Blasphemy

In all forms of literature, it is known that war between angels and demons is nothing more than an inevitability; a fate written in stone not paper. But within that fate there are always the outliers, the ones who refuse to conform, and break away from it, paving their own path through the bloody words pre-written for them. And almost always it ends the same way, but this time is a bit different.

“It is blasphemy!” Cried the angel, pointing their spear at the condescending demon, who did nothing but look down at the blade with palpable boredom. It was not the first nor will it be the last time that he was staring down the tip of a blade due to his choices. By this point, he didn’t really find a reason to care, seeing as it would only be wasted energy.

It was all because they couldn’t understand his decision, on top of how they refuse to come to terms with the fact that demons do indeed feel love. Sure, it is not common, but it is not rare either, it is just outweighed by fear usually. Who would want to fall in love in a time when it is more likely to lose said love than keep them for eternity in death? But he found his, and he’d be damned even more so if he let her go, he didn’t care what he had to lose.

“Blasphemy is just a petty word the mortals created to condemn that which they do not like,” Quantico sneered back, pulling himself up a bit more to stand at his full height. His eyes shifting slowly up the shaft of the spear to bore into the shorter angel, taking pleasure in watching them shrink back by a fraction of an inch.

It wasn’t that he was necessarily scary looking, but he was old, and war torn, and with that experience came a look colder than ice. It didn’t work on most other demons or higher rank angels, but ones like the fresh meat in front of him always seemed to cower. He took pleasure in seeing the fear, fed on it, wanted more of it.

He stepped forward. The blade nipped at the skin of his throat, barely enough to make a bead of black ichor beat at the tip of their spear. The angel backed up a step. They looked unnerved for a moment, which only served to make Quantico happier. He brought his hand up and used his thumb to wipe away the drop of ichor, showing how not even a scratch remained. And yet again, he took a step forward. And again. And again. Until he was only a mere breath away from the angel. The scent of fear, pungent even to his nose.

“Do you fear me?” He asked in a low growl.

“No-” The angel whispered. Their voices betrayed them with a slight quiver.

“An angel shouldn’t lie,” he cooed poisonously, bringing a hand up to caress their face gently, unfazed by their flinch, “that is a demon’s trait.”

“Please...” they begged, and Quantico stepped back to look at their pathetic expression.

“Please what?”

“Please let her go-”

A slap cut off the angel’s plea, jerking their head to the side. It was an effective way to silence them, despite him wanting to do more than just that. The moment of red he saw was overwhelming, causing even him to step back.

He levelled a dangerous glare at the angel who was now holding their healing face; the look of pain mixed with fear tantalizing but off limits. He promised.

“Leave.” He warned, practically growled out.

“Let her go,” The angel reiterated, as if they didn‘t just get slapped for saying those exact words several moments prior.  

“She stays with me,” he snapped back, his fangs barred in an obvious threat.

“But she’ll fall at this rate, the others will not forgive her don’t-”

“Then she will remain fallen! She is mine and I am hers, nothing in heaven or hell will stop me from loving her,” he cut them off, startling them with how loud he was.

“That is not love,” they retorted, a sad, almost pitying look overtaking their face, “Demons do not-cannot love. They only feel possession.”

“Then tell me,” his voice lowered again, his tone taking on a more threatening edge to it, “why did she choose me? Why is it that whenever I look to her, I can’t fathom ever leaving her to go back home? Why the space she takes up feels like the only safe place in the realms where I can finally breathe in fresh air? Tell me angel. Why does she look at me as if I am the one who hung the moon and stars just so she may gaze upon them despite living so close to them? Why?!”

“I-I don’t...I don’t know,” they finally backed down for a moment before speaking up once more, “but you must let her go...if you truly loved her, you’d let her come home.”

“I never thought I’d see an angel using such cunning tricks,” he spat, “guilt-tripping is far beneath you, but it does fit the holier than thou stories I have heard from my brethren have shared. Save it.” He dismissed them with a flick of his hand, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation.

“Not until I have her, I have my orders.”

Quantico’s eyes slowly tracked back to the angel, seeing a new defiant look on their face. This anger flared up once more as a low growl rumbled in the back of his throat, “The only reason you still stand there breathing is because of a promise I made her, and if you make me break that promise,” his eyes flashed a deep red, “there is very little in heaven or earth that will stop the bloodbath that will follow my shadow. You are not the hero of this story, you are not even the sidekick, you are just the pawn being cast about the board in hopes you’ll actually be useful.”

And with that he left the angel standing in stunned silence, just a hair-width away from breaking his promise to her. He doesn’t care if this would be seen as a pitiful retreat, he only cared about how she’ll look at him when he returned home.