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Description
00 – Losing Control

Just before they had gone on their mission, his father had told Beleth to be careful. Had wanted him to understand that there wasn't always just winning or losing a fight, succeeding on a mission or giving up.

Beleth had first stared, then just laughed at him.

"It doesn't matter – I'll win the fight and defeat that cursed demon anyway."

He left one part out of consideration though. That there would be Zaphkiel and Haniel going with him. The latter was no problem, a quite strong angel himself, though young and clumsy. He was still several centuries away from receiving his final powers.

Now he would never get the chance to receive it.

Beleth wanted to think it was Zaphkiel's fault. That the older man was the problem. Because that silver-haired angel always made Beleth look at the damned guy. He was beautiful, even for an angel. He was ever so kind, always looking after Haniel, whom he had taken in as his brother, and Beleth, whom he had known since becoming an angel.

Beleth really tried to believe that everything had happened because Zaphkiel had attacked at the wrong point, drawing Beleth's attention. Or that it had been the shout, the yell of "Watch out!" in the middle of the battle. But that hadn't been it. Not even quite.

Beleth alone was to blame, because he had always watched Zaphkiel – and had been so terribly surprised to see suddenly red eyes, those of a fallen. He couldn't move. Only listen to the last cry of the young Haniel, before he fell out of the sky, defeated, dead.

He was sure that some pieces of his memory were missing, but he couldn't tell which. One of them was about him moving, that much he was sure of.

Beleth's knife met resistance as he plunged it into the demon taunting Zaphkiel. Taunting and teasing him for just standing on the ground, shocked, next to what was left of his brother.
Now he suddenly knew what his father had been talking about.

He had lost all that had been dear and important to him, to Zaphkiel – but their enemy was defeated. The prize to do so was too high.

Blood was coating his hands, warm and sticky, the blade still in his body, up to the hilt in flesh and muscles. The demon still felt it all too clearly. It would take him some time to finally pass out, Beleth knew. Even more until he was to finally be dead. That was the curse of demonic and angelic blood – it took them oh-so-long to finally die.

So the angel gave in to whatever voice was now speaking to him, whispering seducing words.

The knife was ripped from flesh, then pierced it – over and over again. The only sounds were the hissing and shouting the demon, voiced in pain, unable to form coherent words. It simply stood there, tensing, shaking.

By the time the creature fell to the ground, blood flowing from the wounds, gurgling, Beleth was covered in the red liquid accompanied by gore. His arms were dangling by his sides limply, sore from the motions made by sheer anger alone. He was utterly exhausted, now that the hate had vanished.

The knife dropped, clattering on the cold stone beneath him. Beleth fell onto his knees. Tears were streaming down his face, sobs leaving his throat, making him tremble.

All he could do was stare at Zaphkiel. The angel stood there, right in front of him, hand extended. He took it, was pulled onto his feet.

The next moment, they stood so close that Beleth could see his reflection in the other's red eyes.

His own now had the same bloody color.

Description
00 – Losing Control

Just before they had gone on their mission, his father had told Beleth to be careful. Had wanted him to understand that there wasn't always just winning or losing a fight, succeeding on a mission or giving up.

Beleth had first stared, then just laughed at him.

"It doesn't matter – I'll win the fight and defeat that cursed demon anyway."

He left one part out of consideration though. That there would be Zaphkiel and Haniel going with him. The latter was no problem, a quite strong angel himself, though young and clumsy. He was still several centuries away from receiving his final powers.

Now he would never get the chance to receive it.

Beleth wanted to think it was Zaphkiel's fault. That the older man was the problem. Because that silver-haired angel always made Beleth look at the damned guy. He was beautiful, even for an angel. He was ever so kind, always looking after Haniel, whom he had taken in as his brother, and Beleth, whom he had known since becoming an angel.

Beleth really tried to believe that everything had happened because Zaphkiel had attacked at the wrong point, drawing Beleth's attention. Or that it had been the shout, the yell of "Watch out!" in the middle of the battle. But that hadn't been it. Not even quite.

Beleth alone was to blame, because he had always watched Zaphkiel – and had been so terribly surprised to see suddenly red eyes, those of a fallen. He couldn't move. Only listen to the last cry of the young Haniel, before he fell out of the sky, defeated, dead.

He was sure that some pieces of his memory were missing, but he couldn't tell which. One of them was about him moving, that much he was sure of.

Beleth's knife met resistance as he plunged it into the demon taunting Zaphkiel. Taunting and teasing him for just standing on the ground, shocked, next to what was left of his brother.
Now he suddenly knew what his father had been talking about.

He had lost all that had been dear and important to him, to Zaphkiel – but their enemy was defeated. The prize to do so was too high.

Blood was coating his hands, warm and sticky, the blade still in his body, up to the hilt in flesh and muscles. The demon still felt it all too clearly. It would take him some time to finally pass out, Beleth knew. Even more until he was to finally be dead. That was the curse of demonic and angelic blood – it took them oh-so-long to finally die.

So the angel gave in to whatever voice was now speaking to him, whispering seducing words.

The knife was ripped from flesh, then pierced it – over and over again. The only sounds were the hissing and shouting the demon, voiced in pain, unable to form coherent words. It simply stood there, tensing, shaking.

By the time the creature fell to the ground, blood flowing from the wounds, gurgling, Beleth was covered in the red liquid accompanied by gore. His arms were dangling by his sides limply, sore from the motions made by sheer anger alone. He was utterly exhausted, now that the hate had vanished.

The knife dropped, clattering on the cold stone beneath him. Beleth fell onto his knees. Tears were streaming down his face, sobs leaving his throat, making him tremble.

All he could do was stare at Zaphkiel. The angel stood there, right in front of him, hand extended. He took it, was pulled onto his feet.

The next moment, they stood so close that Beleth could see his reflection in the other's red eyes.

His own now had the same bloody color.