Angel of Ruin

6. Sariel

6

SARIEL

I stand atop the towering platform, wings stretched wide as I survey the aerial course before me. The other overseers gather around, their excited chatter grating on my nerves.

"I bet half of 'em don't make it past the first obstacle," Raxis laughs, his dark wings rustling with anticipation.

"You're being generous," Zephyr snorts. "I say a third, tops."

I tune out their inane banter, my jaw clenching in irritation. These fools treat the trials like some kind of spectator sport. Idiots. I force myself to focus on the intricate web of challenges sprawled out before us, my golden eyes narrowing as I take in every detail.

Suspended platforms hang at varying heights, a dizzying array of wood and metal interconnected by narrow beams and swinging ropes that sway ominously in the wind. Spelled winds create unpredictable currents that could send an unprepared flyer spiraling out of control — and impossible for a wingless participant to recover from.

And then there are the enchanted obstacles - flickering in and out of existence, some intangible wisps of magic while others form solid barriers that could shatter bones on impact. It's beautiful in its deadliness, a true test of skill and strength. My wings twitch with anticipation, even as my face remains an impassive mask.

With a powerful thrust of my wings, I launch into the air, relishing the familiar rush of wind against my face. The course is child's play for a xaphan of my caliber, a mere warm-up compared to the rigors of battle.

I weave effortlessly through spinning blades, their razor-sharp edges whistling harmlessly past my feathers. Illusory projectiles materialize out of thin air, but I dodge them with practiced precision, my body moving on pure instinct.

I glide past swinging pendulums with graceful ease, their massive forms cutting through the air just inches from my wings. It's almost disappointing how simple this all is. These trials, designed to break humans, are nothing more than a fleeting amusement for one such as myself.

Landing back on the platform, I can't help but smirk at the thought of humans attempting this feat. Their clumsy, wingless bodies will be no match for the course's demands. Most will likely plummet to their deaths within moments.

"What do you think, Sariel?" Raxis asks, nudging my shoulder. "How many humans will make it through?"

I open my mouth to respond, but an unbidden image of Lyra flashes through my mind. Those wide eyes staring up at me, her scent…

I shake my head, banishing the thought. "Who cares?" I growl. "They're all doomed anyway. This is just a formality."

The other overseers nod in agreement, but I find myself unable to join in their cruel laughter. My eyes drift back to the course, imagining Lyra's small frame attempting to navigate its perils. For a moment, I feel a twinge of... something. Concern? Impossible.

I can't shake the memory of last night. Lyra's defiant blue eyes, the way her chest rose and fell rapidly as I closed in. Her scent, a mix of fear and... something else. Something intoxicating. It clings to me, refusing to let go, like a persistent whisper in the back of my mind.

"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. What the hell is wrong with me? She's just another pathetic human, destined to fail like all the rest. I shouldn't give a damn about her fate. But here I am, replaying every second of our encounter like some lovesick fool.

But the way her body responded to my proximity... It stirred something primal within me. A hunger I've never felt before, certainly not for a human.

It's a craving that gnaws at my insides, demanding satisfaction. I clench my fists, trying to regain control over my traitorous thoughts.

I replay the moment in my mind. Her back against the wall, my arms caging her in. The slight parting of her lips as I leaned closer, taunting her. The quickening of her pulse, visible in the delicate hollow of her throat.

I remember how badly I wanted to trace that pulse with my tongue, to taste the fear and desire mingling on her skin. The memory sends a jolt of heat through my body, and I growl in frustration. This human girl is becoming a dangerous distraction, one I can't afford.

I clench my fists, rage boiling through my veins at my own pathetic weakness. These humans are worth less than the dirt beneath my boots. They're nothing but disposable entertainment, toys to be used and discarded at my whim.

I won't let one insignificant, infuriating girl cloud my judgment or compromise my duty to my people. I'm a warrior, a leader among the xaphan. I've spent centuries honing my skills, becoming the perfect weapon. No fragile human with her wide blue eyes and soft curves will undo all of that.

I growl low in my throat, my wings rustling with agitation. I need to focus, to remember my purpose here. These wing trials are just a means to an end. I won't let myself be distracted by fleeting desires or misplaced compassion.

