[ Continued from Here ]
Richard continued to circle Islington, his blood dipped sword clasped tightly in his fingers. Despite it being the angel himself- the same angel who had murdered Doorâs family and tortured him in the past- Richard could still feel his stomach flipping. He wasnât used to inflicting pain on others, no matter what they had done to him in the past. Richard had always counted himself as a pacifist, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
âI already told you, Islington, Iâll stop as soon as you talk. Now tell me where Door is! The sooner you tell me, the sooner you can get out of this,â he motioned to the intricate chalk markings on the ground.
The angel let out a savage hiss, and his wings tried to unfurl out, but whenever he tried to do such a simple action it had him flinching in pain. There was nothing to be done about this accursed circle that was keeping him in a very confined spot, and there was blood dripping down alongside his left arm. A wing had been run through by that blasted sword, which the mortal was gripping so tightly. His only defense, his mind tried to focus away from the flaring pain in his wingâs joint -- the ache traveling down into his shoulder.    âYou, and her, can go to hell! Why donât you just keel     over, boy! Join her in her inevitable death!â Feeling quite like the cattle that he compared these mortals to. The livestock that deserved no such treatment, and this angered him to no end! | @warrioroflondonbelow  |
