Chapter 8: Part one the Past

This was a lot longer than I expected it to be! I had to put it into parts due to how long it is! Anyways! I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please leave a comment! I enjoy reading them!

Chapter 8

 The screams filled with pain and fear rang out throughout the ring of pride. 

Bodies of sinners piled on into the thousands as the angels brutally exterminated them with their angelic weapons, destroying their very souls. 

Amidst a cacophony of anguished cries, the bodies of sinners amassed in grotesque piles, stretching into the horizon, as if reaching for salvation. The exterminators flew down from heaven, their angelic spears in hand, and with relentless fury, struck down the demons who overpopulated hell.

Each strike was a symphony of divine justice, obliterating not just flesh but also shattering the essence of their souls, leaving behind only echoes of their former existence.

"GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY ASSHO—" 

"DON'T PUSH ME BITC—"

"FUCK! FUCK! FUC—"

Three demons were killed instantly, unable to escape their gruesome death from the bloodied spear of an angel. Their heads, decapitated from their bodies, dropped to the cement with a heavy thud, blood dripping from their slashed-off necks. Their lifeless bodies added to the pile of other dead sinners. 

The sound of flapping wings could be heard as the angel who slew the demons flicked their spear, cleaning off blood stuck to it. They looked down at the slaughter happening below them, watching as their fellow angels continued their crusade of terminating sinners.

The angels' focus was soon diverted to something else as they observed the carnage below. It was a flicker, barely even a second. 

A shadow of a figure running behind an alleyway. 

Raising their spear high above their head, the angel descended swiftly towards the alleyway where they had caught a glimpse of the shadowy figure. Their wings beat with powerful strokes, propelling them towards the ground with powerful force. 

As they landed gracefully, the angel's eyes scanned the dimly lit alley, searching for any sign of a demon. Her search soon came to a stop, upon noticing the dead end of the alleyway.

There, pressed against the unforgiving wall, cowered a small, trembling child. Yet, what struck the heart with an unsettling force was the revelation: this innocent, young soul bore the weight of sin. 

The angel approached cautiously. The divine light radiating from their form cast a gentle glow around them. Looking at the small child, they were unsure of what to do.

"P-Please d-don't hurt me!" They pleaded, eyes red with hot tears falling from their eyes.

The holy being stared at the haunting sight: a child, diminutive and frail with tears falling from their eyes, pressed against the wall, scared of the being in front of them. 

Yet, it was not the child's vulnerability that stirred the depths of the angel's being; it was the unmistakable presence of sin cloaked within the innocence of their soul. The most heart-wrenching of all was the fact that the child was freshly new to hell.

Approaching with measured steps, the angel's divine radiance illuminated the dim space, casting ethereal shadows that danced upon the walls. Each movement was hesitant, a testament to the weight of their purpose and the gravity of the task at hand.

And there, in the midst of the light, lay the stark reality: before them stood not just a child, but a vessel harboring the essence of a demon, a twisted manifestation of malevolence and corruption.

It was a sight that tested the very fabric of the angels' resolve, challenging their beliefs and shaking the foundation of their celestial duty.

For in that moment, the line between good and evil blurred, and the angel found themselves standing at the crossroads of duty and morality, torn between the mandate to eradicate demons and the stirring of compassion for the young soul.

They raised their hand, causing the child to flinch back in fear. A tremor of dread could be seen rippling through the child's fragile frame, making the angel recoil at their reaction.

The angel hesitated, their hand hovering in the air, unsure of what to do next. The child's wide eyes glistened with unshed tears, filled with a mixture of terror and desperation. It was a sight that tugged at the angel's heartstrings, stirring emotions long buried beneath layers of divine duty.

"P-Please," the child whimpered, their words a pitiful stuttering mess.

Her resolve broke at the sound of the child's plea, her heart heavy with the weight of the decision before them. They knew what was expected of them, what their oath demanded, but faced with the reality of the situation, they found themselves hesitating.

In the eyes of heaven, the child was nothing more than a vessel of sin, a creature deserving of eradication. But in that moment, as they stood face to face with the trembling child, the angel couldn't help but see beyond the darkness that tainted their soul.

Stepping nearer, the angel slowly lifted her hand to unfasten her mask, unveiling a visage of ethereal beauty. Her gentle expression exuded warmth and empathy as she looked down at the scared child.

"Hey! it's ok!" she said, her voice gentle, trying her best to appear as friendly as possible. "I won't hurt you."

The child's eyes widened, they absorbed every detail of her now unmasked face. The angel, who was once a figure of fear, now appeared less frightening, her features imbued with a newfound gentleness. 

*Sniff* "R-Really?" Rubbing their eyes with their small hands.

Within the child's voice, a flicker of hope emerged, like a delicate flame amidst the bleakness of their surroundings. 

The angel smiled, her heart swelling with compassion as she witnessed the fragile spark of hope igniting within the child. "Yes, really," she assured them, putting her spear down. "You're safe now."

As she spoke, the tension in the child's trembling form seemed to ease, replaced by a cautious sense of relief. Tears glistened in their eyes, reflecting the light of the angel's presence like shimmering stars in the darkness.

The angel knelt down, her wings folding gently around her. "What's your name?" she questioned softly, gentle and soothing.

The child hesitated for a moment, their voice barely a whisper. "T-Tommy," they replied, their gaze fixed on the angel's face.

"Well, Tommy," the angel said, her smile awkward but warm. "My name is Vaggie."

With those words, the little boy's fears began to slowly melt away, replaced by a sense of innocent trust and security in the presence of a kind face. He wiped away the tears remaining on his face.

"Can I ask you some questions, Tommy?" Vaggie asked him, Tommy nodded timidly, his gaze fixed on Vaggie with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. 

