Golden feathers fell around her, their heavenly glow fading to a dull, lifeless grey as they glided to the forest floor. Carol kneeled upon a bed of them, basked in a halo of light. She watched breathlessly as they changed, her heart aching almost as painfully as the fresh and bloody wounds on her back. With trembling fingers she reached out, scooping up a handful of the feathers. They weren't sleek, smooth and beautiful. Now they were bristly, dusty with ash and dirt, the barbs bent and crocked.
As her first tears shed, the forest shuddered. The wind wailed the suppressed cry that was clawing its way up her throat, the cry she was chocking to hold back. The baren trees branches rattled like bones. What little leaves there were scattered through the air, glinting like red wisps through the dark trees. When the last golden feather landed before her, the light shining through the dark sky finally closed, plunging her into darkness. The golden feather withered to grey. With a final breeze, the feathers around her were whisked away, turning to dust in the air.
Carol let out a heart-wrenching sob, her arms wrapping around herself tightly. She stared up at the sky, tears racing down her cheeks.
Her wings were gone.
She would never fly again.
There was much that humans could not see, magic and wonder all around them and yet it was invisible. Once they had not been blind, but as millennias passed, so did the humans desire to believe. Their third eye closed, shielding them - perhaps mercifully - from what was truly there.
They couldn't see the ghosts of their loved ones hovering over them as they wept over their graves. The irritable brownies huffing on their window sills waiting for offerings of milk that would never come. The fairies tending to the gardens or playing in the woods. The demons whispering over their shoulder, luring them to wickedness. The reapers with their shinning sythes waiting nearby for their inevitable demise. Fairies, spirits, monsters, angels, demons. Creatures which had such powerful impacts on their lives and they were blind to it.
It was for this precise reason that none of the humans walking down Haxon Avenue could see the building across from where Carol stood, with the glowing neon sign reading 'Oblivion'. To humans, it appeared there was nothing there at all, just a vacant space in their city where once a small bakers store had stood before it mysteriously burned down, as many listed buildings have an unfortunate habit of doing. It was in the human's best interest to be oblivious to the presence of the bar, it was not a place they would fair well.
Oblivion was a bar for supernatural creatures to gather, a place to sing their hypnotic hymns, dance their anicent frolics, whispers secrets unheard of by mortals and indulge in the company of other twisted creatures that delighted in tormenting humans. All manners of sin flourished in those walls.
Carol straightened her shoulders and crossed the street, keeping her head high as she walked in.
There was no dress code here, all came in the garbs they chose. Some wore the more modest garments that humans favoured, others clung to the traditional clothes of their kind. Fairies with their flowy, lacy dresses and flowers in their hair. Witches, wizards and their ilk draped in their dark robes and pointed hats. Demons in their antique armour, their faces painted with blood. Carol chose to dress more discreetly and comfortably. She wore a red leather jacket, a light blue t-shirt, a black infinity scarf, black skinny jeans and combat boots.
No one spared her glance as she made her way around the flashing dance floor, through the crowds lurking by the booths and standing stalls, and over to the bar. The bartender was a low-grade demon, with pointed ears, pinkish skin and unsettling black eyes. He ceased washing a cup and placed his hands on the table, leaning close. He spoke loudly to be heard over the raving music.
"Your kind aren't welcome here, Angel," he said, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head. "Sorry, ex-Angel."
"And that is exactly why I am welcome here," Carol said with a smile she did not feel. The remainder of her status stung. "Where else can a fallen angel get a drink?"
"If it were a drink you wanted you would have ordered by now," the bartender replied. "What do you want?"
"I'm looking for someone and a little pixie told me that you could help."
"Give me a name and if they're not a rare paying customer, I'll think about helping you. For a price of course."
"Yon-Rogg," Carol replied, proud that she was able to hold back the venom that seeped onto her tongue.
"What is he?"
"It's better if you don't know."
"For me or you?"
"You." Her tone was light, but there was a clear warning in it. The demon was wise enough not to press on for curiosities sake. Carol reached into her jacket and took out a long, velvet container. She pushed it forward. "Payment upfront and I expect your full discretion. No unnecessary questions."
