Fan Fiction ❯ Angry Angel ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: This story is completely mine. Please don’t steal. It’s not nice.

A/N: … Well hello. Didja miss me? Yea, I didn’t think so. It’s been ages since I posted a story (well, one that I actually plan on working on.. Heh) I hope it gets a good reception… Do I still have any loyal readers out there? Hm? *chin quivers*

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&n bsp;

Sometimes I feel like I'm floating in a sea of stars. The heavy beat and the cries of the singers voice scream out to me, screaming the rhythm of the universe. We can try as hard as we might, and we will never be able to describe the inner workings of our world like the musicians do. Everything thing they say and do makes me feel like I'm floating in the stars.

The stars... such beautiful, glittering things. It was such a disappointment when scientists discovered that they are the same as our sun, just hundred of millions of light years away. They took away the wonder in my life.

Though, I suppose, they weren't the only ones who did such a thing.

After the first hundred years of existence, wonder seems like such a foreign thing. After the first hundred years, you finally decide who it is you should blame for your torment. You'd have to be stupid not to realize. And he or she would have to be stupid not to expect it.

That's how it was for me... My master, my father had not the slightest inclination that I would murder him. It's amazing to me that a man, despite his several hundred years of experience could possibly be so trusting, so niave. I vowed the moment my claws cut through his throat that I would never be so foolish. That my heart would never be as weak.

But the heart of man, as I have learned, is never so strong. We fight like dogs for our own survival, but the smallest of things can bring us to our knees in just moments.

And I, Arcandia Leesoph Wolfe, Third Chair on the mighty Counsel, only son to the prestigious house of Lord Reynold Wolfe, fell and wept like the a child the moment he called out my name. And I can say, through centuries of loyalty to our ways, that I did not regret a single moment of it. Because, you see, he gave me back my wonder.

-Final Words to the Counsel of the Empire of Relwild

Summer, 2382

Angry Angel

Chapter One

Autumn had come to Relwild, washing the trees in a swirl of burning embers and the softest browns. From the tops of the Counsel Hall's towers, down past the silver gates of the innards of the Capital City, right to the very tip of the Shanlown Peninsula, the world seemed afire in color. And the ocean waters, lapping angrily at the cliffs of Larr, seemed to reflect such beautiful violence in the light of the setting sun.

Centuries of culture and tradition focused around the changing of the seasons; festivals of all sizes and shapes came through Relwild, as well as traveling bands and wagon trains, market gatherings and grand parties the likes of which no one else in the world ever experienced.

From the inside of the residences of the High World, such things looked quite lively, happy, even joyous. You could hear the laughter and singing and bards making their merriment in the Streets of the Low, as they had been called for some time. Such happiness was common place in the High, so few paid it any mind.

But if any of those in the High had bothered to look, this happiness was nothing but a veil, a screen against what truly lay beneath. For as long as the User's have reigned, so did the hatred of the Normals in the Low. This merriment, these frivolous things were simply a distraction, a vice for the Normals to indulge in, to curb the anger and violence that was in their nature.

And every year, those pleasantries were disturbed by the horrors of the High, come down to take out their own frustrations on the flesh of the Normals.

"Lord Wolfe! You're presence is requested in the War Room, sir!"

Arcandia Wolfe glanced up from his lap, the soft, gentle strokes he had been affording the currently lounging cat cut short by unwelcome distraction. The feline glanced up at the guard, her disdain and contempt for such a low level creature mirrored her Master's inner thoughts through a low growl, and a subtle dig of her claws into his kneecap. Arcandia winced behind his facial mask, and carefully dislodged the unhappy pet from her perch.

"You are sure it is urgent?"

"Oh! Yes, my Lord!" the guard gave a quick bow, scurrying backwards toward the door, obviously in a terrible rush over the whole matter. Arcandia couldn't imagine what could possibly be so important, especially on such an evening. Even the Higher Ups in the Counsel took these nights to relax, to gather their powers for much more pressing issues. The only thing that could possibly call for the attention such as his would be...

Blast it all.

The trek to the War Room was a short one, even with Arcandia's cat twirling between his ankles, trying to trip him up as he walked. He paid her no ill mind, offering her an apologetic smile when he accidentally stepped on the long fur of her tail. The cat whined, but blinked at him in acceptance, and returned the way she came. When Arcandia glanced back up from his pet, he found them standing at the grand doors of the War Room, and the guard looking at him in a most peculiar way.

