Hello everyone! This is a brand new (sort of) story featuring more angels! Who doesn't love more angels? P: This story is made with a collaboration between me and another named Seenya (She generally goes by "Seenyurr" now, but I'm so used to calling her Seenya. XD) If any of you are familiar with my Deviantart, you will recognize her name because I have some of her works posted on my account. She is an AMAZING artist, check her out! You can find her on Deviantart under the username Seenyurr.

As usual, I like to post the word count before the Author's note is added: 2,194 words! Much shorter than the chapters in my fic Angiris nowadays, but this will be a less intense story. Enjoy it to your hearts' content. :P

Important Note: For readers new to my other works, I believe you can read this story comfortably without having to take a look at my other main story, which is "Angiris." However, one of the main characters in this does make an appearance in "Angiris," and this story is connected to Angiris, the events of this current fanfic beginning after the events of Chapter 4 in Angiris. If you wish to sate your curiosity as to this story's origin, then at least read through Chapter 4 and then come back. Thank you for your time!

Warning: This story is rated T for some blood, violence, and there might even be slight foul language.

Once this story gets long enough, maybe after I post Chapter 2, I will post some artworks Seenya has made for this story in my profile, or you guys can just look up my Deviantart too. Same username as here~

Well, enjoy~

Chapter One - Sanctuary

Israfel's soul felt anguished and drifted in a state between life and death. The corrupted angel felt as if his entire being would be torn in half. On one hand, his soul wished to return to the Arch to be reborn into a new angel. His reincarnated self would fulfill the duties he should have, but he would not have his memories. In essence, he would die. On the other hand, he was being drawn towards the Burning Hells. He did not want that. The Lords of Evil were not kind to failure. He just wanted his own life away from conflict. He just wanted to be himself, to not want to be pressured by loyalties. In the end, he threw it all away and took his own life. He really was an idiot.

The pulls were so great that his soul often sparked with pain. If he didn't do something, his essence would be wracked with pain for all eternity. So, he averted his attention to the only option left:


True to its name, it proved itself to be a worthy option against the others. He drifted what remained of his battered core towards the lone planet. But when he broke out of orbit between the two tugging forces, he was falling, falling…

His battered body materialized and continuously lost altitude. He was too weak to correct his course. He crashed upon the earth. His wounds were still there; his body did not have time to recover with as little time he gave it to materialize. His blood bled black upon the hard soil. Darkness wafted off of him in droves. He was corrupted beyond measure. He hissed. Must shake it off. Must reach shelter. Must live!

"Failure of an angel. You will be sacrificed for your transgressions."

"Decrepit worm! The lowest regions of Hell is your only place!"

"No one will shelter you."

Israfel clutched his head and shook it madly. No, no! He wouldn't associate himself with those bastards again! They had sent him on a suicide mission with several other corrupted angels! They didn't tell him an Archangel would be there! His eerily blood red wings flared, his glowing green eyes flaring within the dark depths of his hood. Pain everywhere; pain from his body, pain from the demonic voices in his head, pain from EVERYTHING! He screeched into the atmosphere. His voice became hoarse, and he coughed. His neck bled black upon the ground. Shelter, shelter…

He stumbled forward with his scythe heavily supporting his broken body. Often times, he crashed against the trees. He wheezed, partly through his mouth, and other times through the gaping hole in his neck. With any luck, he would find somewhere to heal, or die trying. Stubbornly, he dragged himself through the trees and emerged into a glade. He raised his weary head, then his eerie fel green eyes widened. There! A cathedral was his salvation. Moss had collected upon the steps, and vines trailed up its frame. He shambled toward it. Hopefully he would find solitude behind those seemingly abandoned walls. The last thing he needed was to encounter angels, demons, or even nephalem.

Little did he know the cathedral was not abandoned. Its sole occupant raised their head. Shakily, they came to their feet, marching towards the large double doors. The man tugged his hood low over his face, marching over to the weapon rack against the far wall to retrieve a rapier. Diminished wings squirmed against their back. Their light had faded over time, almost muffled by the bindings that strung their tendrils together, but still they glared defiantly. The presence nearby was unmistakable.

It was the stench of a demon.

