Myrtle has been seeing strange things since her very young age. Through therapy and medication, she tried her hardest to make it all go away. Alas she could not. That is why she decided to visit Grey Hills, a special mental institution, where friends, love, surprises, and many, many dangers awaited her.
The man was running, to the best of his capacities. Running was no longer easy when one’s legs were covered in cuts and bruises, and when one’s body had been denied of a meal for nearly a month. Yet anger drove him. That wild, red anger that led him to run. He felt like someone had lit a fire inside him, and his organ were slowly burning. His longs choked on the smoke, his muscles shook from the pain.
He didn’t remember how long it had been since he had felt it. That uncontrollable rage, that indignation. Perhaps it was the first time, actually. Strange, since he had lived quite a long time. An angel, he had been. Once upon a time, back where this weren’t as messed up. Back when he didn’t know the true meaning of the world fear. Yes, he’s known fear. Very well, in fact. For the last two, perhaps three centuries this is what he had felt. Fear, terror, horror and despair. If only he hadn’t fallen in love, if only he hadn’t looked at his smile, hadn’t wanted to wipe the tears from his face so badly God threw him out of Heaven…
He wouldn’t have been so afraid. He wouldn’t have known love and hope, wouldn’t have known her, true. But he would’ve preferred never meeting her. Would have preferred not knowing what if felt like to lose the only good thing that had ever happened to him. Killed. Murdered. Butchered. Theft of her life. If it weren’t for his husband, if it weren’t for his master, he could’ve saved her. Could’ve spared her so much misery. It was his fault. He shouldn’t have married him, shouldn’t have fallen for him, shouldn’t have cared for him, shouldn’t have looked up to him…
He burst into the institute, branding his husband’s weapon furiously in front of him. Grey Hills. The training ground for Nephilim and those with inhuman abilities. That one neutral place on earth. His husband didn’t hunt there. He said it was boring.
Teenagers, young adults screamed at the sight of him. Screamed words that shot needle at his brain, blurred his vision and filled him with confusion. The intruder screamed with them. It felt good, but it still felt like he was going to burst. He couldn’t bear the pain. How could anyone bear the pain?
“GOD! LUCIFER! OR BOTH! ANYONE! I SURRENDER! I’M YOURS! JEOPARDY IS YOURS!”
A flutter of wings, a flash of light, and an arrow show through his chest. He barely felt a thing, he merely looked down and noticed. “DIE, monster!” Another arrow, straight through his heart. He swore he had one, he felt feelings for his husband a long time ago, and recently, for Her. Felt the pain of Her death.
God appeared before him. He recognised Him. He recognised His splendor. Then he went blind. He should’ve expected it. Someone like himself couldn’t just casually gaze upon Him. Lucifer was lurking somewhere behind him, probably. The two of them were never truly far from each other.
The intruder fell heavily to his knees, confirming he surrendered. “Don’t kill me. Please, oh please be merciful. For Her. I need to take care of her children. My children. I don’t want them to be alone, oh please. Just bring my husband to justice. Don’t even bother making him suffer, just kill him and be done with it. Don’t leave him a chance, just kill him. He’ll come for me. Kill him, of please kill him. Kill him before he kills me, and let me take care of my children, of please.”
He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t know the reaction of anyone. It was silent. So completely, utterly silent. With shaking hands, he extended Jeopardy towards where he remembered God was. He felt its weight leave his hand, and he breathed of relief. He took it. He took his husband’s most prized possession. He had won. He had beaten his husband. His master.
Who was lamb now? Not him, no.
He would come for him, or more likely for Jeopardy. He had won. His betrayal was not in vain. “Tell me they’re alright… my children… I want to make sure they-“ he stopped talking. He could no longer talk. Could no longer feel. Could no longer think.
He had been decapitated.