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part of a story i'm writing...cuz i'm bored.

She trembled with fear and anger as the thunder rolled overhead and the hot, pulsing blood was all around—in her eyes, in her ears, oozing down her torn blonde hair…everything she knew, her entire world was shattered in a matter of moments. They had all come so fast; the beautiful ones in black had never even given her tiny family a chance. One of them snatched her dear twin away and ran off, ignoring her pleas and shrieks of terror, leaving her alone with the other monsters. Her father lay dead on the floor, the first to die. Such a kind, gentle man he was. A saint among men of war and strife, and the only man she had ever respected; he now lay silent and slain, tossed aside as if nothing about him was worth a damn. She watched as the beautiful woman with long silver hair impaled her mother’s brow with a wicked, curved blade and in terror witnessed the warm blood trickle down the once elegant neck of the proud lady. She was then tossed with a sickening smack on the corpse of her dear father. She whimpered out a sob and covered her face from the immortal beauties, devastated to realize that it was her body to be piled on the corpses of her parentage, like some twisted homage to a pagan god of war. The silver haired woman let out a soft gasp, pleased, as if caressed by a lover, just before she was to deliver the swift and final end—and a sharp slap followed soon after. Iris dared to peek her tawny eyes at her destroying angels. There was a strange sort of aura around the new angel—one that didn’t seem threatening. He was taller than any of the other men, and had the dark angels all bowed in reverence. He had strong, broad shoulders and his dark hair waved and bobbed down his neck; his powerful back was to her. He spoke with a low, heavenly voice.
“Did I authorize this slaughter? Whose idea was this raid?” it came out fast and harsh, and the ring of destroyers flinched. The man with muddy brown hair stepped forward, shame on his blood-smeared face. The new angel smacked him down, hard, and stepped on his back as the muddy-haired man cowered under his glower.
“Worthless slime. These humans have posed no threat to us, and you broke the code and slaughtered them—you didn’t even drink the blood! You just killed them for sport. You lot disgust me. Go to the coven! Do not let me see your ugly mugs for a week or so help me God; I’ll tear every one of you apart. GO!” he hissed his warning, and quickly they all fled in a similar terror to the girl who now lay bleeding on the floor. The master of the beautiful ones turned then, gazing with vibrantly flaming red eyes, his sharp jaw fixed in a thoughtful lock. Iris panted with fear and kept her eyes on the blood that was dripping from her scalp, wondering what worse this man could do to her. Maybe he’d cut her up while she was still alive. Maybe he was fond of little human girls, and would keep her alive. Maybe he’d simply leave her to die. He sat down beside her and gazed at her massacred parents, a look of severe disapproval on his god-like face. His skin was white and smooth, an alabaster satin that was devoid of any crease of age or wear, pulled over bands of indestructible muscle in his chest and arms, which were visible beneath his loose white linen shirt. She inched closer to him, longing to touch him and for him to end her nightmare.