The plan had been simple. Charlie would lead her army of bloodthirsty semi trained cannibals into battle. Defending the grounds of the Hotel.
The plan had been effective. Alastor would create a dome with his shadow magic. Trapping angels inside and making sure they would not get overwhelmed by the sheer amount of Heavens exorcists.
The plan had not been to get harmed. Still, there is blood running through his fingers. Dripping down the snarl of his lips. Oozing out of the gaping wound Adam had inflicted on Alastor's chest. It burns. The heavenly essence that had been branded into the angelic steel. It scorches.
Ah, the foolish way he had believed to outwit and outstrength Adam. A blow to his ego as well. Lucky that no one had seen. Though, when Alastor glances up at the first man boisterously laughing at the maimed sinner, instead of fury, fear grips him.
A hair's length he realizes. A hair's length deeper and he would have been dead.
Alastor crawls more upright, leaning against the stone railing of the Hotel. End game. He needs to leave. Escape. Or else there would be no more days alive to drown in the humiliation of this defeat. Fuck this. Fuck waving the white flag of surrender.
So when the first man landed to finish the job. Alastor manifested the last of his powers. Darkness pulling him to safety. "-ending its broadcast."
"No you don't."
A chill runs down his neck as when he descends into his safe haven, he hears the calm voice. Not Adam's. A woman's. Before he feels something cold latch onto his wrist. Where his vision should be black, his body navigating by sheer experience to teleport away, light suddenly flashes, blinding him and he is flung. Left. Right. Up. He doesn't even know. His back cracks and his mouth gapes open in silent pain as he hits something. A wall. Then the concrete of the streets.
Something had pulled him out mid teleportation. Out of his in between shadow realm. Thrown him back. Not the Hotel. He is not near the Hotel anymore. Still in Hell and in the city. Empty as all sinners are in hiding. The only reason why they are fairly safe is because they are not the main target this time.
Alastor's ears perk up as he hears steps approaching him. His eyes turn into dials on instinct as his body reacts to the imminent danger approaching. Slowly, he pushes himself slightly up, nails scraping the stone, as he faces the creature that held the power to annul his.
At first glance, she looks the same as her sisters in battle. That grey exorcist dress. A mask with horns. An angelic spear in hands. But no. She is not like her sisters. Her sheer aura defies that. The tendrils of silver, barely visible as they disappear, counter that.
But her job is the same. Clear as her spear twirls in her hand. Ready to strike her target down.
He knows he needs to flee. Now. His body refuses. Arms wobble as he tries to push himself straighter.
The point gleams in the red light of Hell as she points it at Alastor, grazing his neck to tilt his head up. Forcing him to focus his eyes on her. The last thing he would ever face.
"May God forgive his child for the path chosen." The murmuring of her voice was almost soothing. Regretful. Unreadable when there is no expression to clarify the intentions of her words.
The spear pulls back, her next movement vividly predictable. It veers his powers back into motion. A final desperate attempt to survive. To live.
With a screech that shatters the windows around them, he lunches forward. Tendrils of black matter propel him, crashing himself against her. He sends them both through a wall. Pins her beneath him as static screams fill the air. Claws strike, over and over again, like a wild animal. But none hit as she simply deflects his blows.
A foot to his chest kicks him off. Sparks of white flash in front of his eyes because of the pain. Still, he scrambles up. Eyes wild and manic as he gives the woman no time to attack.
Over and over again they repeat it. He tackles her. They crash from building to building. Sometimes, she is quicker and grabs him. Throwing him instead but his tendrils pull her along when she doesn't cut through them fast enough. He manages to cut her. Mildly wound her. But it is not enough. He is not strong enough. And she is being patient. Letting him struggle. Almost as if in her pity she lets him squirm out his final attempt to survive.
Though when his tendril wraps around her neck, and smashes her face against the floor, her patience just as her mask cracks.
"Enough." The same cold caress he had felt on his wrist before, now chokes his neck. With a pull he is thrown through one more wall, landing against a shelf. The bottles with pink fluids drop and break, letting up soft puffs of mist as Alastor leans panting against the broken wood. His whole suit drenched in blood as the woman walks through the hole towards him.
She reaches up and with a thud she discards the mask on the floor. His breathing stills for a mere second as silver eyes gaze down on him. Moonlight stunning orbs that adorn the most delicate and elegant face he has ever behold. Big eyes. Sharp eyebrows. Sweet nose. Lovely lips. Her hair is cut short to her shoulders, like it is supposed to be with exorcist angels, but her midnight black locks wave unruly as if defying that.
"You have fought till your last ounce of strength. You can be proud of that. It is time though that I have to lay you to rest." As she stands over him, her second of readjusting the grip on her weapon was enough to give Alastor the time to dig his nails into her thighs.
She yelps indignantly as he pulls her down and pins her by the shoulders, tendrils wrapping around her, claws digging into her skin through her dress. The golden blood he sees satisfying. But not as satisfying to have her body pinned beneath his. Her eyes wide. Panting slightly as well. As the bewhelming sickening sweet fog from the bottles wafts between them.