Vaggie gently reached out, her hand hovering just above Tommy's shoulder, offering a reassuring touch. "Do you remember how you ended up here?" she asked, her voice soft and comforting.

Tommy's brows furrowed in concentration as he struggled to recall the events that led him to this desolate place. After a moment of silence, he shook his head slowly. "I-I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay," Vaggie reassured him, her tone gentle. "Just try your best to remember."

The boy hesitatingly nodded his head, his eyes closed as he tried his hardest to remember what happened. His hands clenched tightly in a fist as the memory and trauma began to resurface. 

His breathing grew shallow as the fragments of memories flashed before his eyes. The suffocating heat of flames licking at his skin, the deafening screams echoing in his ears, the overwhelming sense of fear and desperation that consumed him.

"M-Mom… h-he killed mom!"

Vaggie listened quietly, her heart breaking as the child began to tell her what happened. 

 ____________________________________________

The night began like any other, the air thick with tension as Tommy huddled in his bed with a pillow over his head, trying to drown out the sounds of his parents' arguments that happened every night. But this time something was different. 

Amidst the darkness of the night, a piercing scream shattered the stillness, echoing through the walls with a chilling intensity that sent shivers down Tommy's spine.

Heart pounding, he stumbled out of bed, his little feet carrying him to the source of the terror that gripped his soul. As he rounded the corner, his worst fears materialized before his eyes: his mother, frail and defenseless, crumpled on the floor, her body wracked with sobs of agony as she held her face in pain.

And there, towering over her like a monstrous shadow, stood his father, his eyes glazed with a drunken rage, a gun clenched in his trembling hand pointed at his mother. The metallic gleam of the weapon sent a cold chill down the little boy's spine.

His mother begged for her life, her voice choked with fear, her eyes wide with fear as she stared down the barrel of the gun.

But his father's drunken rage was relentless, his grip on the weapon tightening with a sickening force. With a cold, hateful gaze, he raised the gun, the metallic click of the hammer sending shockwaves of dread coursing through Tommy's veins.

At that moment, time seemed to stand still, the world around them fading into a blur as the boy's senses were consumed by the overwhelming horror of the scene before him. His mother's desperate cries echoed in his ears, the taste of bile rising in his throat as he fought to comprehend the unfathomable cruelty of his own father.

BANG!

And then, without warning, the deafening crack of gunfire shattered the cries, a burst of pain ripping through Tommy's chest as he watched, helpless to intervene as his mother's life went out like the flame of a candle.

It was a moment suspended in eternity, a vivid tableau etched into the very fabric of the traumatized child being with searing clarity—a nightmare from which he could never truly awaken. 

The acrid stench of gun smoke lingered in the air, a sickening reminder of the violence that had shattered his world. The sight of blood, dark and viscous, pooling beneath his mother's lifeless form, seared into his mind like a brand, that now haunted his every waking moment. 

Amidst the chaos and devastation, the overwhelming sense of everything around him crumbling to dust, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. It was a moment that would forever be seared into his memory, a harrowing testament to the fragility of innocence and the cruelty of fate.

He stood there, frozen in disbelief, as his father callously turned his back on his mother's lifeless body, as if she were no more than an inconvenience to him. The gun in his hand slipped from his grasp, crashing to the floor with a deafening echo, mirroring the shattering of their family's foundation. 

With each step his father took towards the kitchen for another beer, the emptiness in the room grew more palpable, leaving behind a haunting silence that screamed louder than any words could convey.

And then a burning red rage consumed him.

A rage so intense that it was as if the very being of his soul had caught fire, scorching his innocence and leaving nothing but his desire for vengeance and hate in its wake. His small, trembling hands reached out to pick up the gun his bastard father had dropped so thoughtlessly, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it tightly.

His young heart pounded fiercely like a wild drum, vibrating against his chest with each raging heartbeat. He could hear it echo in his ears, deafening him to everything but the roar of his own fury. The chill of the wind that carried through their broken window felt like ice against his face, but it couldn't douse the inferno blazing within him.

He swallowed hard, the metallic taste of fear on his tongue giving way to something far more potent - the intoxicating lure of retribution. With determined steps that belied his years of childhood, Tommy moved towards the kitchen, drawn by the sounds of his father's sloppy movements and the clinking of glass against the counter.

As he rounded the corner, he could see his father's broad back to him, a bottle in one hand, a jerky in the other. The sight of his father, so indifferent despite his mother's lifeless body lying just feet away, ignited Tommy's fury even further.

The gun felt heavy in his small hands, cold and ominous. His palms were sweaty, but his grip on the weapon was unwavering. Tommy took a deep breath, his young chest swelling with grim resolve.

"Dad," he called out, his voice shaking. The man turned around slowly; his face contorted into a lazy sneer as he registered the sight of his son holding the gun.

"What the fuck are you doing with that?" He merely laughed, taking another swig from his beer bottle. "What you gonna do?" He slurred out, his voice dripping with disdain and mockery. "Shoot m-"

BANG!

The gun went off with a deafening roar that echoed through the house. A flash of terror flitted across the man's face as he looked down at the bullet wound on his chest, his beer bottle shattering into a thousand pieces beside him. Blood began to pool around where the bullet pierced him, dark and thick, mirroring the scene Tommy had witnessed in the other room.

"Y-You shot me…?" the older man said in disbelief, his shaky hand reaching to the bleeding wound. "You fucking shot me!"

His words were a broken record, each repetition of disbelief punctuated by the splattering of blood that soiled the worn-out kitchen tiles. The man looked away from his bleeding chest and to his son, his drunken state the only thing keeping him from collapsing in pain. His face twisted into an ugly expression, another bout of drunken rage bursting within the bastard as he charged at his own son.

