EverenVale

  In a dark, sprawling city where shadows twisted and reality bent, an ancient angel roamed the streets, his presence a dark omen whispered about in hushed tones. Known as the ‘Faceless Hypnotist’, Opharel was no ordinary angel.

  He was a rogue, a maniputor who controlled anyone that caught his gaze. His face was shrouded in an impenetrable void, a shifting bckness that hid his true visage. He carried a hypnotic relic, a glowing orb that pulsed with a mesmerizing light, bending the minds of those who dared to look.

  Legends cimed even other angels steered clear of him, fearing his power. He reveled in that dark reputation.

  Malrath, one of the most powerful demons in the underworld, was known for his ruthless efficiency, cold heart, and unyielding will. He had been sent to Earth with a mission: capture the Faceless Hypnotist, drag him back to the underworld... Or, if necessary, kill him.

  Despite his icy demeanor, Malrath possessed a dangerous charm, a seductive aura that drew others to him, only for their end to come soon after.

  That night, Opharel stood in a dimly lit alley. Before him, a human man stood frozen, his eyes wide and vacant, trapped in the hypnotic grasp of the angel’s relic. Opharel’s ethereal voice murmured softly.

  But then, a chill cut through the air, a sudden tension thickening the shadows around him. He sensed it before he saw it: a dark and overwhelming presence approaching in silence.

  Out of the darkness stepped Malrath. He watched as Opharel toyed with his prey, unimpressed, his gaze cold.

  “So this is the infamous Faceless Hypnotist,” he murmured, moving closer, undisturbed by the glowing orb.

  Malrath didn’t flinch. Instead, he looked almost amused, daring the angel to try and control him. “Go on, angel,” he taunted, stepping closer until barely any space remained between them. “Try your little tricks on me. Let’s see who bends first.”

  Opharel smiled at him, calm and warm, as if genuinely gd to see him. “You came, my precious demon. Just let me finish with him first.”

  He turned his attention back to the human standing before him. Leaning down, he whispered something in the man’s ear. The man nodded slowly before Opharel kissed his forehead.

  Bck smoke poured from the man’s ears, nose, and mouth. Opharel opened his own mouth and inhaled it. When he was done, the man staggered backward and dropped to his knees.

  Opharel took his arms and gently lifted him. The man looked into his eyes, dazed, then turned and walked away. Opharel watched him with a faint smile until he disappeared into the night.

  Malrath had watched the entire dispy with detached interest, his golden eyes glinting in the dim light. As the human stumbled out of sight, he let out a low chuckle and shook his head slightly.

  “Pathetic,” Malrath muttered under his breath, though there was a hint of intrigue beneath the disdain. His gaze slid back to Opharel, studying the way the angel held himself, calm, composed, utterly unfazed by his presence. It irked him, just a little.

  “You really think swallowing souls makes you impressive?” he asked, taking another step forward, deliberately invading Opharel’s personal space again, close enough to feel the faint hum of divine energy radiating off him. “Or do you just enjoy pying with your food before eating it?”

  A slow smirk curled his lips, revealing sharp canines. “Tell me, angel…”

  Opharel listened to him, idly rolling his relic between his fingers until it vanished into thin air. He smiled, serene and unmoving, and said, “Ask me.”

  Malrath’s smirk deepened, predatory amusement dancing in his golden eyes as he leaned in further, his voice dropping to a silken whisper.

  “Do you ever get tired of being predictable? A pretty little trickster hiding behind stolen souls and empty theatrics.” One hand lifted zily, tracing an idle circle in the air near Opharel’s obscured face, close enough to tempt, never quite touching. “I wonder… what happens when someone finally rips that mask off?” A deliberate pause, savoring the tension. “Do you scream? Or do you beg?”

  Opharel kept his smile and answered warmly, “Did you come to take me, little demon? Or do you really want to know?”

  Malrath let out a dark, velvety ugh, the sound dripping with danger. “Oh, I came for both,” he murmured, his golden eyes burning with intensity as he reached up slowly, his fingertips hovering just shy of the swirling void obscuring Opharel’s face. “But why choose when I could have you screaming and begging?”

  The threat hung heavy in the air, charged with something deeper, curiosity, hunger.

