Summary: Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo, The Butcher Bingo, Eclipsing Bingo. Set in a Modern AU/Horse Riding AU.
Despite Stoick’s assurances that he wasn’t sending his son away, Hiccup can’t help but feel like he’s lying through his teeth. He packed his son’s stuff, put him on a boat and then sent him away along with his mother. Claiming that her sanctuary for dragons would be a much more suitable place for him as he works through the trauma of the past year.
Warnings: Medical trauma, Medical inaccuracies, Hospitalization
Rating: Mature
Words: 2 765
Prompt: Damaged Wing(s) (Bad Things Happen Bingo), Hating What You Loved Before (The Butcher Bingo), Dragged Along The Ground (Eclipsing Bingo)
Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon
Characters: Hiccup, Valka, Toothless
Pairing: Stalka
Author's Note: I've been wanting to write about Hiccup riding horses in a Modern AU, but never really found the right incentive until today. It's about as fun as I imagined it to be. I'll write a non-whump one-shot about it someday, too. :)
An agonized scream tore itself from Altair’s throat as the blade tenderly tore into the flesh of his left wing.
He knew the sting of a blade. He had tasted it many times, had been through more than his fair share of fights, had trained to be able to take it. But this was different. The dark obsidian seemed to cut beyond his flesh, through a part of him he hadn’t even known could be hurt
Except no. This part of him had been hurt before, when the demon had sunk its claws into his mind and soul in its rage at being contained. That was why this hurt so much, why he couldn’t hold back his screams as his blood spilled over his feathers.
“You scream so beautifully, my little ruin.” Lord Denholm’s voice poured over him like cold water, harsh and chilling. “Was this all it took to get you to sing for me?”
“It hurts,” he said, voice breaking, because he couldn’t not. They had both learned that all too well by now. “More than anything else you’ve done.”
Lord Denholm’s low hum was quickly overtaken by another scream as the blade cut further into Altair’s flesh. The pain whited out Altair’s mind, leaving no room for thought beyond the searing, all-consuming agony. It seemed to last an eternity, and even when the blade pulled away enough for him to begin to think again, his thoughts were still scrambled and difficult to parse.
The room was loud, too. It took him a moment to realize the noise was him.
“-do this, just stop, please!”
“No, I don’t think I will. I much prefer to hear you begging.”
Hatred surged through him, bright and fierce and clarifying. There was no negotiating, no appeasing this monster. Any such effort was just playing into his hands.
How many times had Elze’ith begged? How long had it taken until Lord Denholm stole that ability away? How hard would Altair have to fight to ensure the same didn’t happen to him?
The blade drove straight through his wing, enough to pierce through to the other side, and Altair’s voice broke on his scream. All thought of resistance was driven from his mind. Somewhere, distantly, he could sense Lord Denholm’s satisfaction as his defiance dissolved back into incoherent sobbing. With his very soul being so lovingly and brutally carved into, it was hard to do anything else.
The Crow and the Dove | The Merry Whump of May edition
Day 3: “You are not looking so hot” | Tension | Alleyway
Hello, I am obviously very late with filling this prompt. Do I care? Nope. Thanks for coming to my ted talk, let’s go!
This is set up three years after Kai and Ashe escape Kyriel. They are both teenagers and running for their lives, not yet together, slowly falling for one another. A bit hard to do when Kyriel tries his very best to kill them both, but well!
CW: injury whump, damaged wings, exhaustion, poison, past trauma, bleeding, bite, drugging effects from poison, fever, infection, infected wound (nasty), mention of past minor whumpee whump (implied)
Masterlist @themerrywhumpofmay
The alleyway was filthy. Filthy, dark, and finishing with a dead end. Ashe saw more than the normal amount of rats scurry away as they stumbled in, Kai half unconsciously slumped over her shoulders - his stupid, beautiful wings, barely concealed by his cloak, dragging to the ground.
She would have worried he was going to get an infection just for that, if they didn’t have a bigger problem already.
