Chapter 13 Chains on the roof

Chapter 13 Chains on the roof
The pain was everywhere.

It started in Uriel’s shoulder, where the black arrow had buried itself deep, its runes pulsing like living fire. Every heartbeat sent fresh waves of agony radiating down his arm, through his chest, into his spine. The enchanted thongs dug into his golden skin — wrists, ankles, and the delicate membranes of his wings — slicing deeper with every tiny movement. He tried to stay still, but the wind on the rooftop kept tugging at his spread wings, forcing the thongs to cut again and again. It felt like someone was slowly peeling his body apart, layer by layer, while keeping him conscious enough to feel every second.

Golden blood welled from the wound around the arrow, thick and luminous, glowing faintly like molten sunlight mixed with liquid starlight. It dripped slowly down his chest in shining rivulets, catching the city lights below and sparkling as it fell. Each drop was precious, divine, and yet here it was — wasted on cold concrete, proof that even angels could bleed when chained by mortal hands.

He hung there, completely naked, wings pinned open like a specimen on display. An angel in the human world. Exposed. Humiliated. The wind howled around the skyscraper’s roof, cold and indifferent, carrying the distant sounds of the city far below. No one was supposed to see this. Angels were never meant to be chained like trophies for mortal eyes. Yet here he was — a fallen one, reduced to entertainment for the rich and the cruel.

Victor Kane sat in a heavy rocking chair a few feet away, legs crossed, sipping something dark from a crystal glass. The rooftop had been turned into a private theater. Rich men and women in expensive coats sat in a semicircle, murmuring excitedly as they handed over cash or tapped their phones to transfer funds. Five hundred thousand dollars just to watch. A billion if anyone wanted to buy the “specimen” afterward.

Kane smiled at Uriel like a kid who had just caught a rare butterfly.

“You’re even more beautiful up close,” Kane said softly, his voice carrying easily on the wind. “The way the light catches your skin… and that golden blood… I’ve dreamed of this moment for years. Tell me, angel, does it hurt? Be honest. I want to know every detail.”

Uriel didn’t answer. His chest rose and fell slowly. He listened, jaw clenched, golden eyes fixed on the horizon. Every word from Kane felt like another twist of the arrow. He could feel the runes spreading through his veins, draining his strength drop by drop. The pain was constant, relentless. If he could have healed himself, he would have done it in a heartbeat. But fallen angels weren’t made for miracles of restoration — only for protection and war. The realization burned almost as much as the arrow.

A new figure approached — Minister Tate. Tall, silver-haired, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit that screamed power. Everyone in politics knew him as the respectable statesman. Everyone in the underbelly knew him as the don who pulled strings with a smile.

Tate took the seat beside Kane, eyes fixed on Uriel with hungry fascination. He leaned forward, studying the pinned wings, the glowing runes, the way Uriel’s golden skin glistened with sweat and the slow drip of luminous blood under the city lights.

“So this is the angel,” Tate said, voice smooth but edged with desperation. “You really caught one.”

Kane chuckled. “Caught is the wrong word. He walked right into my trap. Bold. Stupid. Beautiful. Look at that golden blood. It’s worth more than half the people in this room.”

Tate’s eyes narrowed. “My daughter… she’s twenty-four. My only heiress. Shot in the chest during a rival hit six months ago. The surgery couldn’t fix the hole in her heart. Doctors say she has weeks. Maybe days.” His voice cracked just a little. He leaned closer to Uriel, almost pleading. “Can you heal her, angel? Can you close the wound? I’ll pay anything. Name your price.”

Uriel remained silent. His golden eyes stared straight ahead, jaw clenched. The pain in his shoulder throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat. He knew he couldn’t heal her. If he could, he would have done it the moment he saw that terrified girl on the table downstairs. The thought of freedom — of ending this humiliation — made his chest tighten. He’d do anything for it. Anything. But the power wasn’t his to give.

Tate waited. Then tried again, softer, almost begging. “I’ll buy you. Right now and set you free. Name your price. I’ll set you free the moment my daughter is healed. You’ll never see these chains again. Just… help her. Please. She’s all I have left in this world.”

Still nothing.

Uriel’s wings twitched once — a weak flap — but the thongs held him fast. A low, guttural screech escaped his throat, raw and pained, echoing across the rooftop. The audience murmured, some leaning forward, others shifting uncomfortably in their seats. The sound tore out of him involuntarily, the agony of the arrow forcing it free. It felt like his very essence was being scraped raw, layer by layer.

Kane waved a hand dismissively. “He won’t speak. They never do at first. But look at him. He’s magnificent, isn’t he? The wings alone are worth a fortune. Imagine what we could learn from him.”

Tate’s face tightened. “I don’t care about his wings. I care about my daughter. Angel… please. She’s twenty-four. She has her whole life ahead of her. I’ll pay whatever it takes. Freedom. A new life. Just tell me you can save her.”

Kane took another sip, then leaned in closer to Uriel. “You hear that, angel? This man is willing to pay anything. Freedom. A new life. All you have to do is heal one girl. One simple act. Come on… say something. I know you can speak.”

Uriel’s breathing grew heavier. The arrow felt like it was twisting deeper with every second. He could feel his strength leaking away, drop by drop. His mind drifted to Thaddeus. Master… have you forsaken me? I came here for you. For the girl. For the cause.

Kane sighed dramatically. “See? Useless for now. But not for long. SpiroCorp is already on their way. They offered five billion dollars for him. They want his DNA. They want to build an army — robocops with spiritual powers. Angels in metal shells. Imagine that. The ultimate weapon. He’ll be worth every penny.”

Tate’s eyes narrowed. “You’d sell him just like that?”

Kane shrugged. “Business is business. But I might keep him a little longer. Just to see what he can do. Maybe poke around inside that pretty head of his. See what makes an angel tick.”

Uriel’s head hung lower. The pain in his shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He thought of Thaddeus sitting in that penthouse, of Malachi’s calm voice, of the girl he had failed to save. The wind howled around the rooftop, cold and indifferent. Fear crept in then — real, cold fear. If SpiroCorp took him, they would dissect him. Turn his DNA into weapons. Strip away everything that made him who he was. He would become a tool, a monster in metal and circuits. The thought made his stomach twist.

Kane stood up, walking over to Uriel. He reached out and touched one of the pinned wings gently, almost reverently, smearing a drop of the glowing golden blood between his fingers.

“You’re going to make me very rich, angel,” he whispered. “Whether you speak or not. And when SpiroCorp takes you apart… well, at least you’ll have served a purpose.”

Uriel closed his eyes.

The audience waited, breathless.

Far away in the penthouse, Thaddeus would never know how close his strongest warrior had come to breaking.

And how the war had already begun to claim its first real casualty.