The "Virtue" was chained to a post. Betharan stood in front of him, wearing her open-backed leotard, and smiled. No telling what it was under the Marches-form it wore. It might even be a Habbalite. She crossed her arms, the Geasa clanking together. "You were keeping one of the subjects for yourself, as a pet and toy. You told her the truth about this place, about your nature. That's forbidden."
"Game-bitch," the faux Malakite muttered. "Get it over with. Since you don't dare unfasten me."
Betharan let her lips twist to one side. "Teb, let him loose."
Her Djinn partner -- a nightmare blend of wolf and bear, with leather wings and dragon tail -- fussed with the prisoner's bonds. His dainty rat-paws made short work of the knots, and the other "Malakim" backed away, their wings clattering like the puppetry they were, as their doomed co-worker stepped away from the pole.
Betharan Sang claws to her fingertips and lunged at the masquerading demon. It lashed out with a long, spiked tongue, and the battle was joined in earnest. She ducked and wove and dodged, lightly slicing her claws along the "Malakite's" body. Then she managed to dodge behind him and thrust her claws straight through one of his wings, hacking at the base of that wing with her other hand.
The false angel screamed as his wing came off in her hands, dissolving instantly. She laughed and pirouetted away from his wild return-strike, the two wide scars down her own back gleaming stark and pale amidst all the others. As he lunged for her again, she said, "You know what angels say when they see Shal-Mari angelporn-drawings? They say the wings don't bend that way! Always!"
He lashed out with his tongue again, and she sliced it casually, ducking and grabbing his other wing. Despite his thrashings, she ripped it away, leaving him with bleeding strips to match her own scars. "Behold the Fallen Malakite," she spat, and then tore into the incompetent fool in earnest.
When she came back to herself, the bloodlust sated for the moment, the other "Malakim" were standing back, fear naked in their eyes. She resonated, saw their need not to die under her claws, not to face her, not to be caught, not to disobey. She threw her head back and laughed, with the shrill bite of tears beneath it. And they actually fooled even the weak-willed, drug-hazed demons of the Camp! They, who were nothing but pale, twisted reflections of the true Virtues.
She swiped at one eye, smearing blood along her cheekbone, and went to the other post, where an Impudite slumped, feathers still dotting its leathery wings. She stood there and absently licked her hands clean of pseudo-blood. The demon didn't look at her. Finally, she stepped close and cupped the Renegade's face in her palms, lifting her face so Betharan could meet her eyes.
Tears streaked down the Taker's face. "You're going to kill me now."
"I'm sorry," Betharan whispered. "I must. You know too much."
She sobbed again, ebony hair sliding down against Betharan's hands. "If only it had been real. It would all have been all right if it had been real."
Betharan sighed and leaned closer still, resting her forehead against the bound demon's. "I was Bright, little one. I was an angel once. This place is a cruel parody of Heaven. There are those who speak spiteful words, yes, but never pain, never beatings or penance or atonement. The Symphony itself has already burned the darkness from your soul. Malakim are stern, but their hands are so gentle and their wings as soft as stormclouds."
The Impudite broke down, crying against Betharan's shoulder as she held the Taker, her own eyes closed. She murmured, "And you would have been a perfect candidate, if only you'd found real angels. Poor child."
"All for nothing, all for nothing," the demon wept. "I did it all for nothing."
Betharan stroked the prisoner's hair gently. "You know, I once heard that every soul ever born, either human or celestial, has a place in the Symphony. And since God is outside of time, It can pluck a theme out, at any time, and bring that person into the Higher Heavens. So, after Armageddon is decided, all those who died will be brought back, in joy and beauty." She nuzzled against the demon's temple. "You qualify, dear heart."
She felt the Taker's eyelashes against her neck. "Really?"
"Really," Betharan assured her. "Now close your eyes, child. This won't hurt long."
The Impudite nodded and tipped her head back, eyes closed.
Betharan kissed the Renegade's forehead, then drew back a little, keeping one hand on her shoulder as she shot the claws long on the other.
The first slash was across the throat, at just the point where Forces met and entwined. The would-have-been angel dissolved like ash on the wind.
Betharan turned away from the now empty post and walked back to her partner, who had patiently watched her back. Her hand on Tebah's shoulder, against one of his leathery wings, she walked to the "Malakite" who had not wanted to get caught. Her chin went up. "So. What exactly do you Need to hide from me?"
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