Jan. 23rd, 2019
The demon became her weapon in that moment, the instrument of her revenge upon everyone, anyone, that dared to stand in her path. She knew the intent of the angel, he would try to banish the demon, to send Azazel back to hell. That she could not allow.
So thinking she wrapped the demon within her memories again, harnessing the outrageous amount of power that it still possessed at its disposal and sharpening it as she called upon the times that she’d had to explain one bruise after another to her teachers, how she had tried and failed to explain why she couldn’t make friends because she trusted no one, and why she didn’t want to go home sometimes after school. So much of it had been treated as mundane and easily-explained by school counselors and teachers, and yet none of them had even guessed at the truth. These memories and so many more, more than any child her age should ever have, allowed her to wield the demon like a tool, blocking every attack the angel sent her way, battering the winged opponent about like a toy in the paws of a very angry and very demented feline.
It took far less time than she’d anticipated to almost literally disarm the angel, as she watched the divine creature glare at her in confusion and abject hatred. She knew very well that killing an angel would condemn her for all eternity, but she had a ready solution for this as well.
“God, will never, love you,” the angel growled, trying in vain to hold his left arm up with his right. The muscles beneath the flesh had been sundered, and his arm was hanging on by just a few thick bands of flesh.
“No one ever has,” she growled with Azazel’s voice, “There’s no reason to expect it now.”
Reaching down she felt the smooth, worn grip of the angel’s blade, a wondrous weapon that Azazel attempted to avoid, but could not as she commanded him to pick it up. The weapon hissed and sizzled within her palm, but she felt no pain as the demon tried to escape, to back away, to flee from her mind and body in that moment. But it could go nowhere, as it had been caught. Her anger was deeper, darker, and far more powerful than anything either celestial creature could have imagined.
“Do not do this,” the angel pleaded, “Do not let-”
That was all she cared to hear as she rammed the tip of the blade into the angel’s throat, forcing Azazel to twist it savagely as he did, opening a wider wound and forcing the angel to choke and gargle his last few breaths as blood streamed from his mouth. As the demon pulled the blade free the angel collapsed, dissipating slowly as soon only wispy, ashen motes were left of his body.
What now? The demon’s voice was weakened, but she could feel the power it had yet to give. Amaya looked over her shoulder, back at the mainland. The crimson within her gaze burned brightly as she thought of home, and of business left unfinished.