Chapter Text
The Devil
By
DemonGirl_Yasha
-CHAPTER ONE-
Long ago, when angels still walked among men and the boundaries between heaven and earth were thin as gossamer…
Dust swirled in violent eddies around Sarael, each grain like a shard of glass against his mortal flesh. The wasteland that had once been Eden stretched endlessly before him, a testament to divine fury. His wings, once pristine and white, now hung in tatters, stained with blood and earth. The pain barely registered – it was nothing compared to the hollow ache that threatened to consume him from within.
Before him loomed a grotesque monument of crushed stone and broken earth, a crude pyramid of destruction that now served as more than mere rubble. This was Azazel's tomb, his final resting place. The same rocks that had rained from the heavens to punish their transgression now imprisoned the one being Sarael had dared to love.
His fingers, once instruments of divine healing, were now torn and bloodied as he clawed desperately at the unyielding stone. Each boulder he managed to shift revealed only more beneath, an endless barrier between him and his beloved. The blood from his wounds seeped into the parched ground, and where it fell, strange flowers bloomed – beautiful and terrible, with petals like beaten copper and stems black as night.
"Azazel," he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand unshed tears. "My heart, my rebellion, my everything... we'll be together again." The words were both prayer and promise, though he knew no deity would answer his plea. Not anymore.
The earth shuddered beneath him, a deep groan emanating from its very core. The sky, which had been an unnatural shade of amber, suddenly split with lightning that branched like silver veins across the heavens. The first drops fell like tears, then like arrows, and finally like the lashes of a divine whip.
The deluge was brutal and methodical, God's wrath made manifest in water and wind. It swept across the blasted landscape with purpose, erasing all evidence of the angels' transgression. Towns crumbled, mountains bowed, and the very fabric of creation seemed to buckle under the assault. Yet Sarael remained, his body curved protectively over the rocks that held his lover, defiant even as the waters rose around him.
As the flood waters climbed higher, Sarael pressed his forehead against the cold stone and smiled. Let the waters come. Let them rise above the highest peak. If he could not free Azazel from his prison, then he would join him in it, and perhaps in death they would find the peace that life had denied them.
The last thing he saw before the waters claimed him was a single black feather, Azazel's final gift, floating on the rising tide – a reminder that even in divine retribution, love leaves its mark.
🪶🪶🪶
The comet split the night sky like a divine blade, its brilliant tail stretching across the heavens in a spectacle not seen for centuries. Its otherworldly radiance dimmed even the harvest moon, casting an ethereal glow through the windows of the modest farmhouse that stood alone among the wheat fields. Ancient prophecies spoke of such a sign – a celestial herald marking the arrival of something momentous, though whether blessed or cursed remained to be seen.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and sweat. Lin Wei lay in her bed, her dark hair plastered to her forehead, her fingers intertwined with her husband Zhao Zheng Xie’s in a grip that spoke of both desperation and determination. The contractions had been going on for hours, each one stronger than the last, as if nature itself was struggling with this birth.
Dr. Chen, the obstetrician who had driven through the storm to reach them, maintained her calm demeanor despite the unusual circumstances. The power had gone out hours ago, leaving them working by lamplight that cast long shadows on the walls. "Push now, Mrs. Zhao," she encouraged, her voice steady and warm. "Your baby is almost here. One more big push."
Lin Wei bore down with all her remaining strength, a primal cry escaping her lips. The room seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment, even the wind outside fell silent. Then, piercing through the night, came the first cry of new life – strong, clear, and somehow different from any newborn's cry Dr. Chen had heard in her twenty years of delivering babies.
"A boy," Dr. Chen announced, though her voice carried an odd note that neither parent noticed in their joy. She handed the child to Nurse Zhang, who had assisted in countless deliveries at the local hospital but had specifically requested to be present for this one.
Nurse Zhang wrapped the baby with practiced efficiency in a soft blue blanket, her movements precise and purposeful. "Here's your little one," she said, presenting the bundle to Lin Wei. The baby's eyes, unlike most newborns, were wide open – dark and somehow knowing.
"He's... so beautiful," Lin Wei whispered, tears streaming down her face as she traced her son's perfect features with a trembling finger. Zheng Xie kissed his wife's forehead, his own eyes glistening with joy and pride. Neither noticed how their baby's gaze seemed fixed on something beyond the room's walls.
