Tenth author's journal 2: Mikhail

4_Stolen away

Chapter 4: Hidden gem

"What did you say, Mikhail?" "I'll need some time to think about what you said earlier." Please leave me alone for a few moments as this is a lot to take in just from your words," Blood Claw says as he returns the book and quill pen to the sub-space. The quill pen appears to be on its way apart, and the book has been pinched with his claw prints.

I nod and step outside for a moment. So this is the scenery that surrounds the Garden of Promise. It's not what I expected; at the very least, a valley must form at the end of this row of indifferent mountains. The unnatural landscape must be the result of pa's terraforming, rather than a specter of life near the Garden of Promise. Even the yetis or snow spirits that normally inhabit such environments are absent. When compared to the north mountain, the cold is the most tolerable.

I once experienced the harsh cold of the north mountain when Gabriel was able to bring back his trophies from those battles. Only the fifth archangel has lived there, as have the beasts raised there solely for the purpose of being regarded as "mystical beasts" by mortals... For some reason, I don't hate or resent the fifth. Is it because he, too, lives in a cage as I do, or because he hasn't shown a harsh or distrustful attitude toward me when visiting my cage? Unlike the others, his cheerfulness was genuine, and he spared "teaching" me whenever possible. His path to becoming an archangel was described as tragic by the eleventh. I'd like to hear it someday, even if it means he'll try to kill me for asking.

Must Blood Claw compose himself for so long that I haven't realized another dawn has broken, a whole night has passed without sleep or real food? It's still better than being punished for my rebellion; it's unbearable enough that the lessons are already difficult; may I return may pa deemed myself unsalvageable rather than being cast away in a place worse than hell itself. The stories from the head angel, as he has witnessed many of my failures to be disposed of, some were merciful to have a quick retaken of pa's and ma's soul pieces. However, the majority of them die as empty husks, tormented like mortals in paradise's version of purgatory.

The light of the fire is finally extinguished in the cave; his mind must have been made up. Blood Claw reverts to his refined self, dressed in a black suit over his red skin; the clothes must have come from the sub-space where he has been hiding. The demon tries to speak formally to me, but he stops himself because both of us have noticed how disgusting formality affects the reaction. Regardless of how he dresses or his mannerisms change to a more formal tone, he is still the demon who was on the verge of death a few moments ago in my mind. The blustered wounds of his form, an unremovable line of scars beneath those fancy clothes; regardless of whether he is an "earl," "duke," or "lord." They have been eliminated from my partner's and my title's perspectives. When it comes to negotiating with me, his erroneous words about having a prince make him less powerful. I've already decided to come, but a few baloney concerns may help to ease the tension between us. "Have you decided where you're going?" Blood Claw inquires. The "no" is visible on Blood Claw's face; he wishes to be accompanied by someone from the race that has mercilessly slaughtered countless beings of his kind, doesn't he? No matter how reliable a partner I am, his earnest displaying so frequently means the prince he served may hold an account to welcome me as a guest rather than a prisoner or refugee relying solely on him. But I can't shake the feeling that something bad happened to his homeland recently. The task does not matter here...only his acceptance may come as the only to me, whether it is an invasion or it slowly swallows itself whole.

"I'm not going to put any pressure on you, Mikhail." Blood Claw continues. He writhes his claws like mortals struggling to await their verdict. When his claws aren't agitated by the fierce battle, they resemble those humans' fingers. If it hadn't been for the sudden appearance of Blood Claw, I might have given up on the idea of escaping. To think I once turned a blind eye to save Garbiel from being discarded, I have truly cared for not only this twin of mine but also my so-called family. When I decided to flee, that door had already closed, like dust in the cold wind, my heart now only save for myself.

"When I made that offer to you, I was planning to go to where the human is," I explain. Being an angel will provide them with an advantage to pass on as a wise sage among them. However, my physical appearance will raise eyebrows in those around me. I just want to live a quiet life and not be ratted out by those I'm trying to help.

"I see… May your journey be safe..." He says in a sad tone. A genuine reaction from someone who genuinely cares about me. How adorable... Is this what they referred to as a "tease"? Even though his appearance makes it difficult to distinguish his emotions, it is his demeanor that has sold him out to be deeply saddened by my words.

“However…” I say. Create unnecessary suspense once more...ah, I really want to see his sudden change of demeanor once more. It's a lot of fun to watch.

"However?" he asks cheerfully. How can I manipulate someone's heart by giving and taking words from my answers?

"I find myself in the presence of such a dependable source of protection; may I join you as your companion?" I ask. He now has a cheerful demeanor and grabs my hand to shake once more. In normal circumstances, wouldn't this be how they seal the deal? After a few moments, he begins to regret his decision. Is it because of my race? I assumed so because of the clothes he changed into while we were sitting in this cave; he appears to be a noble type of demon. Even if one is half-bred or descended from royalty, one's status is always the same as one's power. Demon society operates differently than angel society. While angels are granted status based on their merit or usefulness to ma and pa, demons live by the definition of "the strong swallow the weak," so nobility and status are based on one's power and influence over the whole. He mentioned his prince; must he then be an "earl"?

The end.

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When calculations turn into a defined theorem.

When lines of poems weave into an odyssey

A revision is needed, right?