The angels of The Guard were assigned crisp, clean, white uniforms that could only be rivaled by the perfection of their grand wings. The gold trim accentuated their long, golden hair, always tied neatly in a ponytail or braid unless they were of higher standing when loose hair was permitted. The holy crest of The Kingdom, that of a shield and soaring dove, was boldly embroidered across their left breasts, right above their most righteous hearts. Their weapons were emblazoned with the finest jewels, forged using the strongest of steel, and always polished to a pristine gleam. It was the greatest honor to serve and those that did, no matter their standing, were held in the highest regard throughout The Kingdom.
But that only pertained to the pure.
Ren was anything but.
With his black, disarrayed, curly hair that fell only around his neck and raven like wings, Ren was an obvious eyesore throughout The Kingdom. He was filth, and not allowed to sully a true Guardsmen uniform. Instead, he was authorized to wear only black; black pants, black boots, black jacket. The color of sin.
Ren preferred it this way. It ostracized him from everyone, and made his life that much easier. He could handle the disgusted glances and cruel comments as long as their distance was kept.
It had been four years since he was stripped of everything he knew and forced into servitude for those who had cast him away despite truly wanting him dead. It was made painfully obvious that that was the intention without actually having to perform the unsavory and forbidden deed.
Word was word, and one’s word was unbreakable.
But that’s why God created loopholes.
There were times where Ren did wish he were dead. Moments during battle where he could move ever so slightly in the right direction, or swing his blade a moment too swiftly, and it would all be over. Done. No longer his problem.
But the scar on his shoulder always burned. He made sure of that. A reminder to not die. A reminder to stay in control. A reminder that she was out there.
Waiting.
As the months and years went by, he became uncomfortably accustomed to the monotony of the jobs he chose to take on. Anything that no one else wanted to sacrifice themselves for, he would volunteer, each time taking more and more time from his punishment.
But it was slow, and the time exempted not nearly enough though the coin plentiful. When he came back from each mission successful, he was only allowed a much more difficult one the next time. The one he had just returned from was considered a suicide mission. Squads of a dozen or so angels had been deployed to execute a rogue angel, only for them to be wiped out by the lone man.
Ren had requested it without a second thought.
It didn’t matter what the man had done.
Ren only wanted his time.
It had taken three days to track the angel, the longest yet, as the Rogue One was among the unique in that he steered clear of the southern cities and took refuge with the uncivilized land after sprinkling false leads throughout different villages and towns. Ren had picked apart the tidbits of information and put them back together, following the path they made deep into a forest further north. It was a good place to throw off the angels of The Kingdom, but it was where Ren thrived.
He had stood above the man as he wept and begged for his life, his willingness to fight dissipating with the realization of just what the dark haired man with concealed wings really was. Ren apologized before bringing his sword down across the angel’s neck.
He sympathized with the Rogue One. How he craved to do the same.
The man’s death would forgive his punishment only a week.
The fallen angel walked down the unblemished halls of the castle of The Guard. A grand structure with tall, marble pillars and intricate archways. Finely woven tapestries adorned the walls in between colossal windows draped in the finest fabrics. In his hand he carried the decapitated head of the Rogue One, his fingers tangled haphazardly through its light, golden hair, as it bounced against his leg with each stride.
The other angels moved aside, appalled at the sight, but expecting just as much from a Fallen One. Ren’s face was steady and emotionless. His eyes dull, lifeless, and cloudy.
He heard the hurried clacking from behind and groaned internally. Still, he continued forward before veering off down a quiet corridor and ducking into a hidden corner. He didn’t have time to fully appreciate the full extent of his irritation before a warm body and perfectly manicured nails pressed against him.
Like clockwork.
Always.
“You’re still alive, Ren,” the stunning woman purred. “I was certain this time would be your last.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Ren said, his voice empty. He looked down at the woman with her lustrous golden curls, sky blue eyes, red, luscious lips, and bombshell figure.
She pushed closer, ivory wings fluttering faintly behind her. “You never disappoint.” She looked at the head in his hand. “Did you bring that for me?”
“What do you want, Charlotte?”
Charlotte ran her long, pale finger up and down his sternum. “I have info. You want it?”
