Archangel Raziel Novels & Stories

she sat down in the chair he directed her to next to him at the table Xander quickly took the seat next to her as the others filled in meet the others this is Raziel Seraphim of Destruction he was at the battle today he was a slim guy good looking and seemed to be in his early twenties with black hair worn in a spiky emo style and dark blood-red eyes dressed in a black sleeveless shirt and black pants with silver chains and studs on it, his left arm was sleeved tattooed in angelic scripture and his ears were pierced with silver cartilage earrings that covered the curved shell of his ears you have to be the most interesting angel I've ever met I didn't know we could get tattoos and piercings

The voice rolled on, deeper now, layered with thunder. “Erelah—Whisperer of Doubt.” Erelah took a step back, real fear on her face. “Elias—Valarieth—wait—” He didn’t. His gaze locked on the third. “Raziel—Forger of the Lie.” The marble floor beneath Raziel’s feet broke apart. Elias stood taller, divine light bursting from his chest, wreathing his form in flames of judgment. His wings unfurled—not the gentle feathered light of before, but massive arcs of pure glyphic power, each feather a burning rune.

These flashes had happened several times and they were all blurry. But this time, they were crystal clear. Parts of his past life flashed before him and of the young woman whose face had always been blurred and whose face he would have killed to clearly behold. But, this time, he could see her face clearly and it was a very familiar face. His Laura. His Carrot. His Angel. He felt different. He felt as if he had been reborn. His eyes found them again. This time she had a small smile on her face and was slowly but hesitantly giving the bastard her hand to slide in the ring.

Media, Ancient Northwestern Iran House of Raguel, Rooftop, Evening POV: Aeshma (A flashback of the past) "Raphael," I greeted with enough callousness to the archangel standing some distance in front of me. "Aeshma," he answered just the same. Glorious golden wings bright as the sun and wearing an armor that shined like a million stars in the night sky was what I see in this entity. You can add a long, golden hair and that's it - a worthy role model of the angels in heaven.

Daniel, my son, I remember that night like it was yesterday. We were fleeing from the entity that Belzebub warned me about - Azrael, the Angel of Death. When he appeared, I shielded your eyes, pleading with you not to look, as he demanded I hand you over. Deli, our former babysitter, tried to help, but Azrael's power was too great. In a desperate attempt to protect you, I blocked his gaze, but he revealed his dark angelic face, letting out a piercing scream that almost threw you and Deli off the bridge.

Ru could remember being terrified as a child when there was a lunar eclipse, and Liddy Brown had insisted the moon would turn to blood, signifying the beginning of the Tribulation. One particular website she stumbled upon caught her interest. It was a listing of demons, complete with artists’ renderings of what they were supposed to look like, dating back to Biblical times. Most of them were horrific and scary looking. Azrael caught her attention. Some of the pictures showed him as a hideous creature with more than one face and dozens of hands and wings, some as a black-winged angel with a dark face, and others as a glowing Archangel of God. “It is said that Azrael was a helper to God, but t

I flung open the door, wailing, and threw myself into the arms of the visitor, my tears staining their shirt. But something felt wrong. Since when did Rachel develop such muscular and strong arms? Blinking through my tears, I looked up with a pitiful expression, only to see Jared standing there. I stumbled backward, whether from drunkenness or dizziness, I wasn't sure. In a swift motion, Jared caught me, wrapping his arms around my waist and drawing me into a comforting embrace as he gently patted my back. Regaining my senses, I pushed him away forcefully. "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

he said softly, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Raziel” I rasped, my throat raw from grief. “You look like him when I first met him, so long ago.” I smiled at the thought. Met was probably the wrong word for how I had encountered Shamshiel. There are stages to grief, five to be exact. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I had been pissed, beyond pissed, when I slew all those women. Shortly after the world went to shit and I vacillated between bargaining with God and depression. The world had become a desolate landscape since the angels had fallen, almost as if they sucked the life out of it. I would scream at the heavens, cursing God for what he had done then begging him

Angel was a kind of drug. ‘Alright, maybe it is…’ He stilled for a second, caught in a deep thought. ‘It’s an obsession.’ Angel was… delicious, yes, but it wasn't just about the physical pleasure. It was about need. A desperate, all consuming need to ground himself back to reality. Angel’s presence was warm. Real. His—and nobody else’s. To mark him. Bind him. Own him in ways no one else ever could. But was that really it? Was that… love?

His cold demeanor seemed to warn others to keep their distance, but his breathtaking handsomeness begged them to come closer. As he stepped out of the jet, the last rays of sunlight danced across his face, casting an ethereal glow. For a moment, he seemed like an angel descending from heaven, his beauty leaving onlookers awestruck and breathless. The air around him vibrated with an aura of power, wealth, and mystery. His gaze swept across the surroundings, his eyes lingering on nothing and no one. He moved with purpose, his strides confident and calculated, leaving a trail of wonder in his wake.