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Dec 03, 2021 1:31 PM
A sorcerer Zero summons an angel Sunburst.
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He lights the last candle and looks over the room. It’s dark, candlelight the only light there is, shimmering in the dark bowl of wine that sits on the altar on the far side of the room. There’s a large summoning circle burned into the floor on the ground, done meticulously by a well-practiced hand (though he’s never actually performed this specific ritual before). A larger circle of salt surrounds the summoning circle, and salt lines the windows and doorways. 

He opens his grimoire and prepares for some long chanting in Aramaic.

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Her appearance is heralded by no flash of blinding light, no sound of bells, but she's here now. Her mouth is half open, a hand held out pointing as if she had been dropped here in the middle of a conversation. When she tries to look up, her halo hisses and spits like a dying fluorescent bulb and she quickly turns her gaze back to the floor. Where is she? Why is she here?

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His eyes flash with delight, and he looms as close to the circle as he can get without stepping over the edge.

”Hello there, love! Wonderful to have you.”

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The glare of the runes makes it hard to see through the boundary, but she makes out a man holding a book with letters that squirm away from her vision. She squints at him and her wings shiver slightly. Why does he look familiar?

"Have me? Where am I?"

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“A nice place for nice angels like you.”

He snaps the book shut.

”You’re in my basement.”

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"I... don't belong in basements."

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“You belong wherever I am, now!” 

He reaches a hand through the circle.

”You won’t mind if I touch your wings, will you? Just to make sure they’re real.”

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She draws her wings in close to her body. She doesn't like this at all.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather you didn't. I will be missed soon - by my charges and by He himself. Please let me go."

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“I really don’t think I will, I mean, I’ve finally succeeded, and look at you, gods, you’re gorgeous!

He’s pacing around the circle now, looking at her with an almost hungry look in her eyes.

“Who did you say would miss you? Your charges?”

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"Yes. And the divine. Who I'm sure will be coming for me any moment now so let. Me. Go!"

This last outburst is accompanied with a flickering of form and the image of burning, interlocking wheels appears momentarily before being shunted to the ground and shattering with a crash. She grits her teeth and stifles a scream which comes out as a whine of pain.

"What did you do to me? Why can't I take my form?"

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“I’m not a beginner at this whole thing, you know. Even I know you’d be far too dangerous in your true form. I’m sure everyone back at home needs you, but I need you too.”

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"What could you possibly need me for more than the Divine Plan?" She's pacing now, agitated, looking for gaps in the bars of her cage that she might slip through if he'd been careless or unlucky.

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“Oh, lots of things. Tasks, protection, help with my work. But mainly I think we could have such fun together,” he’s grinning now, his teeth look just a little too sharp, “I’ve always wanted an angel of my own. You’ll like it here with me.”

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She's trying to be patient with him, but it's very hard. "I've no idea what you plan on using me for, but I have no intention of helping you any more than is my duty. Release me this instant and I promise I won't incinerate you instantly."

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“No release until you behave yourself, silly! Just forget about all your God nonsense, and I’ll let you go and you can help me instead! I think you need to remember it’s my circle you’re standing in, and I could break you if I wanted.”

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She raises her chin defiantly, ignoring how her halo crackles, tendrils of light singing her hair. "I will do no such thing. You couldn't break me if you had a thousand years, mortal." There's a sneer to the last word.

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He pouts.

“I thought they said angels were supposed to be nice.”

As he says it, the knife in his right hand comes to rest at her throat.

”You’re not being nice at all.

His nose is bleeding. It’s unclear whether it’s because of the strain of keeping the wards up or proximity to something so volatile, but he ignores it entirely.

”Don’t you want a purpose better than the one you have right now? All the praise you could possibly want? I know you don’t get much from YHWH Himself.”

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"I've been around for a long time, intervened in mortal affairs more than once or twice. People call us wondrous and awe-inspiring, terrifying to behold clad in reflected splendor. We say to those we touch that they may be not afraid. No one ever called us nice. I don't know what blasphemous books you've been reading, but they're certainly rotting holes in your brain if you think that I should be nice to you."

She shivers at the knife's caress. It is not normal for her to be touched by anything at all, much less something that seeks to sap her will, her Purpose and harm her. Twist her for his own sick Purpose. This will Not do.

"The only purpose that matters any way at all is His. I" (her words stumble a moment) "don't need praise to be what I am. You mean nothing and you will fade to nothingness in a blink of my eye. Your very existence will leave no imprint upon the world, and your works will crumble. What could you possibly offer that outshines divinity?"

