Not always is that true.
All that were left of her was a bloody mess, maimed beyond comprehension.
Pitiful, horrendous, selfish, incompetent mortals.
That's what killed her.
What killed them.
"Imperius," Auriel said in a voice that was forced to not shake, "my love, look at me..."
He did so, his tear-stained golden eyes still dripping.
"She is free of pain," Auriel offered, a broken smile on her beautiful face.
It wasn't fair. Why did they have to kill her? She did nothing to them.
"She n-never knew... who he-her pa-parents were... I-I... I didn't al-alert you fast enough, A-Auriel, n-nor did I arrive in t-time," Imperius said in a choked voice, another harsh sob wracking his body.
His daughter was dead.
It was because of those mortals.
He was more broken than most knew-due to his ruddy past with Malthael, his brother. He'd never admit all he wanted was a good relationship with him, to have a happy family.
And now he was paying dearly for it, with the remains of his daughter slatering the ground like some twisted painter's canvased art.
Auriel kissed his mouth briefly, keeping a hand under his chin so he could not withdraw his golden eyes from her pink ones. "It was not your fault-blame the mortals... they will suffer for what they have done."
It appeared that this, too, had broken Auriel-the Aspect of Hope. Tears stung her pink colored eyes, and a bitter sadness clung to each word she spoke.
But she needed to be strong this one last time; for Imperius.
Something easier said than done.
Imperius didn't respond-only sobbed, into Auriel's chest. His wings were so drooped they touched the bloody ground upon which the pair stood, and he seemed to be weaker than anyone had ever seen him-even when faced with a grevious wound. Auriel rubbed his back lovingly, whispering comfort to him.
But this comfort hardly helped.
The humans would pay heavily for their sins.
Auriel knew that much.
As the two Archangels stood, male and female, Hope and Valour, both twins in their unity of a broken hope, a broken happiness succumbed to despair.
Patiently, Auriel waited for the distant sound of carrilion bells that always signified Malthael's appearance, like some gag in a mortal's horror movie when a cemetary was mentioned.
Until he appeared, her false hope would have to sustain.
There rung the church bells, and behind them stood the Archangel of Death and Imperius' brother-Malthael.
He looked over the scene at hand. Almost like an artist with a twisted mind's beautiful but horrendus masterpeice-splashes of red showing the blood, with a twinge of white for bone, and perhaps rags of clothes, and the fading sunset bleeding crimson into the sky as Allithrius' body bled crimson into the night, and the two Archangels-Hope and Valour.
'Valour will turn to Wrath-as all Hope is swallowed by Despair.'
The Prophecy of the End Days seemed as good as any angelic scribe's prophecy, now.
Malthael knew how this would end-Auriel would never be the same, happy and bubbly induvidual he knew, and Imperius would seek to unleash his anger upon all of humanity in a wrath.
To this, Malthael shook his head lightly, gliding silently to the body.
"Life truly is too short to care, at all. Know this; she would have died one way, or another. As much as it may pain you to hear it, that is such the fate of a mortal."
He said this without turning to his brother, nor to his brother's partner.
This caused Imperius to bristle. "Are you t-telling me to not ca-care that my daughter is DEAD? Do you not care that your niece is dead!?"
"I never said that," Malthael responded evenly, now crouching next to the dismembered corpse, "I merely said that life is rather short for mortals. In the end, they all die, no matter their triumphs, their losses, their sins... such is the cycle of life, my brother."
Imperius seemed to wish to reply, but he only could let out another choked sob.
"You two, return to the Heavens," Malthael murmured, still not looking at them.
Auriel nodded, murmuring to Imperius, and soon the pair dissappeared in a sort of light.
Extending a hand, Malthael took up some of the blood on his finger. He studied it for a moment, before shaking his hand, sending the driplets splattering everywhere. "They will recieve payment for their trangressions," He muttered bitterly, hoisting himself to a stand.
Already had they lost three of them in exceedingly gruesome ways. Now it was down to just him. Screaming, begging for forgivness, the man back his way to a wall-to his doom. The dark hooded figure loomed over him, streching their skeletal wings. "Forgivness cannot be given for a sin such as yours. You will recieve retrubition for what you have done-mark my words."
And faster than a lightning bolt, so it seemed, the angel's arm flashed out, enclosing sharpened talons around the man's neck. He lifted him high into the air, letting his talons lazily pierce his skin, watching in contempt as the crimson life-blood ran down the man's throat.
Then he released him, sending the man falling 9 feet and crumpling to the ground. All he could do was make gurgling noises.
The angel kicked at him, the sharp point of his boot causing yet another wound, as well as sending the man tumbling. Now, the dark angel crouched, easily unrolling the man and streching him out straight. Then, he buried his taons deep into the man's chest, and worked the fingers of his other hand deep into it too, letting the man scream.
And then he began pulling in two oppisite ways. The mortal's screaming intensified.
As soon as a loud crack could be heard, Malthael withdrew his hand, making to let the man be.
Or so it seemed.
Instead, he grabbed one of his scythes, and swiped at the man's stomach, sending a dark spurt of blood across the two, as well as the scythe, and cut the man clear open.
Peeling the skin back, ripping it in the process, reduced the man's screams to whimpers, as he could not scream any more.
The angel eyed the organs with contempt, before reaching his taloned hand into the cavity.
And he began pulling out the organs, rising the man's whimpers to muffled, garbled screams.
Out came every organ that was not in the ribcage, piling next to the man like some twisted, bloody salad. Now there was a good inch of blood in the cavity, and yet still the angel plunged his hand into the cavity, down to the wrist, groping around for any more organs he'd missed. Ah, there was one-a smaller bit of an intestine. The sound of ripping flesh could be heard, and blood splurted at an upwards angle, splattering the dark angel's chest and arms.
"You mortals have mucn blood to spare," the angel muttered as he tore the rest of the stomach's skin off completly, layers of fatty tissue and muscle visible , as well as the forming blood. He promptly tossed this slab of skin aside, and looked passively over the man, before returning his hands to the deep pools of blood made by his fingers. Again, he slid his fingers into these, and began tugging again. Another loud crack was heard, and with a jerk, the man's ribs gave way completly, offering a full look into the man's body, which was now opened from stomach to chest.
However, his lungs gave way with the ribs, ripping from their places and coming to a rest behind Malthael, deflated sacs of air, flesh and blood.
The man choked, attempting fruitlessly to breathe air into lungs that no longer resided in his body. The angel 'harrumph'ed softly, looked across the dying man. "I believe I will leave you here," he rumbled, "as a reminder to those who sin-to fear my name; Malthael, the Angel of Death."