Beyond The Celestial Veil
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“They were never meant to meet.”
He was chaos, bound in skin.
She was light, born to obey.
He walked among mortals for centuries, hiding behind empires, sins, and charm.
She came to Earth for a mission. Silent. Watchful. Pure.
But all it took was one moment.
A single touch.
A flicker of something neither of them understood.
And in that instant…
He took her grace.
She stole his mark.
The balance shattered.
Heaven roared. Hell recoiled.
And the world tilted just slightly off its axis.
Now, the angel bears a demon’s scar.
The demon glows with celestial light.
And the war they never asked for is already in motion.
All because of a forbidden crossing—
A love that rewrote the rules.
Now… nothing is sacred.
Not even the divine.
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The room was silent. Sterile. White.
Too white.
Not the white of purity, but the cold, soulless kind that hummed beneath fluorescent lights and stank of antiseptic. Somewhere deep inside private medical wing, behind three layers of biometric locks, Abaddon stood alone in front of a floor-length mirror.
His once black eyes were now a piercing, iridescent silver — unsettling in their calmness. His skin, once laced with ancient scars, now glowed faintly, like the after-burn of celestial fire.
But he still wore black. He still moved like smoke.
And on his wrist — where the inverted cross used to burn like a curse — now sat a thin, radiant upright cross that pulsed with divine energy.
His fingers twitched. His jaw clenched.
Something was wrong. Terribly, impossibly wrong.
A soft rustle behind him. The sheets moved.
He turned.
Purity was waking up on the medical bed — face pale, long hair tangled in every direction, her lips slightly parted as she sat up groggily.
But her presence… wasn’t the same.
Her skin had lost its glow — replaced by a pallid, shadow-touched hue. Her once pristine robes clung to her in darker shades, and when she looked up at him… her pupils flickered. Not white. Not gold.
Red.
Abaddon moved before she could speak.
In one motion, his hand clamped around her neck — not choking, but stopping her. Lifting her off the bed like a paper doll.
His voice was ice:
“What did you do?”
Purity’s feet dangled above the floor. She didn’t fight — just blinked, her lips trembling with something dangerously close to guilt.
The room was deathly still. Only the heart monitor beeped softly in the background.
Then—
The door burst open.
A blinding surge of celestial wind swept through the room, flaring papers, rattling the IV stand.
Abaddon didn’t look. He didn’t need to.
With a grunt of fury, he threw Purity aside like trash — her body crashing against the mirror. Glass shattered, raining down around her as she hit the ground hard.
Silence.
She coughed. Slowly sat up amid the shards, blood pooling from a cut on her shoulder.
But her voice — it didn’t tremble.
It didn’t beg.
Just quiet. And full of the storm she'd never meant to start.
“I can explain.”
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