Stories I Never Finished

Novocaine

The angel raised his wings with a sweep of dark grey, a contrast of light against the pitch black darkness lain behind him as he rose like glory from his fallen place upon the moss of the ground.

Pale fingers pressed into the damp soil, smearing the rich earth beneath their palms as their touch was hardened into a push; lifting the angel's body with a heave of slow movements.

His wings fluttered, and—like the butterfly whose mere existence can cause the terror of a hurricane—the air rippled against their gentle sway; feathers stained in grey and dripping red shivering in the despairing chill of the air.

The fog floated against its rippling breeze, and the angel rose to his bare feet like a mockery demon crawling from the depths of the earth through a crack in its protective surface. His eyes peeled open, pale skin riddled in bleeding cuts from when his pure body had splintered reality; shattering through its surface with an unholy crash of fire and rage.

Pale blue eyes once beautiful, the entirety of perfection hidden within them, cast a pitch black gaze across the desolate land and if a living creature gazed upon the angel's bedraggled state their eyes would burn like lava, searing through their flesh and melting their bones from the inside.

Most believe the ground of the earth is deep, an unbreakable force of sheer rock and strength, to keep the devils locked beneath its surface; trapping them below, never to see the light of day or break through onto mortal soil.
But as the angel raised a hand clutched to a bloodied dagger dripping in a glowing liquid of purity, the earth shook in violent fear; petrified of the creature who touched its surface.

Heaven had kept the beast trapped within its clouds, high above the world and locked from reality. A promise of death to all living beings should the beast fall to freedom.

The angel's blood boiled as he raised the dagger as though holding a spear and focused his evil gaze into the closest tree among the desolate land of endless fog and tenebrosity. With an almighty hurl of power, he sent the dagger piercing into the bark of the tree, an explosion of light erupting upon impact.

If God were alive to feel the vibrations of demise from such an unholy, deceitful, shatter, He would have trembled before the angel's overpowering stance; forced to watch as the desolate land around the angel turned to ash.

The light imploded, soaking the tree in its heavenly glow and dripping from every branch. It turned to acid, burning through once strong bark until each branch fell to the ground in a sinking puddle of sizzling land; turning gradually into a sink hole as the ground swallowed in on itself.

The earth quaked in terror, cracking open deeper than any mortal-made hole, and the angel watched with a burning sense of vile hatred as lava began to spew from the heavenly chaos he had created.

As Hell was opened for black eyes to gaze upon, a pitiful sight among burning flames and quiet, the devils staggered back from the split of earth; terrified of what would await them should they step beyond the comfort of their world.

For those who were unlucky enough to see an angel staring down upon them, a brief moment of perfect clarity came before their eyes were burned from their sockets and their bodies became nothing more than charred remains left on Hell's floor.

God was dead, and the fallen had begun to rise.

######}######}#######}#####

A city blanketed in darkness lay trapped within its own confines, concrete walls built higher than any skyscraper—so high you could only dream what the sky and land looked like beyond their place.
The gates were monitored by the most brutal of creatures, superhumans modified in dark labs below the ground and utilised as a military so strong no war could be waged against them.

The sky was ashen with grey and black, clouds swirling yet never leaving, blue had long since been a colour of the past, and where the sun once shone down upon the earth its rays could only bounce across the top surface of such divine storms.

Within the blackened sky, high above the people who lived so close together their houses and business were tangled into one another with nothing but dirt and tarmac paths merging into messy lines who lost their way, sat a burning flame within the tallest guarded tower.

The flame burned hotter than any star, a glorious glow of sheer white, blue and red cascading together in an odd sense of perfect beauty. The angel oversaw the demise of the people, senseless death and slaughter left beyond the concrete walls archangels of the past had desperately tried to build—trying to save what little of humanity had been left after the wrath of the beast.