  “Unless you’d rather tell me yourself… angel,” he added, voice low and coaxing.

  Opharel chuckled softly and leaned in, his words warm and deceptively gentle. “Be careful, little one… You don’t want to touch me.” His breath brushed the space between them as he whispered, “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear. You should have known better. You’re a demon.”

  Malrath’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his smirk only grew sharper, more feral. The warning only fueled his defiance.

  “Oh, but that’s exactly why I should touch you,” he purred, closing the distance between his fingers and the abyss-like veil covering Opharel’s features. Electricity crackled in the air, a silent battle of wills. “Demons thrive on things we ‘shouldn’t’ do.”

  His voice dropped to a growl, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the edge of the void. “And I really like breaking rules.”

  A beat passed.

  Then, with reckless audacity, Malrath pushed his hand toward the shadowed nothingness, just to see what would happen.

  The shadow transformed into pure light, repelling Malrath’s hand with a sizzling, searing pain... Almost like touching the sun. Opharel reached for his hand but quickly pulled back, careful not to hurt him further.

  “I told you not to touch me,” Opharel said, his voice carrying a soft, almost regretful note. “Why does no one listen to me?”

  Malrath hissed sharply through clenched teeth as he recoiled, golden eyes fshing with equal parts fury and fascination. Smoke curled from his singed fingertips, the scent of burnt flesh thick in the air. Yet despite the pain, his grin remained intact, sharp and defiant.

  “Because warnings are boring,” he rasped, flexing his injured hand with a dark chuckle. “And pain…” He stepped forward, undeterred, crowding Opharel against the alley wall. “…is just a thrill with extra steps.”

  Leaning in, his breath ghosted over where the angel’s mouth should have been, his voice dripping with challenge.

  “But fine. If I can’t peel you apart with my hands…” A slow, deliberate lick traced across his own bleeding knuckles, his eyes never leaving the swirling void. “…maybe I’ll peel you apart another way.”

  Opharel shook his head, a warm smile pying at the corners of his hidden face. “Fine. Do whatever you feel is right. But let me ask you a question first.”

  Malrath paused mid-taunt, arching a brow in mock curiosity. He exhaled a short, amused huff, rolling his shoulders back as if indulging a child.

  “Ask away, angel,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. Beneath it, though, lurked a sharper edge, like a predator waiting for its prey to stumble.

  “Though I doubt anything you say will change how this ends.” He gestured zily with his still-smoking hand, the motion casual, but his stance tightened subtly, ready to strike if needed. “Well?”

  Opharel remained calm, his tone warm as he asked, “Do you know why they asked you to take me down?”

  Malrath’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment, almost imperceptible, before twisting into something darker, more venomous. A low, humorless chuckle escaped him as he tilted his head, studying Opharel with renewed intensity.

  “They didn’t ask,” he corrected smoothly, tapping a silver-ringed finger against his temple. “Orders. And demons don’t question orders… unless they’re bored.”

  He paused, feigning disinterest, but his golden eyes gleamed with something sharper beneath the surface.

  “But since you’re so curious…” He shifted closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe you should tell me why Heaven wants you gone too. Or did you forget how many sides are hunting you?”

  The taunt lingered in the air, edged with genuine curiosity.

  A small smile curved the corner of Opharel’s face as he replied calmly, “No, I remember. Heaven wants me gone because angels don’t question orders...”

  Malrath barked out a surprised ugh, sharp and genuine, before quickly schooling his expression back into icy amusement. He shook his head, clicking his tongue.

  “Well, well. A rebellious angel and a smartass.” He folded his arms, sizing Opharel up with newfound appreciation, though his tone remained mocking. “No wonder they hate you. You’re practically demon material already.”

  Then he leaned in again, his voice dipping into something dangerously pyful.

  “So tell me, hypocrite... Do you enjoy pissing off Heaven as much as I enjoy pissing off Hell?”

  Opharel smiled at him, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His voice stayed calm. “We’re all the same material, angels, demons, humans, and everything in between.”

  He shook his head and began walking toward the main street. “And to answer your question… no. I don’t enjoy what I’m doing.”

  He looked over his shoulder and added smoothly, “Walk with me, little demon.”