She looks roughened up, sweaty as well, from their tumbling and throwing. He swallows a sudden dryness, words caught in his throat. He grins down at her the best he can through the unrelenting pulsing of pain that courses through his body. But there is something else. The quickening of his heartbeat. The heat that spreads. A different urge that ignites as he stares at her, helplessly pinned beneath him.
An urge he has heard of before but never felt. Not in this or his former life. As he stares at her, watches every pant that escapes her lips, it is undeniable.
Lust.
Alastor snarls as he grabs her hair at the nape of her neck and pulls. The sound she makes, that delicious soft whimper, shoots a pang to his nether region he can not deny. And somewhere, his gut tells him that if she had wanted him off, she would have done so already. She could easily overpower him. Instead, she lays still, and watches him, as he watches her, with a heavy hooded gaze in her eyes.
He sees her swallow. He feels her squirm beneath him. Though he quickly realizes she is rubbing her legs together.
The speed that his blood travels through his veins rises. His other hand moves without him willing it to happen. It travels up the side of her neck, towards her cheek. His thumb caresses her lower lip so he can feel the hitch in her breathing.
Fuck.
His mouth crashes down on hers. Claiming her. Forcing himself onto her. She does not flinch away. Does not try to fight him off. Instead, her lips dance against his as eagerly and hungrily. They kiss like they fought. Relentless. Unyielding. Their tongues clashing together in a need to devour one another. Without him noticing, the restraints disappear, his tendrils move away, so her hands can roam. And they grip him. One tight in his coat while her other hand holds on to his hair, as if afraid he might pull away.
But he doesn't. By the Hells he doesn't. He only wants more. As this feels so good. She tastes so good. He wants to taste her more. But not here. Not in the open. If he was going to taste this fine specimen the way she deserves he is going to do that in seclusion. Where only he can hear those delicious symphonic moans she is already producing.
One arm snakes around her waist and he holds her tightly as darkness surrounds them. He feels her gasp against his lips out of what he thinks surprise before they drop onto the softness of a bed. His bed that stands in the apartment beneath his old broadcasting tower.
For a split second they pause their frantic kissing to look at eachother. Their minds in a daze, unable to claw out of that fog of surrealness. And then she giggles. A short lovely sound accompanied by a twinkle in her eyes and smile. A young excited eagerness shines through. It has his heart leaping. And he can not help but return an eager, honest, smile as well.
When they reconnect their lips, it's less animalistic. Still the same hunger and need. Though gentler. Savouring. The more they touch, the more their bodies start screaming for more. Clothes. There is too much clothes between them. Uncaring for the pieces of fabric, Alastor claws her dress away, careful still in his lust clouded mind not to maim her skin, which is smooth and creamy white grey.
His lips move towards her neck as he discards her off her clothes. The way her fingers run through his hair and massage his scalp has him purring against her neck. She smells so divine as well. Sweet but soft. Like raindrops on a flower.
When she is only left in her underwear, he pushes himself up on his hands to eye this lovely creature up and down. Her body delicately curved. Smears of gold blood still from their fight and some red blood from him on her skin. Though she doesn't seem to mind nor notice. What Alastor notices though is the golden blush tainting her cheeks and her ethereal wings sprawl under her.
He is going to ravish this angel.
The reclaiming of her lips is less kind now as he grinds his hardness against her. A shiver runs through him at the sensation he never enjoyed before. But she felt good. So good. The way she grinds up against him urges him to press down harder. Her hands fumble with his coat. Fumbles too hard. He stiffens and groans hard into her mouth as his body registers the pain that had been dulled before.
With a grimace and scowl he pushes himself upright onto his knees. Panting hard and with rigid hateful movement he throws off his coat and shirt. Revealing the large bleeding slice on his chest. He didn't care. This affliction will not stop him from-
Gentle fingers ghost over the edges of his wound. The severity of the wound seems to sober her up. That pity he sees in her eyes, it infuriates him. He is not weak. He does not need pity nor to be touched as if he is a fragile doll.
With a snarl he grabs her wrist and pulls her up, one arm around her shoulders to keep her from falling back to the mattress, as his tongue plunges into her mouth. Flush against his chest. His throbbing painful chest. It only makes him kiss her harder. And she kisses back. Answers him in his request to ignore it. Till he feels her hands on his shoulders, slightly trying to push him away. It only makes him tighten his hold.
"W-Wait-" She breathes between their lips. "Let me-" Another kiss forces her words down. Though, the curiousness of that unfinished sentence gets the better of him. So he slows. Till he stops. And she does not pull away completely. Instead, she places her hand on his cheek and kisses her way to his neck. Where she licks, and kisses and places soft bites that have his tail wagging. To distract him from what she is about to do.
A sharp pain cuts through his chest, and in his surprise, his claw rakes along her back. She gasps but her glowing hand keeps moving over his wound, from left to right. Knitting. Sewing. Till it is closed. Not healed. But sealed with divine stitches. He is panting hard as he leans back, touching the treated wound tentatively. It is less sensitive to touch. Hurting only slightly compared to before. The burning subdued.
