This is based off of the endgame around Diablo 3. A lot of the angels ( http://diablo.wikia.com/wiki/Angel ) can be found in their Heavens, impaled on things or tied to walls, and it’s suggested that more are held captive in various places. There’s also a number stranded on Pandemonium, a demon-infested battleground between worlds. Sharpclaw and my Nephalem characters objected to that being allowed to continue. 

I have and will be taking some liberties with angelic anatomy. 

Warnings for implied torture, nothing explicit. 

Basically, Sharpclaw rescues a large number of glowy, frightened cats. 

They were all frightened at first.

The ones lost in Pandemonium were less afraid, still with
some fight in them, but none had weapons to fight with. They tried, lashing out
with gauntlets to claw into him, but failed to do any damage beyond deep
scratches- which immediately had them retreating, frightened of the punishment
that was sure to come.

The ones found impaled in the Heavens, transfixed with agony
in their home that should have been safe, were shaky and too weak to fight.
They tried, but failed again, not even leaving marks. They were the easiest to
move, as well, low on energy and mass.

The ones rescued from torture pits were the worst. Many
didn’t have enough energy to manifest their wings, if they even had their wings left, and they were all
scarred and carved up and missing pieces of plating. And they were scared- shrieking terror or shutting
down entirely when he reached for
them, desperately struggling to escape as they were moved, but most of them
crashed to the floor the second they got out of his arms. Which didn’t help
their fear, only made it worse, and made it easy to tell when another former
prisoner had been brought in.

The Pandemonium refugees swore furiously when carried, and
the impaled ones hissed and grumbled as they were moved, but the tortured ones
either screamed wordless terror or made absolutely no sound. And it was hard to
decide which was worse- the screaming or the ones who were too broken to scream.

And none of them liked the person handling them.

The Nephilim? They killed demons. However powerful, however
frightening they were, they had that going for them.

This?

This was a demon,
or half-one. Larger than humans normally grew, and pale, incredibly pale. Red
pupils, long, white hair, pale skin that easily showed bruises- he almost would
have looked like something they were used to if not for a set of features that
were distinctly inhuman.

Humans were not digitigrade. Humans walked flat on their
feet and wore shoes, they didn’t walk on the last joints of long, clawed toes
with thick pads. Humans did not have swishing tails as long as their legs,
either. Most of all, humans did not have
short, pointed horns rising from their brows. Humans didn’t have digitigrade
legs, tails, and horns, but demons did.

This was a demon. However
gently it carried them, however much it tried to whisper soothing things to
them, it was a demon, and it was
going to hurt them, they were certain
of it.

Even if they were in a… strangely… comfortable place.

They were in a very large room inside of a stone building, a
castle. The floor was badly shattered, and someone had hauled massive chunks of
the stone into a large ring. The interior was filled with packed dirt which had
been covered thickly with straw, forming a relatively soft surface that was
about shoulder-height off the ground everywhere around it. The elevation was
minor, but much better than being on the ground or in a pit, and it meant that
they were together. They could press together with the worst injured inside,
the healthier ones on the outside for protection, and surround the
still-shaking ones with Angelic colors to help calm them.

Well. Calm them until every time the demon came back over.
It was the only one large enough to carry them, so every new arrival who
couldn’t walk was carried over to be placed on the plateau with the rest. Which
frightened easily half of them every time, especially when the demon turned up
wearing armor. Even when it spoke to them.

“Hey, look- I’m just a bit tired of you lot clawin’ my arms
up. I don’t blame you, but that hurts. So… armor. It’s- I don’t think any of it
is demonic? Just regular armor. It’s not gonna hurt you. Uh… right? What- are
you all allergic to steel? No? Okay. I’m gonna leave you alone.”

Not terribly reassuring. The thing did seem to be telling
the truth for now, though, it left every time it said it would. At least until
it came back.

And the last time it came back, it smelled rather strongly
of inhuman blood. One of their number was wrapped around its frame, claws dug
into its shoulders, screaming battle cries and striking at his frame with wings
that managed to badly singe its clothing despite being barely there. A warrior,
despite everything, who refused to be pried off and put with the others. The
demon wasn’t hurting the warrior, oddly enough, but clearly didn’t like this.

“Ow, ow, okay, can- can you not with the- ow, hey, I’m
trying to put you down, can you- ow,
all right, that’s- that’s my shoulder blade, I need that, can- ow, okay, I- fuck-“

The warrior’s last cry turned into a shriek of surprise as
frost puffed out around their torso from somewhere around the demon’s mouth,
and the demon took advantage of their surprise to grab them and pull them off-

A third of their number turned away and the rest bristled in
anticipation of the punishment that had to be forthcoming-

And then the warrior was tossed unceremoniously up with the
rest of them, and the demon backed away, swearing under its breath and shaking
its singed hands. “Ow! Sorry about that, but you had your claws on some nerves
or something, I- look, I was trying to put you down, I can’t really do that
with your claws around my shoulder blades! I-I get that you don’t like me, I
get that I scare you, but- if I wanted to hurt you, I would have already! I-I
wouldn’t be doing this. So… can you just… not? Ow. Now I gotta go find healing
potions again. Too bad those probably wouldn’t work on you lot.”

