"Huh, a little boy?" asked Luna more to herself than Ratella or Tila. "I didn't sense anything. How odd."
"He doesn't have wings, leave him alone!"
"That doesn't matter, I can still sense a wingless from miles away," stated Luna, searching her expansive web of knowledge within her mind for answers to the strange occurrence. "He must have wings; the sense of the divine is overwhelming, coming straight from him."
"He doesn't just -"
"Silence," roared Luna, a crushing feeling weighing down upon the woman, the breath taken from her mouth forcing her submission into silence.
"Your name, boy."
"Ra–tella," stammered Ratella, the effects of her still divine appearance weighing down on him.
"Wait a second, can you see my form?"
Ratella merely nodded in response, unable to speak another word. When Tila and Luna observed his reaction, their eyes widened with shock, recognising that something unusual had occurred.
"That's not possible, he's just scared. Seraphims don't have forms, only appearing as a collection of blinding lights," said Tila, panic and terror running through the creases of her face.
"I remember telling you to shut your mouth!" shouted Luna, her anger boiling over at the foolish woman's attitude. Tila quickly quieted her outburst to not incur the Seraphim's wrath.
"Seraphims have forms. You are just too weak-minded to comprehend us," stated Luna, disgust lining her mouth. Her thoughts on the weak come out in full display, blatant aversion showing to those she deems unworthy. "I've had enough of your constant whining."
Tila's eyes held a mix of emboldened fear and desperation, her terror palpable to all. Her struggles became more aggressive and anguished, wordlessly pleading for survival, though she knew this hope would not be realised.
In a swift motion, Luna snapped the woman's neck held in her hand, a loud cracking sound ringing throughout the small office. Tila's body fell limp and silent.
Luna, in a matter of a couple of seconds, drew her swords and clipped the deceased woman's wings, cutting off any chance of revival for the woman.
"No!" screamed Ratella, breaking free from the chains binding him still and running towards Tila. Falling limp next to her body, hitting her chest, begging her to awaken.
"What have you done!" shouted Ratella at Luna. His previous despair turned into unbridled rage. Clutching his fists with a clear goal in mind, the odds of the situation going in his favour no longer concerned the boy.
"Mhm, that perhaps wasn't a good decision," thought Luna out loud, angering the boy further at her attitude.
"Bitch!" spat Ratella, running towards the Seraphim.
His rage and the sense of looming death hanging over him caused his wings to finally manifest. Four wings shot out from his back, and two launched forth from the back of his head.
"Interesting."
Luna disappeared, merging into the air, catching Ratella off guard, causing him to stumble slightly. His strike sliced through the air, finding no target.
Before he could turn around, he felt a cold hand grasp his neck, lifting him from the ground.
Luna lifted him upwards, inspecting his wings and their colouring.
"Mhm, these remind me of Pola's. Purple and silver are such pretty colours."
No matter how much Ratella struggled, it was pointless; her grip upon his life was absolute.
"She wasn't as virtuous as you think, little one. We had reports she was plotting something with a weapon of unthinkable power. I suppose you were to be that weapon."
"What?! That can't be true; she cared for me. I'm not a weapon, I'm just a wingless villager."
"Don't be naive. You have six wings attached to your back, meaning you are no wingless mutt."
"But only Seraphim have six wings, that can't be true!"
"Yes, you are correct, making you a truly fascinating occurrence. Seraphim aren't born but made by the Primordial Light; you shouldn't exist."
"Hear this, Ratella: abandon your feelings for this woman and become my apprentice. It's not like she was a benevolent soul; she only saw you as a tool."
"That can't be true, she was like a mother to me, and you brutalised her," cried out Ratella, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"I'm going to let you go, don't attack me. It's pointless, and you know that," said Luna. She released her grip on the boy, then walked to the main desk of Tila's office. She opened the drawers, searching for something that Ratella couldn't see. He watched her curiously, his unease growing at his own lack of alarm.
His mood had improved considerably in just a few seconds, despite the shocking murder of his mother figure before his eyes. He felt surprisingly little aversion to Luna, perhaps because her divine appearance and calming aura seemed to ease all grievances around her.
"Why don't I feel burning hatred towards you?"
"Because you know deep down that what I say about Tila is true."
"But she gave no signs of having an alternative motive to caring for me like a mother."
"That was kind of the point. Ahh, here it is," exclaimed Luna, grasping a piece of paper in her hands, its multiple fold lines indicating it was once a letter.
"Look at this, boy. Your proof is here."
Luna thrust the paper into his hands, her eyes urgent as she nodded toward the page, clearly urging him to read its contents.
Dear Subject One,
The Boy has yet to develop any signs of his wings coming to fruition. I'll continue to adopt the motherly figure in his life.
Pay us a visit once in a while. Your presence may prove helpful to his development into the ultimate weapon against the Seraphim.
With his power in your grasp, we will topple the Seraphim and put an end to the belief in God.
For my final words, I ask for an order detailing what to do if this shot in the dark doesn't materialise. His process is less than satisfactory; even the multiple beatings I ordered from the children have yet to awaken his latent power, if there is any in the first place.
Even in this backwater, I will not abandon my post, my resolve set in stone. Please remember this.
Your humble servant,
Tila Twilight
Tears dropped onto the paper as he read its contents, the earth-shattering words written upon it destroying the boy's composure. The news of being nothing but a toy to the woman he once held a deep affection for.