Chapter Text
You wake in stages. Seeing red. Splotched across the sky like dried blood. Your back is sore, the exposed skin of your shoulders rubbing against warm concrete. You smell a slight stench of smoke entangled with the air, not at all encouraging your sharp headache to fade.
Amongst these awakening senses, the most significant comes with your hearing.
"-ut the fuck up, Moxxie."
"DON'T TELL ME TO SHUT UP! DON'T YOU SEE?! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE BECAUSE OF YOU-"
"A-Alright everybody, this might look bad, but hey! This could help business! This shit is, what, half bird half meat? Plenty of cannibals around here who'll give us a-a fuck ton for-"
"AN ANGEL! IT'S A FUCKING ANGEL! NOT ANOTHER GODDAMN SHIT KID THAT WE DRAGGED WITH US TO HELL, SIR!"
"Calm the fuck down, Baby Dick, you want everyone to find out?!"
"GO EAT YOUR OWN SHIT, LOONA-"
"ALRIGHT YOU LITTLE BITC-"
"Guys, sshhh! Look, it's awake!"
The resounding silence feels violently uncomfortable as you're left to straighten out your blurry vision.
The demon's shadows encompass your figure, and what was once a vision of kaleidoscope begins to piece together as their faces gain greater detail.
And what details there is. The sight of a stark white wolf with three imps is certainly the way to snap out of near disorientation. Noticing their weapons pointing towards your every move, you decide to stay sitting up, leaning on your hands.
"So uh," the demon with the longest of horns breaks the tense silence, rifle circling your face. "The fuck you waiting for?"
The claw curling around the trigger doesn't scare you. There is no way way they can kill you (you suppose), but one shot to the face can leave you unconcious enough for them to do anything.
The trepidation twisting in your stomach comes back. Coiling up your throat. Squeezing. You're not afraid.
Demons. Small though they were, you knew you had to trot carefully with them. Prejudice will never be a trait you would ever want to associate with, but with the nature surrounding their environment, the dexterity of morals are questionable. Survival is hard to accomplish in this place, especially to those forsaken from hope.
You don't have enough time to recollect your memories. Not with weapons aiming right at your face and wings.
"What's your deal?" The wolf repeats the question, milk and crimson glare burning through you.
"...?"
With no answer from you, it seems to rile them up even more. You needed to let them know you weren't a threat. Far from it, actually.
"I-"
The spear from one of the imps nearly grazes your cheek before the female imp stops him.
"Moxxie!" She scolds, but the tone comes out more soft than stern. Comforting, in a way.
" 'least we know these things do talk. . ." The wolf narrows her brows.
You push your bangs out of your face, fingers dragging over rosy cheeks. You try to keep your cyan gaze on them, worried they might strike if you look at something else.
"I won't harm anyone. I was not made to fight." You speak truthfully. You know demons like these, so much like incubi, smell lies. Perhaps not literally, but demons sense out the most rotten of truths. Like a worm inside a deceivingly perfect apple. You continue. "But if you give me a reason to, I will defend myself."
The small imp, Moxxie, sneers. "And yet you're here. For what other reason? Is killing us all once every year not enough? The extermination ended hours ago. Why are you still here?"
"I'm not an exterminator."
The taller imp clicks his tongue.
"Obviously. Never seen one of you motherfuckers actually have a face and get blasted over to the next building. Look at my damn windows! That shit is gonna kill business!"
You swivel your head to look at said windows, now completely devoid of any glass that couldn't be salvaged together with a bit of glue (The thought leaning more towards Moxxie's feeble attempts at saving company money.) Though there is a huge gaping hole that was once a part of the cieling, you guess he doesn't have much care for that other than what you've done.
"I'm so sorry." You whisper, and truly mean it. It was no surprise that these demons saw you as a threat, right after extermination, and you come crashing through their shelter like a bat out of. . .hell.
Hell. You were in Hell. Somehow the thought hadn't sunken into your head yet. It was there but you weren't focusing on it.
"-ave to shake my ass with bird seed on it for the extra money from that Stolas motherfucker- wait- what?! The fuck did you say?"
"I'm," you start, still trying to grasp onto the fact that this wasn't a fever dream. "I'm sorry?"
