Short stories!

Angel?

Sitting on the edge of the large bridge, the rotten, Sin-bitten angel sways over the edge. It was late, hardly any cars drove by. Maybe one every five hours or so, but too fast to even notice the low glow of hope that shines from the angel. It used to be bright. It used to be attractive, causing every being to fawn over.
It wasn't anyone's fault, the angel's low glow. If it was to be blamed, maybe blame the angel's creator. Though, the angel's creator is the same creator who created the small existence the whole universe climbs to. The small existence which the humans lay on, knowing it's small but not attempting to savor it. The small existence the insects and animals fight for, knowing their lives mean as little as the existence, but still fighting to attempt to have just a sliver of power. The small existence the gods don't even cling to. Instead, they watch with interest and intent, eyes shimmering in entertainment.

"Look look! Watch them fight!" The gods fawn, pointing at the bombs and wars. And the angels gather.
"Watch watch! This one seems funny!" The gods laugh, pointing at the lost and broken human. And the angels gather.
"Hm. I'm not sure about this one," The gods pause, watching the successful humans gain hope. And the angels scatter.
"Oh! But these. These are truly entertaining," The gods smile, watching the depressed human question his importance. And the angel's gather.

The same small existence the angel foolishly judged. The same small existence the angel regrets being upon.
"Maybe we should help?" The angel asks, glancing at the humans, "Maybe...maybe they're asking for us." The angel advised, looking up at the gods and angels.

The angel was thrown out for questioning authority.

The angel tried to fix the humans, attempted to answer their pleas. He worked until his limbs stopped regrowing with the gods magic, his wings grew frayed and weak, and his halo faltered.

But even with the little help he thought he'd given, the humans gave him metal limbs, bandaged his wings, and his halo faltered.
Even without his halo, he worked. His bandaged wings didn't fly as well, but still flew. His metal limbs clanked and creaked, but still walked. Even without the gods magic, he hoped and, he to, walked.
In the back of his frail, determined mind, he knew how the gods frowned upon hope, and how he wouldn't last long.

He worked so much that the humans grew tired of giving him metal limbs and bandaging his wings. The humans grew tired of his hope, and instead, questioned him. They asked him why he glowed and no one else did. They asked him why he hoped when no one else did. They asked him why he didn't give up.
They asked each other, 'What power did he have'? They asked each other, 'What if his glow is radiation?'
They asked each other, 'Maybe he's working towards our downfall?'
They asked each other, 'Maybe he's praying for our doom?'
And with their own assumptions, they grew fearful. They pointed guns, they threatened and cried, they worried and worried. They've long forgotten what the angel's work was for. They've long forgotten what good the angel had done.
And finally, the angel's glow faltered. It faded as more guns were pointed and tears were shed. It faded as he did more harm than good.

Now, he ended up on the bridge. Sitting cross-legged on the gate that covered the edge. His metal limbs creaked, and refused to walk. His bandaged wings no longer flied at all. His glow dims. And dims. And dims. Until finally, there's no glow at all.
And as the car that finally notices him, pulls over, and points another gun.

"What..? What are- What are you doing? No, What are you?" The human asks, powerful gun in trembling hands.
Finally, the angel growls. The fangs he just learned to create unsheathed, the horns he didn't know he had power in twisted, and the tail he didn't recognize curled with entertainment.
"What are you?" The creature hisses, "For I have yet to hear of your importance. Remind me why you point your gun?" The creature asks, turning to face the human.

The human's trembling hands grow strength from fear, inching on the trigger, "That doesn't matter! Why do you have wings?!" The human screams in confusion, lowering his gaze to the floor, for he didn't have the power to look at the creature's threatening glare.

"Really? Is that the motto you chose to live by?" The creature asks, grinning, "How foolish!" Moving faster than he thought the metal legs could take him, he takes the gun from the human's shaky hands, points it towards the terrified being, and pulls the trigger.

As the body hits the floor and the ring of the gunshot lingers in the air, the creature feels no remorse. Instead, he no longer felt like an angel. He craved a new title, something better. Something crueler. Something powerful.
He wandered the town, looking for his title. Along the way, the bandages fell from his feathered wings, and the feathers, too, fell to the ground. His metal legs grew fur and changed shape with a power he didn't know he had, and his fangs grew sharper.

Stopping at a small tavern, a lady opens the door. She allows him to enter, and gives him a list of names.
"Maybe lord? King? Emperor?" She suggests, sipping a cup of tea.
The creature shakes his head, "No, those won't do,"
"Assassin? Mystery? Legend?"
"No, those will not do,"
The lady hums, before picking up a book and flipping to the back.
She reads him another list, "God? Christ? Leader?" She asks him, and he shakes his head with disgust.
"No! All of these will not do. I'll be taking my leave then, since your of no assistance," He shouts, reaching for the old wooden door.

"Wait!" The lady calls, and he pauses, "I have one last list," She clarifies, and he sighs.
The lady turns a page in her book, and reads, "Satan? Lucifer? Devil?"

The creature smiles, a grin as evil as him himself, "Yes. Those will all be my title. For this, I'll leave you with riches and lovers to come. We will meet again," He smirks, exiting the building.

With his new name, he leaves underground. He creates his own kingdom, where he plays the role as god. He creates his own subjects, his own version of angels. He calls them demons, sitting upon his palace.
Now with his own power, he no longer gathers around the gods. He no longer looks at them with admiration. Instead, they look down at him with worry.