Three years ago

Dark's face hit hard earth as he slammed into the ground. Dust filled his nose and mouth, masking the burning scent under the taste of dirt. Not his most graceful teleport, to be sure, but he had escaped.

He flipped onto his back and stared up at the endless expanse of blue sky; if he looked hard enough, could he see the cloud that the angels called home? But, no, today was a perfectly clear day, not a spot on the sky. Of course, the angels were far too high up, gazing down at humanity with haughty smirks. So far away, they didn't care a bit about human suffering.

He winced as the pain of his wounds rushed back to him. He needed to treat them, fast. Burns on his arms, his back, his chest, spearing waves of piercing pain through his body. He forced himself onto his feet, swaying a bit, then staggered over to the sound of running water.

Emerging from the bushes, he almost fell right over the edge of a steep but shallow outcropping over a clear creek. Without thinking, he plunged right into the water, sighing in the relief as cold water soothed his burns. He lay on his back and let the water rush over him, warm sunlight brushing his face.

It was supposed to be quick, easy. Crouched up in the ceiling of the white-stone palace, he was hidden. His target hadn't seen him, hadn't expected the attack, had been caught completely off guard--yet he'd still failed.

A quick, two step plan: muffle her magic, and, in an instant, drop from the ceiling and strike a fatal blow from behind. Perhaps she deserved to suffer more for her crimes, but that was far too risky. Every attack on the palace grew far more difficult--if he was to claim as many lives as possible, each kill needed to be quick and stealthy. The longer undetected, the better.

The Councilwoman of Fire, Enyah Ignis. A high profile target, a major player in the council. Taking her our would deal a severe blow to the angels. Indeed, the magical power she harbored was admirable--it'd certainly be impossible to completely snuff it out, but he could still muffle it enough to catch her off guard.

But instead, she was ready.

She reacted instantly, fighting back against his magic and lashing out with a wave of flame. He was sent skidding across the floor, skin burning with pain, mind numbed with shock and confusion. Certainly, more powerful magic was more difficult to subdue, but not this difficult. Really, only thing could explain it--somehow, she was resisting.

So he tried again and again, but only made a small dent in her power. The angels had somehow found out a way to resist his magic. The fought and fought and fought, both dealing each other grievous wounds, but in the end, Dark emerged victorious.

Perhaps not victorious, simply alive. Enyah's death had cost him precious time and vitality, and, burned and battered as he was, he was in no position to continue his raid on the palace. Even then, he could sense energies moving toward him, fast, close enough that footsteps echoed down the halls.

It was run or die.

So he ran, desperately throwing out his power to grasp onto the port charm he'd left on Earth. It was hasty, sloppy move, leading to a not-so graceful touchdown. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that he was alive.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the world around him. The whisper of a slight breeze as they weaved through the branches, sending leaves astir. The murmur of the creek as it flowed along, sliding over his burning skin. The shadows dancing over his face, swaying with the wind.

But concentrating on his feelings brought the pain of the burns back to his attention. Grimacing, Dark opened his eyes. He needed to get actual treatment. He wracked his brain. Was there a town nearby? A good town, with doctors who knew how to do their jobs.

The reply was hesitant. Maybe...?

But sitting around would do no good. Reluctantly, he rose from the water, wincing as the pain returned. He constructed a rough route in his head and set forth with single minded determination--dwelling on the pain would only make it worse.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

There was indeed a town where Dark remembered it, but it certainly wasn't a good one. He'd be hard-pressed to find someone capable enough to treat his wounds--or, at least, that's what he thought.

The second one of the villagers had seen Dark stagger into town, clothes in rags and skin riddled with burns and cuts, he'd been swarmed by a crowd of concerned civilians who ushered him straight to someone who could treat the wounds.

A kind family took him in, with the medically-trained father treating Dark's wounds. He spent weeks in their care, weeks where his movement was severely limited. It was agonizing, just sitting around waiting to heal, but it gave him plenty of time to think.

He couldn't do it alone.

He'd known it for a while, the fact becoming clearer and clearer as each successive attack became more difficult. He'd spent almost three years on the run in the angels' city, and witnessed the gradual rise in the angels' defense. They were getting better at fighting back; he couldn't go solo any longer.

But who would help him? Who else could possess drive he did, the desire to topple an entire civilization? It certainly wasn't a task most would undertake. Who else could harbor the sheer hate for angels that Dark did?