Despite his age, despite all the innocence that was brutally stripped away from him in the span of one heinous night, Tommy stood his ground. His knuckles were white as they held onto the gun, his small body trembling like a leaf caught in a violent storm. But his eyes held a fire that outshone even the worst of infernos; it was a hauntingly beautiful dance of determination and fury.

His father lunged at him, gargantuan hands stretched out to grab him, but Tommy pulled the trigger once more without any hesitation.

BANG!

The force sent his father staggering back with a guttural roan, clutching his bleeding stomach. Yet still, he fought, fueled perhaps by alcohol or by some twisted will. The large man lunged once more, his rage blinding him to the blood that was pooling around him. His eyes were wild, and animalistic even as he raised a meaty hand to grab the boy's neck.

 ______________________________________

"E-Everything became dark. A-And t-then I ended up h-here…"

Vaggie remained silent, listening intently, her heart heavy with sorrow as Tommy recounted the harrowing events that led him to this desolate place. The echoes of his pain reverberated through her being, stirring a profound sense of sympathy within her celestial form.

As Tommy's trembling voice trailed off into silence, Vaggie reached out, her hand gently resting on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort and support. She could feel the weight of his trauma, like a heavy burden pressing down upon his fragile shoulders, threatening to crush him beneath its unbearable weight.

"I'm so sorry, Tommy," Vaggie whispered, her voice soft and gentle. "No child should ever have to experience something like that."

Tears welled up in Tommy's eyes once more, his small frame trembling with the weight of his grief. He buried his face in his hands, the memories of that fateful night threatening to overwhelm him once more.

"Shh, it's ok. Don't cry! Please don't cr-"

 "What is the meaning of this?" 

Her commander's voice slices through the air like a sharpened blade, cutting off her words and leaving them bleeding on the ground. The short-haired angel flinched, whipping around to face the source of the commanding voice. As she turned around, she was greeted by the sight of her fellow angels, their masked faces twisted in an ugly scowl. Each one seemed to radiate disapproval and judgment in waves.

"I- I was just," Vaggie tried to explain, her azure eyes wide with trepidation. Her gaze flitted towards Tommy, who had shrunk back from the imposing figures, his small fists clenching at his sides in a futile attempt to hold back his tears.

"Commander Lute," Vaggie said, taking a deep breath to calm herself down, standing up straight like a trained soldier. "I was just trying to comfort a child."

Her words hung in the air; a poignant reminder of the compassion that had been driven out of them by the harsh reality of their duties. Her commander raised an eyebrow at her, his piercing gaze unrelenting.

"Comfort him?" Lute's voice was laced with disdain, and she scoffed at Vaggie's attempt at an explanation. "You forget your place, Vaggie. You are here to serve justice, to exterminate, not to coddle sinners."

"But he's just a child!" she protested, gesturing towards Tommy, who was huddled against the wall, his eyes large with fear.

"Child or not, he's a sinner! Look around you!" Lute's voice echoed across the desolate room, her gaze sweeping over the countless tormented souls writhing in agony. "This is hell! And this little fucker is here for a fucking reason!"

Vaggie clenched her fists, the sound of her knuckles cracking echoing in the oppressive silence. The other angels watched her, silent and unmoving, their eyes as cold as ice. Tommy's pitiful sobs were the only sound breaking the unbearable quietude.

"You're wrong." Vaggie's voice was quiet, but there was an unyielding steel in her tone. "Just because he was sent here doesn't mean he deserves this."

Laughter filled the room, bitter and cruel. It was Lute who laughed, her eyes full of scorn as she looked at Vaggie with a twisted smirk playing on her lips.

"Oh really? You think this kid is innocent?" Lute retorted, gesturing with a careless flick of her wrist towards Tommy. "He has blood on his hand, the blood of his own kin!"

Vaggie opened her mouth to protest, to explain his story, but Lute didn't let her speak. She stepped forward until they were almost nose to nose.

"Save your breath!" Lute spat with a venomous sneer. "They all have their reasons, don't they?" Her gaze bore into Vaggie's with a chilling intensity. "But that does not absolve us of the wrongdoings we commit or the judgment that comes from our actions."

"But he is a child! Barley older than te—"

"Enough!" Lute thundered, her words echoing through the chamber. The other angels flinched at the outburst while Tommy simply whimpered, his small frame shaking uncontrollably with fear. "Our job is to cast judgment onto sinners, to make sure these pieces of trash don't overpopulate hell!"

There was a tense silence in the wake of Lute's fury. Vaggie bit her lip and clenched her fists tighter, her nails digging into her palms. She had seen a lot of things as an angel – things that would make even the most hardened sinner quake in fear. But nothing – nothing could compare to the feeling of helplessness that gripped her now.

The commanding angel forcefully moved past Vaggie, shoving her aside as she glared down at the young sinner. She towered over the demon, the poor boy visibly shrunk under her influence. His huge, fearful eyes reflected the monstrous, scornful figure that was casting an imposing shadow over him.

" Poor child," Lute's voice dripped with venomous sarcasm. "Driven to murder by circumstance. Such a shame ." She knelt down, her piercing gaze locked onto Tommy's terror-stricken face. "But sin is sin, no matter who commits it."

As she turned to glance over her shoulder, she caught Vaggie's wide-eyed stare. Her underling's expression was a mix of fear and concern as if she could sense what she was about to do next.

"Your feeble sympathy won't change anything, Vaggie," Lute said, her voice low and menacing. She rose to her feet once more, an air of finality settling around her like a shroud. Her gaze returned to the weeping demon child before her, her icy eyes devoid of any compassion.

"But... he doesn't deserve this," Vaggie growled, instinctively grabbing hold of her spear.

"It is not your place to decide who deserves what! That is the prerogative of the divine!" Lute spat, her eyes blazing with anger at Vaggie's continued defiance. "This is the will of heaven!"

