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Tears of anger sprung from Sera. She couldn’t believe it. The vile wretchedness of Emily’s betrayal nor the frosty ignorance of her pleas to be understood falling flat.
And so, she fell, she fell, she fell. The divine wrath of her heavenly brethren assisted her descent into the red darkness. Burning chains pulled her down. After everything she'd done to protect them, they'd exiled her to below. The skies of Hell soon hurtled into view. Desperation consumed her fiery, futilely flaming wings. The rage viscerally tore.
The descent felt eternal. Colors flashed. White turned into red, and silver gave way unto black. The wind sliced at her. Rising heat scorched.
And then–Sera impacted! Flesh met rock; sky gave way to ground. Pain ricocheted in every limb and muscle. Her blazing wings extinguished.
Ramparts of debris caused by the literal slam fell. Everything felt ruptured. The billowing dust clouds caused her to hack violently. Sera was still very much writhing in agony when a hurry of leather boots clambered near. It was followed by an unmistakable metallic clicking that echoed in her ringing ears. A gruff, male voice spoke.
“One false move, angel lady, and I'm sure you know what happens next.”
Primal fear engraved itself deep within Sera.
When had she last known this… fear for her life?
Ruffled wings gently lowered, intent to wave away the dust nullified. Ivory, translucent chains tethered her to the ground. Sera tried to be careful and quiet. Thus, she slowly moved her arms to support the upper chest, rising up; the angel dared no further. It wasn’t a wobbly pose by any means. Even so, it was tough to support her awkward stance. Sera just felt so weak .
Sera finally looked up. So, she had been thrown into the endless hellscape of the Wrath Ring. Far below even Lucifer. She’d have acted more aggrieved if not for her current situation.
There it was. The long end of a gleaming, golden-vantablack rifle pointed inches from her forehead. There he was, bearer of the low growling voice. His predatory, bright yellow eyes gleamed. Sera shivered . A gust swirled past and finally blew away the plumes. This revealed a pale red-skinned imp, perhaps half her height, dressed smartly for the environment.
“You come in here,” he hissed, “And leave a crater in my home. Explain yourself,” he demanded, moving the Wrath-warmed barrel directly onto her forehead.
A haughty laugh came from Sera’s dry throat, despite her paralyzing predicament. “You threaten me , you pint-sized shrimp?” He growled, amusing her greatly. “I am the High Seraphim of Heaven! You're nothing–gahhhh! Oh, fucking god!”
A dagger shot out of nowhere into her thigh.
Sera screamed. Golden blood poured out.
The wound pulsed, forcing Sera’s eyes to water.
By the time she glared, his hand was already back on the trigger.
He jiggled the rifle, indicating for her to look at him.
So, Sera did.
“You were the High Seraphim, I take it',” he said, almost mockingly. “And don't think I'd be stupid enough not to carry angelic weaponry after the shit you pulled up above. Big news travels fast down here.” A scaly grin formed. “Don’t even think to take me on. I'm quicker, as you currently can feel. I'm honed to kill, unlike you, needing your little warriors to fight for you.”
Tears of pain blended with her tears of anger. Sera screeched out. “What do you want from me, then, you slimy, pathetic excuse of a lizard?”
His cowboy hat leaned menacingly. “A name to know you by would be nice. It makes things more personal, less dangerous, comfortable for all parties.” He kept his hands at the ready. “Mine is Striker, the best damn professional assassin and bounty hunter from the Wrath Ring.”
The bleeding hurt , but she didn't care–Sera already just wanted to get through the stupid irritation that was this pest. The wound didn’t matter anyway, short or long term. Nothing did anymore…
Sera wrinkled her nose; the heat of the desert was starting to get to her. A thought occurred to her. “And not all of Hell?” Sera lightly chuckled. “I would've thought that from the way you’re prepared to kill an angel, even a seraphim, at all times.”
Striker growled. “Don't make me throw another dagger, this time into your heart, angel lady.” The barrel pressed harder. “I'm trying to be friendly here, so just you try me.”