Kisses along his neck and jaw pull his attention back to the lovely generous creature he was going to show his want and gratitude to. He takes quick care of their final pieces of clothing before he starts his worshipping of her body. He starts his journey at her neck, kissing, sucking, biting slightly though never breaking the skin. His hands skimming over all the skin he can find. He loves the way her body reacts with every touch he gives. Aching into it almost. The sounds she makes pleading him to continue. To give her more. So he does.
Traveling down, his mouth finds her breasts, which he gives just as much attention as her neck. Rolling her nipple with his tongue as his hand massages her other breast thoroughly as if he had done this already a million times to her body, knowing exactly how to coax out the most pleasure in their foreplay.
Finally, when her begging sounds become almost pleading whimpers, when the pulling of his hair signals her bodily impatience. He travels further south. He hooks one leg up, ghosting his lips along her inner thigh as he keeps his red hooded eyes on her. The anticipation on her face screams. He is oh so tempted to really bite her right then and there. But he restrains himself. Instead, he keeps his eyes on her as he gives the most sensitive part of her body a very slow and long lick.
Her back arches and this time her whimper stutters. Her leg already trembles. A first taste of nirvana for both of them. He does not hold himself back after that. With both hands he holds her firmly to him as his mouth begins to pleasure her. He has to retrain her from clamping her legs together as his tongue caresses her folds, sucking and licking her clit and taking her to highs she has never flown to before. He can see it when it happens. See when it all becomes too much for the angel being defiled. And he lets her fall. He pushes his fingers inside and begins caressing her as he sucks and licks at her heatedly. A strangled cry escapes her lips and he feels her clamp around his fingers as she comes. He lets her ride out her high, prolonging it as long as he could by gently continuing his motions before he feels her relax.
Alastor licks his fingers clean before he kisses his way back up her thinly with sweat covered body. Her breathing is still uneven when he gives her another kiss. Her arms wrap around him as she deepens the kiss, tasting herself. It gives Alastor a strange feeling. This kiss is different from her end. Almost as if thanking him.
"Name." She murmurs against his lips. "What is your name?"
It only now occurs to him the lack of proper introductions. "Alastor."
"Alastor." The way she says his name, almost like a prayer, sends a shiver down his spine. She kisses him, once more fueled with a heated passion. "Take me, Alastor."
Animalistic need rushes back through his veins by such simple words. The throbbing in his own ignored manhood now achingly clear. "As you wish, darling angel." He positions himself against her entrance, angling one leg of hers a bit up, before slowly pushing himself in, not wanting to rip through a lady as it is probably her first time. And it is. Hells he feels that it is as she is so tight. And she groans. And stiffens. Her nails clench in his shoulders.
He pauses for a second, even if that takes a lot of effort, letting her adjust. Returning the distraction, he begins to suck and kiss her neck. His hands rubbing gentle firm circles on her hips. He feels her relax in his arms, angling her neck to give him better access. And when she breathes "O-Okay…" is when his restraints come loose.
What started as a firm slow pace quickly became a pounding to finally relieve them both of their growing arousal and lust. She needed to be taken as much as he needed to take her. Which was clear from the growing moans and screams and chanting of his name. The flurry of hands touching him only coaxing and pulling him closer. It was mind numbing. Neither was thinking. Only begging eachother for more. That pleasure. That carnal heat. Neither had experienced before. And they were revelling in it.
In a desperate attempt to go deeper, harder, Alastor suddenly pulls out and flips her over on her hands and knees. There is only a slight second of confusion when he lifts her hips up and pushes her chest down onto the mattress. The second he slams back into her, a scream erupts from her throat. mercilessly he grips her waist as he uses that leverage to thrust savagely into her. Not caring that his claws mark her. Only chasing after their highs. Her hands are tearing at the sheets. Tears form in her eyes but the look on her face tells him it is not from pain. She tightens around him. She is close. So close. Just as he is.
His antlers grow as his body seems to prepare himself for the final mile. "Name." He growls out. When she doesn't seem to hear him, he reaches out and slightly grips her hair to get her attention. "Name."
What he hears, from all the sounds she has produced before, is the most beautiful of all. "Paira."
And with that name on his lips, they both scream out their release.
Alastor was not a being that needed sleep. Not at all. He could roam the nights for weeks on end without a little bit of shut eye. So it was a peculiar feeling to be slowly rousing to the land of the awake from a very deep slumber. He can't even remember the last time when he had slept this soundly. There is a dull aching in his body that does not actually signal a restful night though. He groans as one arm reaches up and rubs his face. Only one arm is able to move. With a frown he looks groggily down at what is constricting him. Ah. Merely the body of a female that is half draped over him.
His gut sinks as realisation dawns over him. Frozen in shock he stares at the creature as memories begin to resurface. The escape. The fight. The… Very violent intercourse they had. Out of sheer disgust, he jumps out of the bed, effectively flinging the still slumbering woman off of him but waking her in his actions.
Her eyes go wide as she scans the area, clutching the sheets to her chest when her eyes land on the, still very naked, deer demon standing sneering at her from the other side of the room. He looks like he is about to murder her. Her own body on high alert to counter his attack when her own memories flood back as well. She gasps before she clasps a hand over her mouth. Oh by the gods. "D-Did you-"
"If you are going to dare and say rape, dear, I would advice you to keep that mouth of yours shut. The defiling was as much received as done to one another." Alright, the deer demon seems to detest the situation as well judging by the mere pull of his nose and the fact he stands as if he wants to shed his skin.
