Errant Wings (BL)

Far from Asphodel's radiant skies lay Kur'thaal, the Abyss—a realm where light struggled to exist. Vast caverns of volcanic rock loomed over sluggish rivers of ember, and the air hung heavy with sulfur and whispering shadows. Here, the very ground pulsed with latent power, drawing strength from the ancient darkness that shaped this forsaken domain.

Amid these endless depths stood colossal structures hewn from jagged stone, adorned with metal spikes and eerie carvings. Constant tremors hinted at the region's raw, unstable energy. Yet, despite the perpetual gloom, Kur'thaal was anything but silent; the clamor of distant battles, the howls of twisted creatures, and the murmurs of magic in the air were constant reminders that the Abyss churned with menacing life.

The demons of Kur'thaal were many: from lowly, huddling imps who feared the angels' wrath to towering juggernauts of sinew and shadow capable of ripping through any heavenly defense. They toiled in darkness, scavenging for scraps of power. For centuries, angels from Asphodel had carried out ruthless incursions here—culling, as they saw it, the "plague" that threatened their pristine skies.

But in recent times, deep within Kur'thaal, a call to arms reverberated. Whispers abounded of a coming war—one to show Asphodel that demons were more than mere pests to be exterminated. Some dreamt of vengeance; others simply fought to survive. They had no illusions about the angels' strength, yet a defiant spark was kindled among them, fueled by the Abyss itself.

Among Kur'thaal's shifting shadows walked Vael, a demon whose appearance defied the norm. He was tall and powerfully built, with smooth, pale skin marked by faint runes in shades of white and gray, almost blending with his skin tone. His torso and arms were bare, revealing defined pectorals and a carved abdomen. His black hair fell in unruly locks around a face of striking handsomeness, complete with deep red irises that glowed like embers in the gloom. Though his expression held a surprising gentleness, the energy that clung to him danced in faint, ever-changing waves—a reflection of his current mood.

But what truly set Vael apart was his past. He had once glimpsed Asphodel, born without angelic wings and shunned by those who thought him defective. In time, he chose exile in the Abyss, etching ancient runes into his body so he could channel dark magic. Now, those runes pulsed in silent resonance with Kur'thaal's power. A restlessness stirred in Vael's mind—he often found himself gazing upward, toward a sky he had left behind. Sometimes, he could almost sense another presence calling from above, as though light itself were reaching out to him across an impossible distance.

One day, as he wandered through the jagged labyrinth of the Abyss, Vael halted by a jagged precipice overlooking a chasm of molten rock. He closed his eyes and felt the energy around him shift. A faint shimmer rippled in the air—brief, elusive, gone as soon as it appeared. A silent promise.

"What is that?" he thought, a flutter of longing piercing through his chest.

Un undercurrent of anticipation ran through Kur'thaal. More and more demons spoke of a rebellion—of facing the angels head-on. Some claimed that Lilith, the first and most ancient of their kind, was guiding them from the shadows, forging alliances and summoning forgotten powers. Others whispered the name Nethros, a demon rumored to be capturing wandering angels to harness their powers, intent on launching an all-out assault on Asphodel.

Vael watched these developments with quiet resolve. Though he had no interest in mindless violence, he could not deny the constant push toward confrontation. The angels, by their own hand, had provoked centuries of suffering. Now Kur'thaal seethed with an unquenched thirst for retribution.

Yet, as he contemplated the prospect of war, Vael found his thoughts drawn back to that mysterious presence he sensed through the shimmering anomaly—like a faint portal linking him to a destiny unseen.

"Could someone out there feel the same pull?" he wondered.

In the midst of rumors and mounting tensions, whispers surfaced about new cracks forming between realms—brief anomalies of light in the Abyss, glimpses of a different sky. Many demons dismissed these tales as illusions born of fear and rumor. But Vael knew what he had seen and felt. The shift in the air around him spoke of paths that might alter fate itself.

Standing atop a broken pillar of rock, Vael gazed upward into the perpetual twilight of Kur'thaal. All around, the gloom throbbed with potential, as if waiting for a spark to ignite a new era. With each flicker of magic in his runes, he felt hope and apprehension entwine—a longing that transcended boundaries of light and dark.