When Haziel’s eyes snapped open, the world slammed back into focus in a rush of blinding color and harsh sound. Her heart pounded furiously, syncing perfectly with the seething anger now coursing through her veins.

She was no longer encased in the suffocating embrace of ice but instead found herself in the same oppressive room she had last been conscious in. Acolytes in crimson robes formed a silent circle around her, faces hidden beneath deep hoods.

They stood motionless, hands clasped in front of them as if in prayer, their presence as unsettling as the stillness that hung in the air. The faint crackle of the torches was the only sound, struggling against the oppressive gloom that filled the room.

Near her, Chancellor Alistair stood with a rigid posture. His dark, embroidered robes hung perfectly on his frame, each fold immaculate. But beneath that veneer of control, there was a tension in the set of his jaw, a barely perceptible tightening that spoke of something lurking beneath his calm exterior.

"How do you feel, Haziel?" Chancellor Alistair asked, but edged with a cold detachment.

Haziel’s eyes narrowed as a tide of anger surged within her, bubbling up to the surface like a boiling cauldron ready to spill over. Her memories came flooding back, each one more vivid and damning than the last. She saw it all with crystal clarity now: the manipulation, the deceit, the way she had been used as a pawn in someone else’s game.

"You’ve been taking advantage of me all this time," she hissed, her voice low and venomous.

For a brief moment, Chancellor Alistair’s carefully composed mask cracked as hints of irritation passed over his visage. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, his lips curved into a small, insincere smile, and he met her gaze with a look of false concern that made her blood boil.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about,inquisitor. You must be disoriented from—"

In the blink of an eye, Haziel shattered the bonds around her like brittle glass, splintering and falling away with a sharp crack. Her newfound strength, fueled by the white-hot rage coursing through her veins, propelled her forward faster than anyone in the room could react.

Her hand shot out and clamped around Alistair’s head, fingers digging into his scalp with a vice-like grip. The Chancellor's smug confidence drained from his face as a strangled cry escaped his lips. He tried to pull away, but Haziel’s grip was unrelenting.

With a snarl of pure, unadulterated rage, Haziel slammed his head into the floor. The sound of cracking stone mingled with the wet splatter of blood as it sprayed across the ground. Alistair’s body went limp in her grasp, but she wasn’t finished. She lifted him again, and brought his head crashing down once again.

The sound of bone shattering echoed through the room, cutting through the horrified gasps of the acolytes who stood frozen in place. The room was filled with the coppery scent of blood, thick with tension and the remnants of Haziel’s unleashed fury.

She released Alistair’s broken body, letting it slump to the floor in a lifeless heap. Alistair’s body twitched feebly, but Haziel was far from finished. She smashed his head against the ground over and over again. When she finally released him, Alistair’s head was closer to a liquid than it was a solid.

The acolytes finally rushed forward, robes billowing around them like dark clouds. Behind them, a group of guards in black armor pushed through with their weapons drawn.

But Haziel was far beyond reason, consumed by a primal force that left no room for restraint. She raised her hands slowly, as if savoring the power that crackled at her fingertips. Red lightning sparked to life, dancing across her fingers with raw energy.

Then, in a blinding flash of light, she unleashed it.

The red lightning shot out from her fingertips, arcing through the air like tendrils of pure, searing energy, twisting and writhing as it sought out its targets. The first to fall were the acolytes, who could only stand helpless in the face of her wrath. The red light burned through their robes, searing the fabric and skin beneath in an instant. The acolytes crumpled to the ground, bodies smoking and lifeless before they even had a chance to scream.

The guards fared no better. Lightning tore through their armor with the ease of a hot knife slicing through butter, the metal warping and melting under the intense heat. Their eyes widened in terror as the electricity fried their nerves, excruciating pain cutting their screams short.

Soon, Haziel stood in the midst of the carnage, chest heaving, and hands still crackling with the remnants of the power she had unleashed. Her heart pounded in her ears, adrenaline coursing through her veins to the point it nearly made the room spin.

But she didn’t wait for the dust to settle. She turned and ran, wings unfurling as she bolted out of the room.

Haziel sprinted down the corridors of the inquisitorial headquarters. Distant shouts of alarm began to rise as other acolytes and guards realized what was happening. But the angel had no intention of slowing down.

When she rounded a corner, a group of guards clad in black armor appeared and blocked her path. The were shocked as they saw the blood-splattered angel charging toward them, hands still crackling with the red lightning that had claimed so many lives. The lead guard barely had time to raise his sword before Haziel unleashed a bolt of energy that tore through his chest, sending him crashing into the wall with a sickening thud.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

The other guards lunged at her, but Haziel used her wings to propel her forward as she ducked and weaved through their attacks. Her fists crackled with power, each strike sending out arcs of red lightning that turned the guards’ armor into molten slag and their bodies into smoldering husks.

When more guards flooded into the corridor, Haziel lashed out with her wings, the razor-sharp feathers slicing through armor and flesh alike. The guards barely had time to scream before they fell, their bodies crumpling to the ground in lifeless heaps.