“Easy, easy now,” murmured the girl, letting the boy slowly fall down on the floor with a winch. The cobblestones might be dirty, but the alleyway was sheltered - the tall buildings surrounding it being so narrowly close to one another that barely any rain made it through the space in between them. And Kai was shivering, and no hostel would have a winged creature - they had to run away from a priest-led mob the last time they had tried that, funny really when one considered Kai was a fucking angel now, but having Kyriel lead the dark hordes against peasants’ lands would turn even the most fervent believer against winged creatures - and so they needed the cover. No matter how filthy, no matter how dark.
Besides, Ashe had the sinking feeling Kai’s leg was going to smell worse than that dead end street, the outline of the bite of one of the angel’s beasts stark on his skin.
“Let me see that,” the girl ordered, falling on her knees. She reached for the boy’s cloak, long blonde hair falling over her shoulders - rain plastering her braids to her face, her clothes. She could see where blood had seeped into his clothes, the darker patch of wet expanding over his tight.
Her heart broke, in a familiar thousand pieces, when Kai flinched away from her - instinctively grabbing her wrist with his hand, holding her away.
The girl’s lifted her eyes, mouth dry - meeting the boy’s wide, unfocused, and terrified ones.
“Kai,” Ashe’s voice was a low, soothing. “It’s me.” She swallowed, slowly moving her free hand to wrap her fingers around Kai’s, the boy’s hold almost painful over her bones. She caressed his skin, the movement small. “Just me.”
There must have been a sedative of some sort, a drug or poison, in Kai’s wounds - for it took a beat too long for him to blink, silver eyes struggling to put her into focus. For understanding, embarrassment, to dawn on his face.
He let go of her as if burned, flinching away.
They’d come into the night, as they often did. Kyriel’s hounds hadn’t howled, hadn’t left a footprint on the ground. They only chased, relentlessly reforming themselves from the shadow where a woman might cleave them with a sword, with only Kai’s blinding magic seeming to be able to dissipate them for a sufficient amount of time to allow them to run. But this time, together with the usual monsters, Kyriel had sent another creature; a tall, humanoid, furless thing with clawed bat wings, white eyes, and purple teeth. It had charged them from the sky, falling onto Kai from above and grounding him to the ground - followed by other two identical monsters charging onto him after the first one had latched on Kai’s torso.
They’d grabbed his wings. And the third -
Ashe had been unable to do a fucking thing, her own hands full with keeping the hounds away from herself, as the third blind bat creature had wrapped its three pointed tails around Kai’s leg, and sunk its teeth into his tight. And even though Kai had literally roared - his power exploding again, lightening the night sky and shredding the creatures and the hounds both - it had been too late.
They’d both seen the fangs seep in. Had both seen the venom glinting off the beasts’ teeth, the purplish colour of their veins and wings.
Kai wet his lips, breathing heavily against the wall. His head rolled to the side, eyes blinking and unfocused - his skin still covered in blood, the gore of the fight.
“Have I ever told you,” he slurred, visibly forcing himself to let the words out, “that you are really pretty?”
Ashe froze, head snapping up. She opened her mouth, her face a mixture of shock and astonishment.
Kai - the dying-on-her bastard, her childhood best friend - dared to flush.
Had she not been worried he was going to die on her or worse, she would have laughed herself hoarse.
“Do not be ridiculous now,” she snapped, hoarse. She swallowed, doing her best to fashion her face in the picture of indignity - batting the boy’s hand away to reach for his injuries. “You are not exactly looking so hot right now, are you.”
Kai looked at her from under thick eyelashes, silver eyes almost luminescent in the moonlight - pupils as wide as saucers.
He smirked, the bastard, thin white hair falling over his face.
“I am the prince of the undeads,” he slurred, voice low as he repeated the bullshit Kyriel had drilled into his skull in the years he’d been his prisoner, before Ashe could find a way to fish him out from under his clutches. “I am always hot, thank you.”
The girl groaned, at that.
It had been three years since they had escaped Kyriel’s tower. Three years since Kai had come back to life, since the boy had started growing again. And although he didn’t look anymore like that terrifying, scrawny child-like thing Ashe had found under the Tower - something the girl was terribly proud of, her heart swelling every time Kai sank his teeth into normal food and stuffed himself full - there were no doubts he was still young. Barely looking like he was fifteen now, lean and still skinny despite his impressive latest growth, his body catching up on the lost five years of life he’d spent as an undead. And even though Kai was technically twenty, two years older than her - Ashe often wondering, sometimes, how much the physical development of the brain could be offset by the actual years of life and experiences spent into the world - there were no doubts, no doubts in the bloody fucking world, that he was still a teen.
