Angels were being molded in god’s image, those who praise him, dancing around and singing his name. However, that view had long since been obscured by the sands of time and they were now reverted to feathered weapons in his holy army, devices at his dispense. Feathered pets that jumped when asked how high or else suffered at the hands of what he deemed corporal punishment.
A world cloaked in vivid colors, a shroud of faux happiness to delusion the world into thinking heaven was more grandiose than it seemed. A place of eternal peace and grandeur, a paradise among the living…a paradise steeped in shadows. A forgotten paradise with eroding colors, faded with the sands of time, eroded with sin and mistrust.
His chains on them had rusted far too much and when given leeway, his little pets broke them easily to free one of their own. Such acts of betrayal left the god in his wrathful state.
It was time to bring deliverance to them once more.
The red one had always been troublesome, just as the symbolism of his color. After all, red was a color of extremes, of passion, violence, danger and anger. It was the color of blood and fire, energy and primal life forces. Red was a powerful color and one that he could not ignore.
Vile plumes of toxic smog released into the stale air of the room. Cold eyes stared down that door, awaiting the presence of the red and white angel with a maelstrom of anger brewing in his blackened soul.
Such heretics deserved to pay for their crimes, and the god would deliver justice unto him and lead him down the righteous path once more.
This angel had constantly tried to defy him, constantly stepped up to him and challenged him. Lasafram was eternally serving as a thorn in his side and much to the god’s irritance, he would not give the angel his so desired wish.
He knew in hindsight what the angel wanted, and it was far too forgiving of a punishment.
The door opened as he blew another plume of smoke into the air and the angel finally revealed himself, standing before his god. Their gazes pierced each other, as if each of them was trying to fight some psychological battle.
“Always to the point, Lasafram,” Fumus walked over to the wayward angel and grabbed his arm harshly. “If words aren’t needed, perhaps actions will do you better. Punishment isn’t about making you feel guilt; it’s about reform and respect. I’ve let you get away with your little act long enough.”