Too long. Too long has it been since the familiar sound of boots marching down endless, empty hallways filled the ears of the long-haired demon.
With each step the demon took, a dull pain would scratch at his insides. The brown-eyed demon knew his injuries weren’t completely healed, but he couldn’t stand spending another day hidden away under the thick, protective sheets of his bed. He had spoken to no one. Not Max, not Mitch, not a soul. He refused to eat, for every time he tried, he’d get violently ill. A side-effect caused by the holy water being injected in his veins. He refused to move, for every half inch he shifted, his bones would rub against places within his body that bones weren’t meant to rub against. Pain would rip through him and more often than not, the demon would be whimpering helplessly with his eyes squeezed tight.
But things were different now. He could move freely without wanting to scream and he could live his life again. Perhaps he would be more careful with his demonic activities, because he didn’t want to suffer the consequences of the remaining holy water that circulated in his body. The sizzling sensation was so low that he hardly noticed it, but it was definitely still there, just waiting for his demon to break free and burn up in its holy inferno. The demon had to be more cautious with his words and actions. It was a decision he had made the moment he had stared at himself in the mirror for the first time in a few days. His hair was a wavy mess, his eyes dull and filled with a dark light, quite the opposite of anything good. He looked tired and ill. He was looked thin. Pale. Unhealthy. His reflection disgusted him. He spent an hour fixing the imperfections. When he was finished, he still hated it. But still he left the room. He was becoming desperate.
Striding through the hallways made him feel powerful again, although his body was weak, he felt unstoppable. It was that cockiness that he had. That confidence that would one day get him slaughtered. It was his savior.
Running his tattooed fingers through his straight raven-black hair, the demon took a turn down a hall he normally didn’t stroll down. Only because many holy creatures lingered in that direction. What was better than to intensify that arrogance than stride down angelic hallway with his mouth set in a smirk? Absolutely nothing.
He began walked down the hall and that’s when he spotted him. Standing a head taller than a majority of the other beings, long curly hair hanging past his shoulders, walking in a way almost giraffe-like. William Beckett. A wicked glee made the butterflies in the demon’s stomach flare up and make his evil smirk grow even larger. Since he’d be locked up for so long, he was unaware of the rumors that had floated around. Ronnie was curious. What had happened to the angel during his absence?
He chuckled quietly to himself, crossing his arms over his chest, and let out a low whistle, attracting the eyes of multiple angels. When William’s eyes connected with his own brown, his lips turned up into a demonic grin. He saw something flash in the angel’s eyes. He gestured with his head for the angel to follow him. He flashed his teeth at the angel, turned on his heel, and strode away to a more deserted hallway, expecting William to be behind him. William wasn’t an idiot. Ronnie knew the angel would be curious. They did have a couple of rather important things to talk about after all.