Lightbringer

Prologue

Fire surrounded him. It hurt. It hurt so goddamn bad.

The Poison of God was falling. His robes—once white and now stained with the blood of his siblings and his own vessel—flapped in the rush of air as he fell from the high heavens.

Burning flames assaulted his wings and turned his pure-white feathers to a singed black. He tried to catch himself, tried to stop his fall, but the pain tightened his muscles too much to open his wings, if they even remained functional with the amount of feathers that had already been destroyed. A number of the broken feathers had fallen out and were left spiraling in the air above him, still burning and disappearing into ash.

The angel himself felt a storm of emotions. Pain, anger, hurt, disbelief, fear. How could they do this to him? What would happen to him now? He wouldn't be able to take care of himself with burnt wings and broken bones. They banished him. Actually banished him to the most wretched realm of the universe. Rebellion or not, how could they do this to him?!

Turning his head, the falling celestial could see the tall spires of black, ash-covered rock of the desolate realm rushing up to meet him. A weak snarl twisted his lips at the sight but he still prepared himself to hit the ground. His wings were useless for providing anything but pain now. He could only hope the fall would kill him so he could be at peace.

Of course, he wasn't that lucky.

The leader of the angelic rebellion heard the horrible cracks before the incredible pain registered in his mind. A strangled scream passed his lips, a scream that echoed through the twisting paths of the realm known as Hell. His broken body felt as if it were being torn apart over and over again, the small pieces being put back together only to be viciously ripped again.

The flames covering his wings were magically extinguished (likely by his father after sensing his harsh landing), leaving only a few charred feathers and horribly burnt skin.

He lied panting in pain there in the dark, ashy realm. Pain and fear began to overtake the fury that roared within him. He couldn't move, he was hurting too much to sit up, much less walk or hide. He knew other creatures resided in the realm, and he had no desire to meet them. What would degraded beings like hellions to do a broken piece of heaven if they found him like this?

As much as the banished angel desperately wanted to move, he couldn't. He'd never experienced pain like this. His wings were destroyed and his body was broken. All he wanted in that moment was for his soul to perish as well.

And for a while, he would get that wish as his soul could no longer bear the stress and fell into unconsciousness.

⚯

Samael's eyes fluttered open slowly. He felt weak, robbed of strength and exhausted.

As he took in his surroundings, he frowned. The walls were a smooth, shining black stone, the type he could vaguely see his reflection in. The floor was the same, though a white rug covered most of it. He was lying on a rather gothic four-poster bed with a deep red canopy held up by black wood posts, white pillows and silky blood-red sheets complete with golden embroidery. There was a snowy white vanity against the opposite wall and a tall-doored balcony along the right wall.

It was a strange yet intriguing place.

The only other white was the white of his own wings. Samael's frown deepen; his wings had been destroyed, how were they pristine now? Come to think of it, his entire body was healed and painless. Someone had changed him into an elegant set of deep crimson robes, and the angel saw the dagger he'd fallen with resting on the vanity.

Samael's guard snapped up as the white, red-detailed door opened. The man who came in had the angel in absolute confusion yet he didn't dare relax.

"Abel?"