The demon slid the case toward him, subtly peeking inside. His face was basked in a golden glow before he quickly snapped the case shut. He glanced around warily, making sure no one else's interest had been peaked. Inside was a golden angel feather - one of her own that had fallen free from her wings, many years ago. It pained her to let it go, she had so few left to cherish, but they were the only currency she had. Angel feathers were highly sought after in the Devil's Market. They could be used for healing potions or an energy source, some wanting them solely to possess something of the heavens.
"Right this way, my lady," the demon said, suddenly perked with politeness.
Carol rolled her eyes and followed him to a back room. It was dimly lit and filled with shelves and crates, all filled with stock. In the midst of the clutter was a circular table, draped with a ragged purple tablecloth. The demon gestured for her to sit down then hurried over to a container overflowing with rolled-up scrolls.
"We can make this a lot quicker if you have at least a vague idea where he is. Do you know which plane he is on? The Earthly plane? The Lands of the Dead? The Underworld?" With a sneer, he added, "Heaven?"
"If I had the slightest notion were he was I wouldn't need you," Carol said dryly. She had never been able to find him, he always found her. It was why she was forced to find this locating demon.
The demon huffed and tossed aside the maps he was rummaging through. "Alright, we'll do this the old fashion way."
He brought over a basin of water and placed it on the table. He sliced his hand with a flick blade, orange blood dripping into the water. He mumbled an old spell in a tongue she did not understand - a demons language. After a few moments, the waters remained unchanged. He frowned, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"I can't find him," the demon glanced up at her with concern. "Either that means Yon-Rogg is a very popular name, he's dead, or... he's extremely powerful. If its the last one then I'll need more than a name to find him."
Carol hesitated before untucking a vial tied around her neck. Inside was a blue liquid. "Would his blood do?"
"What creature has blue blood?" the demon asked, startled. His clawed fingers took the vial by the cord, looking at it with disgusted interest.
"Just do the location spell."
The demon looked unnerved but complied. He held the vial above the water, chanting the spell again. The waters began to ripple and change colour like the northern lights, an image taking shape within.
Carol felt her heart ache, her body tensing.
Yon-Rogg, as clear as day, within the waters.
"Handsome fellow, ain't he?" the bartender said slyly. "Wasn't just heaven you fell from, was it?"
Carol kept her face impassive, ignoring the demons jabs. It was just as painful as his earlier slice at her. Demons were skilled when it came to throwing biting remarks and this one, despite knowing nothing of her past, was particularly lucky with his quips.
The image in the waters zoomed out, revealing more of the scene. Yon-Rogg was standing on the ledge of a skyscraper, one in the middle of a city unlike any she had ever seen. It didn't look like any human city. There was something otherworldly about the structures, strange symbols like stars adoring them. There were two suns in the sky, setting in the distance and bathing the city in an amber hue. The light made Yon-Rogg look almost as angelic as the angels he despised.
Her breath hitched when she saw what he was holding in his hand, his fingers tenderly brushing the bristles. A golden feather. Her feather. Centuries later and he still had it. She wanted to reach into the waters and rip it from his undeserving hands.
The demons lecherous grin fell when he saw what he was dealing with.
"Dark blue wings... he's a... a-" he demon chair clattered to the floor as he stumbled out of it. He backed away from the water, as though he was fearful he could be seen by the golden eyes within.
"A dark angel," Carol finished for him with a shrug. "Where is he?"
"Are you mad? You had me looking for a bloody dark angel? Do you know what he'll do to me if he finds out I was searching for him? A bloody dark angel!"
"He'll be the least of your worries if you don't tell me where he is," Carol said threateningly, rising her feet.
"You can't do anything to me. It's against your rules. No angel will harm another living thing," the demon said smugly. "Even us demons. Just like you, we have a right to exist and carry out our duties."
Carol pulled out a dagger from her boot. It was made of silver, lined with iron, the handle intricately decorated with symbols that represented powerful spells. The demon could smell the magic from it and began backing away until his back was against the wall.