But that only brings more confusion to the situation. "Alright." She moves, which makes Alastor tense though he quickly realizes she merely moved to lean with her back against the headboard. "What… Happened then?"
Alastor frowns, trying to puzzle the pieces together how they had ended up fucking eachother silly. There was no lead to it. Sure he had been pleasantly intrigued when he had witnessed her features. But that had been a pure pang of curiosity. Nothing that is worthy to point out. But it had been in that last building where-
His eyes widen as the pieces click.
The pinkish fog from the bottles. The store they had crashes into. A potion store. That immediate heat and rush. "Well dear, it seems we had found ourselves in the gripping vines of a Lust Potion."
"Those are?"
Alastor huffs a breath of annoyance as his grin pulls tighter. "A concoction that infects its victim with mind numbing arousal and lust. In other words, the need to lay with any living breathing thing in reach without a second of intelligent thinking."
The angel pales as she clutches the sheet closer to her chest. As if there was anything left to save of her modesty.
"Well then-" Alastor moves quickly, grabbing a left over suit from his clothed and pulling them one with rapid movements. He wanted to shower to get her stench off of him but more than that, he needed to be out of her presence. It irks him. It makes him think of… that. "- I say we both turn our heels and forget this ever happened! Certainly not an ordeal one of us wishes to remember. See yourself out the door if you are kind."
And with that, he snaps his fingers and disappears, ignoring the way her face contorts in a mixture of fear and desperation as she reaches out towards him.
The members of the rebuilt Hotel welcomed him, after he had scrubbed his skin raw in his chambers, with open arms. Sure with some questioning and accusations, first of him fleeing the scene but after convincing them he would have been just as dead as the oh so brave Sir Pentious, they let it slide. Especially Charlie was just happy that he had not been another victim. Well. Victim he is. Just not death. He could not shake her off. It was almost like he could still feel her hands on him. Smell her. Taste her. It nauseated him to think that he had done such disgusting things to her and himself as well. Because yes, he had a part to play in this ordeal. He had not stopped it. Could not have stopped it. But still, he hated the mere fact that he have had no control over the whole situation.
Her sounds haunt him. The chanting of his name from her lips. Luckily. This will be the past. Swept under a rug forever. Gone. A terrible filthy nightmare to one day not have anymore.
What is still very real though is the wound on his chest. Even if she had closed it, the burning is intensifying. Spreading. Every day it gets harder to hide it. To keep his grin up while moving becomes excruciating near the end of the day. The fact that there is always someone around him, not a chance to drop his facade, makes it more difficult. He is not going to show this weakness. He will heal. It must. But after the seventh night, he dares take a closer look. The gold black dripping festering wound did not look like healing. He ignores it. For three more weeks. And when he checks again, nothing had improved. His powers weakening. His body getting more tired.
He snarls as he puts his tailcoat back on, takes a deep breath and restarts his facade. Another day of the residents swarming him. Charlie chatting. Vaggie asking questions. Nifty destroying something. Angel's disgusting sexualized remarks. When Cherry actually bumps into him while running through the halls, is when he snaps. Radio static fills the air as he looks like he is about to pluck Cherry's single eyeball out.
Instead, Alastor manages to seethe. "If you would excuse me. Tell Charlie I will be back tonight. I have business to attend to." And with that he pulls himself into the dark shadow, traveling to his apartment room.
His legs give out when he arrives, collapsing on the ground near his bed. He grips his chest as he squeezes his eyes shut. The pain. It's unbearable. It feels like-
A sound in the living room had his ears perk up. This scent. Still strong. Rage fills his veins as he pushes himself off of the ground and with as steady of a pace as he can muster, flings the door to his living room open.
And there she is. That damned angel. In his private residence. Wearing his red pyjama which is way too oversized for her frame. "What are you still doing here?" He spits out, not in the mood or care at all for pleasant buttered words.
The woman looks like she had already anticipated this day would come when she stands, her arms folded. "I can't return home."
"Surely you can! If you are worried if they would accept a defiled failed exorcist angel back, just go and see! I am sure they have fitting rules and punishments for such mishaps."
She grimaces a bit by the mere thought but shakes her head. "I am not afraid. There is just no way for me to return home. I…" she sighs and looks to the side. "There are only a few angels who can create portals between Heaven and Hell. If none opens, I have no way to return. I am literally stuck till the next extermination."
"Ha! That might be a long wait-" He moves to the window and draws a curtain back. A clear view on the tower that used to be counting down the days. "- as Adam is dead. And a new extermination date is yet to be announced or never to happen again." The woman's eyes widen as she rushes to the window, Alastor taking an immediate step back with a snarl to create distance. The graveness of her situation dawns in. "Still, I expect you to be out before lightfall. You are still squatting my residence and even having the audacity to be wearing my clothes."
"You ripped mine."
"I don't care. I want you out."
"You can't expect me to go out there on my own. I will be torn apart. I can not fight against all sinners on my own."
