Seven fallen angels incapable of falling in love. One girl that can keep them from spiraling into darkness.
Used to waiting on others to make a decision, Grey is a waitress at a high-end cafe. That is, until she finds herself lured into a parallel...
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Vanity had only seen an army this size once, and back then she'd never really seen it because she was at the front of it, shouting orders and seizing her own kingdom. She was not in control of her body at the time, but she watched her people and her family suffer all the same. The voice that left her lips was hers, but not. The hands that struck her own soldiers were hers, but not.
She gawked at the incoming armada, the ambush far larger than anything they could have planned. This was Aelith's final sweep of Anaphiel; after they'd used their power, made a ward that'd been broken, defended themselves with nothing but adrenaline and a few strokes of celestial energy.
Aelith had planned their execution, and much to Vanity's dismay, she planned it beautifully. This was what it was like to be on the other side of a siege.
"Pay attention, Variel," laughed Aelith. "I'm right here."
Vanity tightened her grasp around her double-edged blade, swinging wildly as one irkan ran by her side. The demon sidestepped her move, running right past her. They all ran past her. None of them stopping to pay attention.
Aelith held out a hand, a thick, iron rod appearing in her palm from a flicker of purple flame. Her battle axe was as long as her head and torso combined, the blade thick and heavy. When it was fully formed, her arm dropped from the weight, the head digging into dirt.
"I won't let them touch you," she said, hefting her shoulder so that the axe raised and fell into her other hand. "This is between you and I, isn't it?"
"You don't have an ounce of honor," said Vanity, bending her legs for an attack. Aelith was impulsive. Completely unpredictable when one was not on their guard. "I can't trust your word."
"Do you trust in how I've fantasized about you begging for your life?"
Vanity raised her voice. "Things were different, once."
"You still think of things from thousands of years ago?" Aelith cackled, strands of wet, black hair falling over her cheeks. "What is that like? Torturing yourself with what ifs. Holding onto hope."
"I wouldn't wish for anything else," said Vanity.
"The sad thing about hope is that one misfortune can turn it to despair. That's what you so proudly claim to be made of."
Vanity squared her shoulders. "I am not made of hope, but from an understanding that you will receive what you deserve by my hand."
Aelith's smug grin withered. Her eyes narrowed to slits, knuckles whitening around the axe's handle. She swung it overhead, screaming as she threw it. Vanity only had time to step sideways, the spinning blade twirling past her chest, her face. She saw the golden flecks in her eyes in the iron's reflection. The axe lodged into nearby wall. Aelith leapt for Vanity's neck.
