|Tears of an Angel
Author: Small Wings Flying PM
"What happened to that proud and glorious destructive race that was full of life and energy? They expect me to live of this-this worthless water?"-"Perhaps they have nothing left to give." - WCC October, preview sceneRated: Fiction T - English - Spiritual/Horror - Words: 1,247 - Reviews: 12 - Published: 10-05-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3063417
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: For WCC October. Please vote for your favourite from the 8th to the 14th of October.
This may be continued or rewritten into novella form after the WCC ends…and I've finished something already in progress. For now though it's a stand-alone oneshot.
Tears of an Angel
A Preview Scene
An Angel: male – wore only a sullied sheet cast haphazardly over his form remnant of the white toga. His wings are white and feathered, but disheveled.
A Demon Lord: male – dressed in a black robe with thin red crosses repeating over and over again. His wings are also black – not feathered but scaled like dragon wings – but their tips appear to be somewhat gold from the backdrop of light.
A Demon: female and of the Pró̱ti̱ Kyría (first lady) rank
An unknown character: not one of the above
The stage is washed out by a single dull red lamp flaring above the centre, casting the grey still that rose behind and on the ride side in darkness. Shadows litter the scene: a mix of black, grey and red, illuminated mostly by the flickering flames somewhere beyond the left door, casting shadows that danced within the cage and upon the floor.
An Angel is slumped over against the back of the cage. The hunch of his spine is clearly visible as his head droops to his chin. Both wrists are bound above his bead by means of chains and identical shackles decorate his ankles, but neither are sufficient enough to hold his body erect. He doesn't move, simply staring at a blank spot a few feet in front as his wings slump, heavy with water.
There is the sound of keys jingling, then a rusted door being creaked open. A Demon Lord enters Behind him followed a Demon with her head bowed. The whites of both of their eyes gleam in the darkness.
The Demon Lord glares at the Angel who does not lift his head. For a moment, the only sound is fire burning is heard before the Demon Lord makes a noise of annoyance and steps forward, spitting at the Angel's feet. The Angel again fails to react, nor does he when the Demon draws her sword, iron blade gleaming silver in the flickering light.
The Demon Lord [with his lips curving into a snarl:] Has this Hell already defeated you?
The Angel does not give a reply, though his eyes sightlessly rise and his fingers twitch as if he is about to reach out for some intangible thing. The light from the lamp flares a little brighter and shows the finer movement as the bronze sword knocks a side-cover off and the sound of metal against metal bounces off the ground. The Demon Lord turns to glare at the Demon.
The Demon [respectively:] My apologies, sire.
The Demon Lord waves her off and the Demon bows, lowering her blade into a relaxed position.
The Demon Lord: There's hardly anything here worth veiling. [His stare becomes more contemptuous as he bends down to eye level.] Pathetic. [He narrows his eyes, before lifting a hand and backhanding the other. The crash as the skull bashes against the bars rings in the silence; the head simply lolls upon its pivot point.]
The Demon Lord straightens, and then turns to the Demon. His wings whip around with him, producing enough wind for the flame overhead to go out, leaving them in darkness.
The Demon Lord: Silence him.
A single scream permeated the silence till the sound of metal grating bone overlay that…and then silence save the rustling of clothes and wings. No sound came again, until the Demon spoke a few minutes later.
The Demon: I have done so, sire.
The Demon: Sire?
The Demon Lord [in a tone of frustration:] This was a complete waste of time. [As an afterthought:] What did he have?
The Demon [without changing her tone:] Blood, sire.
The Demon Lord: And the Holiness?
The Demon: Negligent, sire.
The Demon Lord [with a noise of irritation:] What a waste. [Then, colder:] What a God-forsaken race these so-called Angels have become. [A pause:] Tell me, do you know the crime this race has committed to achieve this level of honour?
The Demon: I do not, sire.
The Demon Lord: No? [A breath.] Ah, of course not. You were recently promoted after all. I forget. [His tone returns to scorn as he stares at the Angel at his feet.] Get rid of this corpse.
The sounds of chains clanking and sharp-heeled shoes dragging across metallic floors echoed.
The Demon Lord [to himself with a sigh:] What a pointless effort. I doubt there is a single Angel to walk these worlds that still possesses enough of the Holiness to save our race.
The Demon: Perhaps the other worldly creatures can offer something?
The Demon Lord: Them? [His tone darkens.] They're the ones who tainted the balance of this universe. The grey matter that's tipped towards the darkness, stealing our feed and our future. The fools who don't even realise what it could mean to no longer have caps at the two extremes. The Kemono from Chikyū. The Baihuma from 'ard. The Belva from Terra. The People from Earth. Even the eggs that hatch take in the tainted ear from their first breath.
The Demon: They must have something to offer to still live.
There is silence for a few moments.
The Demon [in a subdued manner:] My apologies for speaking out of turn, sire.
The Demon Lord: No. [A pause, then:] No.
The Demon [confused:] Sire?
The Demon Lord: You may have a point, Pró̱ti̱ Kyría. [There is the sound of something metallic being struck and the lamp flares back to life.] There must be something hidden in all this grey. [He lifts his hand to the light, the black claws gleaming as he examines it. His face twists into a hardened expression.] I will not embrace our destruction, no matter how quickly my adversaries cave under trials and trample upon their wings.
There is another pause, this one far longer, only to be punctured by a scream offstage.
The Demon Lord [with more vehemence, repeats:] I will not embrace our destruction.
The Demon [back to her usual tone:]Of course not, sire.
The Demon Lord [returning to professionalism:] Prepare my table.
The Demon: Of course, sire.
The Demon exits, leaving the Demon Lord standing in the centre of the stage, clawed hand still extended to the light.
The Demon Lord turns as the cage bars slam closed so his back faces the stage. For a moment, he is illuminated by the dim glow, and then he extends his black wings to cast the scene in darkness once more.
The Demon Lord: We will survive. No matter who…or what else is destroyed. [A pause.] I will survive. And live. And triumph.
A scream echoes through the darkness, followed by the Demon Lord laughing.
The Demon Lord: We are all selfish after all.
Translations and Meanings
Kemono (beast, Japanese)
Chikyū (earth, Japanese)
Baihuma (beast, Arabic)
'ard (earth, Arabic)
Belva (wild beast, Italian)
Terra (earth, Italian)
Pró̱ti̱ Kyría (first lady, Greek)
Just a note. First lady is the highest female rank, but it's still rather low. It's somewhat akin to the old Chinese Imperial rankings, even though the name origins are Greek. Reason is because the word Demon comes from Greek origin.
As for why I used other languages…I needed something.