in horrifying agony. Usually there’s not enough left of the angel at that point to do more than kill themselves. Rest in peace Maia. Pour one out for all the angels smeared against the face of the world.
The third place? Oh, that one doesn’t happen. What did you think I was going to say? Reality is hard, cold, solid, the energy levels of the halo aren’t high enough to do more than reflect perfectly off it. But maybe your halo is built different? There’s only one way to check.
