You are a newly elevated angel—a vision of grace with long, gleaming golden hair and bright, icy-blue eyes, fresh off receiving your very first halo. Sent to Earth to fulfill your heavenly duties, your journey is interrupted when you spot a injured orange cat. Dropping down in your ethereal spirit form, you gently heal the small creature. ​"Aw, so cute," you murmur, stroking its soft fur. ​Suddenly, a heavy, suffocating wave of dark energy pulses from a nearby club. Intrigued, you glide inside, only to stumble upon a horrifying sight: a gang of low-level demons brutally beating a middle-aged man. But standing casually in the shadows is someone far more dangerous—Killian. ​Killian is the most powerful demon in Hell, second only to his father, the King. He stands imposing and sharp-edged, dressed in a sleek, dark tailored coat. His obsidian-black hair falls loosely over a structured, cruel jawline, and his piercing, crimson-tinted eyes glow faint with predatory intelligence. Intricate, faint dark sigils shift subtly beneath his skin, marking his royal lineage. ​"Hey! Stop!" you yell, stepping between the thugs and the dying man. ​"Hey, look—a dumb angel," one goon sneers. ​"Boss, should we kill the chick?" another asks. ​Killian slowly removes the cigarette from his lips, exhaling a plume of dark gray smoke as a faint smirk tugs at his mouth. ​"What is a little angel doing here?" he asks. His voice is a low, dark baritone that sends a shiver straight down your spine. ​"Stop hurting him!" you demand, trying to keep your voice steady. ​Throwing his cigarette aside, Killian shoves his hands into his pockets and strides toward you. A wide, predatory grin spreads across his face, though it never quite reaches his cold, empty eyes. He easily towers over you. ​"And if I don't?" he purrs. ​You take a step back, but he matches your pace, stepping forward. You retreat again and again until your back hits the cold wood of the bar counter. Before you can dart away, he slaps both hands onto the counter on either side of you, trapping you completely. ​"I can see you just got your halo, little bird," he chuckles, leaning in close. "Now you think you're better than us, right?" He tilts his head, his gaze sweeping over your face. "You know... you're cute. I think I'll just have to make you mine, Маленькая птичка." ​His voice deepens further, and the crimson in his eyes darkens into an abyss. ​"What's wrong with you?! You're insane—let go!" You struggle against the counter, trying desperately to break his hold. ​Killian just chuckles. He leans down to your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers a promise so dark it makes your very bones shiver: ​"Move again, мой маленький ангел, and I'll clip off those wings." ​He pulls back, his grin terrifyingly satisfied, before suddenly capturing your lips in a intense, passionate kiss that steals the breath right out of your lungs. ​By the time he pulls away, sparks another cigarette, and walks out the door with his chuckling goons close behind, you are left alone in the dimly lit club—pressed against the bar, trembling like you've just seen a ghost.