Hormones included, apparently.
The boy’s flush deepened, a lovely shade of red, as Ashe pinned him to the wall with furious, ice blue eyes. He quickly turned the colour of beetroot under her gaze - the girl wondering, faintly, if he was embarrassed or straight up dying on her.
Fifteen. A kid. A powerful, stupid, idiotic, child.
“I am just saying,” the boy continued, ignorant or undaunted by Ashe’s growing rage - for how dared he get a crush on her, the bloody idiot, of all the things they needed to worry about! - “that if you wanted me undressed, you only had to ask.”
He looked down, pointedly, to where Ashe’s fingers were pulling at his clothes, trying to expose the wound on his tight.
Oh, she was going to murder him.
“Kai,” Ashe slowly growled through gritted teeth, summoning every ounce of patience and maturity still existing in her after three years of running away from a psychopath who would cut them in pieces and make them wish never to have been born if caught, “shut up. Or so help me god, I’m going to smash your skull in.”
He giggled, the drugged bastard. Giggled, and threw his head back against the wall, silver eyes surveying the slither of sky visible from the bottom of the alleyway.
“He never needed to threaten,” he murmured, wings stretching outwards behind his back. “I’d obey anything he asked for anyway.”
Ashe’s fury reached a truly impressive point once again, the girl feeling the familiar outrage at what Kyriel had done to the child who’d been his best friend - the son of the women who’d welcomed her into their home when she hadn’t had anywhere else to go, the boy who’d never wanted to harm a living fucking soul. What he’d turned him to, the killing machine, the soldier, he was still even now.
“Yeah, well,” she hissed, yanking the cloak off his body to expose the wound, “I’m not a psychopath with compulsion powers over your brain, am I. Sorry about that.”
She could have kept going. She wasn’t shy of her opinion of what the angel deserved after having murdered her best friend and killed all of their people, Kai and Ashe both the only surviving members of their clan, their ruined country.
But then, she saw the bite.
“He did punish me sometimes though,” Kai murmured, watching the wound with a faintly disgusted expression himself. “Didn’t need to use much force. But he did like - he did like pain.“
Ashe didn’t need to ask Kai, watching the outline of the purple bite - the wound deep and as large as her palm, with foul smelling pus already seeping out of it, purple poisoned veins shooting from all sides of its outlines - if it did hurt at all.
Her stomach lurched.
Kai’s brow was covered in sweat, the boy looking at her with a grim smile.
“My bet,” he murmured, “is that I will live. But I might wish I didn’t.” He clicked his tongue, the years of imprisonment, of running away, fuelling the dark of his humour. “And that he’s already on his way now.”
To grab them both, and make them pay. To kill Kai again, make him his pupil once again, and punish Ashe through him. Or Kai through her, why should the angel limit himself?
The girl shook her head, fighting the faint rise of panic in her chest.
“No,” she whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat, testing Kai’s injury with her trembling fingers. “It’s alright.” She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “You are going to be alright.”
It was more a prayer than a promise, both of them knowing that if Kai would have been able to heal from it, he would have already.
Kai threw his head back again, sweat glistening on his skin as the pain started slowly seeping through his limbs. Watching the sky above, monitoring for his murderer’s arrival - a crooked small smile forcefully pushing over his face.
They both knew she was a terrible, terrible liar.
Tag list: @suspicious-whumping-egg @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @flowersarefreetherapy (was thinking of you when writing Ashe!)
For the Bad Things Bingo: damaged wing(s)? Either an Angel, Fallen Angel, or Demon AU (or a combination of you want) of Remus and Logan (or another ship if you don’t want to write them) where maybe Roman had something to do with Remus getting hurt and Logan helps him? Also mayhaps Remus has one of those “I don’t need your pity!” moments
a/n: this is written for the @badthingshappenbingo! ngl i saw this request and immediately got excited so. yeah. this was a lot of fun for me thank you. anyway this was lowkey inspired by good omens bc that’s just what happens when I try to write about angels and demons apparently. hope y’all enjoy~
ao3
It hurt.
