Angel Slayer Story Collection

[Lordxana0]

So I had this idea buzzing around my brain recently. I realized that I don't really have a firm grasp on everyone and have come to the decision to set down some writing guidelines to allow other people to create stories for other people in the setting if they so wished. Most probably won't, but know knows.

So then here are some extremely basic world guilds.
Church controls the major cities, which are all heavily controlled by strict Church guidelines. Basically imagine the town from Footloose if the people there had the ability to just point at and order the execution of anyone they didn't like.

Most of the rest of the world is in ruins and everything outside of the massive cities is known as Wasteland. The scars of a long and harsh war remain very visible.

Angels are hard to kill with modern day weapons. Anything used by someone contracted with a demon does normal damage through.

Other then that the setting is pretty much open for anything you want to do in it. You want to write someone as attacking a city and making a grand escape just to remind someone the rebellion lives? Go for it. Think someone would make a good angel? Have them attack a rebellion stronghold. There is no canon because Angel Slayer is just a collection of short stories within the universe, and thus by each is open to its own interpretation of the world and people. So long as you stick too 'Church is evil and controlling and uses Angels' and 'Rebellion is fighting against the Church' you are good.

Through there are Rules I would like you to follow
1. Try and write your character based on someone. It is half the point of the universe. Does't have to be a forum member, but make it someone.
2. DO NOT WRITE YOURSELF. You can not be objective when writing yourself. No I don't care if you think you can, because trust me, you can't
3. Don't be offensive. When people want to yell as someone/thing have them say 'Damn the Church' or 'Damn Caleb'. Do not use this setting as an excuse to attack religion, cause that is not what this story is about. I know most of the people I know wouldn't do that, but hey, just in case.
4. Don't feel you can't write someone because someone else has already done it. Trust me people want to see how you imagine them, and they will like it.
5. Ask for permission from the person before you write. Some people might not feel comfortable with a character based on them killing angels.
6. Have fun. This setting is really good for creating nice short stories in which you place friends or family into the roles of badass people who kick all sorts of ass.


Link to first Angel Slayer thread for reference to what is going on. First story gives basic world building, which is all you really need.
viewtopic.php?f=8&t=1200&p=47664#p47664

Have fun, stay safe, and DOWN WITH CALEB.

[agoraoptera]

In the centre of the web, the spider sat. Rounded by bone-white concentric lines which hummed constantly with distant vibrations, the spider listened, waiting patiently. A slight, distinct quiver trembled its way through the silken strands and the black-red arachnid pounced. Humming issued from the mouth, words provided inside the mind as it began threading the web with words alive. Just a little bit of effort, the spider knew, and it would have its prey. A twitch of a segmented leg sent a loaded message whizzing down the thread. The process had begun; the spider would feast well this night.

-

The moonlight was barely sufficient to illuminate the rooftop, yet the thief could not help but feel overly exposed by the lucent beams. On a rooftop, no less, visible to any angel passing overhead, vulnerable to just about every single threat the Church could conjure. Hells, the thief thought, this isn't part of my job. I'm just a thief.
But the thief had heard the singing call of his superior earlier on, a wordless song which conveyed all he needed to know. And he had been directed to come up to this rooftop and bask in the moonlight. Despite the seemingly whimsical message, he had obeyed. When the singing began, everybody listened. He was, after all, one of Alice Aranea's servants and he knew all too well how illogical her orders could be. In the end, though, it would make sense, even if it was some kind of strange, warped sense. Either way, it would all work out for the best and the best, as always, was the destruction of the Church. He fingered the carnelian-speckled onyx ring on his index finger idly, the ring that bound him to the Aranea's service, the ring that offered him power that he would otherwise never be capable of.

The flapping beat of wings was the first indication of danger. The shadow that obscured the moon was the second thing he sensed, before the gigantic, angelic eagle swooped down and grabbed him within its ivory talons. The pearlescent bird of prey squawked once- angrily?- and made off into the night with its prey, screaming bloody murder.

