My Angelic Master

Havenfall

Five Days Earlier...

"Staring at that pretty human again...are you Zeylon?"

It gives me a rile of pleasure when I see his giant black wings flex in agitation, his hard-lined jaw clenching into an extreme angle. I've known him for a thousand years, and in the last two hundred, I haven't seen him so distracted.

It's been five hundred years since the end of his service as commander in the war of light. In his time, he's seen dimensions torn apart, demons scattered across the realms, he's been honored by the highest officials, gifted with a massive castle in the angelic realm, and now he sits here—a hulking beast— enchanted and engrossed by the most insignificant of creatures. Humans. More specifically, a human. Her.

"There's been word of demons opening portals there, too," I say, idly crossing my arms and leaning against the great stone archway.

He grunts, hardly looking my way.

"They'll all be dead soon enough, won't they?" I add casually, stepping toward him. "If we can't get control of the demons, that is."

I stare at the flow of icy blonde hair creeping down his spine between bulky muscled shoulders and thick black feathers. His skin glows golden as the light from Havenfall spills in through the open windows. He's immortal and wants to die. I can see it in his mind, the thoughts or, rather, wishes of extinction. Of willing himself to not exist.

He inhales a rough breath and glances back at me.

"Morbid, Vimore."

"Just speaking truths," I shrug peachily.

Zeylon's gaze drifts back to the puff of cloud in front of him that allows him to see all things anywhere in the universe. The picture maintains, never wavering away from the human girl. Right now, she is in a small room reading a book, alone, propped up on pillows on her rickety bed. Suddenly, her hands begin to trip and caress her chest, her arms, her throat, her belly.

I watch Zeylon's eyes zero in on her, the way his lips part curiously.

We are silent, watching this girl begin to pleasure herself, but Zeylon shuts the image away before we see beneath the layers of her clothing.

It's now that I know what I must do, and I smile to myself. What's an immortal life without a bit of fun? Zeylon will hate me for it...but I'm going to do it. Before eighty years pass and she's dead. Before the demons destroy earth and everyone in it. Before I sit here and watch one more lifetime of sorrow pass on Zeylon's face.

***

Five Days Later...

Splinters of light shatter me wholly. Am I alive? I am unable to move as there seems to be a strange pressure all around me. I try to open my eyes, but the light is too bright. Everything stings.

"Shh...don't move," a voice wraps around me, warming me but inciting a frenzy of emotion in my chest. What happened? I take a deep breath, forcing my eyes open. I'm lying on some sort of table, my body draped in white cloth.

Am I dead?

"What..." I gasp, pain searing through every particle of my flesh.

"It'll take a while for your body to adjust," the voice comes again, and this time I recognize it.

Where have I heard it before? What time is it? Am I dreaming? Did I miss work? Am I locked in some bizarre state of sleep paralysis?

My vision begins to come together, piece by piece, bit by bit of shattered image. It's as if I've been suffering from constant vertigo, and finally, things are still once more.

There is so much light. But it is not as intense as I once thought. I notice gray stone walls, sighing curtains every few paces, swarming around me, and the air is both frigid and sweet. My skin tingles from it. My tongue traces over my cracked lips, and I swallow. What kind of heaven is this? Aside from the sweet air and beautiful surroundings, there is a general feeling of peace. Like if I laid here I could sleep for days and days and awake to nothing having been missed, and everything would be fine. Still, there is a stilted reminder blocking me from agreeing to the reality before me. This is not where I fell asleep. This is nowhere I've ever been.

A figure moves into my line of sight, and I recall it all. The man on the street. The utterance of unearthly words. Everything fading to black.

"Gina...you're awake. Good."

The man's sleek black hair parts at his forehead and swoops onto either side of his face. He smiles the same sickening, amused way that he had on the street.

"Your servitude starts...let's see..." he glances about the room and then comes back to me. "Now, actually."

He leans over me, placing a hand on either side of my shoulders, and then I see them. Great white wings, built of tiny feathers, muscle, and sinew, shining in the light, are sprouting from his back.

"Welcome to Havenfall, slave."