"Surely a creative strong angel like yourself will find a way. Perhaps you can be someone's plaything in exchange for safety! There is a certain demon called Valentino who might have a job for you." he says, brushing her off as he moves to walk past her.
"W-Wait-"
And that is when she makes a grave mistake. In her reaction to prevent him from cutting the discussion short, she reaches out, laying her hand on his chest. He retaliates as if she had electrocuted him. Claws strike her face and they both stumble back. Paira against the wall, holding her bleeding cheek. Alastor holding onto the couch for dear life, clutching his chest as his legs shake. Breathing ragged. The amount of pain so intense that it has his head dizzy.
"You're-"
The sudden softness in her voice has him snarling at her. "I suggest you keep your mouth shut and leave. Now."
She straightens up, seeming to forget the dripping wound on her face as she slowly walks closer. With each step his eyes get more menacing but it does not stop her. "Alastor,-" The fact that she remembers his name gets overridden by her next words. "- you are dying."
His eyes widen. Dying. No. It is merely infected. It needed time. That is all. "Ha ha! Dying? That is quite a gruesome predicament you are preaching. It is merely the wound inflicted to me that is having trouble mending. That is all!"
"It was dealt by Adam. His weapons are more than just angelic steel. His are weaved and forged with the essence of Heaven itself. It has festered inside of you. Poisoning and killing you slowly."
Poisoning him with heavenly essence. He could not deny the truth in her words. So that means… A harsh manic laugh escapes him. "Lovely! Oh quite the story to be told. The fearsome radio demon slowly deteriorates by the poison that travels through his veins. Not the way I intended to go!"
His loud laughter bounces off the walls. Till her words silences them abruptly. "I can save you." The urgency in his eyes demand her to explain further. "I am a healer. I have the ability to remove the heavenly essence from your body. It will hurt. It will take time as it has been festering for long. But I can cure you. You don't have to die."
"Couldn't have started with that? I would comment that is quite sadistic on your part." She grimaces funnily as he leans back against the couch. "Go ahead then. Do your angelic curing trick."
She raises one eyebrow and folds her arms. "Do you honestly think I am a fool that just lives to spread around generosity with nothing in return?" Alastor tilts his head to the side and his grin widens. That's an yes. "No. I know how this all works. Once I am done I still will get kicked out. That much is plain obvious. So I suggest we do what apparently you demons do best. We make a deal."
A deal? The angelic thing wants to make a deal? With him. Interesting. "What do you propose?"
"I heal you. To full health. In return, you keep me safe and assist me in finding my way back to Heaven. You will not harm me. You will protect me when necessary. You will provide me with shelter and food. The deal only fulfilled from your part when I am safe and sound back where I belong."
"If that is all!" Alastor holds out his hand, his mind already working on the details she had not specified which he could manipulate to his advantage. His hand starts to glow an eerie green and she stares at it, probably already regretting her decision but knowing there was no other way to go. She could only trust the devil she knew.
"Do realize that if you find other ways to harm or kill me, that you might die as well." He only humms and wiggles his fingers, getting slightly impatient. Paira takes a deep breath. No turning back. She reaches out and intertwines their hands. Alastor's face contorts into something that she could only describe as a nightmare as a surge of power bursts through the air, the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright as she feels the deal being sealed.
Once sealed, Alastor quickly pulls his hand away from hers, not wanting her hand on him longer than needed. It makes memories involuntarily resurface. Sickening. Her presence is already enough. "Well, get on with it then."
Paira raises one eyebrow at his hostility, which shouldn't be surprising honestly. He is a demon. "Alright. Remove your coat and shirt." The face he pulls makes her roll her eyes lightly. "I am not going to violate you. I need to have access to your injury."
Begrudgingly and with some complaints under his breath, he neatly takes off said pieces of clothes. Automatically, his arms cross over his chest. When she motions him to lay down on the couch his snarl deepens. Still, he obeys. He has to if he wants to get rid of his injury and regain his strength once more. When silver cold tendrils wrap around his arms and legs, his first urge is to fight against the restraints. "It'll hurt. Immensely. This is merely to hold you still. I swear. It is only to prevent this from happening during this healing session." She says as she motions to her still bleeding face.
Fair point. Reluctantly, he takes a deep breath and settles down as calmly as he can. "Alright."
With a nod, Paira closes her eyes, her hands hovering above him, not touching him. But he can already feel it. The shift in the air. The sheer power that begins to gather around her fingertips as they begin to glow. Her breathing comes in deep concentrated long strides. Words flutter over her lips. An ancient language he can not understand but enthralls him in a…. strange soothing way. Slowly, her hands move down, the stitching she had done before vanishing into thin air. Her fingertips touch his wound, a ghost of a touch.
And that is when the torment begins. Her fingers pull taunt as Alastor feels a ripping sensation through all of his veins. His nails claw into the couch as cracked screams fill the air. She fists her hands and pulls tighter, up. His chest is getting torn. At Least that is what it feels like. Whatever she is doing. She is tearing him apart from the inside out. Still, no matter how violently he trashes, how much he screams till his throat bleeds, she holds the restraints. Does not stop. Because infected blood, black with gold, gravitates up. Out of the wound. Into her hands, up her arms, getting absorbed by her own flesh.