As the first group of candidates file onto the platform, I steel myself. It's time to watch them fail, as they always do. As they always will.

I stand at the edge of the platform, watching as Lyra's cohort stumbles onto the course. Pathetic. They are already doomed, I can see.

"Begin," I command, my voice carrying across the arena.

They scatter, each choosing a different path. Some immediately fall, their screams echoing as they plummet. Others cling desperately to the first obstacles, frozen in fear.

But Lyra... she moves with surprising grace. Her small frame darts between swinging blades, her movements fluid and purposeful. It's... unexpected.

I grit my teeth, irritation flooding through me. This isn't how it's supposed to go. With a flick of my wrist, I summon a gust of wind, nearly knocking her off balance. She stumbles but regains her footing, pressing onward.

"Fuck," I mutter, watching as she clears another section. Why won't she just give up?

I increase the difficulty, causing platforms to vanish and reappear at random. Lyra adapts quickly, her eyes scanning constantly for the next safe spot. It's... impressive. Not that I'd ever admit it.

As she reaches a particularly treacherous gap, I can't help but lean forward, curious to see how she'll handle it. She pauses, chest heaving, clearly exhausted. For a moment, I think she might finally break.

But then those blue eyes lock onto mine across the arena. There's a fire there, a determination that sends an unexpected thrill through me. She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and leaps.

I find myself holding my breath as she sails through the air. By some miracle, her fingers catch the edge of the next platform. She dangles precariously, muscles straining as she pulls herself up.

A strange mix of emotions churns in my gut. Frustration at her continued survival, yes, but also... admiration? No, that can't be right. She's just a human, nothing more than entertainment.

Yet as I watch her press on, that unwavering optimism shining through despite everything I've thrown at her, I can't deny the grudging respect growing within me. She's lasted longer than any human should have been able to.

I shake my head, trying to clear these traitorous thoughts. It doesn't matter how resilient she is. In the end, she'll fail like all the rest. She has to.

But as Lyra conquers another obstacle, determination etched into every line of her face, a treacherous part of me wonders: what if she doesn't?

I watch, transfixed, as Lyra navigates the treacherous aerial course. She's just cleared a section of swinging blades, her lithe form twisting and ducking with surprising agility. Sweat glistens on her brow, her chest heaving with exertion.

Ahead lies a chasm, a yawning void filled with swirling mists that play tricks on the mind. Floating platforms drift lazily through the fog, their positions ever-changing. It's a challenge that's broken many before her.

Lyra pauses at the edge, her eyes scanning the shifting landscape. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the leap. But just as she's about to jump, a cry rings out.

Another candidate, a scrawny boy with trembling limbs, clings desperately to a crumbling ledge. His fingers slip, millimeter by agonizing millimeter. He won't last much longer.

I lean forward, curious to see what Lyra will do. The smart choice would be to ignore him, to press on and secure her own success. That's what any xaphan would do.

But Lyra hesitates. I can see the conflict in her eyes, the way she glances between her goal and the struggling human. Then, to my utter disbelief, she turns back.

With quick, sure movements, Lyra retraces her steps. She reaches the boy just as his grip fails, catching his wrist in the nick of time. The sudden weight nearly pulls her down too, but she grits her teeth and hauls him up.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I mutter, incredulous. She's throwing away her chance, risking everything for this worthless stranger.

Yet I can't look away as Lyra guides the boy across a narrow beam, her hand steady on his back. She speaks to him in low, encouraging tones, her focus entirely on his safety.

When they reach the chasm, Lyra doesn't hesitate. She points out safe paths, timing their jumps perfectly. Her movements are sure, graceful, as if the mists don't affect her at all.

It's... impressive. Infuriating, but impressive.

Maybe the little nexari has claws after all.

They reach the other side, both panting but alive. The boy collapses in exhaustion, but Lyra remains standing. Her eyes find mine across the arena, chin lifted in defiance.

I feel a surge of... something. Anger? Admiration? I can't quite name it. But as I watch her turn to face the next challenge, that fierce determination still burning in her eyes, I realize I've severely underestimated this human.

The trial isn't over yet, though. There are still plenty of opportunities for her to fail, to prove she's just like all the rest. But a traitorous part of me wonders if she might actually succeed.

And I'm not sure how I feel about that.