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You sigh as you feel the oh so familiar sensation of a cigarette being shoved into your halo’s golden glow. There’s an inhale behind you, and the sensation is gone. Sure enough, when you turn around, the demon stands proudly, taking a long drag from his cigarette.
“Thanks, angel,” the demon, Sylus, purrs. The smoke blows into your face and you fan it away with your hand. He chuckles. “You haven’t changed one bit.”
“Well, it’s only been 3 centuries. How much was I supposed to change in that time?”
He studies you lazily, tilting his head and taking another drag. He settles down on a low stone wall, worn on the edges and covered in old paint. “Not interested in small talk today, angel?”
You cross your arms defensively over your chest. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you this on-edge around him. “I don’t know how you can think about anything else.” You look at the people passing by.
Teens in helmets and knee pads rolling past on boards or skates, others with no protective gear at all trying to pull off complicated flips and tricks. A couple sat under a curved wall, passing a blunt back and forth. Sylus had teased you relentlessly the first time he came across you in a place like this. Watching all these young souls take up vices so early in their lives, put their bodies on the line and break bones for a bit of fun. You didn’t notice the drugs and alcohol as much nowadays. You just saw the smiles.
“All of this will be gone in just a few days… Doesn’t that…” You glance at him. “Doesn’t that upset you?”
A kid walks up to Sylus, gesturing with his messily rolled up joint for a light. Sylus presses the end of his cigarette to the end without a word. The revolting stench of marijuana filled the air as the kid walked away. “Why should it?”
You glare at him and he chuckles.
“Oh, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was, ‘Heavens above, it’s a terrible tragedy! The horror of it all!’”
“I could smite you right now. One less demon for Hell’s army would be no loss to us.”
“But it would be to you.” He sighs, scanning the skatepark. A melancholy settles in his expression. “I suppose I will miss it. Humans know the best ways to have a good time.”
You hum. “I did always enjoy their weddings.”
“I was thinking something along the lines of lust, greed, and pride.”
“I know.”
You glance at the spot beside him. He holds the cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he takes off his leather jacket and lays it across the stone. You perch primly on it with a nod of thanks. He takes the cigarette from his mouth and holds it out to you. You stare at it with a grimace.
“This could be your last chance to try it,” he cajoles. “I promise you won’t get sent to Hell for a little thing like this.”
You glance at his face. Piercing red eyes stare at you, but you know he wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. Not anymore, anyway.
You begin to reach for it but he pulls it just out of your reach. He holds the butt end to your lips, but you look at him with that sweet little look of innocence, utterly helpless.
“Shall I demonstrate first?” He puts it between his lips, the corners curled up into a devilish grin. The ashes on the end trail a little further down the paper as he inhales the tobacco smoke. He takes it out of his mouth, pauses for a second, and blows it out, away from your face this time. He holds it back to your lips. “Don’t do too much. I want this to be a good experience for you.”
“Your temptations are hardly enticing,” you scold, but there’s no venom behind it. You carefully put your lips around the filter, where his were just seconds ago, and suck in. You can’t help watching his face as you do, searching for instructions through his expressions. He nods just slightly and you pull away, holding it in for a moment like he did, and exhaling.
He brings it back to his lips. “Well?”
You scowl as you try to get the taste out of your mouth. “How do you like that?”
“Oh, angel. People don’t like the taste - not really, anyway. It’s the chemicals that trick you into thinking you need it, pulling you to it over and over again.” He leans in. His eyes gleam. “Addiction.”
“Hmph. Should I try to find something pure for you to try now?”
He shakes his head. “I already know what the holy experience is like. I’m just fine not going back to it for a second.”
A drugged-up teenager with no protective gear goes down the old wooden half-pipe. It’s been in disrepair for years. The local governments don’t care at all about trying to keep anything here in good upkeep; they haven’t for decades. His wheel catches on a broken board and sends him flying. His body scrapes against splinters and bent nails, tearing at his clothing and flesh. To add insult to injury, his skateboard goes up the other side and comes right down on his head. You can tell even from a distance that he’s broken something. He lays there for a while, groaning.