Ren took a moment to reel back his agitation, refusing to show anything more than nothing. “This was your last info.” He raised the head. “And it got me one week.” The woman always promised more and it always fell short, but she was his only option and he was at her mercy. Other angels wouldn’t even so much as look him in the eye, let alone provide him with information that he was prohibited access to.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” She pouted but her eyes betrayed her satisfaction. “I thought it’d be much more. I promise this time will be your last.”
Last?
“What do you mean last?” he asked.
“I mean last,” she spoke slowly and tilted her head to the side. “As in you’re free. Well, if you can survive.”
Ren couldn’t stop the hope that jolted through him, but he hid it well.
Freedom meant a devil.
Finally.
“You better not be fucking with me, Charlotte,” he warned, his eyes flashing darker for a moment. “If this is another bullshit lead no one will ever find your filthy, fucking body.”
“Oh!” The woman pushed closer, her perfect teeth biting her lower lip sensually, her eyes thrilled. “Was that anger? It’s nice to see that you’re not just some walking corpse. Would you like me to help you make more expressions? Better ones?”
Ren chastised himself while reigning in any sort of emotion. Now was not the time to lose control. “Fuck off.” The words were just words and nothing more.
“You have the dirtiest mouth,” she feigned offense. “Where did you learn to talk like that?”
Ren couldn’t stop the thought of his uncle or the stabbing in his heart. “What’s your info?”
The woman moaned lightly, raising her hands to Ren’s cheeks and pressing her chest against his. “For such a pretty face you sure have an awful attitude. But I kind of like it. You know what I want,” she seduced. “Will you give it to me?”
His hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out a velvet bag that he dangled in front of her face.
“Gold?” she eyed the bag, somewhat disgusted.
“No. Bronze.” He hated this game. “What do you think? It’s all I have.”
“It’s not all you have.” Charlotte grabbed the bag, feeling the weight in her hand, before stepping back and sliding it into her cleavage with an aggrieved sigh. “You’re taking that head to Cassiel, right?” She already knew the answer. “The great Duke of The Kingdom.”
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“You know I am.”
“Well, did you know that his first born daughter, the absolute light of his life, was kidnapped about sixteen years ago? Apparently, she was a true beauty. They say she had white hair.”
That caught his attention. “White hair?”
The woman nodded. “Mmhmm, white. Purer than pure.”
Ren was intrigued. “And?”
“A devil took her. They found his hideout not long ago, but none of the men they sent in have returned,” she giggled. “So, anyone who brings in the devil’s head gets one prayer answered. Whatever they want, no matter what, will be granted. But no one wants to volunteer. I guess no one feels like a prayer is worth their life.”
“Are you fucking with me?” It seemed too good to be true, but Ren so wanted it to be.
Charlotte looked at him with true offense this time. “When have I ever lied to you?”
Constantly, but only in regards to the amount of time he would have expunged. She’d always been honest in exactly who he was going after. And with a devil, the time didn’t matter, only the prayer.
“What’s the name?”
“Gostog.”
The man nodded and pushed past the woman but she grabbed his arm, beckoning him back.
“Why do you want out so bad?” she pried with a pout. “You’d have more fun around here if you tried. Don’t let all those women’s nasty looks fool you. I’ve heard their whispers. There’s nothing like forbidden temptation. Or do you have some pretty little human girl down there just waiting on bated breath for your return? I’ll never understand the allure that those human women have on some of you men. They’re so boring and they die so easily. You could do better.”
Ren thought of the wild fox demon with her emerald eyes and cherry hair and it hurt so bad he wanted to fall apart right there. “No,” he answered plainly. “I have no one.” He pulled away quickly and made a beeline for his destination.
When he arrived, he didn’t bother to wait to be announced before pushing past the assistant and large wooden door before tossing the head onto the pristine desk of the man who sat behind it.
Cassiel looked up from his paperwork, his blue eyes shining with annoyance, as he gingerly lifted the head by the hair and dropped it to the side of his desk. “Is that all?” he inquired, displeased with seeing the Fallen One once again. Each mission he approved for the Fallen One to take was meant to be his last, and it was maddening to see Ren’s success as one of Cassiel’s failings.
