"My eyes opened willingly. A day has passed, and only a day remains. I recall the voice of Lucy, his willingness to protect, then i recalled his sacred smile. Not as wide, but as gentle and genuine as that time we soared across the sky. He reminds of the sea, a somber and quiet sight. But even so, he's so beautiful. If only i can drench myself in his touch over and over, i would. If i could, i would wish to drown in his embrace."
Daydreams. The same visions return like stubborn ghosts, and never once do they leave me standing alone. In every flicker of my imagined smile, there is always another, someone to marvel at it, or simply to share it. Solitude is the shadow I dread most. Whenever a familiar face slips beyond my sight, a sudden heat blooms beneath my ribs, searing and merciless. The thought of losing someone without so much as a final word, without the grace of farewell, feels like a haunting I might never wake from.
Though the night has come, wether i get to say my farewells to Lucy or not, is to be decided now.
Moonlight spilled across the ruins like the last breath of a dying world. Michael moved first, a dark silhouette slipping between broken pillars, every step a silent command to follow. Misha stayed close, her grip staying right, her breath a thin mist in the cold. I trailed them both, the beat of my borrowed mortal heart pounding far louder than our footsteps dared. The wind carried the scent of ash and something fouler... Devils were near... Their presence always soured the air, a warning as old as creation itself. My wings itched beneath their veil, longing to unfurl, to shield these fragile humans. But even the softest feathered whisper would betray us.
Michael halted at the edge of a yawning tunnel. The catacombs. Darkness breathed from its mouth, thick and damp, carrying echoes that might have been whispers or distant screams. He glanced back, and even in the weak light I caught the glint of resolve in his eyes. "This is the path," he murmured, voice barely more than a thread of sound. His quietness almost detrimental. But even thought it was a silent and quiet voice, i felt his lips shaking. Fortunately, the same could not be said of me, for i felt a fire engulf my chest, but instead of it hurting me, i felt it encourage me, like something sharper, something like fury.
We stepped into the dark.
But the darkness stepped back.
A ripple of air, cold and wrong, drifted through the tunnel. I halted mid-step. From the black throat of the catacomb, a figure emerged as though the shadows themselves were weary of holding him. Bell.
He wore darkness like a second skin, robes of somber velvet that whispered across the stone, each fold heavy with the sin of his master. Sloth. Even his movements carried that dreadful languor: a deliberate slowness that turned every gesture into mockery.
And that grin, God above, that grin, split his pale face like a wound. It was wide and unhurried, a smile that knew eternity and had grown tired of it. I felt the blood of Heaven stir in me. My wings pressed hard against the mortal veil; the air shimmered with their impatience. With a hiss of steel and light, I drew my blade. Its glow flared against the catacomb walls, washing Bell in a halo he did not deserve. "Stay behind me," I warned, stepping between the siblings and the shadow that threatened to swallow them. Bell's grin deepened, slow as a rising moon. Rage snapped through me, white and clean. I lunged, the sword a streak of holy fire aimed straight for his heart. But the world… thickened. Time itself congealed like cooling tar. My breath dragged as though through glass. The swing of my blade stretched into a silent eternity. Each heartbeat became an echo across a vast, frozen void. Bell merely tilted his head, watching me struggle inside the cage of his power. "Angels," he whispered, his voice a slow, poisonous drawl. "Always in such a hurry."I fought to move, to breathe, but the very air obeyed him, and every moment became an age.
Bell's boots whispered against the stone as he drifted toward me, unhurried as a funeral march. That hollow stare, neither hatred nor pity, pinned me where his spell had left me, my limbs heavy as lead. Then the quiet shattered. His foot drove into my ribs with a force that rattled the cavern. Pain bloomed white-hot, the sound of it a dull crack inside my skull. Another blow followed, and another, each one a punctuation mark in the sermon that spilled from his lips. "Do you feel it, angel?" His voice was a slow, venomous drawl. "The world you so fiercely guard spins itself into chaos, too many laws, too many tongues, too many frantic hearts chasing meaning they'll never find. It grows more tangled with every heartbeat, until even the faithful march blind." Another kick. The taste of copper filled my mouth. "They rush," he continued, pacing his words to the rhythm of his blows, "from dawn to dusk, believing complexity makes them wise. But they understand nothing. Not the machines they build, nor the empires they worship. They follow, because it is easier to follow than to question." His shadow loomed over me as he crouched, his grin a slow crescent of malice.
"Belphegor knows the truth. Sloth is not a sin, little seraph, it is salvation. The world aches for stillness. For the sweet surrender of doing nothing. To stop running. To stop being more than they are. And so"...His next kick struck like a hammer.. "they shall have it ! All of them ! A quiet, simple future !"
The catacomb seemed to breathe with his words, each echo a lullaby of ruin. "Don't you want to see it ? The range of our conquest ?" He asked sincerely with a faint and twisted pity flowing in his words. And i couldn't help it, the sight of it, the sloth fullness of his, turns out to be a flaw after all. I couldn't resist my laughter, and so a grin slowly formed itself. "The range of your Conquest.. It's not quite far is it ?" I asked, as a sinister laughter slowly filled the room. "Lucy always do this whenever he pulls the trigger, and I've always find it weird."
I raised a finger, slow and painful rise, before i speak Lucy's. "Bang !" I roared, as a thunderous flame hit the back of Bell's throat. His fingers lifted away from me and instead, he desperately covered the flowing blood on the hole in his neck. "Krgh.." Seemingly drowning in his own blood, my arm reached out for my blade and swiftly slashed his head off.
"Wh.. How did.. What even..." Blood would overflow the inside of his mouth, as he struggled to speak. "Well, when you were busy delivering your speech, you completely forgot there's two more people in the room." I said with a smug grin, even though my face reeks of blood. Misha and Michael would step out of the darkness with their arms on eachother. "And they've got heavy guns." I remarked, as Bell's head slowly starts to end it's consciousness. "Hey.. Michael, wasn't it? .. S.. Save me.. I beg.." He asked pathetically, his eyes practically reaching out. "Just put my head back.. Please.." He pleaded, but Michael's eyes only grew darker. "O.. Why did i lose.." He asked, in which Michael immediately replied. "Your sloth fullness." He exclaimed, before shooting a bullet at that deceased head.
A deep sigh escaped Michael's lips, as though his face was splattered with blood.
"That.. didn't take much effort.."