Without any warning she reached down and grabbed the young sinner by the neck, hoisting him to his feet with an iron grip. Tommy whimpered, his legs kicking out as his small hands tried in vain to pry her vice-like fingers from his neck.

"GRK! I-I d-didn't m-mean..." Tommy tried to say, but his words choked as Lute's grip tightened around his throat. His body began to shake once more, though this time it was not from fear.

"Silence!" Lute roared, her voice echoing throughout the cavernous chamber. Her eyes glowed with a fierce and cruel delight as she beheld the suffering sinner in her grasp. "You have no right to explain, no right to plead. You have lost those privileges the moment you sinned."

Vaggie watched helplessly, hesitating as Tommy's struggles began to slowly weaken. His eyes began to roll to the back of his head, his body slackening in Lute's grasp. She could hear the other angels whispering among themselves, laughing at the sight of the sinner child's suffering.

"Enough!" Vaggie sudden cry cut through the room, reverberating off the high arches of the cavernous alleyway. She lunged forward, her angelic spear gleaming with a deadly radiance that pierced through the air.

Lute, shocked at one of her own sisters attacking her, barely dodged out of the way of the spear. Her group on the child's thought loosened as she did so.

Lute turned towards her, surprise flashing in her eyes for a brief moment before it was replaced by a sneer. "You would attack your own for this pathetic... creature?" she spat out disdainfully, her grip on Tommy only tightening more, waving it in the air at Vaggie. "Break the very oath that you swore to keep? The oath to do justice in Heaven's name and kill all sinners!?!"

But Vaggie didn't pause. Her heart pounded in her chest and her mind screamed protest at Lute's heartless cruelty. "This is not justice!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the silent alley. "It is wrong to kill an innocent child!"

With an enraged cry, she swung her spear at Lute, landing a hit on her commander's arm. The other angels gasped collectively as their commander was hurt. Tumbling backward and releasing Tommy from her iron grip. The child fell to his knees, gasping for air.

For the first time since the fall of Lucifer… angel blood was spilled.

Vaggie stood protectively in front of him, her wings spread wide as she glared fiercely at the angel. A desperate resolve had set in her eyes, a resolve to protect this child at all costs even if it meant breaking her sacred vows.

The commanding angel slowly rose to her feet, a trickle of golden blood snaking down from her arm and dripping onto the stony ground. 

Her cold gaze landed on Vaggie.

The alley filled with an ominous silence as she flapped her wings, ascending upward. Without another word, she lunged at Vaggie with an inhuman speed that left no room for retaliation. 

She swiped at Vaggie with her talons, slashing the white fabric of Vaggie's robe and leaving deep gashes on her exposed skin. Blood welled up from the wounds, but Vaggie barely flinched, her attention fixed wholly on Lute. She retaliated with a swift thrust of her spear, catching her assailant off guard. The pointed edge grazed Lute's side and she recoiled with a grunt of pain.

The other angels watched in stunned silence as the conflict unfolded before them. A battle between two of their own kind was unheard of. They were supposed to be dispensers of divine judgment after all, not brawlers in a petty feud.

Turning to face the other angels, Vaggie charged forward. It was a risky move, but she knew she could not afford to back down now, not when it was against her sisters. She tackled them one after another, her spear slashing through the air, a blur of golden light. The angels scattered before her like leaves before a storm, their usually resolute faces colored with shock and pain.

Wide-eyed and mesmerized, Tommy observed Vaggie's fierce defense against the group of angels. Each strike of her spear was swift and calculated, her movements fluid like a dance. The clang of metal echoed through the air as she protected him with unwavering resolve.

Taking the time to catch her breath, Vaggie took the moment to shout at Tommy who was looking at her in a daze.

"Get out of here!"

Tommy blinked, his eyes wide with shock. "But I—"

"Go!" Vaggie shouted again. She didn't dare turn to look at him, her focus turned to Lute and the blooded sword gleaming dangerously in her hand.

With a whimper, Tommy got up and ran, scrambling over the cobblestones as he fled the alleyway. His small frame disappeared into the mist, leaving only chilling silence behind.

Lute laughed, a cold, cruel sound that echoed off the stone walls. "Are you truly willing to die for that fucking sinner?" she sneered.

"And if I am?" Vaggie asked firmly, meeting her gaze with defiant resolve.

"Then you are nothing but a delusional fool!" Lute seethed, launching himself at her with ferocious speed. Her teeth gnashed together like rabid animals as she swung her sword. Vaggie barely managed to dodge her attacks, the air vibrating with their deadly intent.

She parried Lute's attack with her spear and tried to counter but was met with a punch in the abdomen, making her gasp out in pain. The two angels are locked in an intense battle of power and will, their golden blood staining the streets of hell.

Vaggie was renowned as one of the heavens' most skilled exterminators, feared and revered by both angels and demons alike. Capable of taking down hundreds of demons on her own, she was an angel that most would call a force to be reckoned with. 

But even with all her strength and exceptional skills, she knew that facing her commander and four other fellow angels at once would be more than a daunting challenge. Sweat glistened on her brow as she swerved out of the way of a violent stab aiming for her head, her muscles tense as she blocked a blow from Lute at the same time.

She could feel her arms buckle as her spear clashed against Lute's sword. The impact sent a jarring reverberation through her body, causing her to stumble backward. With a swift, caged-animal sort of desperation, she whirled her spear around just in time to deflect another attack from behind. She turned, using the momentum to land a blow on one of her sisters. The angel cried out in surprise as she crashed into the cavernous wall.

Lute took advantage of the distraction, lunging forward with her sword aiming for Vaggie's heart. The cry of warning roared through the alleyway too late. With a gasp, Vaggie twisted, narrowly avoiding the lethal blow. Her wings flapped hard against the air, pushing her away just as Lute's sword grazed the fabric of her uniform. She could feel the cold nick of steel on her skin.

