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“Thank you, Father” the woman held her hands tights against her chest, her sins forgiven with a simple prayer. Dainsleif replies with silence and dismisses her gently with his hand, though the woman does not care about the cold facade. “Thank you…"
This woman had committed a sin, laying with another man while her husband was away. A sin that made many angels fall, a sin that fed many demons, but not an unthinkable sin. Still, Dainsleif thought, a sin is a sin. A prayer can delay your punishment, at least.
Their god was not a merciful one, they should know before praying for him, before devoting their lives to someone who’d never repay in kindness.
Alone at the cathedral, Dainsleif stared at the cross above the altar, knowing full well the punishment handed by the heavens. Allowing his eyes to shine with diamond pupils, fangs biting down on his tongue, the priest revealed his nature beneath God’s eyes.
A snicker was heard at the door.
“Tell me, Father, who gave you the right to speak in the Lord’s name”, it sounds amused. More than amused, even; drowning in pure delight. “You who can’t forgive a sin for him.”
When Dainsleif turned to his visitor, half of his body had already blackened. There’s no need to hide away the blood running through his veins; not from him, no.
Kaeya stands at the cathedral’s door, holy glory inviting Dainsleif to come closer; he doesn’t need to, as the creature itself steps inside his domain. Or God’s domain, if he ever had any power in here. The giant wooden doors close behind and his wings, tainted in pure, disgusting white, open fully to show its esplendor.
While Dainsleif wears black, the common attire of a priest, Kaeya opposes him, the heavenly gray that seems so dull yet so attractive, as if he controlled whether to appear or disappear from your attention. Not that it made any difference, as Dainsleif’s eyes would follow him eternally, waiting for the final clap of wings.
Long, an exquisite tone of blue hair was tied high in a ponytail, swinging though there was no breeze inside to greet him. An eye covered, the other reflecting the same diamond pupil as the demon, a reminder they were not all that different in the end.
“May I inquire why the Angel of Death himself came to my doorstep?”
“To deliver punishment,” Dainsleif is not impressed. He doesn’t bother expressing anything as the angel takes another step, opening his arms like an actor, speaking for a crowd of one, “Or better, to finally capture this demon.”
“Who will deliver yours?”
At that, Kaeya takes his sword.
Dainsleif watched a silver sword dripping blood; his, theirs, whoever stood in its owner’s way.
Apathetically, he looks over what was left from his homeland. After burning in the wrath of God, what could possibly be left? A mountain of corpses, only, no longer aware of the punishment being delivered.
Lucky for those souls.
This kingdom, one who stood for so long away from the divine’s eyes, was now completely gone. It once stood strong, faithless, godless, oh, so much to stay away from indifferent conflicts, for now it was only covered in dust. And, high above in the skies, a god who did it to prove his power.
He felt the earth underneath, calling for his name, yearning for his response, but all he could do was lay weakly, scattered like one of the bodies that surrounded him. Not even the weight of the person on his chest made him feel more than numbness.
Kaeya bathed in god’s light with his bloody sword; from his people, those he swore to protect.
Not that Dainsleif was any different.
The angel wings really fit Kaeya, he thinks.
He, who sits on his chest, finally pierces the sword through his chest and, honestly, not even pain can be felt, not with the way the earth screamed, not with the numbness surrounding his soul, not with the way those souls danced around his mind. That's why he can’t understand a word his prince whispers in his ear.
Prince? No more, as Dainsleif now served someone else too.
There’s no time to see the last glance sent his way before Kaeya turns into someone, something else. Heavens made him another of their pawns.
Dainsleif wakes up in a town full of dust, blood and corpses.
Maybe, in other conditions, he’d believe himself to be one of them. Not now, of course. How could he? Even though he so strongly wished for it, death was not something he was allowed to.
That was his punishment, right?
Indifferent, he apologizes for the cold ones laying around. They all burn in blue flames; their souls consumed by Dainsleif’s new master, new prince.
Nothing but dullness consumes him. The punishment was delivered and his debt to his benefactor has been concluded. He turns around and never comes back to that town. Let itself fade away in regret.
When Heavens opens their doors, punishment will surely be delivered.
The first impact comes with a laugh; a promise of victory the Angel knew he could achieve. In a flash he flaught the whole hallway, a speed no human could prepare for. The blade collided with dark claws, unbreakable as diamond.
Kaeya smiled.
Falling into a composition for two, good continued to clash against evil. Attacking, defending, were they so different from the beginning? Of course not. As the blade went for his neck, the demon's nails were already on the angel's cheek, successfully avoiding having his own head separated.
Blood was now seen, the first red sacrifice of the day. A quick jump was enough to fly back, supported by his wings. Kaeya cleaned the cut from his face with the back of his hand, smearing blood and mixing it against his dark skin.
This time Dainsleif was the first to offend, though he was now answered with even more rage than before.
There was a clear difference between a demon and an angel.
Both kill. Both need to; be it for pleasure or to maintain the equilibrium in this world. The difference was on how.
Demons killed slowly. They would terrify the prey, feeding on the fear inside their souls before eating. They would enjoy small harms that slowly damaged you as a whole, maybe even giving you the opportunity to run, hide or beg for a deal.
Everyone would meet a demon at least once in life.