She keeps chanting as sweat rolls alarmingly down her back. As her own golden veins, starting from her fingers, begin to blacken. Her hands begin to throb as her skin and fabric is being cut, not able to absorb and cleanse it quick enough. It is a lot. She needs to take out a lot for him to even remotely feel a difference.
When the world begins to spin and her heart beats dangerously fast, is when she stops.
The relief is immediate. Alastor's whole body slackens as the restraints slowly disappear. He feels exhausted. His body heavy. But yes. Different. He slowly feels his own strength and powers regenerate, not as poisoned by the heavenly essence as before. His panting slows down and his hand reaches up. He can feel it. The wound slightly more closed than before. Stitches back in place for the time being.
She had not lied about her abilities. Such a useful thing he has dangling in his grip. He laughs. "Well Cher, it truly appears angels do not-" That is when he shifts his head to look at her. The grin he had plastered on his face falls only in the slightest at what he sees.
The angel is still standing but barely, her legs and hands shake as her body convulses in small shocks. The sleeves of his pyjama are ripped to shreds to reveal her skin underneath just as ripped as if cut over and over and over again, bleeding shimmering gold onto his carpet. Veins he sees blackened from her now dark fingertips to her elbows. Her eyes are dazed over, far away, the shining silver from before completely dulled. Staring into nothing.
Her arms drop to her sides and she staggers. Before she could hit the ground, he catches her in his arms and helps her to lay on the couch instead. Completely passed out and drained. He takes a careful hold of her wrist and holds up her arm to examine it. To be sure, he feels her slow beating pulse. Still alive then. It would have been troublesome if she had succumbed before completely healing him. The absence of pain on her face troubles him more than he would like to admit. It means she is far gone, far enough to not register the inflictions to her body. How long would it take for her to recover?... He would have to see.
The throbbing in her arms is the first thing Paira feels when rousing from her slumber. A miracle the damage is only her arms. It could have been worse. If she had continued, the infection would have spread to her heart… Slowly, she forces her eyes open. She is still in his house. In his bed. When she lifts up her arm with a groan to inspect the wounds, she sees the bandages. From her fingertips all the way up her arm.
"Ah look who has decided to finally wake! Glad to see you stop taking advantage of the situation to just lazy off, Cher" The demon's loud voice booms through the room as he enters, a smug grin on his face, probably knowing how unpleasant it was to be so loud to someone who is literally just waking up.
Her throat feels raw and in need of liquids but still Paira asks as she pushes herself more upright. "For how long?"
"Three days."
She pauses midway. Three whole days. And still she feels her arms have not healed. "I must have been in a worse starting position than I thought." She mutters, though Alastor caught onto it.
"Care to clarify on that? I must admit I was quite surprised that healing me, as a result, meant you were getting cut up in return." He says casually as he takes a seat on the bed, acting as if he had not been pondering himself silly over it in the last days. Checking her arms over and over again to see if it was spreading. Which it had not. The black and cuts had not lessened either.
Paira rubs her throat and if on cue, the demon holds out a glass of water for her. Gratefully she accepts it and gulps it down before answering. "It is how I heal others. Technically, I can only heal myself at a rapid speed. Another ability I have is that I can transfer wounds, cuts, broken bones, sicknesses from someone to my own. I take one's pains away to harm myself first before healing. Normally, the speed in which I heal is aligned with what I take upon. So it hurts but it is solved immediately. With you, your wounds and infection were grave and I was in no good position to start this process."
That is quite intriguing. To believe she actually uses these abilities to harm herself to help others. One would call her brave and loving to do so. In his mind, one could not have a more foolish idiotic ability. As if he would harm himself to prevent others from hurting! Ha! Hilarious. Though something still has him curious. "No good starting position?"
Paira grimaces a bit as she swirls the last drops of water around in the glass. "For my abilities to be strong, I need to be in good health and condition myself or else it might get dangerous. I hadn't really eaten or slept after you left. That is why, apparently, nothing has healed yet." She says before she runs her fingers over the bandages. "It is going to take a while I think before I can do another session to heal you without the risk of actually killing myself in the process. But I assure you I took out plenty. At least stopped the process of spreading."
Now that she mentioned it, Alastor suppose he can see the bags under her eyes and the slight hollowing in her cheeks. "You haven't eaten or slept in a month."
"There wasn't anything in your fridge and I was too…" She glances towards the window, simply to just not look at him. "Troubled to rest."
"I see…" The gentleman in him gnaws at his conscience. He may be a serial killer. A sadistic bastard to anyone who deserves it. Someone who laughs when pulling tendrils apart and indulges himself in the sweet screams of his victims. But he is not a man who enjoys the abuse or neglect of women. Angel or not, enemy yes or no, he had left a woman starving all alone. His mother would have never accepted this behaviour from him. Not that she would have been fond of his murdering tendencies. He suddenly stands and twirls his cane in his hand. "It appears then that this-" he taps his cane on her arm, which makes her hiss. "- can only be solved with this-" He now points at her stomach. "Do not fret! I happen to be an excellent cook and I will be happy to provide for a quicker recovery! And of course, it is part of the deal." He adds, remembering she had explicitly asked him to provide her with food. Possibly for this reason. "So sit tight, I'll return in a moment!"
