Beyond The Celestial Veil
“They were never meant to meet.”
He was chaos, bound in skin.
She was light, born to obey.
He walked among mortals for centuries, hiding behind empires, sins, and charm.
She came to Earth for a mission. Silent. Watchful. Pure.
But all it took was one moment.
A single touch.
A flicker of something neither of them understood.
And in that instant…
He took her grace.
She stole his mark.
The balance shattered.
Heaven roared. Hell recoiled.
And the world tilted just slightly off its axis.
Now, the angel bears a demon’s scar.
The demon glows with celestial light.
And the war they never asked for is already in motion.
All because of a forbidden crossing—
A love that rewrote the rules.
Now… nothing is sacred.
Not even the divine
---
The room was still.
Too still.
Too white.
Not the sacred white of heaven, but the sterile kind — humming under fluorescent lights and reeking of antiseptic. The kind that felt like death pretending to be clean.
Somewhere inside the private medical wing, buried beneath three layers of biometric locks and divine suppression wards, Abaddon stood alone in front of a floor-length mirror.
He didn’t move. Not yet.
But his reflection did not belong to him anymore.
His once golden eyes — infamous across realms — had changed. One remained gold, seething with hellfire. The other? A blinding, iridescent silver, cold and calm and wrong.
They didn’t match.
They didn’t blink.
They didn’t lie.
His skin was paler now, not sickly — but like polished stone, faintly luminous, touched by a light that didn’t belong to demons. The jagged black veins that used to snake his throat were nearly invisible now, faded beneath a ghostly glow. And on his wrist—
Not the inverted cross.
Not his brand.
It was… hers.
A radiant, upright cross, thin and elegant, etched in divine light. Purity’s mark.
It pulsed.
Like it was alive. Like it hated him.
Abaddon’s fingers twitched. His jaw locked. Something inside him — ancient and violent — recoiled.
Something had shifted.
He was becoming something else.
Something that was neither demon nor angel. And that terrified him more than hell ever could.
Behind him, a sheet rustled. Soft. Barely audible.
He turned sharply.
Purity stirred in the bed — tangled in thin medical blankets, her long hair a tangled halo of darkness. Her once-luminous skin now looked faded, a dull porcelain dusted with shadow. Her heavenly robes had darkened — still white, but grayed and torn, as if the light in them had dimmed. Died.
And when she opened her eyes—
They flickered.
Not gold.
Not white.
Red.
A soft, hollow red. Glimpses of something infernal just beneath the surface.
Abaddon was across the room in a blink.
His hand closed around her neck — not strangling, not breaking, but containing. Lifting. Her feet left the floor like she weighed nothing.
His grip was unrelenting.
His voice was colder than it had ever been — even in the depths of Hell:
> “What did you do?”
His golden-silver eyes burned through her like flame and frost.
Purity didn’t struggle. She just… blinked. And something in that blink — not defiance, not regret, but guilt — twisted the air around them. Her lips parted, trembling with something she didn’t know how to say.
The heart monitor behind them beeped. Calm. Betraying none of the chaos in the room.
Then—
BOOM.
The doors exploded open.
A hurricane of celestial wind ripped into the room — a blinding shockwave of divine power. The force howled through the white chamber, scattering papers, toppling the IV stand, and flickering the fluorescent lights like failing stars.
Abaddon didn’t even turn.
He didn’t flinch.
He just let out a grunt — rage rippling off him like heat — and hurled Purity across the room landing on a mirror
