The Angel Fell Twice

Chapter 18. Confess Your Sins

"No, I swear it!" Marina stammered, her voice edged with panic. "They must have tracked me from the city!"
"Damn you... spouting all that innocent crap, I was nearly fooled." he turned, beginning  to stagger away. He nearly stumbled over a rock, clutching his bandaged gash.
"You won't outrun them at that pace, Ragnar-"
"Leave me the hell alone," Ragnar growled, his voice a low rumble of frustration.
Marina shook her head, determination etched on her face. "Quit your stubbornness!" she insisted, grabbing ahold of his arm.
He tried to shake her off, but she held firm. Suddenly, a soldier of the legion shouted, "I heard something over here!" Panic flashed in Marina's eyes as she glanced around. Without a second thought, she pulled Ragnar inside a large wooden box, slamming the doors shut.

They were crammed into an old, delapidated confession chamber, the air thick with tension.
Ragnar swore under his breath, struggling to find space, but in the confined quarters, he stumbled against her. His body pressed against hers, trapping her against the wooden wall. Marina's eyes shot up to look into his, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He felt her quickening heartbeat, smelt her scent of flowers, and the warmth of her breath against his neck, causing his throat to tighten. Strangely, his anger melted away, replaced by an unfamiliar discomfort in his stomach.

"Stay still," she whispered. The determined look in her eye—it both infuriated and intrigued him. She was as gentle as an angel, yet fierce as a warrior.

Outside, the soldiers entered, their boots echoing as they searched the area. The soldiers moved past, their voices fading into the distance. Silence settled around them, heavy and expectant. She opened the door, sighing. She felt his large hands grasp her waist, causing a flicker of confusion and embarrassment to cross her gaze. His head rested against hers. "Don't ever do that again, Marina." he muttered softly, "I'll make you a sinner if you push me."

He let her go, her heart fluttering as his hands brushed down her waist, dropping. His large demon wings stretched out as he took off to the sky.

The moon cast an eerie glow over the dark alleyways of Stormfell, deepening the shadows and amplifying the night's silence. Fallen bodies sprawled across the cobblestones, blood pooling in dark, slick patches that mirrored the ghostly light. The air was punctuated by the low, guttural sounds of pain and struggle. Marina tread carefully, her eyes darting at every flicker of movement.

Sudden shouts shattered the silence. Marina whipped around a corner and saw Ragnar's imposing figure. He had the Holy Legion member lifted by the neck, the man's face contorted in terror. His legs flailed weakly, hands clawing at Ragnar's iron grip. Ragnar's knuckles whitened as he tightened his hold, the man's eyes glazing over.

"Stop it, Ragnar," Marina's voice cut through the chaos, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

Ragnar's gaze snapped to her, dark eyes burning with fury. "Cease your interference. I seek revenge for their pathetic assassination attempt."

"What you're doing is wrong," Marina pleaded, stepping closer. Her sword glinted in the moonlight, reflecting her strained expression. "Even if you believe it's just."

A harsh laugh burst from Ragnar, mingling with the clatter of metal and shifting shadows. "Oh? Then stop me. Kill me, even."

Marina drew her sword, its blade catching the moonlight, casting a silvery streak. Ragnar's eyes narrowed, his grip on the man loosening as he dropped him to the ground. The man hit the cobblestones with a thud, struggling to rise.
Marina and Ragnar's weapons met with a deafening clang, sparks erupting from their contact. The narrow alley amplified the metallic ring of their clash and their ragged breathing. Marina's blade arced and struck, her movements precise yet desperate, while Ragnar countered with brutal force, each swing reflecting years of anger. The alley became a whirlwind of clashing steel and strained breaths, their bodies locked in a fierce dance of survival.

In the heat of their struggle, Ragnar hurled a wanted poster at Marina. It fluttered to the ground, landing face-up between them. Marina's gaze fell on the paper. Her own face stared back, framed in harsh lines, eyes wide and accusing. The poster's bold letters declared her a traitor. Marina's fingers twitched as she reached for the edges of the paper, her expression shifting from shock to sorrow.