“Ha! So fucking friendly!” Sera barked. The pain in her thigh began to subside as she willfully ignored it. “You aren't the best! You're just trying to prop up your ego, Striker!”
“Shut your trap!” Striker yelled. “As if you don’t stroke your ego, either! You ain't the only fucker around here whose lost shit, lost family!” Flames burned within his eyes.
Delirious snickering left Sera. “Ahhh! That makes us so alike already, we almost know each other, therefore!” Sera raised her voice, tears streaming on her roughed-up, filthy face.
Striker’s nose twitched. “I am not stupid. It’s not hard to discern something happened for you to be here.” He snorted. “Look, I’m trying to connect here to not have to kill you. I’m being rather friendly, considering it hasn’t been all that long-”
“Cut the shit, Striker!” Sweat poured down Sera. The heat was starting to parch her. “You’re just lording here!” Her arms began struggling to hold up her chest. "You're just weak! Mellowed out by recent experience!” Another laugh at his expense choked out.
For that remark, the force against her forehead shoved her head uncomfortably back a bit. “You have no idea what you’re touching, angel lady. You do not want to go there.”
“And why the hell can’t I?” Sera countered. “I’m about to die, aren’t I? Why shouldn’t I taunt you for your trauma?”
He clicked his tongue. “Well, because it’s just plain rude to force an uncomfortable subject or jeer at it, angel lady.” His teeth ground each other. “Now you, I can guess you’ve yourself have had recent-”
“Oh, go suck it, Striker!” Her eyes bulged. “You come in here all high and mighty when you’re one with the gun to my head! Too afraid to be wrong after others shoved him off his pedestal! Go on, tell me I’m wrong! That you’re not being a hypocrite!
Instead of anger at her, as she expected, however, a calmness raged in Striker's gaze. “You’re right about that,” he heartily gruffed. “I ain't the best in Hell. Recent events… humbled me. But still, as I was trying to say, you’ve been-”
Sera screeched, tears falling on the dry rock and sand. “You don’t know shit about me! You know jack all!” Her wings tensed up; the rifle wavered slightly. “So why threaten me at all, hm?”
“Because-” He half-grinned all over again. “-I ain't lost my gumption or base survival instincts.” His fingers danced on the trigger. “So, back to business, you wrathful bitch. I ain’t one to judge you, but I am one to make sure I don’t die. Especially to things and people of unknown magnitude.”
A dusty wind blew in Sera's face. “Hmpf, dickweed!” she coughed out. Sweat now soaked her ruined dress. By now, her thigh blood had coagulated and dried, staining the cloth gold.
Striker sighed. “Now, now, as I said before, angel lady, I want a name and a story. Doesn't matter how short. Strangers are enemies–peers aren’t. And a nameless corpse isn't all that fun to know, seraphim or not. Let’s get to know each other before we proceed any further.”
His brazen serenity caught Sera off guard.
The self-restraint of such order… from an imp facing an angel ?
Like a slap to the face, a cold freeze cracked through Sera. She didn’t understand how he, a creature of Wrath, had not killed her yet. Why hadn’t he yet given into his obvious core of anger? For all she hurled and barraged at him, the insults didn't faze him. Just like that, the high of refocusing her anger on him vanished.
Sera's tears began to stream as it all came crashing down on her again. She couldn’t ignore it. What she’d done. What’d been to her. What was truly left for her. She strained to maintain eye contact with the sky's glare beating on her. Sera bit the air. All over again, her heart boiled. Once more, she didn’t care that she might be about to make a regretful mistake.
Sera screeched rabidly: at him, at them, at Heaven, at Hell, these weights pulling her down, down, down.
“Oh, like you fucking care!” Sera suddenly raged. “Let’s just get this over with already, shall we?”
Striker bit his lower lip. “Angel lady, you misunderstand my intentions here-”
Sera gently straightened her posture and flexed her flattened wings. The translucent chains binding her to the Wrath Ring, upon her wrists and each wing, burned. She'd never fly free from this ring.
This was her divine sentencing. So be it. Sera cried as she cackled. She pressed her head against the muzzle of Striker's rifle. The light in the sky glinted off the dagger still embedded in her numb, limp thigh.