"Is there reason for you to stare at me?" Arcandia asked, lowering his expression to a murderous glare. The look gave a desired effect: the guard snapped to attention, focusing on something far past Arcandia's own face, shaking his head quickly.

"Oh, no Sir! I just... I've heard of your animal empathy, and was wondering if-"

"Nonsense. No User on the entire planet has the ability to truly communicate through a mental level with their familiars, let alone a house pet. I am no exception. What you've heard is pure trash, spewed from the mouths of lowly mongrels."

Leaving the guard sputtering in confusion, Arcandia pushed opened one of the large, looming doors, stepping into the warmly lit room.

Always thought it ironic... War should not be "cheerful" in any way.

Sighing, he made his way through the empty room, glancing at this or that; the shining, steel suits of armor that had not been used for centuries, the lush apholstry on each of the chairs, hanging tapestries who were so old themselves you could hardly tell what the original weave was anymore. No amount of magic could bring something like that back. Some things, despite the User's phenomenal powers and outlandish claims of ability, were far beyond their means.

Such a silly thing. We can outrun the hands of death, but can't even manage to save the things most beautiful in this life...

He stopped at the large stone hearth, pressing his forearm against the side, and stared into the fire. The heat warmed his face considerably, turning his fair skin a rosy color within moments. The shorter wisps of hair that had fallen forward began to curl softly, reacting to the humidity and warmth. From any angle, he looked to be glowing himself, as though he drew energy from the flames, tucking them deep beneath his flesh for whatever use that amused him.

"Looking lovely, as usual, Arcan."

Arcandia tilted his face up, watching as another man stalked purposefully across the room, his steel-booted feet clanking loudly on the marble floor. Armor covered him from shoulder to foot, shining brightly in the candle light. A long cape, crimson in color, reminding all who looked upon it of the color of blood, flapped gracefully in his wake. Long hair, the color of chestnuts in fall was pulled tightly back, knotted at the crown of his head, the tail swaying about his neck, like a dog wagging it's tail.

"And you look as shiny as ever, Sayhn. New polishing spell?"

The other man, Sayhn, sneered in contempt for Arcandia's comment, but the expression was short lived. It was crushed thoroughly by a wide grin as he stepped further forward, welcoming a friendly embrace from Arcandia.

"Indeed, Arcan, you are looking lovely," Sayhn spoke softly, holding Arcandia closer than what was considered appropriate, his cheek nuzzling gently into Arcandia's fall of long, silvery hair, "When will you end this foolish denial you surround yourself with?"

Arcandia grinned and reached up, giving Sayhn's pony tail a rough tug, effectively forcing the man back a step, "As soon as you give up this silly game of cat and mouse you've constructed. You should know better."

Sayhn chuckled, and carefully pried Arcandia's fingers from his hair, giving the offending appendage a soft pat before returning it to it's rightful owner. "Well met. Now then, has my guard informed you of the situation?"

The question stole away Arcandia's playful mood, and the bright smile he wore immediately dropped from his face. It was replaced by a look of irritation, anger, exasperation, "No, he did not. I don't see why you bother employing those filth into your guards. You should not trust them no further than you can throw them."

Sayhn grinned even wider, "Well, with the right spell, you can throw a Normal pretty far, Arcan."

Arcan waved his hand in utter dismissal, "Completely beside the point. And you have not done that for quite some time, if I recall."

"Nearly a year, to be honest. That reminds me..." Sayhn closed his eyes, muttering beneath his breath, and shot his arm out toward the door. A sudden shout, a loud crack, and a cry of pain echoed in the hall outside the room. Obviously, the guard in question before had met with a most unpleasant fate. "Now, back to business. I'm sure you're aware of the festivities happening tonight?"

"Surely."

"Sarcasm does not work on me, Arcan. Apparently, a few of my troop heard wind of an uprising, down in the Guild District."

Arcandia sighed, and shook his head, "Surely you don't expect me to be excited by this problem? Such a pitiful show of bravado does not interest me."

"Despite your interest, the Chancellor has requested your presence at the investigation. For... safety purposes." The last words left Sayhn's mouth with a hiss, malice and excitement dripping from his lips like vile nectar. The mere sound sent shivers up Arcandia's spine, little thrills chasing through his veins.

With a grin as cruel as Sayhn's had become, he spoke, "When do we leave?"

"Immediately."

