An Eternity Passed

The girl's blow did not immediately cause Elyra's heart to react. Even though it hadn't hurt—not even a slight sting—something inside of her was aroused by the human's boldness in striking a demon. Her blood ignited in an instant, rage coursing through her body like a living force. Her mouth peeled back and her talons flexed, exposing the horrible, tearing teeth of a beast made to consume flesh. She felt a tremendous shudder, an innate need for revenge for the child's blatant behavior.

Elyra did nothing, though. She remained still, staring at the girl with a homicidal look on her face, even though she really didn't plan to kill her. Her voice shook with repressed anger as she growled, attempting to sound like herself but failing. "What are you trying to prove?" she asked. "Do you really believe that a god-serving mercenary would find any significance in such a display?"

She extended her hand to brush the girl away, but before it could make contact, Soren's palm grabbed her arm, his contact hard as though he intended to hit her. A celestial fire, a mixture of wrath and righteousness, burned in his eyes. "Damned thing, don't touch her!" he growled. With one strong twist of his arm, he threw her away before she could raise a defense.

Trees hardly thicker than her wrist splintered under her weight, and Elyra felt strangely detached as she shot through the air, conscious of falling—or possibly flying. She twisted her body to halt her descent and thrust one hand down, her claws digging into the soft ground. She turned one last time and landed hard on the woodland floor, her gaze again fixed on Soren. It took a lot less thought to make the effort than it had to stop her from attacking Amara.

It felt like a huge, powerful beast writhing inside her, clawing for release, as her chest heaved with a tangled, knotted sensation. Her harsh, painful breaths were caused by an intense, unavoidable desire to see Soren die—slowly, agonizingly—rather than by any wound. Her human side fought back, struggling against the demon's desire for blood, and the struggle made her chest tighten until she thought she could burst.

They continued to arrive. The gods would only send another angel, and another, and still another, till she was dead if she killed this one. How could he call her the damned one when he was nothing more than a dumb, hollow servant of an unforgiving heaven?

She muttered, "I wouldn't have killed you," knowing full well that she couldn't win the battle that was tearing her apart. If you had just stood aside while I crushed that useless fool, I might have even allowed you to kill me. However, I am unable to— Her voice lifted, giving in to the evil power that yearned for his demise. "That expression in your eyes, which suggests you're superior to me, is unforgivable!"

With that scream, she rushed across the gap between them, her focus focusing only on her victim. Amara assumed it was Gramor who had dragged her out of danger, but she didn't stop to be sure. With a desire to tear Soren's heart from its delicate cage and cause him to scream, her twisted talons sprang out, heading for his chest. There was nothing else in the world.

I detest you so much. He can't possibly detest her. His gaze had lingered on her as if she were beautiful only minutes before, so how could he call her a traitor? It appeared that demons were not supposed to cry. But tears, a searing retribution from a place that mocked her frailty, blazed from her eyes like fire. She desired to die, not to murder him. Let him die at her feet!

Everything vanished in a blind anger, a blood-and-rage-forged scarlet cloud that poured freely down her face. As Soren's blows repeatedly struck her, the agony of her body and the misery of her spirit became indistinguishable. Even though he had no claws, his fingers tore into her flesh just as deeply as her talons did. Her skin was burned by fire.

She pushed herself to her feet again and groaned, "Damn you!" with a voice of pure agony and complete despair. At least four bones were shattered, including one in her left leg, and she was in excruciating pain just standing. Feeling like a puppet, she was determined to get back up on her fraying strings as many times as possible before the last one broke.

Soren wasn't feeling any better. She couldn't remember a hit falling on his face, leaving it a ripped ruin. Drenched in sticky crimson, his right wing dangled twisted behind him, almost torn off. His torso was crisscrossed by deep, jagged scars that revealed flesh that was either delicate pink or a fiery scarlet. He did not heave for air, but she did. He didn't need breath.

Dirt clung to her where it had adhered to her bleeding form, and the leaves were slippery and moist underfoot. With a sad glimmer of enjoyment, she thought, It's not even night. The sun should never witness such a terrible war.

They briefly separated while they assessed the harm caused by each other's hands. It was just a pause to determine who was in control; it wasn't a standoff. Actually, they appeared to be on equal footing.

Elyra muttered, not knowing if her voice was that of a demon or a human, "You are so determined to kill me." "All for a father I've never even met and a birth issue I couldn't control." Are you the one that the gods favor?

Something resembling hesitation briefly appeared in Soren's eyes, as though her words had caused him to hesitate. However, it soon disappeared, to be replaced by the same ruthless, unforgiving harshness. He said plainly, "I know my duty." She suspected that he clung to it as his only lifeline. He was aware of his responsibility. She was against him.

Nevertheless, she shook her head, feeling disdain for him, for the people who sent him, and for a purportedly loving heaven. She muttered, "Then I'm damned to death by the sin of my birth," confident that the words were formed by her human voice. "They also claim that the gods are forgiving."

She lunged with all of her last strength before he could comprehend what she had spoken, or possibly pause a second longer. As little mercy as he had shown her, her claws found his flesh and tore and tore. Her breath caught in her mouth as blood, her own blood, filled it. It wasn't clear to her that she wasn't already dying.

But she would do all in her power to murder him as long as she had any remaining strength.

Then it looked to be over. He was the one on the ground, unable to get up, while she was struggling to breathe, standing, and seeing. She remained standing over him out of sheer stubbornness. He was too feeble to even raise his head, and he was covered in blood. He would be killed by another blow.

It was really difficult to breathe. I'm going to die. She staggered, almost falling, and her eyes glazed, sinking into darkness. I'm dying, damn it. How could I have prevailed? How could I have prevailed and still perished?

She might still murder him, but what would that accomplish? A weird emptiness settled inside her as her vision cleared and she gazed down at him. The demon's fury was worn out and burned out. She didn't want him dead anymore, and she didn't have the strength to strike him one last time to set him free and save him for another day.

As though the puppet master had finally let go of her strings, Elyra folded and closed her eyes. Even in triumph, she said, "I can't do it." "What divine influence do you have over my heart that prevents me from killing you, even to save my own life?" With his head still lowered but observing her, she caught a glimpse of the glitter in his eye.

She gave a headshake. "Angel, kill me if my living is that unforgivable," she muttered as she lay in the ground. superior to another monster at your hands.

There was silence for a long time. She didn't bother to look to see if Amara and Gramor were still there, so she kept her eyes closed. She had somehow lost sight of them, but it didn't really matter anymore, did it?

It was as though she found terrible amusement in the way she died, and a strange laughter, tinged with a wild, self-mocking edge, swelled up inside her. She waited anxiously for Soren to hit her with his deadly blow. However, it became evident that he lacked the strength to finish her as each breath dwindled into the next. Her strange and painful life continued unabated.

She was surrounded by so much blood. She couldn't understand how she was able to stand up again, especially when it was clear he was no longer able to finish her. The overwhelming smell of blood suddenly overcame her, and she wished to wipe it away, as she had done countless times after previous hunts, but her head was too hazy to make sense of it. She grinned as she placed one foot carefully in front of the other, drawn to the river's water.

She felt cold, a cold that whispered of heaven, a cold that seemed like forgiveness.