Striker's eyes widened. Something laced his expression–Sera didn't care. “Angel lady, you-”
“The name is Sera, you cunt!” Sera shouted, venom lathering her tone. “Former High Seraphim and High Leader of the Angelic Exorcist Forces! A once great leader who thought certain evils were necessary for the greater good!” Sera's shoulders rattled. Her eyes were wet and red. “Someone's who's own sister was the one to motion for her exile despite doing everything to protect her from falling!” Her body shook. “I tried to explain myself. They wouldn't let me and refused what I did manage. They wouldn’t even give me a goddamn chance!”
“S-S-Sera,” he stuttered, “I'm not quite sure that you-”
She clutched the ground so hard that her fingertips bled. “And now I'm the fallen one! How fucking ironic is that, hm, Striker?’ Sera wheezed. “I was so wrong, so fearful, so deep in my mind in the end! All for nothing! All for my worthless anger! My anger at letting Lucifer for tearing asunder the balance of creation, anger at myself for not having prevented Hell in the first place! And now anger at my sister! Enraged enough at her for them to have to physically restrain me! And now here I am! A nobody! I have nothing! I am nothing! I’m worthless, worthless, worthless!”
Fear sparked in Striker's eyes; she saw it. “Sera, please, listen to me-”
She didn’t let him have his piece. “I have nothing to live for, don’t you see?” Sera’s eyes glowed with a darkened energy. “No one cares! No one gave a damn about me, sees what I tried to do!” Sera couldn’t fight it anymore. “And I can’t fix myself! No matter how much I try, have tried, keep trying, I keep slipping, keep falling, keep ending up back where I was! Don’t you see it, too? How can I have any value if I committed so many evils for so long? They were right about me!”
“Sera-”
“So stop being a coward and kill me! I have nothing left! Nothing but eternal banishment in this shitty wasteland to live for! And isolation and solitude to look forward to!”
Sera started channeling what little power she could sense. Her face scrunched up. Dark fire licked at her fingertips. Sera laughed; she cried; she closed her eyes.
An infinitely burning feeling melted across her entirety, from the tips of her wings to the tip of her nose. Sera bellowed with great fury.
“FUCKING KILL ME BEFORE I FUCKING KILL YOU FIRST!”
Immediately, she heard Striker pull the trigger. Sera cackled as the metal clicked. A massive, explosive force pummeled directly into her forehead.
Blam!
The angel launched back-and-upwards into the air: for a moment, she was entirely airborne.
Then her back landed on the ground, causing every part of her to explode.
Air left her lungs.
The end to her suffering was welcome.
For a moment, all was still and silent…
Until her heart pulsed, its beat forcing her innards to operate.
She opened her eyes with gargantuan, greedy breath.
Her forehead throbbed. Golden blood poured, necessitating rapid blinking.
She… she was still alive.
How-
Why-
Hard boots crunched on the ground. A rifle clanked and dropped onto the disturbed sand.
Sera tried to rouse her battered body to move. But a warm finger settling atop her lips melted any resistance.
Their eyes met.
“Miss Sera, angel lady,’ Striker's suave, soothing voice said, “That was a blank. Of sorts. I have real ones, yah. But I try not to kill. Unless I have to or someone is a real piece of work…”
He… he hadn’t killed her?
Not even left her to die?
“I was gonna tell ya. That was only a fake angelic bullet. It'll hurt like hell. Specially crafted to appear genuine. But it ain't fatal to your kind. You’ll be relatively alright.”
Sera shattered.
Cries came in fresh, convulsing waves.
Striker hadn’t abandoned her like she’d thought he would.
“Be still, and let me take care of you.”
Somehow, Sera found his smooth attitude calming her down. He first wiped her forehead clean with a wet rag, sacrificing a torn sleeve and water from his canteen. Blinking, Sera could actually see now. Soft, warm hands settled on her forehead. The dark fire on her fingertips died. Any humming feels of power inside simmered off.
