The Outskirts of Hell were a realm of constant twilight, where the horizon bled with the embers of forgotten battles. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur, and the echoes of tormented wails drifted like whispers of a past that refused to be silenced. Sariel, Remiel, and Azrael moved through the barren wasteland, their presence an oddity—three fallen, bound by neither allegiance nor malice.
Sariel stole a glance at Remiel, who walked with a slight limp from the scuffle. His golden eyes darted around warily, fingers twitching as if expecting another attack. Azrael, on the other hand, moved with practiced ease, his expression unreadable.
"You’ll want to find shelter before nightfall," Azrael remarked, his voice casual. "Not that there’s a sun here, but when the deeper horrors awaken, even the scavengers become prey."
Sariel frowned. "Deeper horrors?"
Azrael smirked. "You’ll see."
Remiel exhaled sharply. "I never thought I’d end up here. I was a warrior. A guardian. How did everything fall apart so quickly?"
Sariel glanced at him. "How did you fall?"
Remiel hesitated, his hands clenching into fists. "I hesitated," he admitted. "When the rebellion began, I was assigned to defend the celestial gates. But as I watched my brothers and sisters turn against one another, I faltered. My sword did not strike where it should have. And that was enough."
Sariel felt a pang of understanding. "So even hesitation was a crime."
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Azrael snorted. "In Heaven, indecision is failure. And failure is punished. Do you see now? We were cast out not for defiance, but for doubt." He spread his arms mockingly. "Welcome to the ranks of the forsaken."
Before Sariel could respond, a voice rang out from the darkness.
"New blood in the Outskirts? How delightful."
They turned sharply. A figure emerged from the shadows, flanked by two others. His form was regal, his wings blackened at the edges, but unlike the scavengers, his presence commanded respect rather than fear. His silver hair was tied back, revealing sharp features and piercing violet eyes.
Azrael groaned. "Oh, wonderful. Just what we needed."
"Who is he?" Sariel asked.
"Vael," Azrael muttered. "Once a Throne, now a king without a kingdom. He fancies himself a ruler among the fallen."
Vael smirked as he approached. "Azrael. Still brooding, I see."
"And you’re still pretending to be important," Azrael shot back.
Vael chuckled before turning his gaze to Sariel and Remiel. "Newcomers rarely survive long in the Outskirts. But you… you are different." His eyes lingered on Sariel. "You still carry traces of celestial grace. How peculiar."
Sariel met his gaze evenly. "What do you want?"
Vael tilted his head. "Perhaps to offer an alliance. Strength in numbers, after all. Hell is not kind to those who wander alone."
Azrael crossed his arms. "And what’s the price of your so-called alliance?"
Vael’s smirk deepened. "Loyalty. Protection comes at a cost."
Sariel narrowed her eyes. "And if we refuse?"
Vael’s expression did not change, but the air around them grew heavy. "Then you walk alone into the abyss. And when the true horrors of this realm find you, you will regret not having allies."
Remiel shifted uneasily. Azrael, however, only sighed. "Typical. A false choice disguised as generosity."
Sariel took a step forward. "We are not here to serve under anyone."
Vael chuckled. "Oh, little cherub, you will learn that in Hell, you either serve, or you perish." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "But I am merciful. I will give you time to reconsider."
With that, he turned, his followers vanishing into the darkness with him.
Silence stretched between them.
Remiel exhaled. "He’ll be back, won’t he?"
Azrael shrugged. "Oh, definitely. And next time, he won’t be so polite."
Sariel looked toward the horizon, where the shadows deepened. She clenched her fists. She had been cast into this realm, exiled for her neutrality. But she would not remain powerless.
Hell had stripped her of her status, but noth er resolve.
And she would find her own way through the darkness.