Haziel didn’t stop to survey the carnage she left in her wake. She pressed on as she fought her way through the labyrinthine headquarters. The corridors seemed endless, but she moved with a singular purpose. I am done with this place.

At one point, she burst into a grand hall with high ceilings supported by massive stone pillars. Even more armored guards awaited her there, but Haziel didn’t falter. She raised her hands and unleashed a storm of red lightning. The bolts crackled and danced across the room, leaping from one guard to the next, reducing them to ash in a matter of seconds.

Finally, she reached a set of massive double doors, the last barrier between her and freedom. Without hesitation, she slammed into them, her strength sending the heavy doors flying open. Cold night air rushed in, a stark contrast to the heat and chaos she had left behind.

Haziel didn’t pause. She leaped into the night and spread her wings wide as she took flight. The inquisitorial headquarters shrank below her, the dark stone structure receding into the distance as she soared higher and higher.

***

The Monastery

Haziel soared through the night sky, slicing through the air with powerful strokes that propelled her forward. The cold wind whipped against her face, stinging her skin and tugging at her hair, carrying with it the earthy scent of pine and damp earth from the world below. But none of it distracted her. Her focus remained unshaken, her mind fixed on the last place she had ever truly known peace: the monastery.

The world beneath her had transformed dramatically since she had last seen it, the familiar landscapes now altered by the passage of time. Forests that had once been lush and green were now dense and dark. Even villages had sprung up where there had been none before, but none of these changes mattered to Haziel; the memory of the monastery’s location was etched into her mind as if she had a map right in front of her.

The angel's supernatural senses honed in on the place that had once been her sanctuary. When she drew closer, her heart began to pound with a mix of anticipation, dread, and something deeper, more painful, that she couldn’t quite name. She had steeled herself for the worst, bracing for the possibility that all she might find would have been reduced to nothing.

But as the monastery came into view, her breath caught in her throat. Wow.

It stood there, silhouetted against the night sky, its once-pristine walls now weathered and worn by the elements. The arched windows, which had once welcomed the light of dawn with open arms, were dark and empty, the stained glass long since shattered.

And yet, despite the decay and the ravages of time, the monastery was still there, even if just barely. The sight of it, even in its diminished state, sent a wave of emotion crashing over Haziel, and for a moment, she simply hovered there, suspended in the air. I'm glad it's still here.

Haziel’s heart ached with the bittersweet pull of nostalgia, but she knew she couldn’t stay suspended in the air forever. She took a deep breath and then started her descent, wings folding in slightly as she glided down toward the ruins of the monastery.

The closer she got, the more the details came into focus: cracks in the stone, vines that had long reclaimed the walls, the patches of moss that clung to the once-smooth surfaces. It was clear that the monastery had been abandoned for many years, left to the mercy of nature and time. But it was still there, and that was enough.

When Haziel touched down on the ground, she let out a slow, measured breath. It feels good to be back.

Haziel stood still for a long moment, letting the memories wash over her like a tide she couldn’t hold back. The cold air wrapped around her, but she barely noticed, lost as she was in the past.

The monastery had been her refuge, a place where she had once believed she could find solace and peace away from the chaos of the world. Now, standing in its ruins, she was struck by how much had changed, and how much hadn’t.

She moved slowly through the crumbling courtyard, carefully avoiding the loose stones and overgrown roots. Every detail of the monastery was etched in her memory, and as she walked, she could almost see it as it once was. The grand entrance, now partially collapsed, had once been a place of welcome, where she and the other sisters would greet travelers seeking shelter from the harsh winter or solace for their troubled souls. She could almost hear the soft murmur of prayers, the gentle rustle of robes as the nuns went about their duties, and the distant toll of the monastery’s bell.

When she continued to dig through the ruins, she uncovered more remnants of the past: a cracked wooden rosary, a rusted chalice, tarnished and dull but still holding a faint glimmer of the sacred purpose it once served; and a small, broken statue of an angel, its wings chipped.

Haziel’s mind drifted back to the days when the monastery was alive with the presence of those she had come to care for deeply. She remembered Father Donovan, the elderly priest who had taken her under his wing, teaching her the ways of the monastery and offering wisdom and comfort when she had needed it most.

She remembered the children who had come seeking refuge, their innocent faces lighting up as they learned to read and write, their laughter echoing through the halls. She remembered the simple joy of baking bread in the monastery’s kitchen, the scent of freshly baked loaves filling the air as they prepared meals for the community.

Those days had been filled with a quiet contentment, a sense of purpose that Haziel had thought she would never find again. But now, standing in the ruins of that life, she felt the weight of all that she had lost. The monastery was a shell of its former self, and the people who had filled it with life were long gone, their memories preserved only in her mind.

Haziel looked around the ruins one last time. The monastery had given her a glimpse of the life she wanted, and now, more than ever, she was determined to reclaim it. She couldn’t change the past, but she could shape her future. She could find a way to live in peace again, to hide away from the violence and turmoil that had consumed her for so long.

Her thoughts turned to Charles, the kind-hearted baker who had once welcomed her into his shop with a smile. I've had enough. I'll ask him to see if I can work in his bakery indefinitely. With luck, I can just leave everything behind and finally be at peace.