The gauze was tediously applied around the area of impact. Sera watched him focus on her. He was so close to her. His yellow eyes gleamed. Biting his tongue, he was careful to hurt her minimally. Catching her eyes watching him, he took a second to tip his hat to her. Soon enough, he was done. The rag went over again, cooling her some.
Before Sera could think further, his hands had already moved to her thigh. One second, a blade was in her flesh. The next, it was not. A wince and a gasp followed suit. He did not apologize, and she did not expect one. It was the most expedient way. They both knew it–no need to lull over avoiding infection.
Striker next used the blade to carve up her lower dress. Then he tore away the underlayers surrounding the torn leg. But no further than as required. Sera watched tentatively. The wound was sanitized and bandaged like the forehead. This left is dressed ragged and ruined. But it was better than losing a limb to amputation.
Once done, Striker slung the rifle onto his back; the dagger retreated to its sheath. Afterward, he held his hand out. Sera took it. He helped heave her up. She was half-walked, half-dragged out of the crater. Once back on normal ground, she collapsed. Striker helped sit crisscross and upright. She rested her back on a conveniently perfect-sized slab of rock.
The gunslinger sat down opposite her on the dusty ground. He looked at her. “You okay now, Sera?” The wind battered his torn sleeves, now wrapping her wounds. Anything else hurt?”
She met his gaze, life still flashing by. “I… suppose so.” Sera flexed her wings. “Nothing else hurts… minus these burning chains…” They were weightless but still felt.
“Well, your holy judgments aside, you're physically fine, yes, I do suppose. But not in here-” Striker bravely poked her chest’s right side. “-Or here.’ He tapped her bandaged forehead.
“I… yes… yes, both of those are true. I haven’t been right for a very, very long time now…” Sera felt herself on the verge of breaking down again.
Sensing this, it seemed, Striker patted her shoulder. “Though,” he chuffed, “Shooting you in the face doesn't quite help. Sorry about that one, angel lady. I can be… aggressive sometimes. My apologies for using the last resort. And, uh, stabbing you.” Embarrassment flushed. “That is not so kind, heh.”
Sera cringed. Guilt flared. She turned her head away. “No. That is nonsense… it is I who should be sorry, Striker. I threatened your life . Even after acknowledging my grievous past actions, I doubled down. It is I who is at fault.”
“What are you talking about, Sera?” The imp’s expression contorted with confusion. “I handled you rather roughly, good as my intentions were. Even though it is hard to tell around these parts, I could tell you’d just been through something. But didn’t realize how badly you were doing. I gave in rather hastily-”
“Please. Just stop it,” Sera croaked. More somber, heavier tears poured from her duct. She watched as jets of dark fire playfully shot from her fingertips. “I threatened your life. That’s reason enough for you to do it. Go away. Now. Before I hurt you again. Like everyone else, I have…”
Striker scoffed. “That’s plain-
“Please!” Sera shouted. “Go away… I almost hurt you… I was sent here for a reason… I’ve only demonstrated just why that is. Go away. Please. Leave me be. I don't deserve your kindness…”
“Bullshit, angel lady.”
“I-”
Striker leaned forward. He once more pressed a finger to her lips again.
Taken aback, and wishing not to harm him, Sera complied.
“Yeah, you fucked up, Sera. It’s more than true,” Striker said. “We’ve all fumbled. Fucked up more than once. You’re a fuck-up. Simple at that. Through and through. Hurt others.”
He took his digit back.
“The fear of hurting others, that’s valid. All the same, that’s no excuse to hurt yourself. Closing yourself off is not going to help.”
Still, given he was tangentially close to her, Sera did not speak. In fact, a grim curiosity dredged itself up.
“Think about why they sent you here, angel lady. They sent you here to learn, not goddamned off yourself first chance.
Striker’s gaze darkened.
“I should know…” His foot shifted. “Not too long ago, I tried myself upon realizing the severity and extent of my hypocrisies.”
Sera’s jaw dropped.
“Permit me, if you will, to tell you my story, if briefly so.”
Not knowing what else to do, she nodded.
