EverenVale

  They reached the edge of Central Park, where a silver ke glimmered under the moonlight. Opharel sat on a weathered bench facing the water. He leaned back, closing his eyes, soaking in the gentle glow across his face.

  For a long moment, he said nothing.

  When he finally opened his eyes again, he murmured, “I have a confession to make.”

  Malrath dropped heavily onto the bench beside him, stretching his long legs out with deliberate casualness. The silver rings on his fingers caught the moonlight as he tapped them impatiently against his thigh.

  “Yeah?” he prompted, golden eyes sliding sideways to study Opharel’s profile. Tension wound through his broad shoulders, like he was bracing for a blow.

  “Let’s hear it then, angel. Though if you’re about to confess you’ve secretly been working for Hell this whole time…”

  His smirk tried to surface, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “…I might actually be disappointed.”

  Beneath the joking tone, something real flickered. Apprehension. Fear he couldn’t quite name. His fingers stilled their restless drumming, curling into loose fists against his jeans.

  Opharel chuckled and turned to face him fully. His gaze roamed over Malrath’s face, taking in every line, every shadow, before locking onto his golden eyes.

  Darkness swirled there.

  But so did fme. And light.

  Opharel smiled, soft and heartbreakingly sincere.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to find me,” he said, voice low and rich with emotion. “For several weeks.”

  He let the words sink in before continuing.

  “I was afraid my time would run out before you did.”

  He smiled again, relieved, sad, full of unsaid things.

  “I’m so gd I was wrong.”

  Malrath froze completely, his golden eyes widening fractionally. The pyful smirk he wore like armor crumbled into something raw and unguarded.

  His throat worked silently for a moment before he managed to croak out:

  “What.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a stunned exhale.

  His fingers dug into the bench, cws extending just enough to score thin grooves into the wood beneath them.

  “You wanted me to hunt you?”

  Disbelief colored his voice. And beneath it, something perilously close to hurt.

  His piercings gleamed as he shook his head sharply, the silver fshing against the dark.

  “All this time... The relic, the speeches about order... Was this just some fucking recruitment pitch?”

  He stood abruptly, looming over Opharel with barely contained agitation. His shoulders were tense, fists clenched at his sides.

  But when he spoke again, his voice dropped, to a wounded, broken whisper.

  “Or did you just need a demon stupid enough to watch you die?”

  Opharel kept his voice calm, almost hypnotic, as he patted the bench beside him.

  “Sit with me. The night’s not finished yet. And you agreed to stay with me through the night.”

  Malrath hovered for a tense moment, every muscle in his frame taut, like a predator unsure whether to strike or flee. Then, with a frustrated growl, he dropped back onto the bench. His body angled sharply away, his energy still radiating tension like heat.

  “Talk fast,” he muttered, voice gravelly with restrained emotion. His golden eyes stayed fixed on the distant city skyline, refusing to meet Opharel’s gaze.

  “And skip the cryptic bullshit this time.”

  One ring-cd hand rose to his sternum, rubbing roughly at the spot, as if trying to physically dislodge whatever his confession had stirred inside him.

  Opharel took a deep breath and looked up at the full moon.

  “You’re one of the most powerful demons I know,” he said quietly. “You were born in darkness. Taking it from others won’t harm you. And if you ever need to take some light… it won’t burn you the way it burns mine.”

  He turned to look at Malrath fully now, his voice calm, certain.

  “This isn’t a recruitment pitch, Malrath. It’s a repcement pitch.”

  “I want you to continue what I did... After I’m gone.”

  Malrath’s entire body went rigid. The silver rings on his fingers clinked together as his fists clenched violently in his p.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was terrifyingly quiet. A bde sheathed in velvet.

  “No.”

  His golden eyes bzed as he turned to face Opharel fully, invading his space with predatory intensity. His breath came fast. His nostrils fred as he searched Opharel’s face, desperate for some sign that this was all just another twisted joke.

  “You don’t get to dump your suicidal crusade on me like some fucking inheritance.”

  His mask of cool detachment shattered completely, raw anguish breaking through.

  “I destroy things, Opharel. That’s what I do. You want me to protect these weaklings? To… care?”

  His ugh was jagged, joyless, cracking at the edges.

  One trembling hand gestured wildly to the sleeping city around them.

  “Look what happened the st time I tried pying hero!”

  The scar sshed across his cheek seemed to pulse beneath the moonlight, angry and alive.

  Opharel’s lips curved warmly. His voice softened, warmer now. Affectionate.

  “I know you care, little demon,” he said gently. “You had orders to drag me back to Hell… and I’m still here.”

  His gaze dropped to Malrath’s scar, lingering.

  “You didn’t have a part of me with you to protect you before.”

  He raised his hand, drawing his fingers through the air. The relic orb appeared, pulsing softly in his palm.

