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devil handed angel

jan_gun
7
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The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Chapter 1 - devil handed angel

The city of Veridian hummed with a thousand electric prayers and the faint, persistent scent of ozone. Here, among the gleaming spires and grimy underbellies, lived Elias Thorne. To most, Elias was a beacon – a relentless advocate for the city's forgotten, a whisperer of hope in the ears of the hopeless. His smile was warm, his words kind, and his touch, when he offered comfort, felt like absolution. They called him "The Angel of Veridian."

But Elias had a secret, one he guarded with every beat of his deceitful heart. His left hand, beneath its immaculate glove, was not human. It was gnarled, scaled, and ended in claws that could rend steel. It was the legacy of a pact, a desperate bargain made in a forgotten moment of youthful despair. He called it his "Devil's Hand," and it pulsed with an unholy power he both loathed and relied upon.

One rain-slicked evening, a child went missing – Elara, a mute girl from the lower districts, known for her bright, inquisitive eyes. The police, jaded and understaffed, offered platitudes. The city, usually quick to forget, found a brief moment of collective sorrow before moving on. But Elias couldn't. Elara had drawn him a crude picture of a soaring bird just last week.

He started his search as Elias, the Angel. He offered comfort to Elara's weeping mother, organized search parties, and pressed flyers into the hands of weary commuters. He spoke to informants, gentle persuasion flowing from his lips like honey. But as the hours bled into days, and hope began to curdle, Elias knew he needed his other self.

Deep in the labyrinthine sewers, where the city's refuse flowed and shadows clung like shrouds, Elias shed his pristine facade. The glove came off, revealing the grotesque limb. The power surged, hot and feral. His senses sharpened, picking up the faintest tremor, the subtlest shift in the air. He interrogated the denizens of the underworld – not with pleas, but with a silent, menacing authority that bent even the most hardened criminals to his will. The Devil's Hand found truth where the Angel's words failed.

It led him to a forgotten warehouse on the docks, a place where illegal operations thrived under the cloak of night. Inside, he found Elara, small and terrified, but alive. She was with a gang known for trafficking in desperate souls.

The confrontation was swift and brutal. Elias, the Angel, tried to reason. He offered a way out, a chance for redemption. But the leader, a scarred brute named Kael, merely sneered, brandishing a rusty pipe.

That's when the Devil's Hand moved. It wasn't a human fight; it was something ancient and terrible. Elias felt a cold detachment as the limb acted on its own, a blur of motion, a guttural growl that wasn't his own. The pipe clattered, Kael screamed, and the rest of the gang scattered like cockroaches, leaving behind their ill-gotten gains and a terrified silence.

Elara, wide-eyed, stared at his left hand, now flexing, still dripping with an almost imperceptible dark energy. Elias quickly donned his glove, the monstrous limb receding as if ashamed. He scooped up the girl, holding her close, her small body trembling against his.

Back in the sterile light of the hospital, Elara's mother wept tears of profound relief. Elias, the Angel, received the accolades, the praise. He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes, feeling the faint thrum of the Devil's Hand beneath the fabric, a silent reminder of the darkness he wielded for the light.

He was an angel who could save, but only because a devil within him was willing to damn. And in the city of Veridian, where shadows stretched long and danger lurked in every alley, perhaps that was exactly the kind of savior they needed.

The end