Paradiso

Part VI - Inferno

A gunshot. The first of many, to be sure. Screams raised to meet it, aggressive and bewildered shouts quickly following. Terror and chaos erupted into the world with the bullet. To the humans, it was a signal to run and hide or draw their own weapons and fire. To Doelle and his team, it was their cue to spring into action.

An event such as this didn't warrant disguises; optimal performance was necessary in a scenario such as this, where agility and speed would be key. They flew from the alley they had hidden themselves in like dancers bursting on stage. They were almost too fast to see; to the humans, they would appear as flashes of light, nearly invisible amongst the red fire of their guns.

They could see each other, though. Doelle gave a subtle nod to each of them, signalling them to work their miracles in their assigned segments of the street. He watched each for their answers, and when he had received them, he shot off to his own part of the area. He had people to save; he just had to trust these newcomers to do the same.

Weaving between opponents and bystanders alike, he assessed who was worth saving and, with a flick of his hand, shielded them with miracle magic. For the lucky, that would save them from being injured at all; for the less fortunate, it would at least save them from the hands of the Dread Prince, Death. A millimetre made all the difference when it came to the fragility of human life; they were here to make that difference fall in the favour of these worthy people. They were called guardian angels for a reason, after all.

His eyes flicked around. Had he missed anyone? Shit. From across the battlefield, an officer raised his gun to shoot a young man. Though the kid also had his own gun out, Doelle knew he was innocent; the panic in his eyes betrayed his inexperience. He was just a child roped into this. Doelle could sense it; he was worthy.

Fast as light, Doelle flew towards the kid. He didn't try to shield him with magic; he knew that that wouldn't be fast enough. Instead, he slammed into the young human, knocking him down and out of the way of the gunshot that-

... shot through his wing.

Doelle cried out in pain. How had his wing been hit? He was sure by that time he had been out of the line of fire entirely. In fact, he was certain he had landed nowhere near where the man had been aiming; he was at least a metre away from where the kid had been standing, and was now splayed on the ground by the force Doelle had hit him with. What happened?

Face still twisted in an agonised grimace, he looked up to where the officer was. He didn't see him. Not at first, at least. He was slightly beneath his line of sight, rolling on the ground and screaming in pain; a pool of blood gushed from his head. The gun still languished in his hand, now utterly useless in the man's dying grasp. He had fired the shot that had burned through Doelle's wing; it had been fired far off it's intended course. He had been thrown off. Because the officer himself had been shot. He had been held in the way of the crossfire. By Nim.

Doelle's eyes widened as he met the demon's. Fear and shock stilled the fire of Nim's gaze. Oh Great King, what have I done?! his eyes seemed to say. He had brought vengeance to the officer, goaded him into dying by his own violent inclination—he had fulfilled his duty as a demon. But, in doing so, he had caught an angel in the crossfire. Not just any angel; the angel.

The gunfight was forgotten. Nim ran across the street, through the hell that it had become. Smoke and fire seethed around him, but he fought through. He had nearly made it. He was nearly there.

A small sound reached Doelle's ears. Click. He didn't know where from, exactly. He didn't know why he had heard it so clearly. But some acute sense in him knew what it was and what it meant. It was the cocking of a gun. It meant Nim was about to be shot.

Despite the pain, despite the danger, despite what he was, Doelle forced himself off the pavement and streaked through the air to Nim. Save the worthy; that was his job. And in that moment, he didn't care what was supposed to make someone worthy. Nim was worthy to him. With a wave of his hand and bright flourish of his wings, he poured the rest of his energy into a miracle the likes of which he had never cast before. The bullet dissolved into dust as it drew nearer to where he held the demon.

For a moment, it was as if time had frozen. Doelle, still radiant, stood with his arm protectively around the waist of Nim, who was completely stunned by what had happened. Then the light of the miracle dissipated; the aftermath of the force he had just used was brought down on Doelle. A shaky breath escaped him as he slumped down on Nim, exhausted.

"We're done here. You're going home," the demon muttered. He did his best to support him as he took him off of the battlefield, staggering under his height. Doelle didn't say anything, didn't protest; all he did was lean on him and gather the strength to walk alongside him.