Striker brought his hands together. “Those who helped me… it wasn’t too long ago I convinced myself it was right to try and kill them. I violated–I’d been violating– an oath I made to myself. That being to fuck with the corrupt system and help imps fight our oppression, stir a revolution. That those in power against us deserve death. Yet, I helped two in power against those sworn to do that which I’d deluded myself into thinking I was doing… They weren't the problem. The bastard who rigged the show was masterful. ”
Feeling frozen, Sera listened.
The hot desert blazed upon them, here on the crater’s edge.
Afternoon shadows creased his face.
“I gleefully watched as that white-scarred imp and his crew were about to get it. It was supposedly their penance for them twice foiling me. And then…” Striker's breath hitched. “A bird from the higher class, one I'd tried to off before for them, tried to sacrifice himself . For the imps on trial. He took the blame, was stripped of everything, including his daughter…” He closed his eyes. “I don't know how they are doing now. But by Lucifer, if death doesn't reveal who someone truly is… your daughter or your love…” A tear fell. “I never had that luxury.” He blinked numbly.
Sera gaped.
“Did… do you… have… a daughter once, too?”
Striker tipped his head in affirmation.
“My… my condolences.”
“Much appreciated.”
“Do… do continue.”
Striker’s fingers twitched.
“It dawned on me, with great horror, that I’d been played…” His spine convulsed. “By the very same kind of people who’d taken everything from me.” The rest of Striker violently shook. “My facade crumbled before me in an instant. Enough to flood me out of the dark waters I’d long drowned myself in. I’d hoodwinked myself like you have…” Anger crossed his face. “Only by their actions was I broken of my shell. It was by luck that I realized my atrocities. I confronted them about it. You know what they did?”
She could not say.
“They laughed at me. She and her brother. And after?”
Sera cocked her head, terribly engrossed with his narrative.
“They proceeded to beat me near to death.” Striker snapped his fingers. Sera gasped. “They were brutal and savage. Just like that. Breaking their word, showing they had no honor. They destroyed and killed everything I owned out of pure spite–even the horse. Ruined my reputation. Not that I didn’t have that one coming…" he admitted. “Still, they thrashed and smothered me beyond what was necessary. They left me to die. Bruised, bloody, battered, beaten, riddled with bullets.”
“I…” Sera couldn't find the words. “Just like that?”
“Mhhm,” Striker said. “To make a long story short, those I’d tried to kill, they found me. That royal bird insisted they helped me. For everything I’d done against them, tried to kill them, kill him… they cared anyway.” He sniffed.
“You did say-”
“And yes, as I said, despite that, I damn near killed myself again out of regret. I wasn’t thinking straight–as you haven’t been. Ironically, with this same rifle.” Striker chuckled grimly. “They helped me recover again, and again, and again. Until I finally learned to care for myself again and could cope with handling myself again. Maybe me running around Wrath is me running away from a few of my problems, still, instead of letting them help me further. Eh. Playing hero in Wrath has its benefits.”
“That… I can hardly fathom.” Sera was staring . “You hellish creatures… compared to the sinners…”
Striker raised an eyebrow, waggling a finger. “Don’t you go classing us all together, now,” he growled. “Or encourage us to do the same to ourselves. That’s what the current problem is down here. And your problem with the sinners is the same.”
“Hey-you-I-” Sera wanted to say.
“Oh, can it, Sera.” Striker shut her down with grievous force. “Whether you realize it or not, those like you, so self-righteous and in authority, generalize many. You dehumanize those whom you should care for, subconsciously or otherwise. Some of the seven sins have finally started to realize it, at least. Not everyone in power or of wrongdoing, yourself included, deserves death is what I’ve learned, as you have begun to. I am still struggling. Today proves that.”
Sera thought about it for a moment.
And she realized Striker was right.
All those sinners… all those sinners…
Sera’s heart sunk all over, as it had when that snake ascended.
“By god…”
“Good, keep doing that.” Striker flicked her forehead.
Her mouth quirked. “Do what?”
Strike sighed. “Keep questioning what you’ve done. What you will do. This brings me to the point of this whole spiel.”
“And…” Sera felt like crumbling. “That is?”
“No matter how dark it seems, killing yourself ain’t the answer, angel lady.”