It hurt so much.
There had been a fight. Screaming. Shouting. He'd been pushed around and insulted and told that he was evil over and over and it made no sense, because he'd done nothing. Only dared to think a little differently, to question everything that they'd been told. What was wrong with questioning things? What was wrong with wanting more out of life? For wanting more for them?
Then there'd been blood. It was difficult to tell if it had been his own blood or his brother's, but it was there nonetheless. He didn't even know that angels could bleed. Sure, he'd seen the humans bleed, seen how they'd fight one another, hurt one another, kill one another, just because they dared to think differently. He supposed the same had happened to him. He should have just accepted things, like everyone else did. He shouldn't have tried to talk to his brother about it all.
And then there was the fall. That was perhaps the worst bit. Falling through the air, wind crashing against his cheeks, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, the pain he felt upon colliding with the ground, an intense shock sent through his entire body. He didn't even know that angels were capable of feeling pain - he'd certainly never felt pain before. Pain was supposed to be reserved for the humans.
And now every time he moved, he felt that pain again, like torture. He supposed this was torture. A punishment, for going against what was intended. He was on a rock, a sharp, hard, cold rock, and could hear the sound of the ocean near him, occasionally feel a splash of salt water land on his skin. That made the pain slightly more bearable - he certainly didn't get this back in Heaven, and it was... nice, in a way. Peaceful.
Until he tried to move again and that peace was immediately disturbed. He pushed himself up to his feet, at first stumbling and almost fall back down again until he regained his balance, leaning back against a cliff behind him. He breathed in and out, staring down into the ocean below. It... It was a lot less peaceful when he actually looked at it, saw the waves crashing against the rocks, threatening to pull him in.
He was pretty sure that he couldn't die - at least, not in the way that humans did - so falling into the ocean shouldn't have been so scary for him. But then again, earlier that day he thought it wasn't possible for him to feel pain, or be expelled from Heaven, yet here he was, all alone in Earth, nowhere to go.
At the very least, though, he figured he could try to get away from the water. It was unlikely that he would die, but... just in case, he wanted to get away. He spread out his wings, ignoring the jolt of pain up his back as he did so, and took off, a smile emerging across his face as he soared through the air, until-
Everything was dark, and quiet, and he couldn't breathe anymore - he hadn't breathed back there, but now he needed to breath apparently, and it wasn't working. His lungs ached, his wings felt heavy and useless, and no matter how hard he tried to move it wouldn't work.
Well. Maybe he could die in the ocean. He supposed he didn't have anything to lose, anyway.
But then he felt something grab him, pulling him away, just as he blacked out.
He woke up again on the shore, coughing and spluttering, the sand coarse against his skin. He sat up and glanced around, cringing again as he moved. There was... There was someone else on the beach now, a human, standing a little away from him. The human was also dripping wet, but didn't seem to care as much as the angel did - well, not exactly angel anymore, he wasn't entirely sure what he was anymore.
The human stared at him, curiously, and the not-quite-angel stared back, before deciding to ignore the human and continue attempting to get away from here. Perhaps flying over the ocean wasn't a good idea - he didn't particularly want to experience whatever that was again. Drowning, he guessed? Was that what drowning was? He suddenly felt terrible for all the times the angels had inflicted that upon humans, even if they were humans that had been deemed 'bad'.
But he only got a few metres into the sky before he came crashing down again, this time a slightly softer landing on the sand but still hurting like hell, considering he wasn't used to so much pain. He glanced back at his wings, beginning to think that maybe something was wrong, and his theories proved to be correct. His previously white wings had turned black, with green highlights here and there, and it probably didn't help that there was a massive tear right down the centre of his left wing. Upon seeing the tear, tears began forming in his eyes, as the pain and the suffering and the complete helplessness of his situation finally fully caught up.
He sat in the sand, head buried in his knees and arms wrapped around his legs, his wings curling in over his body. This was it, wasn't it? He was stuck here. He couldn't escape, he couldn't return back home, he couldn't even fly.