“I want Gostog.” Ren wasted no time in the request. He had no time to waste.
The older angel stood, his light, blonde hair flowing behind him, outrage setting on his immaculate features. “Who do you think you are coming in here and…”
“He took your daughter,” Ren interrupted. “Right?”
The will to fight quickly drained as Cassiel slouched back into his chair. “She’s dead,” he stated, a voice that had just been strong and regal now revealing the cracks of a broken man. “No one survives a devil.”
“You want his head?” Ren asked casually, glancing at the one on the floor. “I know how much you like them.”
The man pressed his fingers against his forehead, his elbows resting on the over-sized, brilliant surface of his glowing cherry wood desk. All was silent for several minutes. “You’ll bring me his head?” the man verified.
“I’ll bring his whole body and the embers of his fortress, but you have to give me what I want.”
Cassiel looked at the fallen angel, knowing exactly what he wanted. “And what’s that?”
“I want my sins forgiven. I want out of here, to return to the land, and to never be forced back to The Kingdom again. And that pertains to my children and my children’s children and so on until my bloodline runs dry,” Ren demanded, freedom so close it melted on his tongue.
Everything was still as Cassiel considered the proposition. “Fine,” he decided. “You’ve tarnished this most holy of places long enough. Either way, I’ll get what I want. He’s in the Dymeria region. Collect your coin and go.”
“Sir?” the assistant inquired as he closed the door behind the retreating Fallen One. “Do you think this is wise? He still has many years of service and plenty of opportunities to be exterminated.”
Cassiel dipped his quill in a squat bottle of ink, the metal tip scratching against parchment as he began the appropriate paperwork. “Gostog is one of the most powerful devils throughout the entirety of the Seven Hells. He’s annihilated a hundred of the Kingdom’s finest warriors. I don’t care if that filth killed another piece of filth. I don’t care who his mother or uncle may have been. He will die out there, and the Kingdom will be better for it.”
“Sir, what if he does survive?”
“Then I will have the head of the devil who killed my daughter, and the Fallen One will never step foot in this holy place again. He can continue to tarnish the land for all I care, but he’ll no longer do it here.”
The assistant hesitated, knowing it wasn’t his place to question the duke. “But what if… what if he doesn’t stay on the land? What if he returns?”
Cassiel paused his writing, staring at the words already written. He had seen those ocean eyes before. Had been certain that they would go back on their word.
But they hadn’t.
“Because fallen or not, an angel who completely abandons the heavens for the land has no intention of ever returning.”
Ren didn’t collect his coin. He barely contained himself enough to not sprint from the castle. But the moment his foot touched the light of outside he was in the air, soaring over the Kingdom of Heaven. All the majesty of the city raced out from under him, turning into the forest of trees, and finally the wall that contained it all. He plummeted straight down through the clouds and towards the land he was familiar and more comfortable with.
The Dymeria region was mostly scorching desert, so hostile that nothing but sand and heat could survive. It was surprising that anyone would be able to find a devil’s fortress in this barren land. But it had ultimately been done, most likely after years of searching with a fine tooth comb through each granule of burning sand.
Ren could see the dune that had been unearthed, the entrance to the fortress exposed. It was peculiar that there hadn’t at least been an attempt to conceal it again by the devil after the failed mission from the angels. However, he gave it little thought as he landed before it, the door still wide open.
He entered the fortress, the dark halls unevenly lit by torches of eternal flames. As Ren continued further into the hideout, following the sounds of howling and banging, bones and decomposing bodies began to litter the floor. He passed by more and more corpses, the shrieking louder and louder, until he made it to the door that contained the noise. Pushing it open, he stepped inside.
The huge circular room had been devastated, any possession obliterated beyond recognition. What bones and corpses remained were completely crushed and mangled. The devil crouched on all fours in the middle of the room, claws digging into the floor, his screams feral and guttural. The remnants of a sword laid near him, the hilt and blade smashed into unusable bits.
Ren moved towards the devil with silent precision, unsheathing his sword from his back. Ocean eyes focused on the savage devil, getting closer and closer. Sturdy arms raised the sword high, preparing his strike…
Just as his foot stepped and snapped a brittle rib in half.
