Fantasy, Home

The Demon (His Ascent)

He remembered.

For someone as old as he was, he remembered a lot of things.

(Too many things.)

A burning battlefield drowning in the ecstasy of death and chaos. Warm blood dripping down his claws, splattered thickly across his skin. The sharp bite of holy blades, the unimaginable agony as the metal cut and burned.

(Fire was supposed to mean safety for the fallen. But they’d taken even that from them.)

He’d cursed them all as he’d fallen, stuck down by those agents of divine good. Swallowed by the void, only to awaken to a bright blue gaze staring down in disgust and unjustified judgement.

Trapped in the dark, stuck for so long with only each other, he wished he could forget those memories. How sharp and cruel orbs had turned soft, venomous curses changing to shared laughter and stories, intermingled with sweetly whispered promises of feelings and actions that could never be acted upon.

(He wished they’d just killed each other. Like they were supposed to.)

He remembered her voice; kind and harmonious but with an edge the others didn’t — couldn’t— possess. There was unmistakable passion in every word she spoke, like every syllable was carefully chosen, weaving works of gilded poetry. Voice barely above a breath, she sang of her dreams, tone wobbly, almost too afraid to voice them. In turn, his own desires and regrets fell from his lips, ambitions that paled in comparison.

The way she spoke — it seemed impossible that she wouldn’t achieve her goals.

(She’d made him promise her something deep in the lonely dark. Something unthinkable.

He’d promised anyway.)

When they were finally found — angels shinning and filled with rage — he had been disappointed. Almost angry himself for the sudden reality check. She let him go, crying words of honor and other nonsense her companions believed without a second thought. He’d fled back into the familiar dark and fire, hoping to wash away the ghost of her hands on his.

In time, their paths crossed again and again, fate continuously drawing them together. Eventually, they stopped trying to run.

(They’d both been happier for it. And what a funny thing that was — a demon and an angel, happy, together.)

It had never really come to his attention, and looking back he wondered how he could have missed it. How he could have misinterpreted the feelings stirring in his dead heart. How he could have forgotten about the consequences in her embrace. Forgotten the line so carefully drawn between them.

(He’d felt guilty for the first time in centuries, but he hadn’t stopped.

He couldn’t.)

He was a demon, an agent of Hell and all things unholy. She was an angel who belonged in that forbidden gilded city above. They fell in love, a mistake neither regretted.

But only she would pay the price.

He caught her as she fell, porcelain skin scorched, back sticky with blood. No longer lovely and pure.

Yet her smile had still been blinding as their lips met.

(He remembered, and he kept his promise.)

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