Angelblood - Retribution

The Battlefield

And their sun does never shine,

And their fields are bleak and bare,

And their ways are fill'd with thorns:

It is eternal winter there.

                                       - William Blake, Holy Thursday 

It is late at night. The battle raged for days. It felt like months. Years even.

Finally, the struggle is over and the fog of war slowly starts to dissipate into just a bad memory. The small remains of the celestial army struggle for air to breath. Too long this battle was fought. Too long the bloodshed. Everyone is exhausted and tired. Their swords notched and their wings spilled with the remains of their enemies as well as their own kin.

They stand scattered all over the field of glory but none of them feels glorious. Nothing is oh so glorious about war. The only thing they can think of is the fact they survived and sadness fills their mind about all the brothers they lost. Among them, an exceptionally tall and slender one is standing. The wings black as the depths of the darkest of nights and, uncommon among those creatures and a contradiction to the golden full plate armor worn by them, this one wears one in a similar color as those black wings. This celestial creature does not wield the usual kind of swords the others hold. This one always preferred the elegance of a katana which is cleaned with the fabric of a fallen right this moment to finally be sheathed. The face of this creature is expressionless as much as the eyes are; black and cold. This one is no male but a woman with long white hair full of dirt, sweat and blood that also covers the steel of her heavy armor which she seems to carry with ease.

Her head turns and her hand forms a strong fist around the handle of her sword as she hears movements at her side. One of her enemies digs itself out from under the bodies. She raises her foot and slams it down with the weight of her full body onto the chest of the one who tries to escape.

"There is no escape demon!" She snarls as she looks into the red gleaming eyes of the winged beast beneath her. The blood on the black feathers sparkles in the moonlight as she stands upright towering over the helpless creature. The Angel pulls her sword out partially again.

"I am not afraid of death. I am only afraid of ever becoming like you. No heart. No soul. No passion. Just... Darkness!" The demon says and turns its head away. The metal decorations and jewelry on its horns and its seductive clothes make the angel hesitate. The darkling's words seem to hit a sore spot. The angel pushes her katana back into the well-ornamented sheath then takes a rusty pair of shackles from one of the bodies on the ground beneath her. She locks them around the demon's wrists and makes sure the chains are tight and secure.

"Good you wear metal around your neck already. This way I only need to attach a chain to it and see how nice you will do among my kin. To be paraded through the camp. The life so cold and passionless you fear so much. This is much more punishment than death can ever be for your kind." She stares without a sign of emotion at her prisoner who pulls at the chains and screams in vain over the announced punishment. This indeed is worse than death. Most degrading and hurtful. So much more the demon would like to die with a weapon in their hand.

"I told you there is no escape. From today on you, the demon will serve me, an angel. And your passion will not help you. And your hate will not help you. And your seduction will not help you. As none of it will ever have a meaning to me." She gives the chain a slight tug. "You are used to the whip as I assume and you better get used to the chains."

With those words, she drags the demon over the battlefield passing all the other survivors who chuckle and laugh at the captured creature until they finally reach the camp. The angel no longer replies to any words. No pleading seems to help nor cursing or swearing.

All the angel has become ... is silence.