The imp's dumbfounded expression would have amused you if you weren't so confused.
"So you're sorry. . .and you're not going to kill us? Well the fuck are-"
A pained groan cuts through his words and everyone's attention lies on the female imp, who's holding on to her abdomen with her free hand. You can't imagine how strong her pain tolerance can be, judging on the black blood gushing between the creases of her fingers.
"MILLIE?!" Moxxie cries, dropping his spear to come to her aid.
Not knowing where to touch first. Her face, her arms, her hand grasping onto her wound.
"Shit. . ." Loona breathes, stony look wiped from her face.
"LOONA GET THE FIRST AID KIT." The tall imp orders, the wolf surprisingly following his command with shaking knees.
All have forgotten about the Angel in the room.
Moxxie is in a frenzy, comforting his wife the best he can despite the fresh wound, crackling with energy only a Holy Weapon can leave behind.
No demon can survive a cut like this. The tissue will refuse to ever grow back, and so the blood will refuse to ever stay in. It is futile, but their desperate attempts cloud them.
The female imp sits on a pillowed chair, moaning and crying, not able to focus on her husband's sweet comforting tone as everyone is running around.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK,-" Blitzo cries, looking through the pages of a thick book filled to the brim with what looked to be rituals. You could nearly feel the ominous energy of the book, a glowing red flag in your eyes.
The teenage wolf comes back, grasping on to a plastic box. It’s cracked from her harsh hold.
"Blitzo. . ." She shares a look with him, reality slithering in and wrapping around them, cold and slimy inside their chests.
Moxxie, however, hasn't let it. Desperate enough that he can push aside his own panic to comfort his bleeding partner.
"It's gonna be okay, okay Millie? The baby- The baby's fine just keep breathing with me come on-"
You hold your breath. They know it's too late. They can't do anything.
But you can.
"Please," you stand up, wings dragging over the floor. "Let me help. I can-"
This seems to be the wrong move, the teenage wolf thundering towards you. You stiffen in your stance.
"WHAT? HOW CAN YOU HELP? YOUR KIND ARE THE ONES THAT DID THIS-"
"Please! I would never hurt someone! I am not an exterminator. I can help her-"
She shoves you closer to the gaping window, edging in near the shattered glass on the floor. Digging your heels into the floor board, you grasp onto the window frame.
"Fuck no. Get the fuck away from her."
"I'm the only one who can help. I can heal! Please, she'll die-"
"FUCK YO-"
"LOONA!" Blitzo shouts, stopping the wolf from pushing you 8 floors down the building. "Let her! She's the only chance we have."
"HELL NO-"
"Please. . ." Moxxie's whisper silences the room, and everyone averts their attention, over to his rapidly paling pregnant wife. Bleeding to death on the wooden floor, staining everything black.
"Please just save her."
His eyes beg of you, face anguished and desperate.
You look at the growling wolf in front of you, trying to convey reassurance.
"Trust me."
Either from your words, Moxxie's begging, Millie's progressively loud cries, maybe even Blitzo's cooes for her to calm down, she relents and steps aside not before hissing a warning, daring you to try and harm the small little imp.
Rushing to the couple, you slide and drop to your knees, holding Moxxie's gaze as you press your hand to where his own is, clutching his wife and the wound.
"They'll both be okay." You reassure him. The imp can only nod, still struggling through his tears as he nears a panic attack.
You look at your palms, willing them to glow and think of your healing prayers, hoping you have enough energy to close the wound and help the baby and her. With fully glowing wings, you're happy with the newfound hope that you can help her.
It's draining, like your life is being sucked out of you, bones feeling heavier as the wound starts closing up and Millie stops crying, reverting to winces.
"Holy shit it's actually working..." someone says.
You know you're done when Moxxie exclaims something happily. Something. Something. You don't know what something does or what someone is saying. It's too exhausting to focus on anything now.
Feeling your feathers ruffle and shudder from a distant breeze, you finally fall.
....
The singular white feather from the angel's wings flies and curls through the copper smelling air, weaving through the throng of dead bodies and broken buildings.
The wind doesn't stop.
Until it falls under someone's foot.
Gray clawed fingers delicately pick up the pure white feather, a fanged grin splitting across the demon's face.