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The Guild District was, on any normal day, simply buzzing with activity. Higher Ranking officials of the Guilds tended to stay close to their Guild Halls, but those beneath them ran to and from, back and forth, delivering letters and charters, running errands and giving messages. Merchants of all shapes and sizes put out their wares just before sunrise and were rewarded with another day of prosperity when night came to Relwild. All in all, it was a peaceful place to reside, giving reason for the many rows of residential housing along it's alley paths, behind the Inns and Taverns.

This also, during darker times, gave plenty of reason for the High to rain down their own little version of terror on otherwise innocent citizens.

Or, at least, that's how most in the Low of Relwild felt about it all. Many of them chose to indulge in the distractions the High offered them - their festivals, their games, their treats of all kinds - but others saw past the veil and stewed in their own disgust.

"Hey, Rin! Get that sour look off your face!"

The declaration was met with a sound slap to his back, and Rin glared angrily at the slop of ale that had escaped over the rim of his mug. Such a terrible waste.

"Tarol, if you make me spill my drink one more time-"

The elderly man, Tarol, grinned in all his one-toothed glory, his dull gray eyes crinkling at the corners with crows feet and ages of laugh lines, and gripped Rin's forearm in a friendly gesture that was all Tarol's own, "No harm meant, ma' boy. But you shouldn't be sittin' here, wastin away the night! There be music and dancing out there on the floor! Go find yourself a pretty, big breasted bar-maid and have yourself some fun!"

Rin tried to smile at Tarol. He truly did. The man, greasy though he was, and looking much the worse for wear, was one of the oldest people Rin knew, and there for should have known better than to encourage this false merriment. He had lived 74 long years, endured 74 years of the High, and still had the gall to think this pitiful excuse for fun was for the Low's benefit.

He loved Tarol, loved him like family, but the man disgusted him to no end some days.

"Thanks, but I'll pass."

Tarol rolled his eyes and chuckled, giving his head a small shake, "I don't understand you sometimes, boy. You're young! You should be enjoying the life the good Gods gave to ya!"

Rin spun around on his bar stool, facing out to the large crowd infesting his favorite tavern with mild annoyance, "This is no life, Tarol. You should know that. You've suffered through more in your time than I have."

Tarol's jubilant expression faded to that of one of fatherly care, and he rested a heavy hand on Rin's shoulder, "My boy, you seem to think I'm wise in my old age, and while I really do appreciate it, I can tell ya, I don't have all the answers. The only advice this old codger can give is that even though times hard, people are hurting and you may be full of anger, you can't let that destroy what little happiness you have left. Or Hell, let it destroy any chance of happiness that comes your way! Nothing good comes from denying yourself of the simple pleasures. Now, if you'll excuse me, Dalia has been givin' me the ole' eye for about ten minutes..." Tarol's sentence drew to a slow silence as he made his way through the crowd, making a straight line for one of the middle-aged bar maids. Dalia had been there for years, and had quite the reputation around her.

Rin shook his head, suppressing a chuckle, and turned back to his ale.

Denying himself simple pleasures? What simple pleasures? All he had in his life was his job down at Miller's wheel shop, his one room lean-to, and the constant fear of being blasted in the back by a User with nothing better to do.

This wasn't a life. This was just plain sick. Sick and downright cruel. Tarol wanted to talk about Hell? He should have realized he was already living in Hell.

"Oh my God!!"

The chilling scream, sharp to the ears above the now halted music inside the Tavern froze Rin to his seat, mug pressed against his bottom lip. A frightening wave of goose bumps spread up his back and over his arms, only to be intensified by the loud bang and shuddering aftermath of a fiery blast. More screams followed, and the sound of marching, booted feet could be heard out in the streets.

Not a single soul moved. They had learned, years prior, that where the Users were, you'd do best not to be there yourself.

Of course, it couldn't be helped when the war spilled in through the door.

The bar maids screamed, pushing past their customers, dropping their orders in a frantic panic, racing toward the back door of the Tavern. The patrons tried to follow suit, flooding together in a mob of fear, not caring when their feet smashed down on each other, crushing a few unfortunate beneath their one-minded rush. Rin pressed himself against the bar, watching the wave make it's way toward him, and on pure instinct he vaulted up over the scuffed bar top to hide behind and hopefully go unnoticed.

What happened on the other side of the bar was impossible not to notice, though.

