In Lines Of Love ~ Kimchay

47. Fallen Angel ( 18+ )

Anawin was tired. Completely drained. His glow, had dimmed to almost nothing.

The instincts that once guided him....the sharp awareness of an angel....were fading in this place. Where there's no heaven nor hell. It was something worse.

He wanted to call out, to beg, to pray that someone would find him, would take him away from this nightmare. But there was no one left. No heaven to return to. No home.

A sharp, searing pain tore through his back, right where his wings used to be.

Now, only remained scared and empty.

Slowly, with trembling hands, he forced himself to look up.

Above the massive bed, nailed to the cold stone wall, hung his ethereal wings.

He sobbed.

They weren’t a part of him anymore. They weren’t his. They were nothing more than a prize....a cruel, twisted trophy of his kin and his defeat.
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Damon had never felt more alive. The chaos before him was intoxicating, a symphony of destruction that sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine.

The scent of blood, the sound of dying gasps, the helpless screams. It was exhilarating.

Arousing.

His daggers sliced through the throats of the so-called soldier angels without any effort, their silver blood splattering across his already, drenched robe.

These warriors of heaven....what a joke. They were nothing before him. Pathetic in their resistance.

Weak.

Then, he sighed, closing his eyes. Devouring the feeling.

The angels had fallen.

Their realm had crumbled.

And he had won.

Damon watched as his demons....his soldiers.....slaughtered the last remnants of the Celestial fighters.

The battlefield was a masterpiece of ruin, a canvas painted in angelic blood.

People spoke of angels as the strongest, the divine protectors of the weak. But where was their strength now? How could they shield their worshippers and devotees, When they couldn’t even save themselves?

The thought made him laugh. And so he did.

Loud, rich, triumphant.

He twirled between the lifeless bodies as if dancing in the very essence of victory.

Then, amidst the carnage, his raven gaze landed on the brightest light left in the abyss.

Held down by dozen of his demons, forced onto his knees.

Anawin, Beautiful Anawin.

The Angel of Angels.

The Angel of Light.

The most sacred being heaven had ever known, and now—his.

Golden blood dripped from Anawin’s wounds, seeping from his ruined wings, sliding down his bruised skin.

His chest rose and fell in exhaustion, his lips slightly parted, his body trembling from pain.

Nonetheless, those half lidded eyes still burned with defiance.

Hatred.

Damon felt something electric coil within him.

Such a beautiful creature.