Striker reached out and slipped her fingers into his.
When Sera didn’t object, he squeezed.
“I don't know what happened to you, exactly. What hell you've been through. But…”
They shuffled closer to one another.
“Whether this tough love Heaven is forcing you to endure is right, whether it’s cruel, whether they care, whether they’ll help you ever again, I can’t say. You shouldn’t put yourself down. What you don’t deserve it for no one to help you-”
“Yes, I do deserve this damnation! I-”
“No, you fucking don’t! This-”
The imp’s snarl cut the angel off.
“The point is, Sera,” Striker continued, “No matter how bleak it seems, don’t be so harsh on yourself! That’s how I fell.”
Sera felt him tighten his clasp on her.
“I… I suppose I see. But I don’t deserve such kindness-”
“Yes, you do!” Striker stomped his foot. “There will always be a person who cares for you. You just have to look, see beyond the darkened clouds.”
Sera’s eyes widened. “No, there isn’t-”
He whipped his face right up to hers. “Well, I do, damnit! Fucking whether you like it or not! Even someone as dense as you should be able to see that.”
“I… I…"
Striker used his other hand to snatch her dress and forcibly keep her close.
“Quit the self-pity, get out, climb up! Be the master of your own plight! Give into not your anger, but the self-worth that you have, that everyone has!”
The imp’s words were fast and furious.
Sera felt her heart rate jolt at the lecture.
The gleaming ivory casing shell from earlier glinted in the sunlight.
“I don’t deserve…” Sera’s tongue faltered.
“Oh yes, you do, angel lady. You see your own mistakes. Don’t you dare give up now! No matter how far you fall, there is always room to get back up! You realize what you have done. That’s enough. It’s better than a whole host of us.”
He let her dress go, giving her a bit of room to move back.
Bunching her shoulders up, Sera shook her head. “I… I don’t…’
Striker smirked; his grasping fingers massaged hers. “Oh, bull fucking shit, Sera! Yes, yes, you do. You know you do. Anyone who can fess up to their sins deserves a second chance. That’s decent enough.”
“But I killed so many, hit and hurt my sister, enough for them to cast me out!” Though Sera was shouting at him, she found their closeness to be unbreakable.
“Yeah, so?” Striker said. “As I said, I can’t comment on that; I wasn't there. But what you can do , instead of miserably dwelling, is move forward. Don’t forget what you’ve done…” His voice softened. “But don’t let it drag you down, either.”
“I’m a dark angel now!” Sera wailed. She gripped his hand like iron. “I don’t deserve anything… Dark fire rues where my broken, golden purity once was! I-”
Then he leaned in to close the gap between them.
Roughly kissing her.
Sera was so thoroughly shocked, she didn’t resist.
Striker broke it off and firmly clasped their hands.
“We’re both losers, Sera. Don’t you see that?”
The angel’s skin flushed, so flustered she could not speak.
“You know you need help. I see it in your eyes. Let me be that help."
Numbness prevented Sera from appreciating his hand, nor quite enjoy the soft strokes through her hair.
“Ya know…” Striker’s tone dropped. “I used to not be such a tough guy once, not as ruthless. Not so different from how you are now.
Sera somehow managed a small wheeze. “How… not… likely…”
“I used to be mild-mannered, if supremely protective.” He blinked away the watering in his eyes. “Then those fuckers, those higher-ups in power, slaughtered everyone. Out of greed, for nothing. Took my everyone, my everything, my daughter from me… I lost myself to the darkness for so long, plunged deeper and deeper. I lost my way.” Striker cupped her cheek. “Until someone helped. Helped me see. That I do deserve, regardless of how vaguely that word is applied.”
Sera found herself tearing up.
As well as drifting closer to him of her own volition.
“Many a time, I doubted myself. It was almost too late for me. I don’t want it to be too late for you. Don’t be so expedient to lose yourself, Sera. To that heady feeling of release from everything. Please. Don’t do the same to yourself.”
Striker reached for her other hand.
She allowed him to take it.