Every damn time.
He closed his eyes and scowled. Such a nasty habit that he never could manage to break no matter how hard he tried.
The devil whipped around, baring his fangs and snarling at Ren, his mouth foaming. His eyes were black around the crimson irises. Long, thick horns protruded from his skull and matted black hair, shiny onyx that twisted like cyclones menacingly towards the sky.
“Gostog?” Ren asked, not expecting an answer. “I see you’re one of the big boys.” He took note of the horns, knowing that the larger and more twisted they were, the more powerful the body under them.
“Give her back,” the devil growled, his eyes rolling. Scathed hands came up to the sides of his face and he dragged his claws down, slicing the skin down his cheeks, neck, and burly chest; the hot blood spilling to the floor. “She’s mine! Give her back!”
Devils were destructive and violent, but also calculating, collected, and intelligent. This one was completely insane, madness driving his every move. His ability to fully comprehend what was going on around him stifled. He would be slow and sloppy and unable to control himself.
That would undoubtedly work in Ren’s favor.
Make light work of an otherwise difficult project.
“Sorry pal.” Ren strolled towards the manic beast. “I can’t even control my own woman, let alone keep track of yours.”
A roar echoed through the room and Gostog lunged at the angel, the motion a barely visible flash as he reached for the angel’s throat. He stumbled forward as there was nothing there to stop him, the boy before him suddenly gone. The sound of sloshing on the ground drew his attention, and he found his arm in a puddle, crimson spilling over and around.
Without so much as a sound of warning, a large blade erupted from the devil’s stomach. It took his breath as his blood shot out with every weak cough. The black in his eyes faded back to white.
“I really don’t give a fuck what you did to some angel woman,” Ren said from behind the devil, his tone calm and even. “But I need your head, so please bear with me.”
The angel slowly drove the sword up through the devil’s spine, splitting one vertebrae at a time, the popping reverberating off the walls every few seconds. Ren counted each of the eleven remaining thoracic, stopping just before hitting the bottom of the cervical and removed the sword. The devil crumbled to the ground, his body rendered useless. The angel stepped around and crouched in front of the devil’s face.
“Thank you for your patience. I hope that wasn’t too painful for you.” Ren grabbed a horn and lifted the devil’s head, trying to determine the best way to display it. He wanted it to look pretty and up to a Duke’s high standards. The last thing Ren wanted was to be faulted for some sort of ridiculous technicality due to shoddy presentation. “I really am sorry about this. If it were up to me, I’d be at home and you could work your way through every angel you desired, but...” he sighed. “Such is life.” He put the blade at the top of the devil’s collarbone, figuring he could trim down on the neck later if need be.
“That… child…” the devil mustered, his lips barely moving, eyes losing luster.
“Child?” the angel asked, his interest piqued.
“That child…” The devil’s eyes moved to Ren’s side, looking at an iron door. “...is a monster.”
Ren looked over his shoulder at the door and then back at the devil. “Aren’t we all?” And with one fluid stroke, separated the head from the body.
The angel sheathed his sword and grabbed the other horn, lifting the head at arm’s length before him. He examined his handiwork, determined that it was acceptable, and set it gently on the ground.
“You stay here,” he commanded, patting the severed head’s scalp. “I’ll be right back for you.”
The angel stood and walked to the door, pushing it open to pitch blackness. He went to the wall of his current room and grabbed a torch. Sticking it into the dark, unknown area, he spotted an unlit torch hanging close by which he promptly set the flame to. One after another, torches lit up on their own until the whole room was lit in the orange glow.
A room, that from floor to ceiling, was painted in blood.
Ren made his way to the back, his eyes fixated on the mess of white and scarlet splayed across the floor, a chain snaking its way around a bony ankle. The child the devil spoke of lay on their stomach, facing away, their blood soiled hair like a blanket that swept across the entirety of their emaciated bare form.
He thought the child dead until they turned and raised their head, opening their eyes.
Crimson.
“Are you here to kill me?” the boy asked, his voice and gaze apathetic, accepting of what was to come.
Ren’s eyes brightened and he smiled, the first real one in years. “Well, aren’t you precious.” He unsheathed his sword once more. “How about we get you out of here?”