"You fight to defend these people?" Ragnar's voice dripped with contempt.
Marina's eyes welled up as she looked from the poster to Ragnar. The blood drained from her face, her features tightening as she absorbed the full weight of the accusations. "Not all of them are like that..."
Ragnar scoffed, tossing the poster aside and stepping back. "Watch."

The Legion members seized the moment. Marina's hands balled into fists as they swarmed her. Cold iron chains clamped around her wrists, their rough links biting into her skin. She pulled against them, but the chains tightened with each desperate movement. Their chants rose, dark and rhythmic, weaving a malignant force that pressed down on her. Her breaths came in ragged gulps as the oppressive magic sapped her strength. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a frantic drum.

"This traitor... she's the one. We must reveal what she is!" One of them ripped away her cloak, exposing her. Her long blue hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her white wings flared out, glowing softly. A golden halo hovered above her head. Her face twisted in pain and fear as they dragged her into the ritual. Ragnar stopped in his tracks, turning back.

He saw not the Legion but the faces from his past: flames searing his flesh, stones thrown by sneering crowds, taunts echoing through his mind. His breath quickened, muscles tensing with each beat of his heart. Marina's suffering mirrored his own past torment, fueling a searing rage.

The leader of the Holy Legion stepped forward, brandishing a cross. "My child grows up without a mother... do you know what that's like?" he roared. "Because of a fallen angel—no, a disgusting imp, like YOU! YOU LET MY WIFE'S KILLER GO!"
Marina's voice trembled as she tried to respond, "P-please, it is more complicated than that... Indeed, he must repent and be punished—"
"PUNISHED? HE MUST DIE!" The leader's voice was a thunderous roar.

Marina's cry of agony pierced the air as attackers slashed at her wings. A man's blade sliced through her left wing, feathers exploding in a spray of crimson. She convulsed with the pain, a piercing scream escaping her lips. Another attacker seized her right wing, wrenching it back, causing fresh waves of torment. The chains held her immobile, each struggle futile. Her body twisted and bucked, the raw pain painted across her face.
Her wings were a tattered mess, blood streaming from the gaping wounds. Tears mingled with the blood on her cheeks, her body quaking with every spasm of pain. The Legion's faces remained stoic, indifferent to her suffering.

Ragnar's resolve hardened. He turned away from Marina's distress, memories surging up: the lick of flames, the sting of stones, the cruel laughter of those who saw him as a monster. His heartbeat thundered, a surge of adrenaline propelling him forward. He charged at the Legion, his movements swift and ruthless, driven by a storm of rage. Each strike was a brutal release of his pent-up fury, his body a whirlwind of violence.

The alley erupted into chaos. Ragnar's onslaught was relentless, bodies collapsing before his wrath. Marina's tormentors fell, their cries mingling with the shouts of battle. Blood stained the cobblestones, and the violence slowly receded. Ragnar stood over the fallen, chest heaving with each breath. His eyes, still burning with rage, flicked to Marina. She lay on the ground, her wings bloodied and her form trembling. Their gazes met briefly, as he kneeled down.

He surveyed her with a heavy heart, noting her frailty in the aftermath of their conflict. She had not struck back; her injuries were proof of that. Her defiance now was a mere shadow of strength, her effort to push him away weak and ineffectual.

"They will not understand, no matter how hard you try," he said, his voice steady but edged with the harsh reality of their situation.
Her eyes flared with anger, and she shoved at him again, though the force behind it barely budged him. The pain and frustration etched on her face were clear; she needed solitude. He grunted dismissively, knowing well her condition would not allow her to survive in this state.

"You wouldn't last out here with those wounds," he said, his tone clipped.
"Don't you dare help me," she spat back, her voice hoarse with anger, "T-This is all your fault!" Her hand clutched a knife, its blade gleaming in the dim light as she pressed it threateningly against his chest. Her gaze was intense, filled with a mix of accusation and despair.