But, as he listened to the family that cared for him pray, an idea hatched. Everyone had been taught from a young age of the angels' powers. They were the ones who watched over humanity, sometimes using their great power to interfere. But Dark knew they weren't benevolent--they were evil, causing all of humanity's sufferings. Just as his parents had said, before the angels murdered them for knowing the truth.

Everyone in humanity had been wronged in someway, wronged by the angels' blind cruelty. Most would dismiss it as fate and discard their resentment, but if they knew the truth, that resentment could be turned into determination.

Yes, the angels had wronged everyone, not just Dark. This was far more than just revenge. It was justice.

So one evening he finally convinced his caretakers to tell him wander the town. They conceded, albeit reluctantly, and let Dark leave, with the one condition being he couldn't go to the outskirts of the town--he went straight there. In such desperate slums, bitterness would be running rampant--the perfect place for him to find a suitable ally.

In the late evening, golden rays of light bled out from a dying sun onto the land, striping the village with harsh, alternating lines of orange and black. Trash littered the sides of the cracked, worn street, and a faint, rancid smell hung in the air. Ragged people lingered in the shadows, watching dark with sunken, hollow eyes.

A hint of doubt tugged at Dark. All these people seemed seemed subdued, tired--they lacked the spark of hate that could be turned into determination. He turned down an alley and stumbled over something laying on the ground.

Finding his balance, he turned to see what had tripped him, but all he could see was an indistinguishable figure shrouded in shadow laying on the ground. He turned it over it his foot and found himself staring into the bruised, battered face of a young man.

Dark frowned and leaned in for a closer look; corpses had long since ceased bothering him. But was he dead? The young man was unmoving, and, in the darkness, it was impossible to see if he was breathing. Probably dead, then.

Dark turned to leave the alley. What a shame it was, seeing the result of the angels' evil. So young, and with so much left in his life--he seemed to be not much younger than Dark. Would he had lived, Dark wondered, if Dark had managed to slay the angels in this area sooner?

Dark took a moment to dwell in regret, then moved on. He had work to do.

Weak fingers seized his ankle. He whipped around and yanked his leg from the mystery grasp, hand shooting to the hilt of his sword. Ready to strike, he scanned the ground for what had grabbed him. It was the young man he'd assumed dead, arm stretched out and desperate eyes trained on Dark. His mouth opened and closed in an attempt to speak, but his words were faint and inaudible, quickly consumed by a racking cough.

Dark crouched down. "What do you want?"

The young man, trembling, managed to push himself in a sitting position and leaned against the wall. Every movement was slow and pained. "I...I..." He coughed again, voice hoarse. "I...need food. Money. Water. Anything."

There he was, balancing on the brink of death, but still found the strength to beg. Despite the fact that he had been splayed in a dirty alleyway moments before, he still had the desire to live. If Dark had looked closer, would the others in these broken-down streets possess the same drive? "Have you ever resented your fate?"

The young man tilted his head. "...what?"

"Answer me. Then I'll help you. Have you ever resented your fate?"

"Of...of course..."

"Have you ever thought that you didn't deserve to end up like this?"

The young man glanced toward the main street. "...nobody deserves to live like this."

"Have you ever wondered exactly who caused this suffering?"

"...Sometimes." The man sighed in resignation and leaned his head against the wall. "But...in the end...we're just unlucky."

Dark leaned in closer. "But that's not true."

The young man regarded Dark with a doubtful eye. "What do you mean?"

"It wasn't fate or destiny or simple misfortune that put you here," said Dark, passion seizing his words. "There was a physical being--real and tangible--that decided that you and all these townspeople would suffer."

The young man remained skeptical. "Would would want to do that? And...who would have the power?"

"Who, you ask?" Dark scowled at the thought of the angels. "Someone impossibly cruel, someone who only derives pleasure from human suffering. Someone who only wants to see us in misery, and nothing more. Something evil, and unfortunately blessed with the power to make their sick fantasy come true. Angels are responsible for your suffering."

The young man closed his eyes. "Angels, you say? I thought...I thought they were good."

"That's what we're told," said Dark, "but it's a lie. They want nothing more than to see humans suffer."

"Even if angels are at fault...even if that's the case, what difference does that make?"

