It was well known that the angels walked among the mortals.  Creatures of God, but not, as was commonly believed, creatures of God’s bidding.  Instead they lay low, and unknown to them the Order of High Angels that controlled their society slowly grew corrupt. The angels didn’t usually mix with the mortals, a feeling of inferiority existed towards them, although this was not justified.  The angels looked down their noses at the flightless men of earth and chose not to indulge in their society.  There was only one rule regarding the relationships between the two beings; there could be no loving or sexual relationship across the species, and the punishments for angels were severe.  The mortals, however, had no direct head of being, and were not subject to the rule nor the punishments.  The rules were never flaunted, angels had too much fear in The Order to break them, and besides, only the lowest angel would ever seek pleasure with a human.

  It was also well known that beside the mortals and the angels walked the demons.  Creatures of evil and messengers of Satan.  They were responsible for the murders of thousands of mortals and were dearly hated and much feared by them.  The demon’s true enemies were the angels, but they possessed neither the skill nor cunning to kill many.  The demons wings were leathery and bat like, giving them more weight, but far less manoeuvrability than the light, feathered, speedy wings of the angels.  And thus, the heavenly beings were well able to make their escape.

  It was a painfully cold night on the evening when this story first began, during the second of the three great wars of the heavens, many years ago.  The deserted streets were silent except for the random and blood curling screams of a single tortured being that echoed against the stone walls and ricocheted into the night - ignored.
Anyone nearby was too full of fear to attempt any daring rescue, anyone who heard the desperate cries looked away and pretended to hear nothing, to fearful to do anything.
The creature itself was an angel, being hunted.  It was pulling itself along the ground wretchedly in a feeble attempt to get away, its pearly white wings tattered and bloody, spears and arrows protruding from its beaten body.  It looked pitiful, such a sad sight to see something so beautiful and proud being brought to its knees.  It stopped for a second, coughing blood violently onto the freezing earth, fighting to regain control of itself and carry onwards.
A cold and cruel battle cry sounded from the shadows and 6 demons appeared, surrounding it, swords and spears in their hands.  The hunters, and the prey which lay defenceless at their feet.
The angel, to look at, was young and inexperienced.  The curved sword that remained in its limp hand not yet having seen its fill of blood.  The pathetic creature looked up, frightened at the sea of blurred faces staring down at him laughing, snarling, mocking.  It tried to crawl away, but was kicked viciously back into the centre of the circle it knew it’d never leave.  Tears blinded it as it tried to think through the fog clouding its head and paralysing its limbs.  The silver blood was soaking the earth, making it shimmer in the weak moonlight.
Its eyes were starting to roll just as another, taller figure joined the circle.  Another demon.  Older, far older than himself but still of a low rank, with cruel, cruel eyes.  Its wings were spread fully to their 2 metre span, a sword grasped firmly in its hand and a smile on its lips as it surveyed the dying quarry.  The smile was unsettling, and a final jolt terror gripped the angel - he might not die after all, but surviving could - and undoubtedly would be - far worse.

And the demon still carried on smiling, watching the wrecked beauty finally collapse.  It brushed a few strands of stray red hair irritably out of its eyes and barked commands at the others who stood with spears ready to drive through the angel.
  “Don’t kill it yet.  I want it first.”  There was a bit of confusion and little disappointment at these words and the vile animals slowly backed away from the trembling figure.
  “Oh dear…” the demon said to himself with mock concern, tuting and shaking his head as if sad “…and you were so promising too.”
And so the angel let out a last desperate scream as arms and hands touched him and dragged him into warmth, feeling ropes restrain his limbs, and his skin being bared to the air and cruel hands.

It could do nothing but pray reverently for death.

>>
.:One thousand years later:.
>>

  Sendoh Akira was a mortal.  He was also a slayer.
Slayers were very rare, both in the angel population and the mortal.  They possessed an ability to ‘see’ a demon, because of course, the angels and demons did not go round mortal settlements looking like their true selves.  Their magnificent wings - through a special mysterious magic - would fold easily into their backs and out of sight.  Few could recognise them for what they really were, which served only to make the demons even more dangerous. 

Sendoh Akira was a slayer who killed for revenge.  He’d been brought up to believe solely in one thing; he hated demons. 
He could still vaguely remember the night they came.  He hadn’t been there, nor had his parents. Only one person had been in the house when they had flown in, goodness knows what they were looking for.  That person had been his sister, 5 years old. 

Afterwards, they had never even found the body. 

With the memories of his sister, Sendoh lived his life to kill those that had brought death to his family.
He was a good fighter.  Years of fighting demons had made his movements fast, his mind able, and his sword had had it’s fill of blood.  But the demons were better fighters still, and every day he would put his life on the line when he met one.
And if he met a group, he was in trouble...  

5. 
5 demons in total.  Wings spread, sharp teeth glinting in the limited light of the back alley.  No one was near.  No one could have helped him anyway.  Again it was a fight to the death, and again, the odds were stacked cruelly against him.  He wouldn’t run.  He wouldn’t have run even if he hadn’t had the cold wall against his back.  That wasn’t the way he did things.  To run would defeat everything he was trying to prove.  His death didn’t matter.  It was his life that was important, what he did in it, and how he chose to live it. 

He would never run.  It was better to die.  

It seemed like slow motion as the demons attacked.  Surreal.  It was truly art, but no artist could have caught it on canvas as beautiful as it really was.  Beautiful, yet awful.  Sendoh allowed himself to look at the scene calmly, not flinching as the hideous creatures came closer.  Holding his katana gently, knowing best how to wield it.  However beautiful it was, and however little the outcome of this fight seemed to matter to him, there was no way he would go without a fight.  Nudging his blade into motion, it shimmered before cutting easily into the chest of the closest demon. 
It screamed as it died, a long yet hollow sound that cut the air and made everything echo its eerie cry.  It was unnerving, but Sendoh had heard it many times before.  Everything rushed to full speed again as the other 4 demons froze, shocked by the noise made by their companion.  It was at full speed that Sendoh swung a second time, and another demon fell, but now the others were ready.  As the black demon blood ran from the blade and to the ground like a torrent in a poisonous river, the remainder chose well their time to attack again. 
His blade sunk deep into demon flesh and sinew, Sendoh could not pull it loose quick enough.  There was a sickening sound as the demon blade sliced through the air, aimed at a defenceless boy tugging so hopelessly on his sword held firm.  It looked sickening too... but it was thankful that the boy chose that moment to surrender his fruitless efforts and pulled back.
The sharp blade sent sparks up as it missed its target and grazed the stone wall.
Sendoh did not do so well to avoid the next sword.  It was swung from the wrong angle, so the flat of its cold metal met his skull with such power that he was knocked a few feet away and fell crumpled to the dirty street, dazed.

And that should have been the end of it all.  Demons have no concept of mercy, and even if they did, slayers were a threat that had to be stamped out.  And so it should have ended.
But it didn’t....