“People like us have few to turn to. If anything, we have each other. We mustn’t give up,” he practically begged. “I’d hate to see you fail. I can't take seeing anyone make a tragedy of themselves.“
“I… I don’t know…” Sera found herself still plagued by doubt, convincing as Striker sounded. “You could still…”
Striker brought their hands together. “Betray you? Never. I don't intend to ever turn you into Lucifer or anyone else. If anything, I'm sure he'd want the competition to stay out of his ring.”
It was a terrible, horrible, awful joke.
The laughter broke out from Sera anyway.
“So, I ask of you. Instead of these ideations…”
He pecked her lips.
“Give redemption, of any kind, a shot.”
Anger roared in Sera’s heart for all he said.
And yet, she reflected, a sullen sadness started to descend.
Ice to the fires of rage.
While she wanted to give in to the urges…
She had to admit to herself nothing lasts forever.
Her facade in Heaven had probably lasted longer than should’ve been possible, anyway…
Striker wiped a wall of sweat off her forehead. “You're a might sad, too. You might want someone to talk to. You’ll need help patching up. You’ve got nowhere to go. Without help, you might somehow die out even though you are an angel-”
“Alright, alright, cowboy!” Sera interrupted. “You’ve made your point.”
He grinned. “That being?”
The angel groaned. “To deliberately mollify myself.”
Striker patted her cheek. “Good angel lady.”
“You fucking sap!” Though Sera looked away, she blushed anyway.
The imp broke apart their hands and stood up. Flexing his arms, next offered one to her. Wordlessly, Sera took it. Cautiously, he assisted her in standing up. Her leg, weakened, did not place nicely. Nevertheless, Striker managed to be a pillar to help support her. Though little at her side, his strength did not lie.
Looking around, Sera took in the view. The dusty plains stretched forever. It was an endless horizon of orange and red rock. Little plant life cropped up. Lava, volcanoes, and mountains scarred the land. The iridescent pinkish-red sky was hurt to gaze upon. Compared to Heaven’s blues, whites, and silvers, this would take time to get used to.
Striker held her close to him. “Let’s go grab dinner and heavy drink, shall we?”
“Ah, a date, how nice,” Sera agreed. “But, um, where exactly? How? And with what money? I see nothing on you but weapons. Not even a mount…”
He pointed a thumb to the northeast. “Ten clicks, thataway. As to how, there is always some local scum worth grub value.
“Lots of walking then, I see.” Sera unfurled her wings, trying to cool off some. “And I thought you were reformed…”
“Hey, I still need a job,” the imp defended himself. “There are always absolute scumbags beyond redemption in this bright, cruel world we live in. “
Sera mused, humming. “Why, then, are the bitches who nearly killed you still alive? That much…” she huffed, getting used to standing up. “I picked up on.”
Striker shrugged. “As I said, I’ve changed. I only do for-hire work. It’d be a waste of time and effort. And while they are assholes… they’re hardly the biggest fish. But if anyone ever puts a bounty up…” Teeth flashed.
“Oh, you are a piece of work…” Sera thought through the implications. “If they’re that bad… remind me to not me not to meet Satan for a good while yet…”
“I don’t plan on it.” Striker tugged her hand. “Time to get going, angel lady. Remind me never to stab you in the legs again…”
So began the walk with a mutual feeling of mirth.
The chains traveled with Sera. She gave them no heed.
Some steps later, a thought occurred to her.
Sera paused walking for a moment. “You know, Striker…”
He stopped with her. “Yes, angel lady?”
“If you are going to continue calling me that, you’ll need a nickname too…”
“Ridiculous!” he scoffed. “Sera, from now you are my Angel Lady.”
“Okay then, Striker… my Rifle Boy.”
She smirked.
He rolled her eyes.
“Just keep sticking with me, and you’ll be just fine.”
“I do suppose scum like us huddles together…”
“Cheers to that!”
“Most certainly”
They resumed travel, imp and angel, side by side.
Though nothing was quite right anymore, Sera felt a spring in her step and a lightness never before felt in her soul.
Step by step, she leaned on him. Tears sprung again. This time, of relief. She didn’t have any clue what had just happened… but she felt much, much, much better without the anger.