wildberry, cinnamon swirl, peppermint
Flavors: wildberry 16. point of no return. cinnamon swirl 5. the best laid plans. peppermint 21. tears
Characters: Michael, Jehoel
Rating: R for genocide
Story: Abbadon.
Summary: A few thousand years before Alex and company are even born, this happened. This is Michael at the height of his power, and it's not pretty. Also, meet Jehoel. concrit is always welcome.
"Heathen,” spat Michael, his fingers cutting deeper with each exuberant breath. The angel gasped for air, his own fingers clawing desperately at Michael’s where they dug into the delicate skin of his throat. The purity of hatred in Michael’s glare was matched pound for pound in the eyes of this stranger. Jehoel shrunk back. This man, some angel he’d never seen before, looked prepared to kill with just the intensity of anger in his expression. He hadn’t expected this.
“There are children,” said Michael. He was addressing Jehoel now, apparently, because the weight of the commander’s glare had settled upon his shoulders. He knew what was expected of him.
“Why?” He asked, his fingers trembling at the edge of his sword.
“His children,” Michael growled, indicating the man gripped so firmly between his powerful fingers with a violent jerk of his arm, knocking the choking stranger to the ground. A dark haired woman rushed to his side, but was immediately pushed away. Jehoel blinked. He hadn’t noticed her until this moment.
Michael laughed. “The whore is their mother.”
Jehoel grimaced. A human. Then the children..
“They’re aberrations. Kill them.” Michael’s tone left no doubt in Jehoel’s mind. This was not an option, it wasn’t even an order. It was a threat. He watched, immobilised, as Michael’s expression twisted into a grotesquely predatory grin. “They’re under the floorboards.”
The other angel... the father, launched himself at Michael in a blind, animal rage, bloodied fists and curses flying between the two men for a brief instant. Then the man was on the ground.
“Is... he dead?” Jehoel asked, the irrepressible tremble in his voice now nearly overpowering the words themselves.
“No,” Michael replied bluntly. “He’s sleeping.” Of course, that meant nothing. Jehoel’s heart thundered some deep, ritual rhythm in his chest. Michael sat on one of the family’s simple wooden chairs and put his feet up casually on the table, giving a small gap in the floorboards a pointed look.
The woman screamed, an agonising and shrill bellow that hurt Jehoel’s ears. She was, however, quickly cut off by her own frenzied sobbing.
“What about...?”
Michael cut him off. “Leave her.”
Though he willed his legs to move, Jehoel was fixated on the human. She choked and sputtered, obstructed by the foul fluids seeping from every feature on her face. She was corrupt. A temptress. A whore. She plead like a dog for scraps, begging him for mercy, crawling towards him, threatening to touch him with her soiled hands.
He closed his eyes and plunged Michael’s sword through the hole in the floor.
One child died in silence.
A thousand voices cried out.
Then, silence.
Characters: Michael, Jehoel
Rating: R for genocide
Story: Abbadon.
Summary: A few thousand years before Alex and company are even born, this happened. This is Michael at the height of his power, and it's not pretty. Also, meet Jehoel. concrit is always welcome.
"Heathen,” spat Michael, his fingers cutting deeper with each exuberant breath. The angel gasped for air, his own fingers clawing desperately at Michael’s where they dug into the delicate skin of his throat. The purity of hatred in Michael’s glare was matched pound for pound in the eyes of this stranger. Jehoel shrunk back. This man, some angel he’d never seen before, looked prepared to kill with just the intensity of anger in his expression. He hadn’t expected this.
“There are children,” said Michael. He was addressing Jehoel now, apparently, because the weight of the commander’s glare had settled upon his shoulders. He knew what was expected of him.
“Why?” He asked, his fingers trembling at the edge of his sword.
“His children,” Michael growled, indicating the man gripped so firmly between his powerful fingers with a violent jerk of his arm, knocking the choking stranger to the ground. A dark haired woman rushed to his side, but was immediately pushed away. Jehoel blinked. He hadn’t noticed her until this moment.
Michael laughed. “The whore is their mother.”
Jehoel grimaced. A human. Then the children..
“They’re aberrations. Kill them.” Michael’s tone left no doubt in Jehoel’s mind. This was not an option, it wasn’t even an order. It was a threat. He watched, immobilised, as Michael’s expression twisted into a grotesquely predatory grin. “They’re under the floorboards.”
The other angel... the father, launched himself at Michael in a blind, animal rage, bloodied fists and curses flying between the two men for a brief instant. Then the man was on the ground.
“Is... he dead?” Jehoel asked, the irrepressible tremble in his voice now nearly overpowering the words themselves.
“No,” Michael replied bluntly. “He’s sleeping.” Of course, that meant nothing. Jehoel’s heart thundered some deep, ritual rhythm in his chest. Michael sat on one of the family’s simple wooden chairs and put his feet up casually on the table, giving a small gap in the floorboards a pointed look.
The woman screamed, an agonising and shrill bellow that hurt Jehoel’s ears. She was, however, quickly cut off by her own frenzied sobbing.
“What about...?”
Michael cut him off. “Leave her.”
Though he willed his legs to move, Jehoel was fixated on the human. She choked and sputtered, obstructed by the foul fluids seeping from every feature on her face. She was corrupt. A temptress. A whore. She plead like a dog for scraps, begging him for mercy, crawling towards him, threatening to touch him with her soiled hands.
He closed his eyes and plunged Michael’s sword through the hole in the floor.
One child died in silence.
A thousand voices cried out.
Then, silence.