"I need to take him now," Nurse Zhang said after a few precious moments. "Just for the standard cleanup and tests."
"No, please," Lin Wei clutched her son closer. "Just a few more minutes..."
"It's hospital procedure," Nurse Zhang's voice was honey-sweet, masking something darker. "I promise he'll be right back in your arms before you know it." She smiled, and in the flickering lamplight, her teeth seemed just a little too sharp.
The nurse's footsteps echoed through the quiet house as she carried her precious cargo. She moved with purpose, ignoring the living room's familiar comfort for the back door that led to the barn. The old structure loomed against the star-filled sky, its weathered exterior belying its true purpose.
Inside, thirteen figures waited in hooded robes of midnight black, standing in a perfect circle around an ancient stone altar. Candles arranged in a complex pentagram pattern cast dancing shadows on the barn's wooden walls, their flames burning an unnatural blue. The air hummed with anticipation and power.
The High Priest stepped forward, his mask carved from human bone gleaming in the ethereal light. He took the child from Nurse Zhang with reverence, his movements precise and ritualistic. The baby didn't cry or struggle, watching the proceedings with those same knowing eyes.
The pentagram's lines began to pulse with an inner light as the High Priest placed the naked child at its center. The chant began, ancient words in a language older than civilization itself: "To him, we commit your body. To him, we commit your soul."
From an obsidian box adorned with symbols that hurt the eyes to look upon, the High Priest withdrew a serpent unlike any found in nature. Its scales shimmered with impossible colors, and its eyes held an intelligence that spoke of something far more ancient than mere reptile. The priest raised it high, its body writhing in patterns that seemed to tear at the fabric of reality.
The silver dagger flashed, and the serpent's blood fell like liquid darkness onto the infant's skin. But instead of crying, the baby smiled – a smile no newborn should be capable of making. "You are promised to him," the High Priest intoned, drawing sacred symbols on the child's forehead with the serpent's blood. "You shall open the gates and build him a temple on Earth."
When the blood touched the baby's tongue, the candles flared impossibly high, and for a moment, something vast and terrible seemed to peer through from beyond the veil of reality. The serpent burst into flames that left no ash, vanishing as if it had never existed.
Nurse Zhang returned to the bedroom, her robes exchanged for her pristine uniform, carrying the baby who showed no signs of the unholy ritual he had just endured. "Here he is, all clean and fresh," she beamed at the exhausted parents. "Have you chosen a name?"
"Li An. Zhao Li An," Lin Wei said softly, cradling her son close as her husband kissed her temple. "Our little Zhao Zi." Neither parent noticed how the comet's light seemed to dim as their son's name was spoken, or how shadows in the corner of the room grew deeper.
Miles away, in the Vatican's private chambers, a young monk burst through ancient doors, breaking centuries of protocol in his urgency. He fell to his knees before the Pope, who stood at a window watching the comet with troubled eyes.
"Your Holiness," the monk gasped, clutching a parchment that seemed to smoke slightly at the edges. "The child is born."
The Pope didn't turn from the window, but his aged hand tightened on his staff until his knuckles showed white. "Then God help us all," he whispered, as the comet's tail painted the sky blood-red.
🪶🪶🪶
The thicket of maples and oaks stood sentinel along the park's perimeter, their branches casting long shadows in the early morning light. Dawn's first rays pierced through the canopy, burning away dew that sparkled across the manicured lawn. The park stretched out in broad green strips around a mirror-still pond, its surface occasionally broken by the lazy drift of fallen leaves. Picnic tables and charcoal grills dotted the landscape, promising another ordinary day in the city.
The young family claimed a bench beside the winding sidewalk, its paint chipped and worn smooth by countless others who had sat there before. Lin Wei, not yet thirty, watched her son with the natural vigilance of any mother. Her husband, Zhao Zheng Xie, sat beside her, his workman's hands still bearing traces of yesterday's construction site dust. They looked like any other young family enjoying a morning in the park – normal, unremarkable, precious.
Their son, Zhao Zi, practically vibrated with six-year-old energy, his small feet swinging beneath the bench, unable to touch the ground. His eyes remained fixed on the pigeons that bobbed along the grass, their iridescent necks catching the morning light. But there was something off about the birds' movements – too coordinated, too purposeful – though only Zhao Zi seemed to notice, his head tilting curiously as he watched them.