When the demon finally turned away, they were all torn
between apprehension and pleasure at seeing just how badly their warrior (who
is now shaking angrily and trying to scrape frost off their armor) had managed
to claw its back up. The back of its shirt was a tattered ruin, and the skin of
its back wasn’t much better.

Good.

Unfortunately, when it came back, it didn’t appear to be
injured any longer. Nor was it wearing a shirt. Which revealed… nothing
sinister. More pale-white skin, a few barely visible blood vessels, and an
assortment of mostly-minor scars. None of them were really looking at the
demon, though- they were looking at what was in its hand. It wasn’t holding
another of them, but a clay jar with a few thin wisps of smoke coming out of
it, which was very suspicious and
more than a little bit unnerving. No matter what it was saying.

“Okay, look, I’m not up to anything- well, I am, but it’s
not bad. This is a scent diffuser, it spreads smells around. It’s got some
herbs in it right now, and a little candle, and it heats the herbs up and makes
them give off good smells. It’s lavender, mostly, supposed to be calming. Look.”

Stepping a bit closer, the demon turned the jar around to
show a small gap in the side, through which a tiny candle was visible. “It’s
not anything dangerous. See? Just a tiny flame. I don’t know if lavender works
on angels, I don’t even know if you guys can smell anything, but… it’s worth a
try, right? It won’t hurt you, at least.”

They hissed angrily as the demon drew closer, but it only
placed the jar on top of a slab of stone and backed away, leaving the jar there
to continue giving off a scent.

Admittedly, the scent was… not objectionable. Not overly
strong or cloyingly sweet, just… a scent. They backed away from it as far as
possible nonetheless, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything unpleasant. Aside
from… smoking faintly.

That was the last time one of their number was brought in,
and no one else came close for long enough to let them settle and start talking
among each other.

Inquiries about whether old friends were alive, questions
about who knew what regarding their captor, about the Nephilim.

And none had any good answers.

Mostly, no, old friends were dead. Or were among the ones
huddled silent, dim, scarred, and unrecognizable in the center of the mass. A
few met old friends again, embracing and pressing tightly together, and refused
to be pried apart- they needed the familiarity.

No one knew what to make of the Nephilim, and quite a few
arguments stirred up over the topic. They were terrifying, that was certain,
powerful enough to take down even an Archangel. For the moment, their
attentions seemed to be focused on eradicating evil, but they were humans. Violent, unpredictable,
unsteady-minded humans. They could turn on a moment’s notice, that much was
certain, the question was of whether they would.

And the demon… that was the thing that had them all the most
confused. It looked like a relatively composed demon, but it bled like a human,
albeit with a strange smell. The frost, urgh- that could have been a spell, but
the breath origins made it seem demonic. It was warm, though, frost or not- it was warm through its clothing. None
of them really knew how warm humans were supposed to be, but it certainly
wasn’t demon-hot.

Must have been a hybrid, they decided, a human and a demon
breeding somewhere. Which made it three-quarters demon, which was close enough
to fully demonic for them to continue thinking of it as a demon. That was all
it was, after all. Even if it was… strangely gentle. Because that had to be a
trick, it did- that was the one thing they agreed on.

Well. Most of them.

A few disagreed. The quieter ones, weaker, still shaking off
the phantom sensations of chains and blades. When nudged, they spoke softly of
powerful hands putting shears to work against their bonds, pulling barbs from
their frames, a pale figure whispering reassurance before breathing frost
against overheated plating. They hadn’t enjoyed the various modes of transport,
any of them, but he’d settled them gently in the wagon and had carried them
carefully despite their struggling.

One of them who still smelled faintly of smoke had something
written on their chest, something which, upon inspection, was a sigil written
in charcoal. The sigil was cold to the touch, applied over plating that had
been near-melted by hellfire, and cooled any scorched plating brought near it.
Several of them wanted to remove the sigil, thinking it harmful, but the
scorched one retreated further and guarded it with both arms until they
stopped. And the sigil… didn’t seem to be doing any harm. It was a design they
didn’t recognize, not demonic in origin.

Eventually, they were distracted from their discussion by
the approach of… something. Something strange enough to bring many of them to
that edge of the plateau to stare. It looked almost like them, a suit of armor
with empty spaces in the joints, but it didn’t smell like them. Nor did it have
any light to it, anywhere. And it smelled of flame, that had some of them very
concerned, but it was approaching calmly enough- and they were curious. A construct, maybe? They’d
never seen the likes, but it could have been one. It was definitely animate,
and it chirruped a friendly noise up at them as it approached.

Questioning it yielded no clear answers, though. Either it
couldn’t speak, or it didn’t want to. It just reached up to set two buckets of
water near them, then added a few coarse cloths. Dipping one of the cloths into
the water, the construct (?) scrubbed rather blatantly at its own arm,
evidently demonstrated, then put the cloth back. Head tilted, it walked slowly
around the platform, looking up at them, then waved slightly and left.

Concerning, but no direct threat, and many of them jumped at
the chance to get the filth off their
frames. The water was clean, the cloths were soft, and they weren’t about to
stay this dirty for any longer. Not when none of them were strong enough to
burn their own frames clean.

Oddly considerate of their captors.

Probably bait.

Nevertheless… this wasn’t the worst situation any of them
had been in. Nice, if not for their suspicion.

They were still suspicious, though.