Judgment Day

Prologue

"Get that little bastard!" Three men take off down the street after a boy in ragged clothes. He knew what they wanted from him and he would rather die than give it up so easily. With the last remnants of his family held tightly in his clenched fist, he ran down the busy streets of New York, not caring who he bumped into in the process of getting to some place safe.

He knew he could not lose them, even in this crowd of people, his bright hair and pale skin were a total contrast to the people around him and with his small statue, he was not able to push through the crowd as easily as he would have hoped. They would easily catch up to him in a matter of minutes, it would just take time and he would be in their grasp.

He hated the world. He hated his life. He always had. He should have suspected that something like this was going to happen and, of course, he was not surprised. He was just frightened, and who wouldn't be? The men had weapons on them, he knew that without having to see the sharp daggers stashed away, hidden under their leather trench coats. When they caught him, they would kill him and take his family heirloom…though he did not know why he carried it away. It seemed more of a burden than a gift to be cherished.

The sound of their heavy footfalls was growing louder, easily heard over the roar of the loud, everyday noises of the New York City traffic. He gritted his teeth and shoved through the crowd with more intensity now, knocking some people down as he went along.

It would make sense to die this way though, wouldn't it? After all the shit he had been through in his past, he would have laughed if he died any other way. He was not one of those super religious, bible thumpers. In fact, he did not believe in God or any other higher power. You are born, you live for a short time and then you die. End of story. No hereafter, no bright light at the end of the tunnel, no Angels playing harps, no Heaven, no Hell. Nothing. Short and simple.

He would welcome that existence. Or, it would be more of a nonexistence. Whatever. He liked the idea of it. Anything would be better really, better than living on the streets, alone, scrounging around for food and a warm place to sleep each night. If there was a hell, he was already living in it.

A strong hand grasped his arm and he twisted around with shocking speed, his right fist flying to connect with his attacker's face. He stopped himself at the last minute, though. A man in a business suit had grabbed his arm; his glasses askew and a disgruntled look on his face. "You knocked me down, punk, you should apologize." The man had a heavy Japanese accent so the teen could tell he was not from New York. He shrugged the man off and searched the crowd quickly for the men after him. They were still struggling to get to him.

"This ain't Japan, Pops, I don't gotta do nothing." He tried to run again but the same hand that had stopped him once stopped him again. He turned a cold, piercing glare at the man that would have made anyone shiver in fright but the Japanese man did not even bat an eye.

"Don’t gotta? That is not proper English. I think that you could at least do me that courtesy, wouldn't you agree?" He tried to pull out of the man's grasp but this time he was trapped and the men were getting closer, they had already spotted him and were putting in an extra effort to get to him while he was stalled.

"Dammit! I don't have time for your shit!" He yelled, he pushed against the man but all it did was put a strain on his wrist. "Gah! Look, I'm sorry! Now, lemme go!" The man released him and he took off running as fast as he could, though he could feel the burn in his legs and breathing became a struggle as his lungs tightened. He did not know if he would be able to keep up the pace he was going at for much longer.

There weren't many places he could run to. This was the most public place he could be but it did not matter, no one would care about what was happening, they were too busy with their own problems to save the nameless boy from being murdered. No one would grieve for him when he died because he had already lost everyone who would have cried for him. When they found his mangled body they would say, 'The boy must have had it coming to him. Look at him. He was just one of those teenagers who had gotten in over his head. Stealing and doing drugs. One more less of them is just what we need. The world is better now.' It didn't even hurt him to think like that. Nothing could hurt him now. He was dead emotionally. Being dead physically would not be that big of a deal.

So, why was he running? Was he really afraid to die? He wanted to feel nothing, he had had enough of the pain of living and he wanted it all the just end. But was death really the answer? Yes. No one would care but he had to hide his mother's amulet, which was not biting into the palm of his hand, drawing a small trickle of blood that slowly began to coat his fingers.

It was natural instinct to run, that was justified, even though he did not want to keep living. He did not want to say that he ran because of his family, that would make him seem righteous in some way and he could not stand that. So, he thought of it more as a selfish thing. He was running for himself. Nothing else. It was better to think that way in the end.

For a split second, he thought he was actually going to make it, but then he did one of the most stupidest things he had even done in his life. He turned. Right into an alley that led absolutely nowhere, a tall brick wall hindering his progress. He gritted his teeth and turned to run back out into the street but the three men where there, already advancing towards him, each with wicked grins on their dirty faces. He backed away slowly, more of a reflex than an actual conscious thought, but they edged closer to him, making sure to leave no openings for him to escape through.

He swallowed. "I hope you did not seriously think that you could get away from us, Jason." His eyes narrowed and the man who spoke smirked. "How do we know your name? We know more than just that about you. That orphanage you ran away from told us everything we needed to know to find you. Now, hand over that amulet and we will let you go back to your miserable life. We don't want to get blood on our hands; there is already more than enough. Besides, we try to make it a habit not to kill little boys."

"Go fuck yourself, asswipe." Hissed Jason, spitting near the man's foot. The man jumped back in surprise and shook his head at the teen, trying to laugh it off.

"Now, that was not a very nice thing to do and here I was trying to spare your pathetic life. Well, no matter. One more dead person in this world is not going to make any difference. And who is going to care if you die?" Three blades were whipped out and the men charged at him. This time as he backed away, his heel caught on a trashcan lid and he fell backwards, landing with a dull smack on the ground.

He threw the amulet behind him blindly, not caring where it landed as long as the men did not get it. Now he really felt pathetic, giving up his life for some stupid trinket. He closed his eyes tightly and waited for the blades to cut into him. And he waited…and waited. The bite of the blades never hit him. He hesitantly opened one pale eye and then another.

Someone was standing in front of him, a very strange someone wearing long white, flowing robes. He blinked once. Then a second time. His eyes had to have been playing tricks on him or else…Halloween had come early this year. The person standing in front of him had huge, white-feathered wings and long, silky, white-blonde hair. He really did not know what to think, though he was slightly relieved to have been saved from such a pitiful death.

"Stand down, mortals. Soon, you shall all be judged by God." It was a gentle, yet powerful voice that rung true with everything Jason had lost and easily forgotten. The men looked confused at first but then started to laugh.

"Isn't that cute, the little girl is pretending to be an angel. You should not get mixed up in things you do not understand, kid. Run back to your mommy and let us finish our job." There was a crack, like a whip, and the 'little girl' disappeared, reappearing on the other side of the men, a golden staff held out behind her.

"I am not a little girl, I am a man." The three men grunted and fell to their knees, their eyes rolling back into their heads as a trickle of blood dripped out of their mouths and onto the filthy ground.

The man dressed in the flowing white robes straightened and looked at Jason with cold, green eyes, his face showing no emotion. "Jason Cunningham, son of Damien and Vivian Cunningham, you are hereby charged by God to undergo a test. It will be you who deems this world worthy to remain the way it is or not."