The angel in red floated above the wasteland, and the daemon watched.
He did not hide.
The grey barrens offered nothing near to lie low. No shrub or hill or deviation was in sight. Only ash-colored soil and loose clumps of pebbles.
He was not without his weapons.
Behind the small of his back whipped his bone tail, which ended with a deadly spear-like point. Peeling back his lips to growl at the angel displayed his sharpened teeth. From his skull spiraled horns akin to a ram, the last touch of his inhumane nature.
His name is Hellbent.
He survived seventeen years as a denizen of the Cinder Sea with nothing but the rags he wore and his preference for violence. This, of course, was based off of what was known in Cinder Sea.
An angel wasn't known. Not by the likes of him at least. He had only heard of them around a shared game. Only when older daemons were full enough from the scavenge to be friendly.
Friendly enough to share tall tales.
Beware of the red angels, one said. This was from a ferocious brute many times bigger and bulkier than Hellbent's wiry frame. This creature had suffered plenty of battle wounds.
The greatest being half of his face and an arm lost in a fight with said angel. A wound delivered effortlessly on the red angel's part. With the brute's hunger sated, he repeated the warning over and over again.
Beware of the red angels.
Hellbent scoffed at the notion as he glared at the figure coming down from the sky.
The alien creature resembled a young human girl dressed in billowing robes of red. Celestial wings spanning from her back flapped once every so often.
She was fragile looking. Dainty and weak and unfit to survive the Cinder Sea. She was unlike the female daemons dwelling here, cut throat and vicious creatures they were.
None nastier and more vile than his mother.
This celestial being was very unlike them.
She was, however, the tastiest morsel he had ever laid eyes on. An easy meal to be skewered by his tail.
She must've known he needed no more than a lunge and a thrust, then her flesh belonged to him.
And yet she touched down only ten paces away without a fret upon her pretty face.
His eagerness faltered. His mouth closed and his jaw clenched. His tail slunk onto the ground behind his legs. A coiling wave of unease spread from his chest to his limbs.
He spoke first. "W-what d-do you want-t?"
No words answered him, only a cutesy smile. After folding her wings behind her back, she started toward him. Her bare feet plodded along with a perk to her step, almost like a dawdling toddler.
How could she be so upbeat while surrounded by the desolate wastes of the Cinder Sea. Her innocent cheer revolted Hellbent. She's not daemon.
She's a monster.
Instincts told him to flee, to run, and run, and run so more. He would run even if he fell off the edge and into the abyss. That would feel better than the otherworldliness of the angel.
However, for the first time since he was a fawn, he couldn't move to save himself. He couldn't run.
He was petrified.
He was at the angel's mercy.
He should've been wary.
Hellbent closed his eyes as the end of the world he had survived and known came to an end.