Errant Wings (BL)

The celestial halls of Asphodel were quieter than usual.

Too quiet.

Azarel could feel it.

Something was off.

For days, he had tried to suppress the restless feeling in his chest—the weight of something unseen pressing against his ribs, clawing at the edges of his thoughts.

He did not try to open the portal again.

But still, he felt it.

It was as if the air itself was holding its breath.

Like the moment before a storm.

Then—footsteps. 

Leya.

She stepped into view, tall and poised, her emerald-edged wings folded neatly behind her. Her golden hair shimmered under the glow of Asphodel's endless light, but her expression was unreadable.

She did not ask this time.

She did not hesitate.

Her voice was calm, but heavy.

"The future is shifting."

Azarel frowned. "What?"

Leya's green eyes locked onto his.

"Something is coming."

And then—

An alarm sounded.

Something had happened.

Something was breaking through Asphodel's defenses.

Something that should not be here.

The Abyss had always been restless. A shifting, pulsing thing—darkness in constant motion.

But tonight, it felt different.

Vael woke with a start, his breath uneven, his runes burning.

Not in the way they did when he fought. Not in the way they did when his energy surged through him like fire.

This was different.

It was wrong.

The air in Kur'thaal felt thinner, stretched, as if something was pulling at the very fabric of existence.

He rose to his feet, his muscles tensed, his instincts sharp. The ruins around him were silent, untouched—yet he could feel it.

Something was opening.

Then—the world split apart before him.

A rip in the air, wild and chaotic, surged into existence without him calling for it.

His breath caught.

The portal.

But this wasn't Azarel.

This wasn't him.

This was something else.

Before he could react, before he could fight it, the force pulled him in.

And Kur'thaal disappeared.

The alarms blared.

Golden lights flared across the sky, celestial barriers activating in a flash of divine power. Angels moved swiftly, wings slicing through the air as they prepared for the worst—an invasion.

Seraphine was the first to reach the disturbance. Her three pairs of crescent-shaped wings flared as she lifted her blade, her presence commanding, her aura radiant with destruction.

A demon had crossed the threshold.

And it wasn't just any demon.

Vael stood amidst the gleaming ruins of a shattered plaza, his stance low, defensive. His aura snapped violently around him, his runes pulsing with energy that flickered between shadow and fire.

He was breathing hard.

Confused.

He hadn't meant to be here.

But there was no time to explain.

The first angel struck.

A golden spear shot through the air, aimed straight for his heart.

Vael moved on instinct.

He dodged with unnatural speed, his body twisting, his runes flaring.

The second came from behind. A blade of condensed light, aimed for his neck.

He caught it—barehanded. The divine energy sizzled against his skin, but his runes reacted instantly, absorbing the force, turning it into power.

The third angel descended from above, his wings spread wide, bringing down a hammer of pure radiance.

Vael's body exploded with energy.

He twisted, shoving the second attacker aside, and with a single strike—a burst of raw, unrestrained force—he shattered the golden weapon mid-air.

Then—he struck.

One blow to the chest sent the first angel reeling back, his armor crumpling inward, his body hitting the marble floor with a sickening crack.

The second tried to recover, wings flaring, but Vael's hand shot forward—his runes burned into the air, searing against the angel's skin.

The third never touched the ground again.

With one final, brutal arc of energy, Vael launched him backward, his body spiraling into the wreckage of a temple pillar.

And just like that—it was over.

Three angels lay motionless.

Vael stood in the center, his chest rising and falling, his eyes burning like embers, his runes still crackling with power.

The silence was deafening.

Then—

A streak of silver and gold shot through the sky.

Azarel.

He moved faster than thought, his wings cutting through the air, his body colliding with the ground between Vael and the remaining angels.

His hands, spread wide, a barrier of golden light flashing outward, not toward Vael, but toward the angels.

Protecting him.

Vael's eyes widened.

Azarel stood in front of him now, his back turned, his presence like a shield.

The moment felt unreal.

The weight of thirty days of silence—the uncertainty, the tension, the unspoken words—all collided at once.

Vael's breath was uneven. His runes flickered violently.

And then, low, almost too soft to hear—he whispered:

"I don't need you to defend me."

Azarel didn't turn.

Didn't flinch.

His voice was steady. Quiet. Certain.

"I know."

The moment shattered.

"Azarel!"

Seraphine's voice cut through the air, sharp, furious.

She landed before them, her golden blade still burning, her wings spread wide, her presence radiating power.

Her expression was pure rage.

Three angels lay dead.

A demon stood among them.

And Azarel—had protected him.

Her silver-blue eyes burned with fury as she stepped forward.

"Explain yourself. Now."

The air in Asphodel felt heavier than ever.

And Azarel knew—there was no way to escape this now..