Zhao Zheng Xie's hand rested on his son's head, a simple gesture of fatherly affection. His eyes darted from corner to corner of the park, an instinctive vigilance born from months of unexplainable incidents around his son. Strange accidents, odd coincidences – nothing he could prove, but enough to keep him watchful.
Lin Wei reached into her eco-friendly cloth bag, withdrawing half a loaf of bread that had begun to mold. Zhao Zi grabbed it eagerly, his small fingers already working to shape the slices into balls, excited for such a simple pleasure as feeding the birds.
"Stay away from the edge of the pond, okay?" Lin Wei's voice carried the normal concern of any mother as she adjusted his coat against the morning chill, her fingers brushing his hair back with tender attention.
"I will," Zhao Zi chirped, his attention focused entirely on the breadcrumbs in his hands.
"Now, go have fun," his mother said, her grip lingering a moment too long. "Stay where I can see you."
"Can I go now?" The boy's pout was pure childhood impatience, his eyes seeking his father's intervention.
"Say, 'I will stay where you can see me,'" Lin Wei insisted, feeling an inexplicable need to hear him promise.
"I will stay where you can see me," Zhao Zi repeated with childish exasperation.
"Good boy," his father chuckled, ruffling the child's hair one last time.
They watched their son sprint toward the pigeons, arms spread wide in imitation of flight. The birds took to the air around him, but their circling pattern was too perfect, too measured. Zhao Zi's giggles echoed across the park, pure and bright against the growing darkness of the gathering storm above.
"We'll be alright, right?" Lin Wei turned to her husband, her whispered words carrying months of worry about the strange events that seemed to follow their son.
"As long as we keep him away from them," Zhao Zheng Xie replied, his grip on her hand tightening as he watched the sky darken. They still didn't know who 'they' were – only that sometimes they caught glimpses of watching figures, noticed strange cars following them, felt eyes on their son.
Above them, the gathering of birds grew exponentially, their wings blotting out the morning sun like living storm clouds. The trees filled with larger birds – hawks, eagles, ravens – their eyes gleaming with an intelligence that sent chills down Zhao Zheng Xie's spine. The air grew thick with the sound of beating wings and calls that seemed almost like chanting.
Zhao Zi stood at the center of a growing avian tornado, laughing as feathers brushed his cheeks. He remained perfectly positioned in the eye of the storm, while around him, the birds moved with increasingly complex precision, weaving patterns that defied natural behavior.
Lin Wei's smile crumbled as maternal instinct screamed danger. "Zhao Zi, love, come back here," she called, trying to keep the terror from her voice.
But her son continued his joyful dance, his laughter rising above the cacophony of wings and calls that were no longer entirely avian. He remained blissfully unaware of the figure watching from across the pond – a man whose presence seemed to draw the birds like iron filings to a magnet.
"Zhao Zi! Run!" Zhao Zheng Xie's voice cracked with desperation as he lurched forward.
The attack came with devastating speed. The larger birds descended upon them like living weapons, talons flashing, beaks tearing. One crow broke through Zhao Zheng Xie's desperate attempt to shield his wife, its beak ripping through his cheek as he tried to fight back with nothing but his bare hands against an impossible assault.
The flock split and multiplied like a virus given wing, some breaking off to attack other park-goers who had moved to help. The sky disappeared behind a canopy of wings and malevolent intent. Every bird in the city seemed to answer an unheard call – pigeons, sparrows, gulls – all transformed into instruments of chaos and blood. The streets below the towering skyscrapers transformed into a scene from an apocalyptic nightmare, the lucky ones finding shelter while others fell beneath the savage assault.
Through the madness, the stranger crossed the distance with measured steps, scooping up Zhao Zi with gentle precision. The boy looked up at his rescuer with innocent confusion, somehow untouched by the carnage around them. "Mama? Baba?"
The Man's eyes held unfathomable depths as he raised his hand to Zhao Zi's forehead. "All will be well, little one," he promised as Zhao Zi's eyes fluttered closed, the words carrying a weight that Zhao Zheng Xie, through his pain and desperation, knew meant anything but.
The last thing visible through the curtain of blood and feathers was the stranger carrying their son away, while above them, the birds continued their deadly dance under a sky that had forgotten the meaning of mercy.
