Stygiophobia

Fallen angel

~Above is Dreams aesthetic.~

Dream stood in the window of his castle, staring down towards the pit of hell, also know as, town square. That's where all the new souls fell. Dream was fortunate enough to live on a tall hill, looking directly down to the spot. He spent most of his time waiting for souls to fall, so he could swiftly go down and pick one up, then bringing them home to devour their soul.

To keep your soul replenished and at full strength, you have to eat, and to eat you must steal the souls of others. It's a simple thing, a good system, since most people get sent to hell anyways.

Dream was one of the most powerful demons in hell. Because, the worse you are in your mortal life, the more powerful you are in hell. His own power almost matched the king of the underworld, but they'd never test their strength on each other. There's quite a bit of respect that comes with earned power. He was a horrific human being, somewhat of a psychopath, as people would call him. However, he just took joy in killing people, harming people, having people beg for their life. He was sadistic in every sense of the word, but his morals still stood, which by definition, did not make him a psychopath.

Demons of all kinds often waited around the square, waiting for their next meal. Most people won't eat souls that have been here for too long, they'd rather prey on newcomers who know nothing. Dream being one of those people, but technically he could eat whoever he wanted. Most demons feared Dream, and stayed far away from him. Nobody wanted to get on his bad side.

Then, it happened. Something so painfully rare, it made Dream do a double-take. "A fallen angel." Dream whispered to himself, quickly rushing out of his large abode. "I want him." He said to himself in a harsh tone, speeding on his feet down his stone trail all the way to the pit.

He managed to get there right as the angel hit the ground. All the demons who had been hungrily waiting nearby surround the pit, eager to see who got to take the best known feast. A pure soul.

"Step away from him. He's mine." Dream shouted across the square, causing most of the demented souls to scurry off in fear. However, one stayed.

"Why do you always get the best food!? Hm? Just because you're some." The demon was cut off, screeching in his own agony when Dream snapped his fingers.

"I said." Dream started, pushing the demon to the floor. "He's mine." The world around them grew hazy and lime green shaded, this always happened when he flared up. His words were laced in venom, sending chills of fear through everyone around. The demon quickly got up and bolted it, leaving a thin trail of dust and gravel behind.

Dream looked down at the fallen angel, he wore white, soft clothing, and had two thin lines of blood soaking through the back of his shirt, exactly where his wings had been severed. For some reason, this angel still seemed to have a white glow, meaning he's much more pure than any other angel that had fallen. He couldn't of done something so bad.

The angel was sobbing heavily into the dirt, never once opening his eyes. He had curled up into a ball, laying against the rough dirt of the pit.

"Can you stand?" Dream wasn't in the mood to carry any weak, innocent, fallen angel today. Angels were rare enough as it is, and he wasn't willing to treat them like how they were in heaven. If it could walk, he would make sure it did.

No response came from the angel, only harsh sobs and gasps. Angels often cried when they fell, like babies. Beings of weakness.

Dream pulled the angel to his feet by grabbing his shoulders and lifting him up a bit, only for the angel to fall back down to his knees. It made sense really, Dream couldn't even be mad, it wasn't his fault. Their balance is off when they lose their wings, since they're use to having the ability to fly.