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He leans closer to whisper in her ear, knife pressing harder at her throat now, beads of golden ichor welling up where it presses.

"You don't ever want to be told how well you're doing? How lovely you look and how helpful you are? How terribly you are wanted? I doubt your God does any of that for you, and you seem so in need of it."

He brings the thumb of his left hand to one of her wings and strokes it, leaving a smear of his own blood behind.

"I would hate to have to resort to other methods of making you stay, your wings and halo are so pretty, but I can't let you go back now, can I?"

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She stifles a whimper as her blood dribbles down her chest with each pulse of her heart. She resists the urge to pull away from the knife, painfully aware of the throb of words she does not have the capacity to understand forming angry red weals in the air as she leans towards them.

"My wants are not relevant to what I should get. I trust in His plan for me. I have faith, something it's clear you are lacking in."

Her wing-eye nearest his hand flares with white light as his hand draws near - he has not entirely stripped her of her defenses, she grimly thinks.

"You wouldn't dare mutilate me. I'm sure you hardly understand the consequences of such actions, let alone ways to mitigate them."

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"You think He has a plan for you other than complete irrelevance when He decides he needs a new set of angels? One of His angels has a knife to the throat and where do I see Him? Nowhere."

He walks in front of her, knife back at his side, gazing at the blood dripping down her chest with obvious interest.

His tone switches to something more tender, "I think your wants should be relevant to what you get. That's part of what I'd like to teach you!" He does look like he genuinely cares, though his eyes still have something dark in them.

"Besides, you shouldn't be telling me what I would or wouldn't dare to do. I know how much your divine type values your eyes, and I'm the one with a knife and no fear of God here."

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She fucked up. Her wants are not and never will be relevant and she never should have even revealed their existence to this man. She chokes up a little when responding to him as the knife scrapes against the cartilage of her windpipe.

"I don't know what you've done to separate me from him, but all things pass. I will return into His loving embrace, and you will be dust. Thus it is written, heathen."

"You dare to preach to me of what values I should or should not have. About how my wants should be taken into account in my" (hitch of breath) "reward. If it were not for this circle, I could snap you like a twig and scour your mind of impurity with but a thought. I would. You are in no position to reward me, despite your delusions to the contrary, and I shall have no other master before Him."

"I value my eyes, yes, but this form is but a projection. Harms done to me here will not persist" (probably. At least she doesn't remember any. It's so hard to tell when her body is continuously renewed and remade, updated as His conception of her changes and He needs new and better limbs) "so do to me what you please. You'll get no satisfaction from me."

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His eyes light up.

"Harms here are temporary? You should've told me sooner! I could've been having so much more fun!"

He swings the knife up and plunges it into the wing-eye nearest him.

"I think you'll find that I can get quite a lot of satisfaction! I've wanted this for so long and now you're here! Honestly, even if you never submit to my will, it might be worth it just for the opportunity to look at some angel biology for myself!"

He twists the knife.

"So, does that like, impact your vision at all? You have so many eyes, how are all of them getting put together into one visual input?"

He laughs.

"And I don't think I quite preach about my values so much as ask everyone around me very nicely, with force applied where necessary, to adopt them."

He yanks the knife out.

"Oh nice, you bleed gold. Do angels have the same sort of eye setup humans do? This is the kind of thing people don't quite document in their grimoires, it's all 'and then my mind broke from the stress' or 'Gabriel was like an ocean of screaming, biting mouths' in that insufferable old English spelling but y'know, I'm interested in science and facts."

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She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that! She should not have said that!

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When the pain fades somewhat, she's aware of the gash in her eye as a sucking void that drips hot fluids onto the ground where they spatter and hiss as they touch the runes, like fat dripping into the flame of a gas burner. The smell makes her want to vomit, though she doesn't have the anatomy for that. The blow rammed her up against the side of her cage that shed so carefully avoided before. Not so lucky anymore, she can smell burnt feathers and flesh - it's so unfair that the binding thinks she's trying to escape, she was pushed into it and while it doesn't hurt yet she's sure it's going to just as soon as her eye stops being the center of her entire bodily awareness.

"F...Fuck you!"

She collapses to the ground, hiding under her scorched wings like she was freshly made and unused to His attentions.

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He looks down at her on the floor and reaches a hand down. An offer to help her up.

"That wasn't an answer to any of the questions, I'm afraid. Let me ask again -- how did that impact your vision? How do your eyes work? And ooh, your wings look quite pretty scorched."

He strokes them.

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