Angel Demon Painting Novels & Stories

Something in me had grasped for that little string of hope and held on and it was only now that I realized, I must have made several mistakes in my past lives; must have done deeds so unthinkable and horrible that the gods were still punishing me for it centuries later. Lying back on Damien’s bed, I looked up at the life-like paintings on the ceiling, of the angels carrying humans in their arms as they ascended to heaven, just as demons with clawed hands reached out from the fiery pits of hell to snatch the humans away and drag them to hell. On one corner, I saw that a demon had been successful in latching onto one of the human’s legs and the angel carrying him was close to dropping the man.

We moved to one of the demons art, it looks dark, if you put your head close your could see the world in between, the world between this earth and the world of dreams. "What do you wanna see next?" Dante asks, not minding that I'm taking forever looking at the art. "The animals?" I ask, it's said some of the angels have recreated the ones back in heaven, and I wanted to see them! "Of course my love" Dante says walking us toward them.

The painting was dark, horrifyingly dark. From a darkened sky was an angel; her beautiful white shoulder seemed to have been wounded, for she was falling from the sky; she looked weak and even unconscious. Her darkish hair was stuck to her teary face, damp from red tears, and even her lips were parted. Droplets of blood from a stab to her wings fell into the water; although it was a piece, she could almost sense her pain. And then she looked below, there was a demon, and unlike the angel falling from the sky, he was coming out of a body of blood, his black wings stretched majestically, his hands reaching out...

They are all black with white tips. Alex says that’s how they know that my mother, whoever she was, was an Angel. My demon side is shown through the color change in my eyes. Angels have white/silver eyes, and Demons have neon green eyes and fangs. My eyes are neon green, and I have fangs. Angels don’t develop tattoos as wings. They have wings from the moment they are born. Demons develop tattoos that turn into wings. However, their wings are leathery and clawed; instead of feathered. That’s how they know that I’m a hybrid.

I had figured that demons were more isolated creatures and it only made me more curious about them. The room was massive in a rectangular shape to fit the table and filled with numerous paintings and art, all different depictions of the underworld. Some had gore and torture painted, another one appeared to be of Adam and Eve and the serpent that convinced them to eat the forbidden fruit, the largest of the paintings was on the longest wall of the room and it looked to be of a war. Men with iron swords and shields clanging against each other and lightning bolts striking numerous fighters, the sight gave me goosebumps as I realized I was looking at a painting of Zeus and his brothers.

“This is pristine compared to a tour bus.” I wasn’t sure how to respond to him—he didn’t speak much about his life in the band. All I really knew was that it ended badly, and that topic of conversation was completely off-limits. “Your art though . . . I knew you were a painter, but I’d never seen much of your personal work.” He looked almost awestruck by image of a demon in a state of abject agony as it melted away like candle wax—it was mixed medium, using real wax to make the demon appear to melt down the side of the canvas.

Clad in her usual gothic dress made of black lace and black stockings paired with black-colored wedge sandals. Maleficent’s long raven hair fell like waterfalls onto her back as she sashayed towards the dining room. The empty hallway that she walked past was decorated with paintings hanging to the dark-painted walls. The paintings depicted images of different creatures which were having a feast with the humans as food – at every apex of the center stood an image of a bat-like beast with a familiar-looking set of horns and pair of wings. Cent concluded that the paintings were the history of this mansion and were painted by her father. Aside from paintings, statues made of marble littered ever

And suddenly…I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it. Me: I'm off today. Three dots appeared almost immediately. Angel: Come see me. I smiled. Me: Now? Is the Den even open this early? Angel: It opens when I say it does. A laugh escaped me. Arrogant bastard. Me: I'll be there soon. Angel: I'll be waiting, kitten. My stomach fluttered. The Angel's Den felt completely different during the day. Mostly because it was empty. No music. No masked strangers. No bartenders. Just the quiet elegance of black marble, burgundy furniture and gold. My heels echoed through the enormous room.

One was covered in long fur and had three heads in one neck, one of the heads was gummed together with another one. The third creature was creeping over the man on the mask's shoulder. It looks like a combination of a monkey and a cat, and it too had bat wings. On closer examination of the art pieces, I noticed that the demons were not dancing, but praying to the person with the golden necklace. Each of the creatures held a sharp weapon in their hands. The picture was in black and white, you could see that it was an old picture. The other person in the middle had a stroke of gold light radiating from him. He had his head bowed and his hands grasped in prayer.

I bent over the dead soldier, my heart heavy as I realized that the same tattoo adorned his neck as well. he design was unlike anything I had seen before, yet there was an unsettling familiarity about it, a memory tugging at the edges of my mind. The tattoo depicted a flying demon, its wings outstretched, eyes aglow with an otherworldly luminescence. The level of detail was astonishing, every line and curve capturing the essence of the creature in a way that was both mesmerizing and disconcerting. The artistry was undeniable, but there was an underlying malevolence that sent shivers down my spine.