"Such a pity," Lute taunted, a cruel smile playing across her lips, taking a moment to catch their breath. "You could have been one of the most respected angels in heaven, comparable to that of a seraphim."

Vaggie spat in response, blood dripping from her lips, clutching her spear tighter in her hands. "Being respected at the expense of killing a child!?!"

"HE IS A SINNER VAGATHA!!! WHAT IS IT THAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND?!?" Lute's words were a roar that rang throughout the alleyway, ricocheting off the cold stone walls, echoing with a torrent of scorn.

"I understand that you have lost sight of what it truly means to be an angel!" she shot back, her voice thrumming with raw emotion.

With a fierce battle cry, she thrust her spear upwards with all her might, aiming straight for Lute's vulnerable chest. The commanding angel let out a ferocious hiss as one of her underlings desperately jumped in to block the attack with their own weapon, the clash of metal against metal ringing loudly in the air.

But Vaggie wouldn't be stopped. She spun around the obstructing angel with a grace that belied the intensity of the battle, using her spear to push off the ground and launch herself upward. Above Lute, she swooped down with swift wings, her spear poised to strike.

The sudden change of direction caught Lute off guard. She barely had time to raise her sword to deflect the incoming blow. But Vaggie's attack was fierce and relentless, driving the commander backward with sheer force.

The other angels, emboldened by their commander's struggle, closed in on Vaggie from all sides, their weapons gleaming ominously in the dim light as they made their move.

But they were too slow.

With a swift movement, Vaggie drove her spear into the ground, using it as leverage to spin herself around in a sweeping arc. Her outstretched wings struck at them like a bladed whirlwind, sending them stumbling back.

Thinking that she had the upper hand, the deadly angel descended upon Lute once more, capitalizing on the commander's temporary disorientation. Her spear flashed like golden lightning, driving straight toward Lute's exposed sternum. But Lute was not to be taken down so easily. She met Vaggie's assault with a swift upward swing of her sword, knocking the spear aside and creating a momentary opening.

"YOU NO LONGER DESERVE TO HAVE A PLACE IN HEAVEN" Lute sneered, her voice laced with a venom that was as chilling as the cold stones beneath their feet. "YOU BELONG HERE! ALONG WITH THE REST OF THESE PIECES OF SHITS!!!"

Her sword came down hard and fast, aiming for Vaggie's exposed flank. Reacting on pure instinct, the fallen angel managed to twist aside just in time. The hiss of steel cleaving through the air was followed by the screech of sparks as Lute's blade scraped against the stony ground.

The other angels, their wings spread wide, and their eyes burning with animosity, quickly recovered from her attack and charged at her with the intent to take her down once and for all. Spears and swords cut through the air relentlessly as they barrage her at the same time.

Vaggie maneuvered acrobatically in mid-air, twisting and turning to avoid each successive attack, her once-white wings now smeared with blood and dust. As the attacks came endlessly, her body bore the evidence in the form of small cuts and bruises. She could feel the stinging pain as she deftly dodged each one, her movements becoming slower with each strike.

Her vision blurred as a result of the blood now trickling down into her eyes. But she refused to allow any sign of weakness to show and kept her face resolute and hardened. Her body ached in protest with every move she made but there was no time to stop. No time to rest. She gritted her teeth and pressed on.

Lute stalked around her like a predator, her sword glinting dangerously in the dim light. Every step she took was calculated and precise, like a lioness waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Her eyes burned as she waited for the critical moment that would seal the fate of their battle.

 And the moment soon appeared. 

With Vagatha's back perilously exposed, every second teetered on the edge of catastrophe as she grappled with a rival angel who got dangerously close to dealing a serious blow, their clash a symphony of celestial fury. 

In the throes of battle, time seemed to slow as Lute, her eyes ablaze, launched herself forward like a lightning bolt, her sword a deadly blur of gleaming steel, poised to shatter the fragile balance of their stalemate.

 KIRCK! 

The sword tore through her back and out her chest. She watched in dazed horror as the sword dripped with her own blood. The sensation was a cold, sharp shock that dulled into a throbbing pain. It made her gasp for breath, made her legs buckle and her knees collapse onto the stone beneath.

She slumped forward, pain searing through her body, each heartbeat bringing a fresh wave of agony. Around her, the angels fell silent, their weapons lowered. Only Lute stood triumphant, callously pulling her bloodied sword free from Vaggie's back.

The commander sneered, her lip curling in disgust as she wiped the blood off her blade. "Pathetic" she spat out, her words echoing eerily in the silence that had descended upon them. Vaggie felt the cold air rush into the wound, making her shiver as her vision blurred further.

Her fingers clenched around her spear so tightly that they turned white under the strain, knuckles creaking under the pressure. She forced herself to take a ragged breath, drawing in the stale air with a guttural gasp that echoed loudly against the stone walls.

In an attempt to rise, she pushed herself up on trembling arms but only managed a pathetic crawl. Her body was on fire, pain searing through every inch of her being.

The underlings, seeing her trying to get up, tensed up once more, gripping their weapons harder, prepared to step in should she somehow regain her strength. Yet Lute raised a hand, signaling them to stay back.

"Let her crawl," she commanded, her voice laced with venomous disdain, each syllable dripping with a potent mix of fury and contempt. "Let her feel the crushing weight of her sin with every excruciating inch she drags herself forward! The sin of betraying her oath, of releasing a wretched sinner from divine judgment!"

The battle had taken a toll on Vaggie, as her body wracked with pain as she struggled to remain conscious. Each labored breath made her strength wane, and her vision dimmed with each passing moment. Around her, the exterminators watched in silent anticipation, their eyes cold and unyielding.