Certainly, he could just snap a hot meal into existence but he did not want to create the expectancy that he could cater so easily to her wishes. Best to keep some cards yet hidden. So instead, he goes out to buy groceries, perhaps also just to let her wait a tad bit longer as the situation she has found herself in is entirely her own fault. She probably had known this would have been the result of her healing him without properly taking care of her own nutrients. So yes, slight punishment to have her waiting just a bit longer. And also, he needed space from her. She still nauseates him. The memories still play like a horror movie on repeat. Being in close proximity makes it worse. Even her scent jogs the memory.
When Alastor returns, he is glad to see her still in the bedroom so he can prepare a meal in peace. He uses his tendrils made of shadow to pack away the groceries he does not need at the moment while he starts cutting up some vegetables. In the mood for jazz, as usual and always, he flicks his wrist and the radio comes alive. A tune he immediately recognizes fills the air and he hums along.
His humming stops for a moment and his ear twitches as he hears the bedroom door open. Feet softly shuffling out. For a second, he feels like scolding her for stupidly not taking her rest and messing with his at the same time. But when he glances over his shoulder he is… taken a bit back. She is laying on the couch, leaning on her arms on the arm rest of the couch as she stares at the radio that plays on the side table. The position must hurt but there is a curious almost child like innocent gleam in her eyes and smile. Her wings a blanket that cover her completely as she seems transfixed to the music. In her trance, she does not notice how the radio demon observes her as she begins to mouth the tunes, as if silently practicing to produce them later on herself.
Though when she reaches out to touch the device is when he does intervene. "Nuhuh Cher! That radio is only for listening to. No touching." A clear ground rule as he scolds her like a child. And even if she had stared at him wide eyed, just because she had been surprised he had spoken at all, her expression quickly softens in a bit of a shy busted smile before folding her arms back, returning her attention to the music.
It radiates off of her. Serenity. Calmth. Sweetness.
The music interrupted once more when she asks. "What does Cher mean?" The question so innocent as well that he answers honestly.
"It means 'dear'."
"Why are you calling me dear? I thought that was an endearing term to use to someone you adore. You don't like me." There is nothing that sounds like an accusation or dismay of it. Mere curiosity. Just wanting to know.
"That is true but I do not use the sentiment behind it. It is just my way of speaking, coming from the upbringing I had and the time I was born. It holds a bit of sophistication and ladies appreciate to be called that. Makes them feel special."
"Hmm, while in truth it sounds like it means nothing. Just something you say. But it makes one believe it does hold a deeper something."
His grin can't help but widen. "Exactly."
"Hmm." Her eyes are still on the radio when she asks another question. "Do you actually remember my true name?"
Involuntarily, Alastor's stomach does a nasty flip. "I do." he grits out through his teeth, not wanting to say the name that he had been screaming out before.
Seeming to notice the change of his tone, Paira looks back at him, seeing the snarl he now fixates on the meal he is preparing. It seems like this is a subject she should not breach. That he loathes what has happened deeply to his core. Which she can imagine. But it is the thing that connects them. That incident. Accident. And it is hard to ignore the elephant in the room as that was the only thing she could think about in those long silent hours. "I am not fond of the memory either…" it wasn't truly directed at him.
But his sharp harsh laughter cuts through the air. "Not fond? Everything that had happened, everything we did to each other, every touch, sound, smell, move, disgusts me to my very core. I wish I could skin myself to get rid of every fiber of you that is still somewhere left on my body. I can't even look at you, or even be in your very presence, without me feeling I could retch my gut out!" His words, meaning to harm, had hit the target.
Her lips press into a thin line as tears glisten in her eyes. It is not that she had expected anything else. Not that she had wanted anything else. But she was tired of feeling alone. And there had been a small lingering piece of hope that they could find at least a civil common ground on something that had impacted them both so tremendously. She stands, before walking back to the bedroom, at the door she pauses though. "You may have been sick this last month. But I have been in nothing else but sorrow. Neither of us is to blame for this. Neither had decided to do this to the other." And with that, she closes the door.
Hesitation eats at his stomach as he stands in front of his own bedroom door, plate of food in hand, it slowly losing its heat as he waits. One part of him finds it ridiculous that he is in his own residence, unsure whether he can enter his own bedroom. The other part of him though…
Deciding to end this pathetic play, Alastor squares his shoulders and plasters on his largest grin before he opens the door. She had moved his chair to the window. Her legs pulled up as she stares at the landscape and streets of Hell. A slight redness in her eyes. He ignores it. "Eat up, Cher! Let's get your wondrous healing hands back into working shape."
Ever polite, she mutters a soft "Thank you." as she accepts the plate, though it does not reach her expression. She pokes at the vegetables and eggs for a few seconds before she quietly begins to eat. Nothing on her face if she actually enjoys it. Awkwardly, Alastor keeps standing, hands behind his back, as he watches her with his smile still in place. Even if he can literally feel the discomfort crawl up his neck. When she is done, she simply silently hands the plate back to him.
