"We're On Our Side, Serpent."

Let it All Burn

Shadwell eye's widened, his mouth hung open. His hand remained pointed to the angel.

Aziraphale backed away, stepping closer to the pentagram.

Clink.

There was a small smell of smoke.

Shadwell looked around, before looking to the ground.

"I miss good ol' witch burnings," Shadwell whispered. He threw the lit match to a pile of papers and books, setting them ablaze.

Aziraphale froze in his tracks as Shadwell sprinted out of the bookshop.

A further burning smell filled the bookshop as books and papers turned into nothing but black piles of ash.

The angel felt his eyes well up. Tears spilled across his face, his tartan bowtie.

Seams on his jacket split, letting his pure, feathery wings spill out.

His wings were tingly, Aziraphale felt his heart dip down below the surface.

The angel whimpered, letting out into a horrified scream.

The fire continuously grabbed at his wings, igniting them into a wonderful blaze. The white feathers were slowly dying, falling to the floor.

It only left oddly beautiful, pure black wings behind them, as if the white feathers had burned rather than fallen.

Is this what falling feels like..?

"It feels..  It feels GLORIOUS!" Aziraphale screamed.

The flames grabbed and burned at his clothing, his face, his hair.

Aziraphale's melancholy sorrow came through him, smoldering away with the flames that consumed him.

Only mania was left in its place, Hysteria, madness.

He laughed as whatever was remaining of his angelic nature was torn away.

The only man brave enough to face the hysterical laughter rushed in.

The man had one duty.
Save anyone still remaining in the burning building.

Yet, something about the horned figure before him made the man believe he was steadily dropping into a personification of his worst nightmares.

The beast only smiled as it reached a hand towards the man's throat.

A/N: Somehow I manage to make intense scenes like this last (what feels like) 2 minutes. It's really fun writing like this!