Don't Let Them Catch You

27• Alma Gêmea

For a moment the fighting stopped.

And it wasn't because of the miniature star on the ground, scattering surrounding shadows and momentarily robbing everyone of vision.

If you've ever heard a noise so piercing that you thought your skull was going to split in half and your ears were going to bleed, it's the only accurate way to describe what ricocheted through the compound. Amos couldn't tell where it was coming from, it felt like it was in every direction.

Those invisible binds immediately disappeared, yet by some miracle he stayed upright, back stiff.

It cut through him harder than any blow he'd taken from Mammon, who now sank to his knees in distress before him, clutching desperately at his ears, features suspended in agony. No one could withstand it, shifters and demons alike were brought to the ground in pain.

It only lasted a few seconds, but those few seconds were enough to affect Amos' consciousness. His vision swayed and circled, struggling to focus.

The sudden silence that came afterwards left a throbbing headache in his temple.

Vaguely, he heard the witches splutter air between themselves— they felt so distant, but their distraction had made them forget about his missing binds.

He slumped, arms swinging out in time to catch himself by his hands at the last minute, palms digging into cracked stone that jutted out at awkward angles.

He hadn't heard a sound like that in a millennium.

It was very distinct, the type that could turn a man deaf, one of the many reasons angels were often kept separate from human beings.

It was then that it dawned on him.

It didn't take long for his darting eyes to focus on the blinding white light glaring angrily from the ground. He squinted against the brightness, heart racing with fear. The light was already halfway to dimming, she didn't know how to keep it up. She had exposed her location to every demon like a beacon.

He didn't miss Mammon's predatory gaze locking onto her either.

Amos pushed his body forwards, wings slumping against his back and caught Mammon's brown ankle just as he was about to pounce in her direction. The demon slammed into stones, scattering them in every direction and let rip a blood curdling roar, trying to claw his way towards Aura.

But Amos wasn't having it.

Clenching his jaw, with a grunt he reeled the demon in towards him like a fish on a hook, dragging debris and stones at the path Mammon was creating.

"You can't protect her." Mammon spat, whipping his body towards him like a snake.

Amos blocked his sudden attack deftly with his left wing and released his ankle, Mammon was facing him. He wasn't focused on Aura anymore. The witches were still too disoriented to engage, the most conscious one crawled towards her nearest sister.

"The hell I can't." The fallen angel hissed, angling his head to spit out some of the blood pooling in his mouth. He wouldn't get rid of the iron taste, but at the very least the liquid.

"Look around you." Mammon depthless white eyes, soulless and cursed, narrowed menacingly. His arched brows formed a deep crease between them, dried blood going brown on his forehead. A fist opened to gesture in and around Aura's direction. "It's too late."

The fallen angel followed his hand.

Aura's light had dimmed, but it didn't matter. Head bowed, clutching woefully onto the ashes in her palms, if she had noticed what she had just done she didn't care. Every creature in the vicinity had seen her. They had locked onto a target, noses had picked up her scent. The disorientation was the only reason they hadn't descended onto her like flies, the shifters were as good as down.