"Well then, I'll be taking my leave as I have business to conclude elsewhere. There is plenty of food now in the fridge and cabinets. Eat and rest. I'll be checking in on you regularly." The only sign that she had heard him was a tiny nod. That was all they exchanged before he disappeared into the shadows.
True to his word, Alastor visited each other day to check if she was eating and resting. Judging by the cabinets that he had to refill, she did eat. Sleep was harder to check as each time he arrived, no matter the time of day, she was sitting in that same chair, still positioned at the window. He wondered if she only moved to eat and perhaps clean herself but he never asked. A week after their re-encounter, he noticed she had removed her bandages. Cuts still light on the surface but closing. The blackness of her hands and veins had not lessened though. All in all, she was healing. Slower than he would have prefered but it was something.
What irks him though is that each time he arrives, greeting her, trying to pry a reaction, something out of her, he is met with silence. Not even a glance towards him. Not that he craves her attention but he despises being ignored all the same. After one more week of enduring such rudeness, Alastor snaps. "Is it common in Heaven for guests in one's residence to behave in such a rude manner? Ignoring their host?"
The hostility finally pushes her out of her stoic facade, Paira's eyes widened as she finally looks at the snarling demon. "Pardon me?"
"Ha! You are definitely not pardoned. The least is expected from you is honestly voiced out gratitude for everything I am providing for you and apparently that is too much to do? Instead you merely leach what you can."
Paira's dumbstruck expression matches her voice. "You told me you can't even be in my presence without getting actually ill. And now you are scolding me for the lack of gratitude for the forced situation we both found ourselves in?" A breathy hollow laugh escapes her as she shakes her head, the contradiction being absolutely absurd. "I am not leaching, I am honoring our deal. Healing myself so I can heal you. I have no more obligations to you other than that." Her mouth opens to say some more but deflates and with a sigh she slumps back down, her wings tightening a bit more around her as they almost shield her like a blanket.
Once more, Alastor sees the exhaustion that radiates from her body. "You have not been sleeping."
There had been no intention to make it sound so harsh, but the observation came out as an accusation. And for the first time, he actually sees a flash of anger on her gentle face. "I try." She says through gritted teeth. "I can't. I can't find rest. I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking. Reliving things. Thinking that this is some sort of divine punishment for ever agreeing to be part of…" She shakes her head again as she grips her hair with one hand. "I am so scared. And I feel so alone. No one has even come to search for me and I keep on wondering if I should not just walk out and face the consequences that it brings. The only reason why I don't is because we have a deal. I heal you. In a way, it is me trying to apologize for…" Her words fall silent. Having said enough in that one vulnerable moment. Everything that had been penting up.
There is so much ammunition to shoot her down in that moment. So much he could say or do to utterly destroy the last piece of her that she holds. All to make him feel the torment that had been inflicted on him. Though he realizes her torment, even if different, might be in some way the same. And as Alastor sees the angel literally shrinking in her sorrow in front of him, he can't. Somehow, he doesn't know why, never hesitating before to deliver a killing blow, he now can't.
Instead, he leaves the room. Leaves the angel alone in her vulnerable state. Slowly, tears roll down her cheeks as she just lets that horrible feeling wash over her. She squints her eyes shut and feels another wave of crying crash against her. But before she has the time to completely break down, the door opens. In her surprise, her head snaps up, to see indeed Alastor walking back in. A steaming mug of whatever in his hand.
To deepen her surprise, he kneels down next to the chair. "When I was young, whenever I was upset, my momma always prepared me the sweetest hot chocolate she could make. No matter if it was cold winter or burning summer. She always preached that if drinking something so sweet, my mood could not stay soured. I never told her that I absolutely detested the taste of something so sweet. I couldn't do that to her proud grin. And I admit, it did always work. I always left the house, a little nauseated, but smiling."
Paira blinks at the mug he holds out for her to take. At first, she does not move. Alastor thinks she might not accept it. But then she slowly reaches out and closes her hands around the mug. She brings it up to her nose to take a smell of the sweet aroma before taking a small sip, which quickly became a bigger one as the lovely taste activates her tastebuds. With anticipation in his eyes, he watches her before she says. "It's really good…"
"Of course it is! It is my momma's secret recipe. Now drink up before it gets cold!" And that is when he sees a sliver of a spark, a hint of a smile that she hides behind her next sip, return.
When it is halfway finished, she clutches the mug a bit tighter and looks to the side. She mulls over what she wants to say before deciding on. "I am sorry for getting so emotional. You don't owe me anything so I appreciate this. I just hope that… We can be on even ground."
"Even ground? Oh Cher, you are an exorcist angel bound by the Heavens and I am a lethal murderous sinner Overlord of Hell. There is nothing to be on even ground on." He laughs out but not in a mocking way she luckily recognizes. It is true. They couldn't be more opposite. So she can't help but huff out a low chuckle as well. "But-" His smile is tentative and what she hopes to be somewhat genuine. "- I suppose we can at least participate in amiable conversations from time to time."
Her own smile grows a tad bit brighter. "I would like that." And that is how a sinner and an angel came to an agreement.