In a hidden world where angels and demons clash, Cecelia White's life takes a thrilling turn when she discovers her connection to a powerful relic, the Angel Key. With her best friend Evie by her side, Cecelia is thrust into a supernatural conflict...
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That night, Cecelia was visited by a vivid dream.
Amidst a landscape of alabaster statues, sparkling fountains, and fragrant rose bushes, a figure hung in profound solitude between two marble columns. His olive skin and tangled ebony curls framed a face marked by resignation and defeat. Approaching him were three towering figures clad in resplendent, golden armor. They entered through massive cathedral doors, their presence commanding reverence.
The first among them, a tall and muscular blonde exuding authority, spoke with a tone of solemnity. "Ceruleus, you have forsaken your oath, betrayed Heaven. How do you plead?" His words echoed through the cathedral, but Ceruleus remained eerily detached, as if already resigned to his fate.
Another figure, with chestnut hair flowing straight and long, stepped forward with a mix of anger and duty. "Ceruleus Maximus, show respect to Archangel Michael, leader of Heaven's armies!" His rebuke was met with stoic silence until he struck Ceruleus across the face, prompting a defiant spit of golden ichor from the prisoner.
Michael intervened, his voice carrying the weight of divine judgment. "Enough, Gabriel. We come only to deliver justice in the name of our Lord." With solemn resolve, he gestured to his companions, Uriel and Gabriel, to restrain Ceruleus. The air hummed with tension as Michael drew forth a magnificent sword—a weapon adorned with seraphic runes and burning obsidian hilt, imbued with celestial power.
Guided by solemn duty, Michael positioned himself behind Ceruleus, his wings of radiant white unfurling in the divine light. "Hold him steady," he commanded, his voice brooking no dissent. With a swift, decisive motion, he plunged the blade between Ceruleus's shoulder blades, eliciting a gut-wrenching cry as golden ichor flowed freely.
The scene unfolded with agonizing clarity, each stroke of the sword severing wings that had once borne him through celestial skies. Ceruleus collapsed in silent agony, his screams echoing through the empty cathedral as Michael cleansed his blade with a gesture of finality.
"It is done," Michael declared, a veil of sorrow shadowing his stoic visage. "Uriel, gather the wings. Gabriel, accompany me."
Uriel carefully wrapped the severed wings in a cloth, a poignant act of respect for what had been lost. As they departed through the cathedral doors, Michael and Gabriel dragged Ceruleus across a tranquil courtyard adorned with vibrant roses—a stark contrast to the trail of golden ichor marking their path.
Pausing beneath a towering apple tree, Michael addressed Ceruleus with somber reflection. "Do you remember this place? Here is where the first mortals tasted the fruit of knowledge and were cast from Eden." He gazed upon Ceruleus with a sense of farewell. "May your memories of Heaven bring you solace."
Michael and Gabriel lifted Ceruleus, his once majestic wings now severed, and cast him over the edge of their celestial realm into the vast expanse of white emptiness below. They turned away without a second glance, their duty carried out with grim resolve.
In the void, there was only darkness.
Then came the wind, shrieking in his ears, yet that wasn't the source of his anguish. Amid the deafening howls, he heard their voices—shrieks of pain, cries of suffering. Faces contorted with torment flashed before him, each expression etched with despair. With eyes tightly shut, he bore witness to their agony, the weight of their collective anguish pressing down upon him.
Ceruleus had never known such instability, such chaos. He felt himself spiraling out of control, plummeting through the formless void with no end in sight. Everything blurred in a frantic whirlwind, and despite his desperate attempts, he couldn't regain his bearings.
"This is what damnation feels like," he thought bitterly.
Amidst the cacophony of emotions assaulting him, nothing compared to the searing pain in his back, where his wings had once soared. The agony burned between his shoulder blades, a relentless reminder of his irreversible fall from grace. The void that consumed him was not just external—it echoed within him, a profound emptiness that would haunt him for eternity. The knowledge that he would never fly again, never return to the heavens he once knew, settled over him like a shroud of despair.
He was broken before he ever hit the ground.
Awakening from her dream, Cecelia found herself lingering in the echoes of Ceruleus's anguish. The sensation of freefalling into an abyss gripped her, the weight of loss and irreversible exile haunting her thoughts. The imagery of shattered wings and golden ichor stained her mind, a visceral reminder of Ceruleus's fall from grace.
She felt a chill crawl up her spine as she lay in bed, contemplating the depths of despair and pain that had unfolded in her dream. The overwhelming turmoil echoed within her, resonating with the realization that some wounds never healed, and some falls were irreparable.
Cecelia couldn't shake the lingering sense of doom that permeated her thoughts, a lingering echo of Ceruleus's broken fate. As she drifted back into the quiet solitude of night, the haunting imagery of celestial justice and eternal exile lingered in her mind, leaving an indelible mark on her subconscious.
