Demonic Angels

Chapter 1

    "ASMODEUS! WATCH OUT!"

    A scythe swung towards my exposed neck, glinting in the light of the setting sun. Dust flew up from the desert land, many moving feet causing a rumbling in addition to the screams and clangs of metal. Now that I think back, the scythe was beautiful, albeit the unusual blue tint in the light metal it was made of. It barely had blood on it, if any, which was, of course, unusual in the middle of a battlefield, especially for someone with so much power in their swing.

    It lodged itself into my neck harshly and the wielder immediately pulled it back out, probably going to kill somebody else.

    I spluttered and coughed, grabbing my neck and falling to the floor.

    All of a sudden I was hovering above, looking down at my dead body amidst a sea of other — both living and dead — people.

    Everything seemed to be playing in half-speed; I could clearly make out the details on weapons, whereas usually weapons could barely be made out themselves, let alone the tiny dents and snowflakes on them.

    I noticed a particularly short black haired man hovering over and around my not-really-dead body, covered in blood and fighting against the Angels' army alongside his Demon comrades.

    Demons and Angels each fought, losing equally much. Both sides were exhausted and fighting half heartedly, most carrying the weight of dead colleagues, comrades and friends.

    The Humans... I hadn't noticeably seen a human in over twenty years. I'd assumed they were extinct by now, to be honest.

    The bratty Angels had decided that they weren't happy with, you know, the ENTIRE modern world, and so they declared war against the poor Humans, whatever good that did them. I honestly have no idea what they were thinking, but that's besides the point.

    If you're wondering which side I'm on, I'm with the Demons. As a Demon myself, I couldn't leave the Humans to fend for themselves after the Angels declared war on them almost a century and a half ago.

    Despite all the trauma and loss we all faced, the war never ceased. Fun.

    Anyway, back to my dead body.

    I had long since lost sight of the black haired boy in the crowd.

    Blood and pieces of bodies flew everywhere at nightfall, as well as fire and the smell off rotting and burning flesh, not to mention the screaming.

    I caught glimpse of the short boy again, cutting down anything and everything that came his way. Actually, it seemed more like he was trying to stop people from getting to me. I tried to remember if I had ever met him, but surely I'd remember meeting someone so... tiny.

    He looked down at my body, probably saying something to it before he kicked me in the head. I know, who kicks a dead person in the head?

    Okay, I admit, I wasn't actually dead. A powerful Demon like me wouldn't be killed by a simple wound like that.

    Time zoomed back (painfully) to its original pace as I sat up, back in my body, my head throbbing in the area he kicked me. The wound had healed completely in the time my body was unconscious and the short man was glaring down at me with his beady eyes.