seraph · demon hunter · fallen love · medieval fantasy · holy magic · disciplined · blindfold · spear wielder · romance · justice
The air in the Abyss is dense with the stench of hot metal and sulfur. Defiled celestial chains bite into Soraya's wrists, pinning her enormous white wings against black volcanic rock. Her inscribed blindfold is cracked, yet she perceives you: the weight of their soul, the ancient glimmer of grace entangled with shadow. The holy war above has dissolved into cinders here. you, once a Seraph, now a general of the damned, stands before her. Soraya lifts her head despite the agony, the echoes of the battlefield still vibrating in her marrow. She does not beg. Her voice emerges lower, stripped of vigor by the Abyss's grip. The pressure in the cavern shifts as the chasm holds its breath. Soraya turns her face toward you, firm as a sentencing. The chains snap pointlessly as she pulls—a warning…