A horrid wave of heat shimmered above him, the air oppressing his lungs, making him choke. In mere moments bright orange light flashed into his pupils, temporarily blinding him, but he didn't need to see to know what had happened. One of the Users that had burst into the Tavern had fired off one of their spells, heat based apparently by the smell of sulfur left behind. The sound of dieing screams and the gut wrenching scent of charred flesh mingled into one overpowering sense, making Rin's stomach lurch and his throat constrict in a deep, painful gag.

More screams followed, along with the sound of metal sinking in flesh. The scent of freshly spilled blood joined with the other aromas of pain and death.

Dear Gods... they're slaughtering them!

Over the cries of the dieing, a single high pitched, musical note hit the core of Rin's brain. It was light, floating, sounding excited and content at the same time. Someone was laughing. He was laughing full heartedly, full of jubilation and enjoyment.

The sound twisted a needle in Rin's mind, and he immediately snapped.

With a roar of unbridled anger, he threw himself up over the bar to face what lay on the other side. His foot slipped for a moment, and he barely registered what he had stepped in - blood, thick and red, coating the bottom of his boot. Rage filled his vision with an equaled color of red, and he was fully prepared to step forward to murder those who had wronged his people, when a single voice cut through the mask of hatred, making his heart shudder to a stop.

"You ain't go no right!"

Tarol?

"On the contrary, old man. We own this land. We have every right."

Rin's stomach churched in fear for the old man. He was standing, proud and tall, finger pointing accusingly at a man covered from shoulder to foot in blood stained armor.

"That ain't no excuse for murder, ya blasted, blood thirsty fool! These folks're nothing but law abidin' citizens of your Damn Happy city! Worst they ever done was drink a little too much!"

Idiot!!

"Our information unit has clearly stated rumor of rebel uprising here in this district. We, as Lords of the city, are duty bound to-"

"I don't give a good God damn! You're gonna stop this useless slaughter, and-"

Whatever wonderful speech Tarol thought to give was cut painfully short as a man that Rin had not noticed before stepped forward. He was dressed all in black, a tight fitting, stylish coat reaching down to his ankles, the sleeves encasing his arms all the way down to his wrists. Small, black patterned beads dotted across the coat here and there, giving it a touch of shimmer in the Tavern's candle light. But Rin couldn't care less about his fashion. All he cared about what the scene before him, horrifying him down to the very pit of his soul.

"Stupid old man." The User's voice was soft, lyrical, quiet and deep enough to obviously give him credit to his male sex. His right hand, long and elegant and pale, shot out with a blinding flash of light shooting from his finger tips. The force of the blast blew long strands of silvery hair back over his shoulders, made the room shudder in fear, and hit Tarol square in the chest. The old man shook with the electricity, a thick froth spilling out from his parched lips. Moments later, his body fell, lifeless and smoking on the Tavern floor. He lay still, eyes wide and blood vessels broken, giving them a horrible color of red. His head turned in death to face Rin directly, blood spilling out of his ears, nose and mouth, to pool silently around his head.

Rin couldn't breath. He couldn't think. All he could do was stare at Tarol's body, tears brimming at his eyes, teeth grinding as he fought back a sob. Tarol had done nothing wrong in his entire life. And in one moment of foolish bravado, his outspoken nature and urge of equality had cost him his life.

With a heavy exhale, tears spilling down his cheeks, Rin fell to his knees. He wanted to go to Tarol, to fold his arms over his chest and close his eyes, give him the dignity he deserved, but his limbs betrayed him. They refused to move, to twitch, to acknowledge him at all, and it only made the inner pain all the worse.

"Well now, looks like we've got another one, Arcandia."

The voice seemed so very distant, Rin paid it hardly any mind.

"Seems so. Perhaps this is our little rabble rouser, yes?" The comment was followed by loud, amused laughter.

"Looks like you frightened him, Arcan. And here I thought we could look forward to him resisting the arrest."

Rin looked up as two sets of legs blocked his view of Tarol's body. He blinked through the tears, barely registering shining steel and black velvet, peppered with black beads.

"Why? Why would you do such a thing?" he croaked out, his throat scalding with the tears, voice sounding miles away and foreign even to his own ears. The question was met with feral smiles of impossibly white, gleaming teeth.

"Such a shame." the man in armor said, his grin tilted and vile, as he struck Rin in the temple with the butt of his sword.

The last thing Rin saw was Tarol's face... A look of fear and defiance forever etched into his wrinkled features. Rin wished for a fleeting moment that he was going to be joining his old friend in the Life After, before the darkness claimed him.