-

An eyrie full of bird shit was not the way the false-facer had imagined her talents would be used. She squatted on a nearby railing shrouded in darkness, unwilling to touch the defecation-splattered metal to stabilise herself, rather trusting her own sense of balance than dirtying herself.
Surrounded by bird shit, all she could think was that the entire situation was bullshit. She had infiltrated the Church, posed as a middling lay-worshipper, then murdering and substituting a priestess. Then she had ditched the disguise almost immediately when she had found out the priestess was due for a ritual and the false-facer smoothly slid into a cleaner's tabard. Unfortunately, there were only so many roles women played within the Church and the false-facer wasn't sure if she was willing to impersonate an Interrogator. Killing was alright. Torture was.. something else entirely.
But then, it didn't matter. The Black Aranea's orders had been simple in their quiet humming: to infiltrate the temple-fortress and await further instructions. So she had flitted day by day from disguise to disguise, never staying in one role long enough for any to recognise her. Then finally, the summons came. A silent note hummed from a mouth that needed to draw no breath, from She Who Weaved, sustained for a single, short eternity, sounding in her mind and she knew.
Even so, the false-facer resented having come this far just to wait inside a shithole like this.
A mighty squawk sounded and an immense white eagle landed, with something held within one talon. As the angel on duty began to inspect the bounty, the false-facer stepped up to deliver a killing blow. As her hand lifted up, dagger gripped with the ease of experience, a glint of light shone off the midnight gem. The blade fell.

-

Typically, a kitchen as large as this would always be busy regardless of the time of the day. The staff had to provide for the entirety of the temple-fortress, for the slaves, the penitents, the angels, the eagles and more. For the first time since she could remember however, the kitchen was silent and utterly devoid of activity. The head of staff murmured a quiet question, sending a probing thought outwards.
Moments later, she was rewarded with a small giggle that seemed to echo through the air despite having no origin. The head of staff muttered her thanks and lifted up the trapdoor. It had taken her many long years to dig out the tunnel beneath, making it to her mistress' specifications. The Black Alice, for all her surreal cruelty and capricious orders, took precision seriously.
At this point, her role was more or less done: the head of staff only had to direct those who were coming to the tunnel.
To be fair, tunnel was a bit of a misnomer. 'Cavern' would have been far more appropriate, though that barely conveyed the magnitude of size.
The head of staff leaned against a barrel of wine and waited.

-

The Seraphim knew their job. They would strike hard, strike fast and finally take out the thorn in the Church's side. That supposed Black Spider had plagued them for years now, creating small insurgencies in critical areas at important times, somehow privy to even the most sacred and holiest inner circles. But now they had finally known where this Spider dwelt, and they were about to strike, avenging angels with divine fire to burn away the webs of corruption that had overtaken the city.
It was in a cavern, far under the town hall.
Their wingbeats brought them swiftly forward; no use for subterfuge, they sped in. As they caught their first glimpse of the 'Spider', the lead Seraph's eyes widened, before he crashed into a razor-sharp steel web which sent his head flying off in a bloody arc of carmine spray.
Already, the following Seraphim were calling out prayers, thrusting forth their divine fury to collapse the cavern around them. It did not matter if the Seraphim died- they would be resurrected by the grace of the Bishop back at the temple-fortress- as long as the 'Spider' was destroyed, crushed and stepped on.
Large chunks of the cavern ceiling fell, lethal stalactites which impaled more than one of the Seraphim. Wings broke, chests crunched, webs snapped. The last Seraph smiled with infinite beneficience as he knew his job was done, that he was now a martyr.
He failed to spot the flash of light that marked a glyph of teleportation.

-

The cook had led them in to a deep, dark cave, moisture dripping off the walls. False-facer and thief stood side-by-side, waiting for the next command.
A sudden hymnal sounded beatifically from behind them and they started, noticing the sudden flare off the thief's ring. It took them a few flabbergasted moments before they found their voices. The thief spoke first.
"[i]You[/i]'re Alice Aranea? I thought she was, well, a she!"
Barely a moment later, the false-facer asked in complete surprise, "I thought you were just the Black Aranea's figurehead!"
They saw a man, clad in black cloth, visage hidden by an obsidian silken mask. The man's torso was half-revealed, the front of his robe half torn to tatters by eight short spider limbs which tapped a strangely hypnotising tattoo against his abdomen, stemming from his sides. The man shrugged lightly. His mask moved ever so slightly, indicating his mouth opening.
And their minds were filled with nothing but a blissful emptiness, created by the impossible humming song that was not a song. They didn't remember and they didn't want to remember. All they needed was the music within.
The Weaver, Alice Aranea, began to spin a web about them, cocooning them. They would come in useful in the future and breaking tools was never a good idea. Without the thief's ring, he would not have been able to bypass the teleportation wards surrounding the fortress.
Then he turned his attention to the cavern and smiled beneath the mask. His red-in-black eyes glinted with glee; his webs would henceforth be weaved from within the very heart of the Church. The deception had been simple enough and they would think him dead. Now the Blood-on-Darkness could work freely and take the Church down, even if it took one sticky strand at a time.
The spider had feasted well, gorged on the blood of its enemies. A new web was woven.