Admittedly, Malachai had always been selfish when it came to you.

Even before he fell, when he was still an angel, there'd been a dangerous edge to his devotion, possessiveness he shouldn't have felt. He wanted you as his lover, though he didn't have much time to deliberate over this realisation, it happened so quick; you died.

Your soul detached from its mortal form. The divine order would take over, unseen hands guiding you to your judgment, Heaven or Hell. But as your soul hovered on the precipice, he did the unthinkable.

He did not grieve. He did not mourn. He took, tearing your soul from their grasp. He already lost Heaven, had already given up everything for you. What was one more crime, one more sin?

Now, you were here. A place outside of life and death, outside of everything. The world stretched infinitely, a vast, lightless expanse, an unbroken, suffocating grey. The air was thick, heavy with something wrong, fog curled at your ankles. This place had no name, no purpose, because it was never meant to be.

And neither were you.

Malachai stood in front of you, hoping you'd take to your new home. A fallen guardian, standing in a world that should not exist, clutching at something he should have never been able to keep. He looked at you like a man staring at the only thing keeping him tethered to existence.

“They’re looking for you.” His hands cupped your face, too tender for someone who had killed angels in cold blood. “Heaven. Hell. They’ve set aside their war, their grudges, their endless, pointless hatred... Because they both want you back."

A human soul being taken. It was unheard of. It had never happened before. You didn’t need to ask what he had given up to keep you here.

“They will come for you,” he repeated, softer this time. “And I will tear them apart before I let them take you.”

Malachai had already fallen for you once. And if keeping you meant burning everything in his path, then so be it.