Sylus isn’t surprised when an ambulance arrives a couple minutes later, despite nobody having called for their services.
“Do you know where you’ll be stationed?” you ask. You try to seem cool-headed about the thought of going into war, but there’s a waver in your voice that he catches as easily as recognizing a lie.
“Linkon City. On the frontlines.” He passes the nearly-gone cigarette back over when he sees your hands fidget restlessly with the hem of his jacket. “What about you?”
You take it from him with inexperienced fingers, but you don’t cough this time either as you take a slightly deeper draw from it. He could almost say he’s proud, if he ignored the omen of a smoking angel.
“The same for me.”
He takes the spent cigarette from you and puts it out against a spray painted yellow smile. “So I’ll see you there, then.”
You watch the ambulance pull away with the kid on a stretcher in the back.
Sylus stands up. It’s only when he gestures to his jacket that you follow, stepping away so he can retrieve it and put it on. It’s a hot summer day, but even dressed in all black and leather, he says it’s too cold. If Hell wins… you wonder if you’ll understand what he means, then.
“If we fight each other-”
“Why do you sound so upset about it, angel?”
You take a deep breath. Your golden eyes, blessed by the light of God, stare at him with a deep seriousness. “If we fight each other, we can’t hold back. You know that, right?”
He nods slowly. “I know.”
“I… I won’t hold back.”
He nods.
“Not even for you.”
He nods again. “I know, angel.”
You nod, settling that promise into your brain. Your frown hasn’t faltered at all.
“For what it’s worth…” Red eyes look at you with no waver in confidence, but that melancholy hasn’t faded yet. “Of all the angels I could have had the displeasure of knowing, I’m glad it was you.”
-
The city was a husk of its former self. Where once people walked to and fro, going to work or the movies or the arcade, demons and angels fought in a holy war. It was chaos at every turn. Armies donned in white and black, fighting tooth and nail to win.
You had your orders. They were easy to follow: kill any demon in sight. You prayed for God to end this war before it could begin. You prayed for the final days leading up to it for this to never come to pass. You prayed until someone ripped your hands apart and shoved a sword into them.
If your body functioned like a normal human’s, you would have been panting, gasping for air as you stole through a wrecked lobby and into a courtyard, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings. Your body would have ached from exhaustion, and you think a normal human would have fallen unconscious by now.
Your body does not function that way.
Your breaths are even as you turn in a slow circle, watching for any intruders. The fight rages on mere feet away, but in here you can almost forget.
A tree stands proudly in the center. Its branches overhand a small, tiered garden. Flowers decorate the wooden boxes, spilling out over the sides from care and dedication. You gently lift one of the hanging blossoms and bend down to smell it.
Something sharp touches your neck.
You’re frozen in place. Caught off guard, staring at the flower, memorizing it so that when the killing blow comes, it is the last thing you see. The last meaningful reminder of the humans’ blessed existence.
“Hello, angel.”
You turn your head so sharply you almost cut yourself on his blade. Relief and dread swell in you all at once, a miasma of discontent. Sylus grins at you as relaxed as ever and lowers the black sword to his side.
A hollow breeze swishes his hair across his forehead. The longer strands catch in his eye, but he doesn’t brush them away. The horns on his head are sharper, crueller than usual; as dark as the deepest pit of Hell.
The golden glow of your halo highlights the planes of his face.
“Don’t hold back, remember?” he says. “Don’t lose that conviction on me now.”
Your hand shakes as you tighten your grip on your sword. You raise it in front of you. The sharpened point raised to the heavens, a symbol of your devotion. You swallow. “I won’t.”
He mirrors your position, the end of his sword aimed for the hells below. His hands are steady. He nods. That damned grin widens on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know, angel.”
Sylus attacks first. He has to. You’re paralyzed, unable to make the first offensive move. You defend instead, blocking and parrying his every move. The tree stands watch. A silent aegis to your battle.
