They stood beneath the colossal tree.
In the heart of the boundless plain stood a tree—immense, ancient, and oddly familiar in its normalcy. Its titanic trunk rose proudly, while its crown vanished into the clouds above, swallowed by golden mist. It resembled a giant hand made of wood, stretching upward toward the heavens, as if...
As if trying to grasp the heavens itself and crush it in its palm.
His hand lifted, fingers curled around empty air.
The angel's soft voice broke the silence.
"It'll take you two, maybe three days to climb. Once you reach the top, follow the path and just jump in. The river will do the rest."
He nodded, eyes still fixed on the bark above.
She reached behind her and plucked three feathers from her wings with a wince.
"These are for you. Eat one. It will strengthen your soul—just enough to endure the climb. It'll prolong your stay, as well."
She handed one to him. He hesitated for only a moment before swallowing it. A burning sensation pulsed through his core—sharp, but invigorating.
"The other two…" she continued.
The remaining feathers shimmered in her palms, their shapes shifting and twisting—until two white daggers rested in her hands.
"These will help you climb. Use them to dig into the bark and find your footing."
He turned them over in his hands. Lightweight. Sharp. Perfect.
"What if I had… more?" he asked casually, eyes still not meeting hers.
She stiffened. "I can't, sorry. I'm forbidden to give more than three. And… they take quite some time to regrow, you know."
He said nothing.
But something shifted in him.
A thought—cold and deliberate—stirred. He had considered killing her from the beginning. But without knowing her strength, and with no option besides the bridge, the risk had outweighed the reward.
Now?
He knew the truth. She had no strength. No destructive power. Her body, no stronger than a human's. Her divine essence, stored in her wings.
She was a guide. A creator.
Not a warrior.
Now… she was useless.
He moved.
A single step forward. A flick of his wrist.
One dagger sank into the side of her skull. Her eyes went wide. Her knees buckled.
As she collapsed, he yanked the other dagger free—and drove it into her chest.
Again.
So fragile.
Again.
She can't even fight back.
Again.
So pathetic, so weak.
Again.
Bit more.
Again.
Just die.
And again.
Silver blood splashed across his face, his arms. He didn't stop. Not until her twitching did.
When it was done, he stood over her, breathing steady. His hands dripped with a mercury-like liquid.
He dipped a finger into the blood and tasted it.
To his surprise—it tasted normal. No different from a human's.
He wiped his hands on his shirt.
Then he heard it. A broken whisper.
"W…Why?"
Somehow, she was still alive. Barely.
"Simple, really," he replied.
He knelt beside her, looking down.
"It wasn't just logic," he said. "That played a part. But truth is…"
His eyes darkened. Anger surfacing.
"I hated you the moment I saw you."
He paused.
"I remember everything, you see. Every life. Every death. Every single one of my pathetic existences."
His teeth clenched.
"They all come back when I'm a kid. Around twelve to fourteen. That's when the nightmare begins. Too afraid to sleep. Afraid to dream. Afraid of what they'll show me next. And they're not just dreams. They're memories. Real. Painful. Every time… I—"
His voice cracked.
"I break a little more."
He clenched his fists.
"I gave up resisting a long time ago. Just played the roles life gave me, died horribly, then did it all again. Rinse and repeat."
His voice turned quiet.
"But now… now I have a chance. He ran away. After all the suffering He put me through, He just left."
Then louder. Bitter.
"How dare He!"
He laughed. Loud, manic.
"He thinks He can just run away. No punishment. No repentance. That I would just let it all end like this? No…"
He looked her in the eye.
"I'm going to kill Him."
Her lips trembled. Her eyes welled with silver tears.
"I don't care what you think of me," he said. "If you hate me, fine. If you forgive me—don't. Blame your Father. For toying with me. For creating a world like this. For making you weak and stupid enough to die by a human's hand."
And with that, he drove the final dagger deep into her heart.
Her body stilled. The tears on her cheeks gleamed like polished silver. Her eyes lost their light.
The angel's short life… was over.
Unmoved, he turned the lifeless body onto its stomach.
It was time to reap the rewards.
Then he noticed something strange.
The feathers... they're dying too.
Most would panic. But the young man remained calm.
Whatever. I just need to eat at least ten feathers. If I'm right, that should eliminate the threat of time taking my soul away.
He didn't plan on climbing the tree more than once. But one never knows. He needed insurance. According to his calculations, one feather added two days to his stay. Ten would be more than enough.
He quickly plucked a little more than ten. He didn't bother counting once he passed his goal, swallowing each one as he plucked.
As he finished, the wings disintegrated. Bone and feather crumbled into particles of light, carried away by the wind—as if they had never existed. Only two pale scars remained on the fallen angel's back.
Standing up, he cast one final glance at the body.
"Pitiful thing," he said. "Your dear Father couldn't even bother to give you a name."
Now, a grin stretched across his face.
"Really shows how much He cared for you."
Turning away, he murmured,
"You probably don't even remember that you were never meant to be an angel."