"You're bluffing," the demon choked out a laugh. "The rules-"
"For an angel to fall, we have to break the rules. Which one of many do you think I broke?" Carol said, twirling her dagger in her hand. "It'd be quicker to list the ones I didn't break."
"Why would you want to find a dark angel?" the demon asked, panicked as she drew closer. He was a low-level demon with no abilities other than locating lost things, he wouldn't stand a chance against her or the dagger. "What chance does a fallen angel have against something like that?"
"Doesn't matter what my chances are. If I don't try then we're all dead."
"What do you mean?" the demon whispered.
"I need to find him otherwise he and the other dark angels are going to bring about the apocalypse."
Paris, France. 1345.
Hidden on the ledge of the bell tower of Notre Dame, an angel took refuge from the rain. Her knees were pulled into her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Her gown of shimmering white was soaked through, clinging to her skin. Her golden tresses fell to her waist in wet strands, partly covering her face. Far down below, she watched with hollow despair as the people suffered. Even through the walls of their homes she could feel their pain and hear their sorrows. Their prayers all begged for the same thing - a cure for the plague.
The Black Death had been devasting most of the world, wiping out millions. It was a horrible disease, painful and slow. She had tried to help as many as she could with her healing touch, but now her healing abilities had been bound. She was not to interfere with the natural order of the universe, the archangels had warned her. People fell ill, people died. That was the way it was. All an angel like her could do was watch over them, listen to their prayers, and protect them from the sinister promises of deceitful demons.
It was a point of heated disagreement between her and the higher angels. Carol was consistently being scolded and punished for intervening with the mortals in ways that she should not. But how could she deny helping when people needed her? It frustrated and angered her to no end.
The clouds rumbled and flashed, the cathedral casting a shadow over the small buildings below. People ran for shelter, pushing their carts under ledges of buildings and shutting their windows. The square below was soon void of life, nothing but muddy puddles and empty stalls.
Perched upon the cathedral walls, the grotesque gargoyles growled. Carol glanced towards them. Between each flash of lightening their shadows moved while their bodies remained stone and still. They were agitated, restless. Something had them spooked.
Carol rose to her feet, her back pushed up against the wall, her wings flattened. She looked below for any signs of demons or foul spirits, it was the only thing that could upset the guardians of the church. Most of the dark ones stayed away from holy and sacred grounds, the promise of melted flesh and seared bones enough to keep them far from the gargoyles watchful gaze.
Carol stood up on the ledge then swooped down, spreading her wings. She soared upwards, landing on the tilted wooden roof behind the two towers. The gargoyles grunting whispers warned her that something was here, something dark and unwelcome. With a rub of her right fingers, speckles of white light danced around her hand, her golden wings glittering with power. She crept along the roof, vigilant of her surroundings.
She could feel it now. An energy, dark and dangerous and prowling nearby. Whatever it was it had to be strong. Unholy creatures could not step foot in holy places without their bodies burning upon contact, such places were protected by divine light. She couldn't sence or hear any pain coming from the creature - wherever it was - which mean that it wasn't affected. It was a troubling thought. Why would any powerful demons come here?
Carol reached the top of the roof and looked towards the towers. Her heart jolted as lightning flashed. For a second, a winged shadow overtook hers on the tower walls, it's wings eclipsing her. The creature was behind her.
The gargoyles shrieked.
She spun around, sending a burst of heavily light blindly towards the trespasser. She heard the swoop of wings. Her attack missed.
Carol looked up, startled by what she found.
High above her, standing on the ledge of the spiral tower was a man. His hair was plastered to his face by the rain, his skin pale and dripping with droplets of water. He was dressed in a long black coat, a low cut black poet shirt visible underneath. The most striking thing about him was his wings, folded behind him. At first, Carol thought he was a fellow angel but he couldn't be. Angel wings were white, gold, black or brown, their feathers resembling that of an elongated swan feather. His wings were dark blue, the feathers similar to that of a crow, with a lighter shade of blue shining through.
Carol frowned, unsure what she was dealing with. He was the presence she had sensed. He had to be a demon, a powerful one to withstand the cathedrals protections.
