“D-Dero…”
Celoia called out Deroville’s name in a small, trembling voice, his eyes filled with panic. He took a few steps forward, hesitating to get closer, but was sharply cut off.
“Don’t come over here.”
Deroville clutched his face, gasping for air with great effort. The wings behind him shuddered slightly; in a matter of moments, they became increasingly vibrant, growing continuously as if they were draining the very life from him.
They were pure black wings, tipped with bone hooks, with only a few feathers clinging to the base. They looked vicious beyond belief—so massive they could almost cocoon Deroville’s entire body.
They looked nothing like the wings of an angel.
Celoia stood dazed, his chaotic thoughts impossible to untangle. However, his sharp, animal-like intuition screamed at him to leave; the current Deroville was extremely dangerous.
Deroville squinted, observing the surroundings. He pressed his fingers against the ground, dragging them hard until blood seeped from his fingertips into the soil. An invisible force radiated outward, wrapping the two of them in a protective sphere.
“Celoia, stay right there. Don’t move.” He sat down wearily, his wings naturally retracting and drooping by his side. He reached back to touch them but quickly pulled his hand away, his palm covered in blood. He whispered a warning: “Someone will likely be here soon. If it’s someone you don’t recognize, hide first. Understand?”
Celoia stared silently at Deroville. He could smell the thickening scent of blood on him. Ultimately, he overcame the inexplicable fear rising in his heart and trotted over to Deroville’s side. Squatting down, he asked worriedly, “Dero, do you need some medicine to stop the bleeding?”
He looked down and saw the gruesome wounds on Deroville’s back. Golden blood rolled within the gashes, yet it never dripped down his skin; it was as if Deroville’s body exerted a strange attraction over it. Everywhere the blood touched, the flesh would instantly fester, forming even more horrific injuries.
Deroville shook his head. He seemed to have recovered somewhat; though his face remained pale, his mind was clear. He grabbed Celoia’s hand and pulled the boy into his arms, patting his back.
His tone was heavy. “What, were you scared?”
Celoia curled into his embrace, instantly feeling much safer. He grabbed a lock of Deroville’s long hair, winding it around his finger as if to soothe himself.
He asked, “Are we just going to wait here?”
Deroville leaned his head back against a tree trunk, lazily tapping Celoia’s head with a light huff. “What else? I haven’t got much strength left. Better start praying that Celine finds us before the bad guys do.”
Celoia frowned in conflict and muttered, “Celine can’t hear me even if I pray.”
Deroville hadn’t expected Celoia to take the suggestion seriously. He teased, “Just try it. Sincerity makes it work.”
The wings behind him gave a few twitches, seemingly sharing in Deroville’s amusement.
Celoia blinked. After a moment of hesitation, he asked cautiously, “Dero, can I touch your wings?”
Deroville raised an eyebrow. He straightened up; the clothes on his upper body were torn, sliding down with his movement to reveal a wide expanse of skin. He turned around, offering his back fully to Celoia. Grabbing Celoia’s hand, he guided it gently toward his wings and said generously, “Go ahead. Just remember to be gentle. They haven’t been out in a long time; they might be more fragile than you think.”
Celoia pursed his lips, his eyelashes trembling as his fingers brushed against them. His hand gave a slight start.
The first sensation was cold. The wings didn’t feel like they grew from human flesh and blood at all; they had an icy, mechanical quality. The feathers were pressed flat against the structure, forming only a thin layer. The spikes at the tips were exceptionally sharp—even a light touch brought a sting of pain.
The more Celoia touched them, the more something felt wrong. His preconceptions were being shaken. In his memory, the same three pairs of white wings were soft, fluffy, and warm—a completely different texture from what was under his hand.
He couldn’t help but blurt out, “Dero, your wings are different from everyone else’s.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he had messed up. Although he had considered telling Deroville his true identity, this was clearly not a good time.
Sure enough, the previously relaxed Deroville stiffened visibly.
For a second, Deroville wondered if he had heard correctly. Bracing his hands on the ground, he turned his head, his eyes clouded with confusion. “You’ve seen other people with wings? Or do you just mean animals?”
Celoia’s heart raced, feeling as if the blood in his body was flowing in reverse, rushing straight to his face. He turned a deep shade of red, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter a single lie. He stammered his confession.
“I… I have seen many people with wings.”
In an instant, many things flashed through Deroville’s mind. The truth seemed to be heading in the exact direction he was most unwilling to admit. A raging fire of fury ignited from the depths of his heart. He stood up abruptly, wanting to ask more, when a sudden surge of agonizing pain shot through his back.
That golden blood finally seemed to find a loophole, rushing toward a specific point in his body. Golden patterns immediately surfaced across Deroville’s back, and the base of his wings turned a faint, angry red. As if provoked, the wings snapped open violently. Their color deepened further, turning almost ink-black.
Deroville let out a muffled groan, his body swaying before he dropped to one knee. Patterns began to creep up his face; he was on the verge of losing control. He lowered his head, and after a moment of unknown thought, he spoke.
“Leave now. I won’t make things difficult for you.”
Celoia couldn’t help but clutch the hem of his shirt. He shook his head in refusal and slowly approached Deroville. Just like the very first time, he hugged the man’s calf and nuzzled his cheek against it.
Deroville exhaled sharply in suppressed agony. The intense pain was about to strip him of his reason; it felt as if he had returned to that most painful moment of his life when he was powerless to resist. His hands grabbed his own wings, exerting slight pressure.
Celoia could actually hear the sound of the wings tearing.
Driven by a powerful instinct, Celoia didn’t have time to think. The power that had been dormant in his body, never finding a purpose, came gushing out.
It was radiant, soft, and brimming with life.
The Primordial Force—the very energy that helps an angel grow their wings during the Feathering Ceremony—was poured into Deroville without reservation.
Deroville’s body jolted. His suspicion had become reality.
The wings on his back began to grow at a rate visible to the naked eye. The greedy creature that had nearly sucked him dry of energy was now fed and satisfied. They snapped open with a swish, the resulting wind snapping the surrounding trees.
This familiar, repulsive sensation.
Deroville’s hand moved up slowly, closing around Celoia’s neck. He could feel the thrumming pulse against his palm.
“Tell me… why on earth are you an angel?”
At this moment, he truly wanted to kill Celoia.