Kneeling down to be on her level and grabbing her by the root of her hair, Lute's face was close to Vaggie's own, their eyes locked together. One was filled with defiance while the other was filled with contemptuous pity.

"Look at you now, a pathetic lump of once divine grace," Lute sneered, her breath hot on Vaggie's face. "Was it worth it, Vaggie? Was the wretched sinner worth your fall from grace?"

Taking a deep breath, Lute exhaled as she calmed down and her eyes began to fill with regret.

"…But you are still my sister! we fought together, trained together, killed together!" She growled as her burning rage cooled, "I am willing to forgive your transgressions, sister."

The injured angel stayed silent, knowing that there was more that she had yet to say.

"And all you have to do is find the sinner you let go… and exterminate him."

Vaggie's blurred vision locked onto Lute's. Her sister's cold, calculating eyes were nothing like the ones she used to know. The warmth, the camaraderie they used to share as Heaven's warriors was now a distant memory. What stared back at her now was a hollow reflection of that past, an angel twisted by her own rigid sense of duty and hate.

She could feel the warmth of her own blood pooling beneath her, seeping into the cold stone floor, staining it in a morbid golden hue. But she gritted her teeth, the bitterness in her mouth was not from blood, but from the vile words that Lute had just spoken.

"You…want me…to kill a child?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but the disbelief and horror embedded in it echoed throughout the alley.

"I want you to kill a sinner," Lute corrected curtly, her voice devoid of any emotion. She stood and brushed off her hands nonchalantly as though she was wiping away an insignificant speck of dust. "Eliminate the sinner you released, and all will be forgiven."

"You're mad if you think I'll... I'll..." Words failed her. Even in such a dire situation, the notion of lifting a finger against an innocent soul was incomprehensible to her. "I refuse!"

Lute glared into her eyes and Vaggie glared back.

"You would turn your back against your own sister!?!"

Vaggie's voice rang out, hoarse and choked yet filled with an undeniable fervor. Her eyes, bloodshot and weary, remained unblinking as they met Lute's scornful gaze. "You turned your back on me first when you are willing to kill a fucking child! Who is nothing but an innocent soul that was wrongly sent down!"

Innocent soul. The phrase hung in the air like a damning verdict, a stark reminder of their fallen commonality. Lute flinched back as if physically struck, her eyes momentarily flickering with surprise.

"INNOCENT?!" Lute snarled, her scorn quickly rekindling into rage. "There are no innocents here! Only sinners deserving of damnation!"

The spectators watched in breathless silence as their fiery exchange escalated, the tension stretching tautly between the two former comrades. Vaggie's eyes bore into Lute's own with a fervent intensity that belied her weakened state.

A sword flashed, the sound of flesh being pierced rang out, and next came a pain-filled scream.

"AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!"

With a snarl of rage, Lute yanks her sword from the eye socket of her fallen comrade. The metal scrapes against bone, slicing through flesh and muscle until it is free with a sickening squelch. Blood drips from the hilt as she brandishes the weapon, fueled by a ferocity that borders on madness.

Vagatha's ripped-out eye fell to the ground with a chilling splat that seemed to echo in the dreadful silence. Blood gushed from her socket, staining her face with a grotesque mask of holy blood. The pain was immeasurable, unfathomable, and she couldn't help but let out another scream of agony.

"You brought this upon yourself!" Lute growled out, stepping around her trembling form and grabbing hold of both her wings. "Sinful filth like you has no place in heaven!"

"N-NO! ST-STOP! STOOPP!!!

SSSSNAP!

A horrific, ripping sound echoed through the alleyway, followed by a ghastly scream that was abruptly cut off. The onlookers froze in place, their eyes wide with shock as Vaggie's wings were torn from her back in a brutal display of power. 

To them, she was no longer a sister in arms; she was now a symbol of what would happen to those who broke their divine oath.

A stain of Heaven.

Lute stared coldly at the fallen angel crumpled pitifully on the ground. Blood smeared her face and soaked into her clothes, painting her pale skin in shades of gold. She glanced at the majestic wings in her hand, now limp and lifeless.

Lute tossed the severed wings aside with a repugnant sneer, their once radiant feathers now stained with blood and sullied by the cold, unyielding stone beneath them.

"You are no longer an angel, Vagatha," she jeered, spitting out her name as if it were a vile curse."You are no longer one of us."

With the last of her heavenly grace stripped away, Vaggie could do nothing but watch in horror as Lute turned her back on her, leaving her broken and bleeding on the stone floor. Her world was spinning, the pain threatening to drown her entirely.

"If you somehow manage to survive down here in this shit hole, never show your face in Heaven again," Lute declared, her voice echoing ominously, giving Vaggie the very last ounce of pity she had left. 

The other exterminators soon followed, not even giving a second glance at who was once their beloved sister-in-arms.

Vaggie's body convulsed with another wave of agony, her lifeblood seeping into the ground beneath, a terrible testament to her brutal downfall. Her world was shattering, blurring, and distorting as though viewed through a shattered glass. Yet, with Herculean effort, she managed to raise her head to watch Lute disappear up into the sky.

As the last flicker of her sister's figure vanished into the distance, Vaggie found herself fully enveloped by the icy grip of abandonment. The absolute silence that hung over the alleyway felt suffocating, accentuated only by her raspy breaths and the distant echoes of hell.

Gritting her teeth, Vaggie carefully pushed herself up from the cold stone floor. Every movement sent jolts of pain coursing through her body, but she refused to succumb. She had been cast out, forsaken by those she once called family.

Her broken wing stubs itched and ached at the same time, a phantom sensation that threatened to rob her of her sanity. Golden blood continued to seep from the wounds, each drop a grim reminder of the painful severing. But in defiance of her predicament, she struggled to her feet, trembling as she did so.

