Chapter 16: The beauty of an angel. *

In a gesture both elegant and menacing, he spread his wings. Even in contrast to the darkness of night, his black wings looked even more abysmal. With a closer look, you might notice that the feathers split independently on the wing, like small sharp daggers floating at its back. With a simple sweep, the feathers, like obsidian blades, pierced the trasgos. One by one, they fell to the ground. Without understanding that it had happened or being able to react or defend themselves from the attack, they died without being aware of it.

When the feathers returned to him, his disdain for the trasgos turned into disgust. His wings dripped with a dark, viscous substance. How was it possible that those filthy creatures dared to dirty their beautiful wings with their disgusting blood, how dare they, it was all their fault. 

All his fury returned, directed at such creatures that did not deserve to be in his presence. In a second movement, the feathers made their way into the village, in all directions, piercing all the trasgos in their path. The squeals of agony quickly echoed throughout the place, followed by just the sound of crackling fire, slowly dying out. 

The irrationality of his thoughts never crossed Azmodiel's mind, he allowed himself to be submerged in his thirst for blood, without worrying about his situation or his surroundings.  No longer did it just pierce the creatures in one motion, the feathers swooped in to tear the creatures apart, leaving some as mounds of amorphous flesh. If it weren't for all that pent-up madness, he would have noticed how unstable and artificial his emotions felt.

Actually, he might not have noticed it even if he tried. After all, this was the first time in thousands of years that he interacted with other life forms. Unfortunately for these life forms, they were finding him at a bad time and in a very bad mood. 

Azmodiel knew that eating the other prisoners had altered his physical form and some of his sanity, something that worsened with the years of imprisonment. But he hadn't realized that certain negative aspects of his personality seemed to have been exaggerated and highlighted unnaturally. 

First, it was that maddening anger, and now it was an irrational pride and vanity. Feelings that the original Azmodiel would never have had, much less to that extent. These new traits came from the beings that Azmodiel had devoured, aspects that defined those existences, very specific concepts that if known could help Azmodiel to better understand his new self. However, he was too absorbed by the adrenaline rush of his situation to stop and contemplate his new self.

Oblivious to all this, Azmodiel only felt the tremendous need to eradicate any remaining traces of these filthy creatures. With a signal, barely perceptible from his hand, a series of dark purple flames formed in a circle around him. They then turned what was left of the traits into nothing more than scattered ashes.

It was not until that moment, embraced by the silence, that Azmodiel found himself completely satisfied with his work. Coming out of his trance, he noticed slight movements in his environment, what he remembered as humans, became present little by little. Most of them far from him, but he eventually noticed the presence of two beings behind him that he perceived as human.

Being calmer after the disappearance of the trasgos, Azmodiel settled down a little and began to assimilate his surroundings better, more meticulously. At that moment, he reached the mental clarity necessary to find strange the presence of humans so close to him. Especially since at least one seemed unscathed and not at all intimidated by what it had just witnessed.

No matter the point of view, every angle is perishable, Azmodiel couldn't overlook its existence, even in its madness. If anything, both humans should have been turned into mince or ashes, just like the trasgos. Because they were right behind him, the flames invoked must have burned them, and given their position Azmodiel's wings should have hit them before the feathers came off. It was extremely illogical, almost impossible.

As Azmodiel looked at Alice, she did the same, her eyes seeming to be sucked into a gravitational pull that forced her not to take her eyes off him. It was a very faint and fleeting feeling, but Azmodiel now remembered feeling a slight tug that changed the direction of his wings by a split second. It seemed that this momentary pull had made his wings avoid harming the girl.

For the first time in her life, Alice felt somewhat shy. She hurriedly got up, shook the dust off her dress, and tried to arrange her hair. She couldn't avoid her reaction but she also didn't quite understand why Azmodiel's presence caused something inside of her, a different but equally magical spark. Nor could it be avoided, leaving aside Azmodiel's peculiar traits, which came and went with his humor, his presence was the perfect combination of divine beauty and hellish seduction.

Alice also couldn't draw from her head the way that, what she was convinced was an angel, had just flapped her beautiful wings and saved her, instantly, from all the monsters that threatened her. Even with the purple fire around her, that warmth was very different from that caused by the trasgos. He looked magnificent in Alice's eyes.

A true case of being blessed with ignorance. Alice never contemplated the remote possibility that she should have died under the attacks of the supposed angel, who had no intentions of saving her, did not know who he was, and now looked at her with scrutiny.

Alice's distraction didn't last long, however. It would take more than Azmodiel's supernatural charms for the girl to forget about saving her mother. 

Alice looked away from Azmodiel to see her mother's condition. He took this as an offense and was preparing to attack the young woman, when Alice's voice stopped him in his tracks, as if the chains tightened within his being, interrupting any act of cruelty Azmodiel might even think of exerting on her.

"Azmodiel, please save my mother."