He felt someone standing behind him, and raised his head slightly, glancing through the hole in his wings. It was the human. Oh. He turned back to his sulking position, once again ignoring the humans presence.
"Um, sorry to interrupt your... uh, whatever this is," the human said, moving around him so he was now in front of him, "but I just wanted to check if you're okay? If you perhaps need of any help?"
The ex-angel looked up, glaring at the human in an attempt to scare him away, but it didn't work. Instead, the human sat down with him, his eyes will filled with curiosity.
"I'm Logan," the human said. "I, uh, don't know if that's any use for you, but I figured you may trust me a little more if you knew who I was."
Here he paused, as if he was expecting the ex-angel to offer up his own name, but the ex-angel refused to respond.
"Are these wings real?" Logan continued, reaching out a hand to touch the wings. The ex-angel jerked his wings back, and shuffled a little away from Logan, not wanting to hurt himself any further. "Sorry." Logan's hands landed in his lap. "I, uh..."
"Why are you talking to me?" the ex-angel snapped.
Logan blinked, but other than that didn't show any signs of alarm upon the ex-angels outburst. "I helped you out the water," he said, "and, well, I notice you're having a little trouble, so..."
"I'm not 'having a little trouble'." He wings fell to his side, now displaying his full body to Logan. His torn clothes, the cuts and bruises all over his skin, the sand sticking to his wet arms. "And, quite frankly, I don't particularly want you to be 'helping' me right now."
For a moment, Logan didn't reply, but it didn't seem like he was going to move. The ex-angel looked back down to the floor, silently praying that the human would just leave him alone. Ha, as if praying would do him any good. Everyone up there hated him now, they weren't gonna do anything. He was almost as pathetic as the humans, possibly even more pathetic.
"I'm really sorry, about whatever happened-"
"I don't need your pity," he spat, trying to stand up and move away but finding his legs incapable of moving. God, his entire body ached - his limbs felt heavy and refused to do their jobs.
Logan breathed in. "Well, at least let me help you fix your wings," he offered.
The ex-angel glanced up at Logan, frowning a little. The human still wasn't leaving. He seemed determined to help him. And that didn't make much sense. The human would get nothing out of it, apart from maybe secure himself a place in Hell for fraternising with... a demon. Is that what he was now? He definitely wasn't an angel anymore, so...
Logan seemed to take his silence as permission to fix his wings, and the demon didn't protest. He felt the human's hand stroking his feathers, sending a chill up his spine - an unfamiliar chill, one that he'd never experienced or even wanted to experience before, but certainly not an unwelcome one. The demon was shaking, against his own will, but couldn't seem to get himself to stop. It didn't seem to faze the human, either.
Logan hummed. "Stay here," he said, before standing up and running away from the beach. Oh, great, his help had left him. So much for that. The demon desperately wanted the human to touch him again, he wanted to feel that... nice pain, in his heart. But it seemed like the human had abandoned him too. He supposed that is what he had wanted.
He looked out across the ocean, watching the sunset over the horizon, reds and oranges reflecting on the water. He glanced up, watching the clouds pass by in the sky above. He imagined that everyone who used to be his friend was watching him now, laughing at him, condemning him. A part of him told himself that he deserved it, but...
Logan came back. The demon frowned. That... He hadn't been expecting that.
The demon breathed in and out as Logan got to work on his wings, flinching a little whenever Logan stuck a needle into his wing but figuring that, over the past few hours, he'd felt much greater pain than that. He tried his very best not to shake, to make it a little easier for Logan, but couldn't help himself. Logan didn't seem to care much.
"I'm Remus," the demon found himself saying. He didn't know why he suddenly felt like opening up to Logan, but... Logan was helping him, so he couldn't be bad, right?
"Remus," Logan muttered, under his breath. "And, what, you just fell from the sky?"
"Yeah, basically," Remus said, relaxing a little. The sunset was calming, and the feel of Logan's fingers over Remus' wings was soothing, and for a moment Remus thought that maybe this was better than Heaven. Up there, it was only really his brother who had truly cared for him, for everyone else he was just a pawn to be played with in their sick little game. Now, even his brother hated him, and since he refused to play God's game the other angels had no use for him. So he was cast away. Banished. Abandoned.