  He held it up between them.

  “But now you do.”

  Malrath stared at the glowing relic, his breathing ragged. The golden fire in his eyes flickered between awe and horror.

  He took an involuntary step back.

  “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

  His voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

  His silver rings clinked nervously as he dragged trembling fingers through his ptinum-bck hair.

  “You’re talking about carving pieces of your soul into me like some fucked-up jigsaw puzzle.”

  A bitter ugh broke from his lips, brittle and humorless.

  “Newsfsh, angel... Demons don’t do light. We corrupt it. We break it. Whatever scraps of you I absorbed would just rot inside me anyway.”

  And yet, as he spoke, his gaze kept darting back to the orb, drawn to its glow like a moth circling fire.

  Even to his own ears, the protest rang hollow.

  “This isn’t an order,” he said, softer now. “It’s a curse.”

  Opharel’s voice remained soft, soothing, hypnotic, as he stepped closer. The orb hovered in his hand, its glow casting halos across Malrath’s face.

  “You won’t,” he said gently. “I’m an angel, remember? I can see... You already have some light inside you.”

  He chuckled quietly, bringing the orb even closer.

  “Besides, I’m going to pce the st of my light into this relic… so you don’t have to worry about corrupting me.”

  Malrath swallowed hard. The orb’s glow reflected in his widened golden eyes. His breath hitched as Opharel stepped nearer, but he didn’t pull away.

  His voice dropped to a broken whisper.

  “Why me?”

  His fingers twitched at his sides, unsure whether to reach for the relic, or for the angel standing before him. He didn’t know which terrified him more.

  “Of all the beings in creation… why choose a demon to carry your light?”

  There was vulnerability in the question that startled even him. The proud, vicious demon, id bare, trembling, desperate.

  Opharel smiled softly.

  “Because someone has to care,” he said. “And right now… that’s you.”

  He leaned in, lips close to Malrath’s ear. His voice became a vibration that echoed in the demon’s heart and mind at once.

  The same question he had whispered across decades, to countless souls.

  “Will you accept your true fate?”

  Malrath shuddered violently as the words hit him. His golden eyes flickered between their usual molten glow and something else, something painfully pure.

  His breath turned shallow, torn between instinct and surrender.

  “My… fate?” he echoed hoarsely.

  His hands, those hands meant to destroy, rose on their own, hovering inches from the relic’s glow.

  Something warm and wet slid down his scarred cheek. He touched it. His fingertips came away glinting with liquid gold.

  Demon tears. Rare. Damning. Undeniable.

  “…Damn you,” he whispered.

  But there was no fire in it. Only surrender.

  With a ragged breath, he nodded.

  Opharel leaned in once more, murmuring:

  “Now… you are the Faceless Hypnotist.”

  He pressed a kiss to Malrath’s forehead, lingering.

  Then, gently, he pced the orb into one of Malrath’s palms and guided the demon’s other hand over his own chest.

  Eyes closed, Opharel exhaled as the st of his light flowed outward. Golden lines of brilliance streamed from his heart, curling up around Malrath’s wrist and moving slowly along his arm.

  The pulse matched Opharel’s heartbeat, steady, ancient, slow.

  But as the light reached the relic, the rhythm changed. It synced with Malrath’s heartbeat. And then, the orb absorbed it.

  Light didn’t burn him this time. It fit... Wrong and right at once. Maybe darkness had never been about cruelty, and light never about mercy.

  Opharel opened his eyes one st time. The light flickered across Malrath’s dark gaze, curling like bands of gold around the edges of his irises.

  Then, with no final words, his vessel dissolved, thousands of tiny shimmering lights rising into the wind.

  The angel was gone.

  Only Malrath remained, standing near the silver ke as the first rays of dawn kissed the earth.

  He colpsed to his knees.

  The weight of Opharel’s essence sank into his body, and the demon clutched the relic to his chest like a lifeline. Golden light bled from his pores, illuminating tear tracks down his cheeks as he stared bnkly at the pce where the angel had vanished.

  “…Idiot,” he choked out, his voice thick with grief. And something more.

  The relic hummed in his palm, pulsing in time with his now-steady heartbeat.

  Slowly, mechanically, he rose to his feet.

  Dawn painted the city in hues of rose and gold. Long shadows stretched from his towering form.

  With one final gnce at the empty keside, Malrath turned toward the waking metropolis, toward the lost souls who would never find salvation from Heaven or Hell.

  Somewhere in the distance, a child ughed... Bright and wild and free.

  The sound tugged unexpectedly at the demon’s unbeating heart.

  Gold-fringed eyes softened, just a little.

  And he murmured into the wind:

  “…Fine. Let’s see how much chaos we can undo together, angel.”

  The End.