CHAPTER 3 — THE SCARLET ASCENT
The night had long drowned the city in its cold embrace. The moon was high but half-eaten by clouds, bleeding faint light through the mist. Kael Riven stood at the edge of the cathedral's roof, his silhouette carved against the ghostly sky, the scythe resting on his shoulder. Below, the city whispered — sirens, faint screams, the shuffle of things that shouldn't move after midnight.
He exhaled, his breath turning to fog. "Another night," he muttered. "Another soul to hunt."
The Punisher. That's what they called him now — a cursed name that followed wherever he went. A boy who had lost everything but found purpose in vengeance. But vengeance had teeth, and Kael could feel it slowly sinking into him, piece by piece.
A sound — the rustle of broken glass. He turned, scythe spinning in his hand. A shadow approached from behind the cathedral's gargoyle. It was Azriel, the messenger between Heaven and Hell, the one who had marked him with the Devil's Choice.
"Still playing both sides?" Kael asked coldly.
Azriel's eyes glowed faintly silver. "You made a pact with the dark, Kael. I merely watch how long before the light abandons you."
Kael gave a dry chuckle. "Too late. The light never stayed to begin with."
Azriel's gaze lingered on him — a mixture of pity and curiosity. "Your wings," he said softly, "they're changing."
Kael frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Then he felt it — a warmth beneath his shoulder blades, spreading like wildfire. He gasped as the air shimmered around him, and then, with a blinding burst, wings unfurled — not the radiant white of angels, nor the leathery black of demons.
They were crimson. Red as spilled blood.
Each feather glistened like molten glass, burning faintly with inner light. When he moved, embers scattered in the wind. Kael looked at them in disbelief. The wings were beautiful… and horrifying.
"What… what is this?" he whispered.
Azriel smiled faintly. "A reflection of your soul. Neither Heaven's creation nor Hell's curse. You've become something else — something in between."
Kael clenched his fists. "So, what am I now?"
"The Red Seraph," Azriel said quietly. "A punisher born from choice, not destiny. The Devil's angel."
The words echoed in Kael's mind. Red angel. Punisher. Monster. He didn't know which one to believe.
Then the city screamed again — a shriek that ripped through the night, cutting through the silence like a blade. Kael's attention snapped to the streets below.
"They're here," he said, voice dark.
Azriel tilted his head. "The corrupted?"
Kael nodded. "The ones who took my sister's light."
He leapt from the rooftop. His crimson wings spread wide, slicing through the fog as he dived toward the chaos below. The air roared around him. The ground came fast. He landed hard, shattering the cracked pavement, dust and debris swirling in the wake of his arrival.
Before him were three figures — twisted humans, their veins glowing sickly green, eyes hollow with madness. Demons had taken their hearts and replaced them with hunger.
"Three of you?" Kael raised the scythe, smirking. "You'll need more."
The first lunged, a blur of motion. Kael sidestepped, wings flaring outward. Feathers sliced through the air like blades, severing the creature's arm before it could strike. It screamed, black mist gushing from its wound.
The second came from behind. Kael spun his scythe and impaled it through the chest, pinning it to a wall. The third hissed, circling him like a predator.
"Run," Kael whispered, voice almost merciful. "You still have a sliver of humanity left."
The creature didn't listen. It charged. Kael met it halfway, his wings sweeping forward, wrapping it in crimson fire. The thing dissolved into ash.
When silence returned, he stood among the ruins, chest heaving, the scythe dripping with something darker than blood.
Azriel appeared behind him again, silent as moonlight. "You're getting stronger. But every time you use the wings, they feed."
Kael turned sharply. "Feed on what?"
Azriel's expression darkened. "On your heart."
Kael froze. For a moment, the air grew heavy. He looked down at his hands — trembling slightly — then at his wings, still glowing faintly red.
"I don't care," he said at last. "If that's the price for justice… then let them feed."
Azriel sighed. "Justice or vengeance?"
Kael didn't answer. He simply walked past him, dragging the scythe along the ground. Sparks followed his steps.
As he reached the edge of the alley, he looked up. The moon had broken free of the clouds now, illuminating his figure — a boy with red angel wings, standing between ruin and salvation.
For a fleeting moment, Kael thought he saw her — his sister — in the reflection of a broken window. Smiling, reaching out.
"Soon," he whispered. "I'll free you from them. I promise."
The reflection vanished.
Thunder rolled across the sky. Kael spread his wings once more and took to the air, the city lights reflecting crimson beneath him. Each flap left trails of glowing embers that faded into the night.
Far below, unseen eyes watched from the shadows — cloaked figures whispering among themselves.
"The Red Seraph has awakened," one murmured.
Another chuckled. "Then the real war begins."
Kael didn't hear them. His mind was a storm — torn between the angel he was meant to be and the devil he had become.
As he soared higher, lightning flashed behind him, outlining his wings in fiery light. The scythe gleamed like a comet in his grasp.
He whispered to himself, "If Heaven won't punish them… I will."
And in that vow, the crimson glow around his wings deepened — as though Hell itself had heard, and smiled.
---TO BE CONTINUED