Tharrun, the lone ascetic angel, marched to the doors. He placed his palms upon the gates. He lined up his body, mindful of his back, then slowly thrust the doors ajar. The fierce light of Sanctuary's sun greeted him. It was always more blinding than the soft sun which shone upon the Heavens. It pierced any opposition, much akin to the Nephalem themselves. Likewise, so too did it pierce the veil which would normally hide the demon.

And there it shambled. Crimson red wings as thick as blood surged upon its back. Green eyes bore at him from its hood. Shambling with no account for elegance, it could be none other than an angel turned demon, having fallen from grace. Its black blood poured upon the ground. So it was wounded… Then, his duty would be quick.

Tharrun raised his blade at the demonic seraph. His deep and gravelly voice showed both its age and its power. He was no newborn angel. He had probably lived far longer than this whelp of a demon who stood before him. "You will not step into these sacred halls, demon. Turn away… or else I will be forced to strike you down myself." The angel remained an unmoving paragon. This monster would not tarnish his home.

Israfel reeled back and hissed, clutching his oozing wounds. There were angels here on Sanctuary's soil?! Did their reach know no bounds?! Given the appearance he held now, he had no choice but to hold his ground. He was too weak to run, and too weak to be denied shelter. He would die in this unfamiliar terrain. There was no choice but to either defeat this angel in combat… or die trying. He hefted his scythe into his hands, the darkness wafting off of his body increasing. His stance shambled. The words of challenge wouldn't reach his throat. They gurgled unintelligibly through his torn vein. Not that he would be convincing at explaining himself anyways… A single glance at his darkened armor, the horns on his plated helm, and blackened blood was enough.

The male angel circled around the broken demon. His stance was more graceful than his injured opponent's, hefting his rapier as if he were to make art. Israfel had no choice but to pierce his defence. He hefted his black scythe, then made a powerful slice at him. Despite his injuries, he still possessed his strength.

Tharrun nimbly dodged his strike, making sure to face him at all times. The scythe thudded into the ground. Panicking, Israfel tugged sharply upon the shaft. It caused him to stumble backwards when it flew out of the dirt. He was lucky it did; the momentum of his body steered him away from a rapier jab. Had he remained where he was, it would have pierced right into his armor and out the other side.

He stumbled away and wheezed. He did his best to catch his breath, but it was difficult. The haze over his vision was too great. Soon he wouldn't be able to see at all… But, he held his ground. In his clouded mind, all he wanted was shelter! All he wanted was sanctuary!

Tharrun's gaze pierced into the fallen angel's being from behind the depths of his hood. His posture was careful, making sure he could easily defend any part of his body. Partially, his torso was twisted away with his stance, but only slight. It made his body harder to hit, centering more upon vertical mass. The seraph waited for it to make another clumsy strike. He would not make the first move… He couldn't risk himself. He belonged here, not this thief who dared tread upon everything he has suffered for!

Israfel felt something travel up his throat, and it splattered across the ground in a blackened mess. It was his essence. What was once pure white was no longer. His stance weakened and he stumbled backwards, leaning upon his scythe and panting. No, he couldn't lose here! Not yet! He hasn't even taken an arm or a leg yet! He needed to preserve his pride! Never was he losing before he put up a good fight!

Tharrun marched forward to take advantage of the demon's sign of weakness. However, something caused him to freeze.

"...No… Ca...ot… lo…!" The demon gurgled unintelligibly. But, though it was uncivilized gibberish… Tharrun could sense determination, as well as desperation. This being was on the brink of death. It was only prolonging its suffering. The most merciful course of action would be to end its life before it could thrash further. Rediscovering his purpose, the angel marched forward, planning to succeed in defending his territory. At this rate, it would be over soon.

Israfel had lost all sense of coordination. He sliced at the angel madly, hoping to take his head. The slashes were quick despite his wounds weighing upon him. Surely one of them would hit!

But, none of them did. Tharrun remained calm. He dodged away from his horizontal slices. It would tire itself out quicker with attacks like these. Best to wait them out before he went in for the kill. He watched as the demon wore itself out, strike after strike.

