Skin And Soul Chapter 5: The Same Soul The fiery sword…
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Skin And Soul
Chapter 5: The Same Soul
The fiery sword vanished, dissolving into sparks.
Azazel’s legs completely gave out. She collapsed heavily onto the cold, damp asphalt, panting in ragged, agonizing gasps. The wound in her shoulder burned with holy poison; her beautiful midnight wings lay broken and torn against the dirty ground.
Then, she heard the sound. Footsteps. Slow, cautious, dragging across the pavement.
John.
A panic far more violent than the physical agony of her wounds seized her chest. The illusion was gone. The plain, kindhearted Elena was dead, replaced by the monster before him. Azazel squeezed her golden eyes shut, hot, heavy tears spilling down her dark, scaled cheeks. She turned her face away, burying her horned head in her clawed hands, unable to face the disgust, the screaming, or the sound of him running away.
The footsteps stopped right beside her.
Azazel braced herself for the blow, or the scream.
Instead, a hand touched her wounded shoulder. It was trembling, but it didn't pull away. The touch was warm—the exact same warmth she had felt at the market, the same warmth she had watched over from the shadows for years.
John knelt in the black blood, entirely ignoring the terrifying horns and the monstrous size of her. With a strained grunt, he wrapped his arms around her massive, trembling torso, pulling her heavy head gently against his chest.
"John... no," she choked out, her voice a heavy, melodic rasp that sounded like breaking glass. "Look at me... I am a devil. I lied to you. I am the very thing your kind fears."
John didn't let go. He tightened his grip, his own tears wetting the dark feathers of her shoulders. He reached up, his rough, human fingers gently but firmly pulling her hands away from her face, forcing her to look at him.
His eyes were wide, and his face was pale with shock—yes. But beneath the shock, burning brighter than her hellfire, was an ocean of unwavering, fierce love. He gently wiped a dark, steaming tear from her golden eye.
"I know," John whispered, his voice shaking but completely certain. "I know what you are."
Azazel stared at him, bewildered. "You... you know?"
John offered a small, broken smile, leaning his forehead against her dark brow, right between her horns. "I'm a machinist, Elena. I notice details. I remember the cool breeze in my room on the hottest nights when I was completely alone. I remember waking up feeling safe when the rest of the world felt terrifying. I knew someone was watching over me. I just didn't know how beautiful she was."
Fresh tears streamed down Azazel's face, hissing as they hit the pavement. "I am a monster, John."
"You fought your own kind to keep me safe," John said softly, kissing her cheek, entirely unfazed by the indigo scales. "You bled for me. You loved me when I was just a stranger working in a shop. Skin changes, Elena. Forms change. But the soul doesn't."
He held her securely against his heart, his hands resting on her back.
"You will always be the same woman I love," he vowed into the quiet night. "Whether you have wings of ash or a smile of a mortal. I'm not going anywhere."
As the first faint rays of the morning sun began to bleed over the city skyline, painting the alley in shades of gold, the devil in his arms finally let go of her ancient sorrow. She wrapped her wounded wings around him, burying her face into the crook of his neck, finally safe in the light.
Chapter 5: The Same Soul
The fiery sword vanished, dissolving into sparks.
Azazel’s legs completely gave out. She collapsed heavily onto the cold, damp asphalt, panting in ragged, agonizing gasps. The wound in her shoulder burned with holy poison; her beautiful midnight wings lay broken and torn against the dirty ground.
Then, she heard the sound. Footsteps. Slow, cautious, dragging across the pavement.
John.
A panic far more violent than the physical agony of her wounds seized her chest. The illusion was gone. The plain, kindhearted Elena was dead, replaced by the monster before him. Azazel squeezed her golden eyes shut, hot, heavy tears spilling down her dark, scaled cheeks. She turned her face away, burying her horned head in her clawed hands, unable to face the disgust, the screaming, or the sound of him running away.
The footsteps stopped right beside her.
Azazel braced herself for the blow, or the scream.
Instead, a hand touched her wounded shoulder. It was trembling, but it didn't pull away. The touch was warm—the exact same warmth she had felt at the market, the same warmth she had watched over from the shadows for years.
John knelt in the black blood, entirely ignoring the terrifying horns and the monstrous size of her. With a strained grunt, he wrapped his arms around her massive, trembling torso, pulling her heavy head gently against his chest.
"John... no," she choked out, her voice a heavy, melodic rasp that sounded like breaking glass. "Look at me... I am a devil. I lied to you. I am the very thing your kind fears."
John didn't let go. He tightened his grip, his own tears wetting the dark feathers of her shoulders. He reached up, his rough, human fingers gently but firmly pulling her hands away from her face, forcing her to look at him.
His eyes were wide, and his face was pale with shock—yes. But beneath the shock, burning brighter than her hellfire, was an ocean of unwavering, fierce love. He gently wiped a dark, steaming tear from her golden eye.
"I know," John whispered, his voice shaking but completely certain. "I know what you are."
Azazel stared at him, bewildered. "You... you know?"
John offered a small, broken smile, leaning his forehead against her dark brow, right between her horns. "I'm a machinist, Elena. I notice details. I remember the cool breeze in my room on the hottest nights when I was completely alone. I remember waking up feeling safe when the rest of the world felt terrifying. I knew someone was watching over me. I just didn't know how beautiful she was."
Fresh tears streamed down Azazel's face, hissing as they hit the pavement. "I am a monster, John."
"You fought your own kind to keep me safe," John said softly, kissing her cheek, entirely unfazed by the indigo scales. "You bled for me. You loved me when I was just a stranger working in a shop. Skin changes, Elena. Forms change. But the soul doesn't."
He held her securely against his heart, his hands resting on her back.
"You will always be the same woman I love," he vowed into the quiet night. "Whether you have wings of ash or a smile of a mortal. I'm not going anywhere."
As the first faint rays of the morning sun began to bleed over the city skyline, painting the alley in shades of gold, the devil in his arms finally let go of her ancient sorrow. She wrapped her wounded wings around him, burying her face into the crook of his neck, finally safe in the light.
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