In a place like this, showing weakness would be akin to inviting death. And death was not something she was going to embrace just yet. Casting a final glance at her severed wings, Vaggie turned away from the grotesque scene and limped towards the far end of the alleyway. Her fingers brushed against the rough stone wall for support.

She fought with all her might, but the unrelenting pain caused her legs to crumble beneath her, sending her crashing back to the unforgiving ground. Each breath felt like a fire burning through her lungs, and she could feel her body shutting down as she lay there helpless and defeated. Her injured back bleeding with gold blood rested against the stone wall, her single eye staring off into the distance as she slowly let herself succumb to the pain.

 "…I hope the kid is at least safe." 

 … 

 … 

 … 

 … 

…

Tap

…

tap

…

tap

…

But as she drifted into the realm of unconsciousness, a faint sound reached her ears. It was barely distinguishable, a soft patter against the hard ground. Rain she thought absently. But this was Hell... there was no rain here. She forced her eye open once more, squinting against the painful throbbing in her head.

What she saw was not rain but a figure approaching, shrouded in darkness and moving with an ominous grace towards her. She tried to call out, to order who it was that was approaching, but all that emerged from her lips was a feeble whimper.

The figure halted mere inches away from her and red filled her vision, along with a sharp smile. Vaggie tensed up as their hand reached out towards her injured eye, yet she found herself too weak to react or move. To her surprise, the touch was gentle and warm - unexpected in a place like hell.

Their hands moved with experience over her wounds as their voice melted through the air, a rich baritone that filled the otherwise silent alley with a strange radio effect. "Well, well...aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Hahaha!" Their tone was laced with an unusual mix of mockery and sympathy.

"Please forgive me for asking such a cheesy question, but did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

Vaggie could only groan in response, trying to shift away from the stranger. But as she did, a wave of dizziness hit her, forcing her to stay in place. She couldn't fight; she could barely breathe. They continued to examine the damage despite getting no reply back. Vaggie bit back a hiss as sharp jolts of pain shot through her but remained still under the stranger's touch.

 "Quite a mess we got here," the figure finally spoke, their voice smooth as silk and carrying a teasing lilt. Despite herself, Vaggie found reassurance in it; it was a stark contrast to the harsh reality she found herself in.

She attempted to speak again, but this time only a gasp came out. The figure chuckled at this, a sound that resonated through the alley and seemed to scatter the oppressive silence.

 "Shhh... don't strain yourself," they advised gently. Reaching into their pocket, they pulled out a piece of cloth and began dabbing at her bleeding eye socket. Each touch stung, each swipe intensifying the throbbing pain, yet she understood they were trying to help.

With the blood now wiped away from her face, Vaggie took the chance to observe the man helping her with her vision now cleared from her own blood.

Her gaze landed on a tall figure, his silhouette illuminated by the faint glow from an old streetlamp nearby. He was wearing a crimson suit that looked like it was straight out of the 1920s, sharp and dapper, contrasting greatly with the grimy surroundings of Hell. His hair was slicked and proper, revealing a pair of bright red eyes that seemed eerily calm amidst the chaos.

His sharp and angular face could have been chiseled out of stone. But what startled Vaggie the most was his smile – a flawless set of immaculate teeth behind lips that were constantly adorned with a charming, welcoming grin.

"Who... who are you?" she managed to croak, her voice barely audible. Her angelic golden blood still stained her pale skin in stark contrast to the man's pristine appearance.

The man's eyes sparkled in amusement, seeming to soak up the dim light from the alleyway. With another chuckle, he gently pressed the cloth back against her eye and held it there, while his other hand lit up in flames as it formed a black eyepatch.

 "Your savior for the night," he replied with a playful wink. Vaggie could see the red in his eyes glowing with an unusual intensity; they were like bright blood rubies. This close, she could see tiny flecks of gold in them, giving them a fiery depth that sent a shiver down her spine.

His fingers continued their gentle ministrations, pressing the cloth tightly against her wound to staunch the bleeding, putting the eyepatch he summoned at the same time. His touch was alarmingly tender, a far cry from the rough handling she had received at the hands of Lute and the others. It was strangely soothing; she found herself yearning for the comfort it provided.

 "The names Alastor," he finally admitted after what felt like an eternity. "Though some folks 'round here prefer to call me the Radio Demon, you might have heard of me from my radio show~" His voice was like honey over gravel, with each word carrying the faintest static hum of a vintage radio.

Vaggie's eye widened at the revelation. She had heard of the infamous Radio Demon from her leader, a ruthless figure who was as charismatic as he was brutal, and one who had taken down powerful overlords who have ruled for years. A chill ran down her spine as she stared into his eyes, which were alight with amusement. This was no ordinary demon; this was an overlord, a creature feared even by the most loathsome denizens of Hell.

Despite this, she could not ignore the relief that washed over her when he sat down beside her, leaning against the stone wall. He seemed unperturbed by her condition or the grimness of their surroundings. Instead, he watched her with a strange blend of curiosity and concern. 

 "You're quite the survivor, angel. Must have quiet the fight in you," he commented. His voice faded into a murmur as he began to examine her injured back more closely.

Vaggie watched him warily but dared not resist, having seen the raw power radiating off him. She could only hope that his initial intention to help her wasn't some cruel jest. But then...why would an overlord of Hell bother to save a fallen angel?

Just when she was about to lose herself in the whirlwind of her thoughts, Alastor broke the silence.  "I've seen many wings in my time, but yours...they're something else," he said quietly, one hand hovering over the tattered remains of her wings before stopping himself.

He looked away from her damaged wing and started looking around the alley in which she fought her sisters.

 "Huh…" He murmured to himself, scanning the alleyway with a look of lazy amusement, idly noticing the marks and blood left from her battle.

Vaggie watched him out of the corner of her good eye, her body slowly sinking into a state of exhaustion as she leaned against him despite the fact, that she tried to desperately stop herself from doing so. As her head rested on his shoulder, his presence felt somehow... safe.