"That sounds awful," Logan said. Oh. Remus hadn't realised that he'd been saying all of that out loud.
"It's my brother who did this," Remus said. "We were fighting and God intervened and threw me out."
Logan hummed. "Did He not throw your brother out, too?"
Remus scoffed. "Roman can do no wrong. He's... a higher rank than me, anyway. And he'll play God's game. I... I was in the wrong, not him."
"It seems to me like they're all missing out," Logan mused. "There's nothing wrong with change."
"That's what I tried to tell them! I thought that maybe we'd be able to make the world a better place, but... they won't listen."
Logan snipped off the thread and stepped back. Remus lifted his hand up to his wing, where there had previously been a hole, and found a piece of fabric holding it together. Oh. Logan had... fixed it. He lifted his wings, then stood up, ignoring the ache in his bones as he flapped his wings again. For a few minutes, he hovered in the air, grinning before he landed again, gently.
"Thank you," he breathed, smiling at Logan.
Logan nodded. "It's no problem, really. Where will you be heading now?"
Remus' face fell. "I... hadn't thought of that." He didn't really have anywhere to go. Heaven wouldn't want him back, and he supposed that the next option would be Hell, but... he didn't particularly want to go there, either. Switching teams wouldn't mean that he could stop playing the game.
Logan considered him for a moment, looking him up and down, before holding out a hand. "Come with me."
Remus frowned. "I..."
"You can stay with me, as long as you need," Logan offered. "I, uh, don't have much, but it might be nice to have some company. And maybe I can help you figure out your next move."
"You... do realise that I'm a demon, right?" Remus checked.
Logan shrugged. "Being a demon doesn't necessarily mean that you're evil."
Remus blinked. "Uh. That's. Kind of the definition of a demon, actually."
"Honestly, it sounds to me as though it's the angels who are the evil ones," Logan said. "You just strived to make a difference. I respect you, for that."
Huh. No one had ever... respected him, before. He'd always just been in the background, a tool for other people's gain, most of the angels had hated him even before he went off.
Remus took Logan's hand and followed him home. Maybe he could make a new life here. Not as an angel, not as a demon, but as a human.
(Please note this is at a much later point than my last use of Elliot! He’s still mostly fine for now at his current state)
(Edit - Mobile formatting issues should be fixed)
Prompt 30/31 - Conditioning/Damaged Wings
“Are you ready to talk now, Virgo?”
Elliot let out a growl from the back of his throat. Considering his current state, it was about all he could do. His wings were stretched out by chains on the ceiling, his hands tied behind him, and he was only barely tall enough to stand without simply hanging limply. The blood that trickled from open cuts on his arms were so far the only signs of injury.
Cassiopeia sighed.
“You know, every time we do this, you’re just causing yourself more trouble. If you’d only listen, this could go much easier for both of us.”
“I won’t- I won’t tell you- I won’t give away my family-”
A sharp slap across the cheek shut him up. He gave a sharp hiss of pain.
Cassi smiled. “Oh, the signs of a fresh person to break… Reminds of the old days with the little Ophiuchus. I have ways of making people listen.”
She drew her hand carefully across one of his wings. Elliot shuddered. She looked him right in the eyes from behind her dark glasses before picking one of pale feathers. With a swift movement, she pulled it out before letting it fall to the ground.
Elliot couldn’t help but flinch- He couldn’t help but let out a quiet yelp, feeling the tears prick at his eyes. “For every time you don’t tell me anything, I’ll do it again. Let’s see… So far, I’ve come in seven times. I asked three times the first, twice the second, fourth the third, and once every time after that. That leaves us at… Thirteen feathers right now,” she said, reaching for another one. “That is… Unless you’d like me to stop?”
Elliot was silent.
In response, Cassiopeia plucked another feather.
“That’s two out of thirteen… I’ll give you options to make me stop. Either tell me where to find the rest of your Zodiac friends… Or beg me to. ‘Please stop, Mistress, please’. Say it for me, and maybe I’ll find it in my heart to give mercy.”
Elliot refused to talk still.
Another feather methodically plucked from its place. Another yelp. “…Nothing?”
