Fungal Halo

A powerful angel. A beacon of light. He whose blade shatters the night. Hero of a myriad battles. The most loyal of all His soldiers.

So many things they called me. Even after my defeat, for some reason, they believed in me.

The angel quivers in my grasp as I hold her by the neck.

“You shouldn’t be here, pretty thing,” I breathe. She whimpers when I let my fangs graze the gentle curve of her ear as I whisper into it. “This is my realm.”

Perhaps compliance came easier to other angels, but whenever my halo compelled me to turn from what I felt was right, or kind, or at least merciful, it grieved me. The love of the Light sometimes seemed so cruel and fickle. I did not see the wisdom in it that my peers did.