Israfel stumbled forward with his last slice, then sunk heavily to his knees. It was no use. He was losing too much essence. His breathing was nonexistent with all the essence clogging his throat, and his eyes were suddenly blinded by his frustrated tears. His battered fingers sunk into the soft dirt underneath him. Water droplets fell, turning the grains a darker color once his tears absorbed into the earth. He didn't have the energy to maintain his dark aura. It fell, and so too did his scythe from his hands. It had thudded unceremoniously to the ground moments prior.

This was it. Here he faced his executioner. Both his glowing eyes and his pride stung. He would die to someone whose name he didn't even know! Defiantly, he raised his gaze to the stranger, his tears glowing pure despite the darkness.

Tharrun held his rapier to the demon's bleeding throat. This was it; his victory was clear. However, something fell upon the blade that caught his eye. The angel's brow furrowed behind his hood. It was still pure, unlike the black blood that spilled from its wounds. It glistened upon the metal, catching the light of the sun. Once the fallen angel raised its head, it was then made apparent what it was. They were tears.

The angel's arm raised, and the fallen angel's eyes widened in terror. The grip upon his blade faltered, then lowered to rest upon the demon's shoulder. Tharrun's obscured eyes flickered over it questioningly. He was struck with hesitation with this pitiful display. Even in their last moments, even demons, as low as they were, never went as low as to cry. But, this was a fallen angel, and perhaps he wasn't completely gone.

The fallen angel made a broken attempt at speech in order to shatter the silence between them. "...on't… ant to… die…!"

Tharrun took a moment to decipher its words. It became clear after a moment of thinking what it was trying to say.

It didn't want to die.

Well, neither did he. His grip tightened upon his blade. Any further hesitation could be dangerous. "Any last words?" he growled out, keeping his blade leveled against the tear in its neck.

The fallen angel slumped, defeated. Its wings drooped. Every muscle was tired. It seemed to have fallen to despair for a moment. Then, suddenly, it flared back up again. Its fists clenched, and it began to utter words that caught even the resolute angel off-guard.

"...Not… fair…!"

Tharrun's grip tightened and he hissed. It was pathetic. "Nothing is fair in this life, demon! The Eternal Conflict has never been fair!" After all it had done to him, he wished to take no part in it. And this fallen angel lied slumped between him and that goal.

It raised its chin once more, then growled out. Its words were becoming more decipherable the more determined he became to speak. His words were filled with injustice and anger. "I… didn't ask to… be born…!"

His sword faltered, then lowered completely. With words like that, he didn't even want to finish it off. He looked over it again. Now that its words were becoming clearer, it was clear this wasn't an "it." This was a mere boy crumpled before him. He was lost and had strayed from the right path. As to what that right path was… Well, even Tharrun didn't know.

The boy continued to stumble and slur, but he couldn't understand his words any longer. It was evident he was growing weaker. The seraph realized he should probably say something. "Stop speaking. I have decided I will spare your life. But, if you even so much as raise your scythe…" The man loomed threateningly. It was evident what he would do.

Israfel weakened completely, then collapsed to the ground. His unnatural green eyes couldn't be seen anymore. Soon he lied in a puddle of his own blood. It was a wonder how he managed to survive this long. And yet… he still clung to life. His body heaved, drawing breath. Maybe there was still a chance.

Tharrun looked over the fallen boy, then glanced up at the cathedral. There was much work to be done…

Hello dear readers! Israfel belongs to me, and Tharrun belongs to Seenya aka Seenyurr. There are some works of them already on my DA account with her permission and credited with her name in the title. So, if you wish to see what both him and Israfel look like, check them out~

Seenyurr: "I hope you all will like my old fart. :'I"

I'm sure everyone will love Tharrun to bits once we get a bit further into the story. He's grumpy now, but he becomes so lovable, trust me~

For those curious on Israfel's name origin, unlike many of my other characters whose names have no meanings, I based him off of a poem written by Edgar Allan Poe called "Israfel," who emphasized his lyrical prowess. He is referenced as an unnamed angelic figure in the Quran. Of course, Israfel is a loose inspiration, so he will not share many of their characteristics (like him not bearing a trumpet for example.) The only real similarities are his voice which is very pleasant to listen to, and his ability to sing if he showed it. So, there's a fun little history lesson! Look up the poem, it's one of my favorites~

Be sure to let us know if you like this story~ Ciao~