"I mean you no harm," he said, his voice soothing and strong. He raised his hands in surrender.
"The gargoyles don't seem to agree," Carol yelled up to him.
Around them, though motionless they appeared, the stone monuments growled and hissed.
"You should leave," Carol said. "You're making them nervous."
Having the gargoyles upset was never good. The creatures seldom had to resort to it, but they would happily start tearing up the building they were meant to protect so they could have bricks to chuck at any threats. If the cathedral was to stay in tack he had to go. She didn't think the city would be happy about their newly constructed church being decimated by angry gargoyles.
"And if I don't want to?" He asked curiously.
Carol spread out her wings to their full span and took a step forward. "Then you and I will have a problem."
"Rather unfitting of an angel. Aren't you suppose to be pacifists?"
"There aren't any rules saying we can't defend ourselves."
"I wouldn't know, your list of rules are tedious even for me," the man drawled, leaning back against the spiral. Well, she wouldn't disagree there. "As I said, I don't intend to hurt you."
"And just who and what are you?" Carol asked.
"Yon-Rogg," he nodded his head politely. "And you?"
"Carol," she replied. "You didn't answer my second question. Are you a demon?"
"Of a sort," he said cryptically, shrugging one shoulder. "Why were you weeping?"
Carol tensed. If he had seen her crying then that meant he had been watching her, heaven only knows for how long for. When she had first landed on the cathedral, it had taken her a while to stop her tears. She had come here to seek sanctuary from the heavens, having just been stripped of her healing power and thoroughly scolded. She had been upset at her inability to help the humans anymore, wrathful at her elders for taking her power away and at their refusal to help those in need. Her healing touch would not be given back for a hundred years, any injury she sustained would have to heal naturally at the pace of a human.
It was a harsh punishment, one she felt they had given her to sway her from her other routine rule-breaking of picking fights with demons. When it came to demons tempting humans, angels were meant to act as a second conscious, encouraging the human to make the right choice and reject the demons. But Carol found it didn't always work. Knocking the demon out, however, was far more effective, though far more frowned upon. Angels were forbidden from fighting, even demons.
Carol glared at the man, feeling irritated that she hadn't detected him sooner.
"None of your business," she replied sharply.
Lightning flashed and the man vanished. Carol blinked, confused before she felt a presence behind her. She twirled around, her dress flaring out. He was standing a few feet away. From this close, she could see the colours of his eyes, golden like the harvest moon. He was handsome, in a rogueish kind of way.
"You're upset because of what is happening out there," he gestured to the city, glancing at it with bitterness in his eyes. "All this pain, all this suffering, you can feel it. The Black Death has wiped out millions and will wipe out millions more and there is nothing the mortals can do to stop it." He turned his attention back to her. "This isn't even the first disease to cause devastation nor will it be the last. Yet you stand by and do nothing?"
"I can't," Carol bit out. "Angels aren't allowed to interfere in the affairs of humans."
"And why not?"
It was a question Carol did not have a satisfactory answer for. She didn't understand the rule herself. What was the point in her powers if she couldn't use them? With a single touch, she could cure a person of any disease or injury, yet to do so would earn her a punishment - had earned her a punishment.
"And what exactly are you doing to help?" Carol challenged, quirking an eyebrow. "Don't pretend you care about them."
"I do care," Yon-Rogg said with conviction, eyes shining brightly. "More than any angel does, that's for certain."
"What does that mean?"Carol asked, narrowing her eyes.
Before Yon-Rogg could ask, a chunk of stone skimmed past his head. Carol leapt out of its reach, her wings fanned out behind her. The gargoyles remained unmoving, but both Carol and Yon-Rogg were aware it was they who had cast the stone.
"I think I've out-stayed me welcome," Yon-Rogg conceded. "Perhaps we'll cross paths again, Carol."
"I hope not," Carol said with fake sweetness.
Yon-Rogg smirked, shaking his head. When the lightning lit up the sky in vibrant streaks, he vanished.
It was only later after consulting with her fellow guardian angels that she found out what he was.
A dark angel.