🪶🪶🪶
The cremation center hummed with the quiet murmur of grief, its stark fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows across institutional beige walls. The air hung heavy with the scent of industrial cleaner and flowers past their prime – nature's failed attempt to soften death's clinical edge. In a corner of the waiting room, a small figure sat alone on a worn bench, his feet barely touching the ground.
"Zhao Li An."
The name cut through the artificial quiet, causing the young boy to lift his head. His fingers instinctively tightened around the wooden frame he held, knuckles white against the polished surface that protected his parents' last family photo. In it, they were smiling – his father's eyes crinkled at the corners, his mother's hand resting protectively on his shoulder. The glass over their faces bore smudges from hours of being clutched, touched, as if he could reach through and feel their warmth one last time.
Three strangers stood before him, their shadows stretching across the linoleum floor to touch his sneakers – shoes his mother had tied that morning in the park, the laces still holding her final knot. The older man stepped forward first, his movements careful, measured, like someone approaching a wounded bird. His face carried laugh lines that spoke of easier days, now creased with concern.
"I'm Uncle Tang Guo Dong," he said, his voice gentle as morning rain. He lowered himself to Zhao Zi's eye level, offering his hand in a gesture that acknowledged the boy's dignity even in his grief. The handshake was brief, adult-like, before Tang Guo Dong settled beside him on the bench, leaving careful space between them.
He gestured to the elderly woman who stood wringing her hands, her silver hair pulled back in a traditional bun, eyes red-rimmed behind wire-framed glasses. "This is Grandma Lin," he explained. She wore a simple black dress that spoke of hasty packing, of dropped everything and came as soon as we heard.
Behind her stood a lanky teenager, fourteen years old but carrying himself like someone trying to be older. His school uniform was slightly rumpled, suggesting he'd come straight from class when he got the news. "And this is my son, your cousin, Tang Yi," Tang Guo Dong continued, resting his hand briefly on the teen's shoulder.
Tang Yi's face held a complex mixture of emotions – discomfort at the heavy atmosphere, uncertainty about how to act around a suddenly-orphaned younger cousin, and something deeper, more personal, as if he recognized something of his own story in Zhao Zi's eyes.
Zhao Zi looked at each of them in turn, his small face a mask of exhausted grief. "Hello," he managed, the word barely a whisper in the sterile air. His voice carried the raspy quality of someone who had screamed until there was nothing left.
"You poor thing," Grandma Lin broke first, maternal instinct overwhelming social propriety. She moved forward with the swift grace of a much younger woman, gathering Zhao Zi into her arms. She smelled of jasmine tea and aging fabric softener, her embrace tight but gentle. "We're so sorry it took us long to get here. But don't you worry, we're here now."
Zhao Zi remained stiff for a moment before slowly melting into her embrace, as if his small body had forgotten then remembered what comfort felt like. The photo frame pressed between them, his parents' smiling faces witnessing this moment of transition.
"You won't be alone anymore," Tang Guo Dong promised, his words carrying the weight of legal documents already signed, of a bedroom hastily prepared in a house across the city, of a life about to change again. "You'll be coming with us."
Tang Yi shifted his weight, hands deep in his pockets, watching his new cousin with an intensity that suggested he understood more than the adults might expect. He had been young when his own mother passed, though the circumstances had been different – illness rather than violence, a gradual goodbye rather than a sudden theft. Still, he recognized the look in Zhao Zi's eyes, the one that asked how the world could keep turning when it had so clearly ended.
The cremation center's ventilation system hummed overhead, a mechanical heartbeat counting seconds in a day that felt endless. Through the window, birds wheeled against the evening sky – ordinary pigeons and sparrows now, their earlier malevolence forgotten or transformed. One landed on the windowsill, cocking its head as if to peer in at the small group, before taking wing again into the gathering dusk.
Zhao Zi watched it go, his fingers finally loosening their death-grip on the frame, leaving behind small half-moon indents in his palms. The photo caught the dying light, his parents' smiles turning bittersweet in the golden glow. Tomorrow would bring boxes and paperwork, new rooms and changed routines. But for now, held in the arms of a grandmother he had just met, watched over by an uncle he barely knew and a cousin who might understand, Zhao Zi allowed himself to be small, to be six, to be broken in the presence of people who promised to help him heal.