Errant Wings (BL)

The Abyss trembled with change.

In the deep halls of Kur'thaal, the whisper of war had become a low, resonant growl. The demons stirred, their fractured forces slowly gathering, sensing a shift in the natural order.

Yet, despite their growing strength, one truth remained unchanged.

The demons had never invaded Asphodel.

Not even once.

It was a fact that made Vael's aura flicker with quiet frustration as he stood before Nethros in the war chamber.

The chamber itself was carved from the living rock of Kur'thaal, its jagged walls bearing the scars of past battles. The floor was cracked and blackened from centuries of ritual fire, and at the center lay a massive war table covered in ember-lit maps. Yet none of them depicted Asphodel.

Because no demon had ever set foot there.

At the head of the chamber, Nethros stood like a monument of destruction.

His towering frame was built of sheer, merciless power, his muscles sculpted through centuries of combat. Crimson hair, wild and unkempt, framed a face etched with sharp, hardened features—eyes like burning coals, always watching, always calculating. Two devilish horns curved back from his temples, adding to his monstrous presence.

But it was his smirk that unsettled even the strongest warriors in Kur'thaal.

It was not the smirk of a fool, nor the arrogant grin of someone overconfident in his strength. It was a predator's smirk—one that promised ruin to those who opposed him.

He was clothed in deep red garments, adorned with darkened metal accents, the very fabric seeming to shimmer with residual heat. Behind him, a set of massive, infernal wings unfurled slightly, red as fresh blood, spanning the width of the chamber.

And at his side, his weapon rested—a colossal battle axe, as tall as Vael himself. The metal of the blade pulsed with hellish fire, its edge jagged, as if it had tasted a thousand victories and was hungry for more.

When Nethros turned to face Vael, his presence alone seemed to suffocate the air between them.

"You were with her."

It was not a question.

Vael let out a slow breath. The energy around his skin shimmered between silver and deep violet, betraying the tension he tried to suppress.

"Yes. I spoke with Lilith. She has agreed to prepare."

Nethros's jaw clenched, but there was a glimmer of satisfaction in his gaze. "Then we are one step closer. The angels have ruled long enough. It's time they know fear."

Vael studied him carefully. The runes on his arms burned like molten gold, shifting with the intensity of his emotions. Unlike Vael, Nethros didn't need an aura to broadcast his thoughts—his very body radiated power like a living inferno.

But beneath his certainty, there was something else.

Something Nethros never spoke of.

Frustration.

"You speak of war, but we've never even reached Asphodel."

The words left Vael's mouth before he could stop them.

Nethros's smirk faded, his burning gaze sharpening.

For a long moment, silence stretched between them.

Then, Nethros exhaled, shifting his grip on the axe's hilt, his voice a low rumble of restrained irritation.

"Do you think I don't know that?"

Vael didn't flinch. "Then why pretend? The angels raid Kur'thaal without consequence because we have no way of reaching them."

Nethros's massive hands clenched tighter around the shaft of his axe, the fire in its blade flickering in response to his building anger.

"Because the gates of Asphodel were never meant for us."

It was the truth every demon knew but never spoke aloud.

The Celestial Gate, the grand passage between realms, could only be opened by angels. It functioned on the very essence of divine will, rejecting anything tainted by darkness.

For centuries, demons had tried. They had sent their strongest sorcerers, their most vicious warriors. They had clawed at the gate, spilled blood beneath its golden archway, shattered weapons against its shining walls.

But the gate remained untouched.

Nethros's voice was quiet when he spoke again. "The angels were born with access to that realm. They control the gateway between worlds. We have never stepped beyond it."

Vael's aura pulsed deep blue—hesitation.

"Then what's the point of preparing for war? If we can't reach them, what do you plan to do? Just wait for them to come slaughter us on our own land?"

A spark of crimson flickered across Nethros's runes.

"No. I plan to make them bleed first."

Nethros took a step closer, the heat of his presence pressing against Vael like an unseen force.

"For centuries, we've been defending. Waiting for the next slaughter. But that changes now. If we can't breach Asphodel's gate, then we will bring the angels to us."

Vael's red eyes narrowed slightly. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

Nethros's smirk returned, slow and deliberate.

"We take their own."

Vael's aura flared—first molten red (alarm), then dark indigo (unease).

"You want to capture angels?"

Nethros's wings flexed slightly, his gaze alight with dark satisfaction. "They value their own above all else. We will give them a reason to come to Kur'thaal willingly. And when they do… they will find a battlefield prepared for them."

Vael didn't respond immediately. His aura wavered, shifting between colors too quickly to be contained.

He's serious.

It wasn't an attack. It wasn't a desperate attempt to break the gate.

It was a trap.

And worse… it might work.

Vael exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away.

Not now.

He could not afford doubt.

He lifted his gaze, meeting Nethros's burning stare.

"If you want to bait the angels, you'll need more than just a plan. You'll need an army ready to fight the moment they arrive."

Nethros nodded, satisfied. "That's why I needed Lilith to act. And now, thanks to you, she will."

Vael's aura darkened slightly—deep violet, unreadable.

He didn't know what Lilith was creating in her sanctum.

He didn't know what forces would be unleashed when the angels were drawn to Kur'thaal.

But the chains of fate had been set in motion.

And he was now tangled within them.