All Chapters of Wings and Wicked Things: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The aftermath of the battle lay heavy across the sea cliffs of Blackwood Bay. The air, once choked with the suffocating stench of void and static, now tasted crisp and clean, smelling faintly of pine and damp earth. Below them, the celestial warriors under Vaelin’s command were already gathering their fallen, their luminescent armor casting long, gentle shadows over the quiet streets. The crisis in the mortal realm had ended, but as Kaelen held Sera against his chest, his large hand supporting the back of her head, the quiet between them felt fragile. Sera rested her cheek against the cold metal of his breastplate, listening to the steady, deep rhythm of his breath. The sheer exhaustion of the fight was finally settling into her bones, making her knees tremble. "Kaelen," she murmured softly, her fingers clutching the damp fabric of his tunic underneath his armor. "What happens now?" Kaelen didn't answer right away. He slowly raised his head, his storm-grey eyes scanning the

The sun never truly set in the Aether; it merely dissolved into a translucent, lavender twilight that stretched endlessly across the sky. For the entirety of the day, Sera remained trapped within the four walls of her bedchamber. No one disturbed her. The heavy oak doors stayed firmly shut, shielding her from the fortress, from Kaelen, and from the terrifying reality waiting just beyond her threshold. The only break in the suffocating silence was the occasional click of the door as Elara stepped in to leave silver trays of fresh fruit, warm bread, and tea. Elara never spoke during those brief visits. She merely offered a quiet, sympathetic bow of her head before vanishing back into the hall, leaving the food untouched on the marble table. Sera sat curled on the plush window seat, her knees pulled tightly against her chest, her dark hair cascading wildly over her shoulders. She spent hours staring blankly out the grand arched window, watching the floating islands drift lazily t

The passage back from the High Citadel to the dark stone fortress was wrapped in a suffocating, icy silence. The moment the blinding flash of teleportation faded, Sera pulled away from Kaelen's side and began marching down the long obsidian corridor, her boots clicking sharply against the floor. Frustrated by her cold demeanor, Kaelen reached out and caught her forearm, his firm grip bringing her to a sudden halt. "Sera," Kaelen demanded, his storm-grey eyes searching her flushed, tight face. "What is wrong with you?" Sera refused to meet his gaze, keeping her eyes firmly locked on the dark wall beside them. "Nothing," she spat out, her tone dripping with quiet venom. "I'm just exhausted. I need rest." Unaccustomed to such open defiance, Kaelen stared at her for a long, tense moment. Yet, seeing the genuine strain and emotional turmoil behind her eyes, the ancient commander slowly released his grip. "Go, then," he murmured quietly. Without looking back, Sera sprinted into

The air inside the cramped apartment corridor turned instantly to ice. The single flickering fluorescent bulb overhead buzzed wildly before shattering into tiny shards of glass, plunging the hallway into suffocating darkness. "Sera, get back!" Mark yelled instinctively, trying to grab her arm and pull her behind him. "Don't touch her, mortal," Kaelen’s voice thundered, deeper and far more terrifying than Mark could comprehend. With a effortless sweep of his arm, Kaelen shoved Mark back into the apartment and pulled Sera firmly behind his broad, steel-armored frame. The celestial energy radiating off Kaelen cut through the darkness, glowing like a holy beacon as he raised his massive broadsword. Down the narrow hallway, the shadows began to twist and liquefy, pooling along the carpet like black oil. From the pitch-black void, four towering figures materialized. They were hellhounds—massive, skinned abyssal beasts with jagged bone armor and glowing red eyes that burned with infer

The rain falling over the gothic spires of Prague was heavy, freezing, and thick with the stench of ozone and dark magic. Deep beneath the ancient city, within the flooded stone catacombs of the ruined cathedral, the air vibrated with a sickening, rhythmic chant. Crimson runes burned brightly against the damp stone, fed by the stolen blood essence of nine lost souls. Bound to a massive obsidian altar in the center of the cavern sat a young mortal girl, his eyes wide with utter terror as a masked cultist raised a serrated, obsidian blade above her chest. “Now!” Kaelen thundered. The massive subterranean doors shattered inward in a blinding explosion of white celestial fire and splintering wood. Kaelen moved like a storm incarnate. Blade drawn, his dark tunic giving way to gleaming silver armor, he swept through the cultist lines before the dark priests could even finish their spell. Heavenly light flared with every arc of his massive broadsword, sending shadowed figures crashin