Long ago, the demons were chained in the depths of hell after a mighty battle. This defeat led the earth to a golden age, of supreme peace between humans of all sorts. Angels walked the same ground as humankind, and inspired the lesser beings to bless and love one another, to follow the godly ways. But it was not to last.
The demons proved stronger than expected, and slowly, over the millennium, the ferocious heat of their deadly passion melted the glimmering bonds the angels had placed upon them. The evils crept back onto the face of the planet, slowly corrupting the human's fragile souls until all were black. Too late, the angels' bliss was broken and the problem recognized. Another war ensued, and for a while it seemed that the angels may once again prevail.
Then, just as the warrior angel David was about to send down his final strike, a gleaming sword thrust straight through his back by his archenemy, the warrior of the demons; Alphos.
Thus the angels' reign ended, their power weakened, and the demons continued to reign supreme on earth, turning the once-gorgeous place into a hellhole. To this day the angels fight the long-lost battle, taking miniscule victories against the evil overlords, along with the help of a few talented humans.
And so the never-ending war lives on.
Stefan leaned gracefully over the side of the towering ruins of a once-magnificent cathedral. The guttural echoes of screaming "music" from the next building over rocked the precarious stones beneath his feet, but this was below his worry; he was an angel after all, and a few stones wouldn't hurt him. No, the real worry was the raid he was leading; the raid that would start momentarily.
Taking a deep breath, Stefan signaled his comrades and jumped into the night, the gusts of air beneath his wings gliding him over. The group landed silently on the roof of the club, the structure literally shaking to the beat of the music. Lesser angels, younger angels especially, might be enthralled by it, captured by the demon's hypnosis, and fall. Then again, Stefan was young, but he was everything but the average angel. Grandson of the mighty David, though he was merely 100 years old, no one doubted his ability to resist the temptations presented on his assignment.
That is, no one except Stefan himself.
Shaking himself out of his self-doubts, Stephan beat his wings once, twice, and then silence; the signal to move forward. He and his four officers went cautiously, gliding across the black metal roof, until they reached the side. Their loose clothing did not rustle in the wind, and their worn leather boots did not betray them either. Leaning over, they fell off the edge, carefully suspending themselves upside down just near the largest window in the club. They waited, and watched.
And what a show they were watching.
The larger portion of the club was nothing but a massive mosh pit, with a small, albeit undoubtedly well-stocked, bar tucked into one corner. The area was filled to bursting with demons, some of them taking flight and choosing to perform their grotesque, gyrating dances near the ceiling. For a small while the music continued unabated, the lights flashing in dark, exciting colors. Then something shifted, and all the lights disappeared. The building was abruptly pitch black, and deadly silent.
Stefan's heart pounded for the smallest period of time, and he was sure they had been caught. Then a single beam of blood red light fell down onto the smallish stage that he had overlooked in reaction to the mosh pit. A slower song started up, and a tall, muscular figure stepped into the limelight. Stefan felt a blush rise up in his cheeks, the wind rustling his blonde hair, though he had no reason to suddenly feel self-concious. He fervently hoped that none of his companions noticed his momentary lapse of control. Shaking his head, Stefan steeled his angel's will and kept gazing through the window.
The demon on stage was dancing now, slowly, sexually. Of course it was; this place was a strip club after all. He had observed many in his time, as a part of his training and practice, but this show was…different. The pink-skinned devil swished his typically pointed tail, ran fingers through strangely attractive upswept hair. He wasn't removing his skin-tight clothes—yet. Stefan knew he should probably stop the show and start the raid before that happened…
…But he couldn't seem to pull his eyes away.
"Psst!" Stefan jumped slightly, then, embarrassed, turned to face his best friend. "Stefan, we need to call this off. There's way too many of them in there. Most of them would probably try to fight us off; we can't win this one. Let's go home before…"
Michael didn't need to finish. Stefan knew that raids were dangerous and deaths happened often. Angels on the raids fell and joined the evil's ranks even more often. Yet he shook his head. "No…let's wait a while. Maybe we can make a move after the club get's less busy, and some leave…?"
His right hand man gave him a long, confused look. "I don't understand… I know this is your first raid, but it is really so important that you would put us in danger? No. I can see in your eyes that's not it." Another searching gaze lingered on Stefan's face, and he turned away uncomfortably. What was wrong with him? "I trust you. But please, don't take unnecessary risks."
Apologetic now, Stefan turned back to the window only to be shocked again. The dancing demon on the stage was now in full form, slowly peeling off his spandex suit until it hung low about his waist. A glint of metal caught his eye, and Stefan spotted a belt of sorts that had been cast off to the side. He realized he was sweating.
Just then, as Stefan was about to give the order to leave, the pink devil (who was now pulling his little clothing ever closer to the floor) deliberately caught his eye, smiled, and gave a seductive wink.
Stefan fell to the ground, bounced back up, and began running.