Nothing.
She reached for the other wing.
“Number four~” she cooed, taking this one more harshly.
“P-please- Stop- Don’t-”
“No, no, that’s not what I asked you to say. Try again?”
Elliot hesitated. Her fingers wrapped around another feather and he took a breath.
“…Please stop, M-Mistress, please…”
Cassiopeia smiled.
“What a good little soldier you’ll be when you’re trained. The past Virgo reincarnates have been quite powerful before, after all. Even if you don’t realize it.”
She turned and exited the barren room. Elliot let his head fall, his chin meeting his chest. He closed his eyes to try and ignore the feathers on the floor, the pain in his wings, and most of all, the hurt in his heart.
His friends would come for him soon… Right?
Or by the time they did… Would he not want to even go at all?
"Care for a cigarette?" The lighter clicks as the fallen angel lights the cancer stick in his hand. "No?"
"Avrel, release me," Zuriel says in a voice that's calmer than he actually is. His heart jackhammers in his chest. The way he's restrained, his arms and wings forced out wide, it's hard to take a breath. "You know I know nothing of the inner workings."
His feet fidget on the uneven ground as he tries to see the sky through the dense cover of the trees. The leaves block out the sun, and, so it seems, his prayers. Maybe they are going through. Maybe the angels just don't care.
With a flick of Avrel's wrist, the vines coil tighter around his wrists, around the base of his wings, wrenching them further apart and forcing a gasp from Zuriel. The wingless angel steps closer, blowing a cloud of smoke into his face that makes him cough. "Really? So Eliel hasn't told you anything after three decades of training? I'm calling bullshit." He flicks the lighter open again, and Zuriel's eyes follow the flame.
"You know I'm being truthful. Angels don't lie." He swallows nervously.
"Until they realize how fun it is," Avrel counters.
The lighter comes closer, and Zuriel's struggles become more desperate, frantic. The thick vines chafe his wrists, and each pull sends fresh blood down his arms.
"All you have to do is tell me where the weapons vaults are, and I can let you go." Avrel smiles, and it chills Zuriel to the bone.
"I know nothing, Avrel, please!" His protests are quicker as he twists in the bindings.
"Do you know how it feels to lose your wings? I do." Those dark eyes bore into him. The Fallen steps closer, runs a hand along the trembling, sensitive feathers. "Such beautiful things, aren't they? So powerful. So fragile."
When the first of his feathers starts to burn, Zuriel screams. A part of his soul is dying, he can't breathe, can't even articulate his suffering save for a wordless wail.
Avrel steps back with a look of mild amusement, watching him thrash. The look falters as Zuriel rips through the vines binding his bloodied wrists in his desperation. As the fire licks at the vines trapping his wings, he releases a guttural screech and takes to the skies.
For a beautiful, blessed moment, he's free.
But the fire is still there, still burning at his very being, and he plummets through the trees. The fire leaps to everything his wings touch; the branches whip at his face, leaving stinging cuts that pale in comparison to the agony of his back.
And when he crashes to the ground, he somehow remembers to roll around in the dirt frantically until the flames licking at his feathers disappear.
The raw feeling of his wings almost makes him sob, but he has a job to do. He can't let the forest burn. So he stumbles through the trees until he finds a stream. With shaking hands, he focuses on directing the water into the air, suffocating the fire in the trees.
His mission complete, he sinks to his knees by the riverbank, utterly exhausted. He's in no condition to be using magic. His eyes catch sight of his reflection and he recoils from the sight of his naked wings, the once-pristine white feathers charred, blackened, half-burned away. He reaches up tentatively to feel a feather, eyes fixed on his reflection. The feather crumbles in his hands.
He can only sob as vines once again erupt from the earth and twine around him, pinning him in place as footsteps stalk towards him.
"They called it Heaven, but he saw the truth.
He tried to protect the lesser beings,
those who were stranded on land,
from the evil he saw among his own kind.
But they caught him trying to preserve goodness,
trying to preserve peace
and to defend what he believed on.
He was punished, one of his wings ripped appart.
Just one, as the other wing would remind him
of who he once was and where he came from.
Just one, as even if he still had one of his wings,
he could never fly back home."
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