He glanced at her then, an eyebrow arching up in surprise.  "Are you comfortable?" He asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

Vaggie hesitated before giving a weak nod. Alastor laughed softly, shaking his head.  "Well, aren't you a peculiar one…" 

He fell silent then, looking up at the darkened sky as if he was able to see something that she wasn't able to. The harsh lights from nearby buildings cast an eerie glow on his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his features.

"Why… why did you help me?" Vaggie finally managed to ask, her voice so low it was nearly drowned out by the distant cries of Hell.

Alastor turned his gaze back to her, his eyes glimmering like ruby in the darkness. He smiled, but this time, his smile held a different quality. It was softer, more thoughtful. "Now that," he started, tapping his long fingers against his chin in thought,  "is an interesting question." 

He didn't answer immediately instead, the Radio Demon began tracing the edge of her shredded wings with thoughtful curiosity. His touch was surprisingly gentle. "I suppose I found your situation... intriguing," he began slowly as if carefully choosing his words.  "How often does one stumble upon an angel in such dire straits? One that was put into such a state out of their own will for a sinner as well I might add! I have seen your kind kill sinners for less! Plus," he added with a wink,  "where's the fun in letting you perish without seeing what you're going to do next?" 

Vaggie was silent for a moment, turning over his words in her mind. His motives were far from altruistic; she'd been ignorant to believe they were. Yet, she couldn't ignore the fact that he had saved her – and was still here, tending to her wounds while she clung to consciousness.

 "Don't get used to it," He suddenly warned, "I don't usually make a habit of playing the good Samaritan… or in this case, good demon." He laughed at his own joke, the deep rumbling sound echoing around them.

 "I've simply grown tired of the predictability of this place," Alastor admitted with a shrug.  "Perhaps your survival will stir things up a bit." 

His words hung in the air around them, tinging the night with an added edge of danger and uncertainty. Vaggie felt a shiver run down her spine, but it wasn't entirely out of dread. His words were like a spark, igniting a flicker of hope within her.

She had been ready to die, and she would have, if not for this unlikely demon. He was cruel in his motives, and uncompromising in his ways. But his intervention, regardless of how unpredictable or selfish, had offered her something she hadn't had for a long time––a chance to live.

Her vision darkened as she felt her consciousness slipping away, her body succumbing to the stress and pain. But, even as the darkness took over, she held onto his words, her fingers instinctively clutching weakly at the edges of his coat.

Alastor watched as Vaggie's eyes fluttered shut, her breathing becoming shallow and labored. He looked down at the unconscious angel leaning on him, a strange sensation stirring within him. Could it be concern? Sympathy? He couldn't tell. After all, his emotions had been dulled for so long, that he had forgotten what it felt like to genuinely care for someone else.

 "Sleep now, angel," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the ambient noise of Hell, which was nothing but screams. His hands moved with quiet precision, finishing up his work on her wings before carefully setting her in his arms. His glowing eyes cast a glance around the alley once more before focusing on the teared-off wings that were thrown down on the dirty ground, his shadows swiftly swallowing it into the darkness.

As Alastor carried the unconscious Vaggie away from the alley, he felt a strange tranquility in the chaos that surrounded them. Hell had always been a place of pain and torment, but holding this injured angel close to him revealed a side of this realm that he hadn't witnessed in a long time - vulnerability. It was raw and breathtakingly beautiful.

He moved swiftly through the dimly lit streets, evading the gazes of other demons. His radio show played softly in his mind, acting as a soundtrack. Occasionally, he would catch snippets of ongoing broadcasts from other forms of media that were not his own - news of the latest atrocities and power struggles that were so common in their world.

Finally, they arrived at his residence - a large, towering structure with an air of grandeur that seemed out of place in a realm such as Hell. He pushed open the large gates and entered what could only be described as a sanctuary amidst chaos. The inhabitants of his home were demons like him – beings who had chosen to make a deal with the Radio Demon, to live under his protection in exchange for their soul.

The boy who Vaggie had saved, could be seen being comforted by a female demon, with gentle green eyes and a motherly demeanor. Seeing Alastor approach with Vaggie in his arms, the boy's eyes widened, and he ran towards them, his caretaker trailing behind.

"I-Is s-she...?" His voice trailed off, not daring to complete his question. The fear in his eyes was raw and undisguised.

 "She's alive," Alastor replied to the boy, looking down at him with his usual smile on his face.  "It's fortunate that you bumped into me, my dear boy! Who knows what could've happened if you hadn't!" 

The boy stared up at Alastor, tears welling up in his eyes. His small hands curled into fists at his sides, and he nodded, swallowing thickly. "Thank you." He said softly, his voice filled with gratitude. Alastor waved away the thanks, dismissing it as if it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

 "Don't thank me! I should be the one thanking you! You have brought quite an interesting character into my otherwise mundane life," Alastor replied with an impish smirk.

The boy's caretaker, whom Alastor remembered to be named Lilly, carefully took Vaggie from his arms. She examined the unconscious angel gently, her aged eyes soft gaze filled with a mixture of compassion and curiosity.

"Poor thing," she murmured, her voice soft. "We'll take good care of her." She gave Alastor a pointed look then, one that he merely returned with a nonchalant shrug.

 "I expect nothing less," he replied lightly, adjusting his suit as if the entire matter were inconsequential.

As Lilly carried Vaggie to one of the private rooms intended for guests, Alastor found himself watching her retreating figure, his gaze drawn to the gentle sway of the angel's hair. He turned away abruptly, an unknown emotion momentarily flickering in his scarlet eyes.

 "Hmm, I seem to be out of sorts…I wonder why? 

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I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a review if you did! because I enjoy reading them!