Chapter 2: The Merciless Ones
840 Words
Maya POV
(Obedience was my purpose. Not anymore.)
The feather burns, but there’s no smoke. It just sits there on the linen, like winter chipped off the world, the edges boiling with light. The tablecloth tries to burn but can’t decide if that would be sacrilege. The word Elara vibrates in me, ringing like a struck bell. My palms glow, petals of flame curling up, but my skin doesn’t burn. Adrian, the stranger who just showed up in my life, stands in front of me, a solid wall of night.
I should run. I don’t.
Something bright steps through the tear in the wall. At first, it looks like a man made of sunrise, beautiful in that cold, flawless way that forgets how to be human. Then his head tilts, too perfect, and my stomach knots.
“Designation: Unknown. Resonance: High. Artifact: Responsive. Containment recommended.”
Its voice isn’t one voice. It’s a whole choir crushed into a sentence.
Two more step in behind it. They’re just as flawless, just as wrong.
“Angels,” I breathe.
Or whatever Heaven keeps in reserve for emergencies.
Adrian shifts, blocking me even more. “Behind me,” he says.
“I don’t take orders,” I mutter, but I stay behind him anyway.
The closest angel lifts its hand. Wings burst open in a flood of light,
But there aren’t feathers.
Swords. Feathers sharpen into razors carved with holy script. The air splits.
The angel stares at me, eyes glowing, pure judgment.
“Lightborn,” it says.
My heart stumbles.
“What does that even mean?” My voice sounds thin and small.
“Execute upon recognition,” another angel answers, casual, like it’s reading a schedule.
Adrian’s jaw clenches. “No.”
The angels turn on him, annoyed.
“Traitor,” one hisses.
The word hits him hard, like a brand. Shadows ripple around him.
He smiles, no warmth at all. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”
The first angel lunges, blindingly fast.
Adrian moves faster.
Darkness floods his hands, shadows dragging across the floor and curling into fists. They crash together, light against night, and the walls groan, like the room itself is about to tear apart.
The second angel comes for me. It’s all brightness and death, beautiful and lethal. Instinct takes over.
My hands rise.
Fire erupts.
It runs up my arms, bright gold and alive, shaping itself into a blade made of nothing but choice. Not a sword. Just a decision, made sharp.
I swing.
The angel jerks back, wings glitching, more offended than hurt.
“What are you?” it demands.
“I. Don’t. Know.”
But the fire wants to know.
The relic thrums behind us, each ring turning like the world’s trying to realign around me. I feel exposed, and I hate it.
Adrian pins an angel to the wall with shadowy tendrils. “You can’t have her.”
“You cannot stop us,” the angel grits out, smug even now.
Adrian leans in, voice dropping, dangerous and quiet.
“I can delay you.”
The third angel raises its hand. Symbols twist in the air, forming a binding circle around me, holy law turned to steel.
“No!” Adrian snaps, and shadows leap at his feet, hungry for violence.
The circle shatters.
The angels look… surprised.
Like “no” isn’t a word they ever hear.
“Enough,” the first angel says.
Light coils, and the air thickens.
Then,
The tear in the wall widens again.
The temperature drops, sharp and brutal. Breathing hurts.
Even the angels freeze.
Someone new steps through. Tall. Unreal tall. Faceless, except for burning letters shaped into one.
Its wings unspool behind it, sharp as scythes.
The air bows.
Adrian goes still.
“Ithuriel,” he says, and the name lodges sharp behind my ribs, cold and deep.
The archangel, yeah, that’s what it has to be, looks at me:
“Lightborn. Recognized.”
No emotion. Just a sentence.
Then it turns to Adrian:
“You will step aside, Azael.”
My heart stops.
That’s not the name he gave me.
Adrian doesn’t bow. He steps back into me, grabs my wrist. His hand’s ice cold. Mine is burning. They look wrong together, but feel right.
“No,” he says.
“By decree of Heaven,” Ithuriel intones, wings lifting like falling blades,
“The Lightborn is to be executed upon recognition.”
It stares at me, cold and certain, like it’s never made a mistake, ever.
“Judgment begins,” it says.
“Kill her.”
Everything shrinks. Time snaps. Shadows whip around Adrian, wrapping him up in every refusal he’s ever swallowed. He steps fully between me and the thing that wants me dead, taking the hit for both of us.
His voice drops, iron-hard, final. Unapologetic.
“Then you’ll have to go through me.”
Ithuriel moves. Light crashes down.
Adrian stands his ground, taking on Heaven’s fury with a darkness that was never meant to rebel.
- Writer