Angels, however, were more practical. They would go straight for the kill the moment their prey was spotted. Merciless, cold, divine. A clean death tainted in white. It made sense, as angels couldn't understand human emotions. Demons were demons for the excess of them since their origins. If an angel could understand the sadistic pleasure, the holiness would hide in suffering.
If one met an angel, they would be dead before having a chance to tell the story.
And that could be clearly seen in the way they battled. Dainsleif avoided the blade briefly before it came for his throat, an exchange of blood. His eyes widened, briefly, taking in the smile of the tanned angel lusting for his death.
A flash of blue, blue eyes that once stared at him so warmly, no matter the coldness gods sent their way. The only one who ever smiled at him that way, the only one to say such soft words, filled with tenderness, a sweetness he never experienced and soon became addicted. Just for a moment, that man appeared in front of his eyes. Just a flash, though, as soon he came back to his punishment, the voidless eyes lacking everything but ambition, a puppet it was.
His prince was no more than a mindless pawn for those gods who never once cared.
Making a deal with heavens could be worse than one with hell.
For what his prince wished, he bet even the prince himself would be unable to remember.
Did he even wish?
His people would never pray, beg maybe, but a prayer is not a prayer if there’s no one listening.
Jumping above the benches, Dainsleif flipped backwards, standing at the angel’s back, close enough to deep his claws in Kaeya’s arms. Blood trailed down and the grip on the sword weakened before tightening again. In a smooth swift, he turned around, though the blade never reached the demon.
A kick did.
A flap of wings and Dainsleif was sent flying by a pair of feet. Back against the altar, he looked up at the saint in colorful glasses. It seemed almost a mockery.
Or a curse.
Another kick and his head was now against the floor. He lifted his hands, reaching for the one sitting on his chest but his hands were both trapped above his head. Blade cold against his neck, it trailed down, amusedly.
Memories, memories, memories he carried for so many centuries; his beloved’s sword stabbing him on the heart.
They found themselves in the same position even though Dainsleif fought back this time around and, even now, Dainsleif hated himself for believing the angel was beautiful. Disgustingly beautiful, an inhuman beauty found above, almost artificial. It wasn’t heaven’s fault, this one — Kaeya had always been the most beautiful in his eyes.
Blue hair cascaded down and, though the bangs covered half of his face, a glint in his eye and a sharp smile could still be seen.
Many years ago, his prince leaned down, soft words that could never be understood, words that were never heard. He leans down again, no longer his prince, and whispers in mockery those same words that have lost affection over the years, “I’m sorry.”
It doesn’t hurt as much as the first time.
Dainsleif stared right into diamond pupils as the sword entered his body.
He watches as Kaeya’s smile begins to fade, slowly curling in disgust, his eyes widen, his lips separate in astonishment. How’d he dare… Now Dainsleif was the one who smiled.
The sword leaves his flesh just to pierce it again. Then again and again. And again. Stabbing the demon as if he held a knife, Kaeya’s instincts told him to run, though his body screamed for him to finish his role.
The blonde just smiles, accepting it all.
There’s not even blood, as if the sword passed right through his body.
“Impossible…” the angel mutters, “A holy weapon, how could it…”
When Dainsleif frees his hands from the weak grip and holds the sword by its blade, Kaeya watches in horror as the demon removes it from himself, strong grip never weakening in pain, no blood to be seen.
It had no effect at all.
The positions change, claws holding his neck against the floor and, oh, the angel flaps his wings, he holds the hand with both of his, sword long falling near the altar. The saint in the vitral watched it with a smile.
“What…”
“This…” it almost sent shivers down his spine, the deep voice whispering on his ear, still echoing in the church walls, “Is your punishment.”
Kaeya closes his eyes.
“Father, forgive me.”
Dainsleif hummed, not bothering expressing pity or sympathy. None of that would be seen behind the confessional window. The voice of a man sobbed, asking for the holy mercy and, though not holy, Dainsleif could grant him a bit of mercy.
“The human soul is naturally filled with desires,” the man lowers his cries to hear the priest, “humans are faded to err. The soul will rot among our sins and everything will be judged by its truth.”
He takes a breath, even though there’s no need for, “Lust is not a sin God can’t forgive, but it’s one heavens will remember.”
After taking care of the believer who came to apologize for his idencency, the church doors were closed. God will not attend your demands at this hour of the night, anyways.
Silent, he walked back to his chamber, the only one in this empty church, where no god dared step in. Dainsleif was his own in this small cathedral. His own god, judge and believer, he played all roles.
Except for a small angel, his devotee, who waited for him by the chamber.
His angel had no beliefs, no prayers and no god to run off to anymore. His angel was the prettiest from this angle Dainsleif looked down upon. Kaeya looked up from where he kneeled, arms forced to stay open due the chains around his wrists. His eyes, filled with rage, fear and something else they both shared — regret.
He was the prettiest when his eyes called for revenge on the one he hated most in the world.
The voidless abyss seen before never suited him anyways.
Tattered white clothes contrasted with his grey wings, once white but slowly darkening, only the tips in full black. Both eyes showed small, diamond pupils, though one now uncovered showed a scar, a scar left by a past lover who betrayed the kingdom he himself forgot to protect. Or rather, forgot how to care about.
Dainsleif loves it.
When his fingertips caress the helpless angel, he makes another promise,
‘Let’s fall into hell together.’
Their lips touch once again.