38: Clipped Wings

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Ichor and black blood splattered the walls of cavernous halls, a humid draft blowing through Park Jimin's hair and the peeled chips of paint on the wall

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Ichor and black blood splattered the walls of cavernous halls, a humid draft blowing through Park Jimin's hair and the peeled chips of paint on the wall. He trudged over dirt and rock, sometimes tripping over dust. Beside his own footsteps, squeaking mice or the occasional whisper sounded from below. The first few floors of this hotel mimicked forgotten catacombs rather than a lavish network of ballrooms and lounges.

He used a fallen wall sconce to tear down waterfalls of cobwebs. When it was completely coated in spider's silk, he tossed it to the side and pulled out his flashlight, recalling Jungkook's taunt.

Outside, a few seconds after Anaphiel split and a few moments before Jimin and Jungkook split up, Jimin pulled out his tool.

"You brought a flashlight?" Jungkook had asked.

Jimin had peered down at it and grinned. "You didn't?"

"We can see in the dark."

"Grey can't," Jimin said.

"Short and thoughtful." Jungkook clapped him on the back with a charming smile and took off into a sprint. He disappeared around the edge of the building. Jimin hoped he would be okay.

The light clicked on, a steady beam piercing the darkness ahead. At the very end of the hallway was a pair of dark wooden doors. As he approached them, the angel also studied the artwork near his head. Shattered frames held photographs of people decorated with expensive, older clothing. In one, a handsome man and woman laughed near a stage. In another, a woman leaned on the bar with her arms spread to the side in silent invitation. This corridor seemed to be some sort of gallery. Antique paintings of cinemas and celebrities littered the floor or hung suspended from their spots by a single nail.

A rat scuffled over his foot. The angel shrieked, jumping until it disappeared into a hole in the wall. Then, he laughed. Because of all things creeping around this hotel, he yelped for the smallest threat. Getting to the double doors was a blessing. He pushed into the next room.

Tall, red walls painted with black stretched into oblivion. Stones and sand coated the floor. It still smelled of sewage and stagnant water. No windows. No doors. Another long hallway. Jimin scanned the ceiling and corners for movement. No irkans were in this part either.

The flashlight illuminated his path. It was easier to find clearings of marble floor through the rubble with the beam. He no longer slipped. Another rat scurried an inch ahead of his foot. It no longer surprised him. One step at a time, he made his way to the second exit--a pair of dark wooden doors. Throwing them open, he covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve. The trash smell had gotten worse. However, his surroundings remained mild.

Tall, red walls painted with black extended into an abyss. Big rocks and sand covered the ground. No windows. No doors. Another long hallway.

Jimin did not cross the threshold. Instead, he shone light on the paintings in this new section and the section he had just left.

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