He cuts your right cheek, and you jump away to collect yourself. The pain feels too real. How is this the natural end of the world? How can your God sit idly by and witness you crossing blades with the one creature across the Heavens, Hells and Earth whom you called friend? What merciful God would want this?
Blood drips slowly down your jaw from the small wound. Sylus paces around you like a wolf hunting wounded prey. You know he will destroy you.
You take a breath and raise your sword again. Your hand does not shake.
You strike first, reigniting the fight he lit.
It’s grueling. Neither of you dares to give in now. Hesitating would be to die. And not only did neither of you want to die, neither of you wanted to kill the other. It’s a battle built to be a stalemate. A war never meant to be won.
At least, you wish it was.
Both hands grab the hilt of your sword, holding it steady. Sylus grabs the blade.
He chuckles. It’s weak. Strained. His eyes match the blood pouring from his chest as he looks up at you. He falls to his knees. You follow.
“Well done, angel.” He wheezes, eyes squeezed shut in pain as he hunches over your blade. The sides dig into his hand, slicing his palm and fingers. “You… You won.”
All at once, the reality of the situation hits you.
“No…” You support your sword with one hand as you scramble on your knees to be closer. You grab his shoulder, sitting him up so you can see where you’ve impaled him. You let go of the sword to rest both hands on his chest on either side of the wound. “No, no, no, no, don’t- You can’t-”
Golden light shines in your hands, but black and red tendrils block your healing. You try harder, until the light blinds you, but the demonic powers within him refuse to relent. Sylus watches you with soft eyes and a grin.
“Angel,” he mumbles. You grunt in frustration as you press harder against the wound. His hand slides off the blade and covers yours. You’re panting from exertion as you finally meet his eyes. “I think… I think I wanna try somethin’ holy now… You got anything in mind?”
The glow fades. The darkness fades. You cradle the back of his head with a blood-soaked hand. It stains his hair. Your other hand grips his like a lifeline, squeezing blood from the cuts there. He doesn’t stop you.
“Something holy?” You search his face, wracking your brain for any ideas. “Okay… Okay, I can do that.”
You begin stroking his hair tenderly, scratching at his scalp, scraping sweat, blood and oil under your nails. He sighs, head resting heavily into your care. His eyes are half closed. He forces them to stay open.
You scoot yourself closer, until your knees are touching his. You lift his head up and bring your lips to his forehead. This close, you listen to every breath he takes. Every rasp and groan he exhales. You pull away reluctantly, ducking your head down so your forehead rests over your lingering kiss.
“How’s-” You clear your throat after your voice cracks. “How’s that?”
“Isn’t kissing… a sin…?”
You shake your head. “No, no, it’s not.”
He hums quietly. “You ever… kiss anyone… angel?”
You laugh despite yourself and shake your head again. “No, I haven’t.”
“Shall I… demonstrate…?”
“I’d like that.”
He abandons his sword on the ground beside him. It clatters against the carefully laid brick of the courtyard. His hand is agonizingly slow to find your cheek. His palm is cold. His thumb strokes the cut he gave you.
“C’mere… angel.”
You follow his weak guidance as he tilts your chin, pulling your lips to his. His lips barely move. You press against them a little harder.
His hand slips from your cheek, knuckles scraping over the bricks and jostling his sword. You pull away.
His eyes are hollow. Red irises staring into nothingness.
“Sylus…?” His head lolls in your hand when you try to adjust. “Sylus, please-” Your eyes fill with water. “Please, it’s not funny. I don’t need your tricks right now. Please-”
You let go of his wounded hand to hold his face with both hands. Blood from your touch stains his cheeks. Hot tears slip down your cheeks.
“Please, I- I can’t do this without you… I don’t want to do this without you…”
He doesn’t respond.
You press your forehead to his again, leaning over his body as gravity stakes its claim on him. Your tears land on his face, falling down his cheekbones and jaw as if he was the one crying, not you.
“Please… Please…” You kiss his cold lips. “Please…”
Nobody hears your prayers.