"I'll tell you," said Dark. "Isn't it infuriating, knowing that angels inflict such suffering upon humans, yet they escape with no repercussions. Time and time again, they cause death, pain, loss, misery, yet they are rewarded for it! Does that not make you angry, make you long for justice?"
"Of course it's unfair," murmured the young man, "but there's nothing we can do. Lying in the dirt, in these slums--I'm about as far from the angels as possible."

"That's where you're wrong." Dark's words raised in volume as he became more fervent. "Angels, as I said, are physical beings. Real. Tangile. I've been to their city, talked to their people, killed them! Revenge--no, justice for all their wrongs--is possible! We can go to them and punish them for all the wrongs they've done to humanity! They're beings of pure evil, the cause of all human suffering. If you join me, we can put an end to their crimes."

The young man's head snapped to face Dark, a movement far quicker than any of his previous actions. His eyes, formerly flat and dull, had lit up with interest. "So, if you say that the angels are the cause of all human suffering...if I helped you...helped you with your quest...all of the people here...wouldn't have to suffer anymore? Nobody would have to suffer anymore?"

Dark tilted his head. He'd never thought of it like that before, but the young man was correct. "That's right. So...will you join me?"

With not a second of hesitation, the young man replied, "Yes."

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Even in the pitch black, he could sense magic power flickering outside.

"Jax," Dark said. "Wake up."

"Huh--" There was a frenzied rustling, followed by a deep thud. "Wh-what?"

"I sense an angel."

A brief silence. "...n-nearby?"

"Yes. Get up, Jax. We're heading out."

After a short pause, Jax's faint silhouette rose from the ground, fumbling around for the small knife he used as a weapon. "Are we going to..." He trailed off, words weighed down with trepidation.

Dark rolled out of bed and grabbed his sword resting on the bedpost. The sword had belonged to his parents; it was only right that it be his angel-slaying weapon. He threw open the door and marched outside, only waiting a moment for Jax to hurry after him. Once he heard the door shut, he marched out.

The moonless night was shrouded in pitch black; Dark could scarcely see his own hand in front of him, let alone the faint figures of trees swaying in a warm midnight breeze. He he knew this patch of woods like the back of his own hand--he'd spent much of his time exploring around the small cabin as Jax recovered strength.

Slowly and surely, Jax had grown stronger, venturing farther and farther out of the cabin every day. It'd already been several weeks since they moved into the abandoned cabin, intending to lay low until Jax grew strong enough to fight angels. Dark had gone out on plenty of trips on his own, but he wasn't confident enough in Jax's strength to risk taking him out to early. But tonight--tonight was the night

Dark weaved through the trees, resting his hands on the rough bark to give him bearings. Jax's footsteps stomped behind him, dry sticks cracking loudly.

"Step lightly," murmured Dark.

"S-sorry." The stomped subsided a bit, but his footsteps were still loud enough to let Dark know of his general location.

They made their way through the shadowy woods, their only guide the small flicker of magic. But as they walked, it grew stronger and clearer, burning brightly and clearly through the shroud of night. As they grew nearer, excitement seized Dark, making his pace faster and faster. This would be Jax's first kill. This would be a true mark of his fitness. How would he handle?

Crack.

The sound of a stick breaking split the night, but it wasn't from Dark or Jax. It was from just a few feet in front of them.

"We're near," hissed Dark, dropping into a crouch low to the ground. "Stay put and watch."

Jax's shadowy figure nodded.

The magical power was right in front of them--if he looked hard enough, Dark could almost discern a figure in front of him. It appeared tense, head swinging back and forth. Perhaps it had heard them?
Hardly daring to breathe, Dark unsheathed his sword and crept forward, step by step. Once he was close enough to strike, he clamped down on the angel's magic and lunged forward.

He slammed into the angel, pinning it to the ground before it could even cry out. It writhed on the ground, and weak, magically summounded breezes drifted around them, but it couldn't summon anything powerful with Dark muffling its power.

"Come here, Jax," ordered Dark.

Jax lingered by the trees, face unreadable in the blackness.

The angel continued to writhe, flailing about wildly in a vain attempt to escape Dark's grasp. Dark scowled and tightened his grip. "Quickly!"

After another painful pause, Jax's footsteps, slow and tentative, came forward. "M-master Dark." His words were so faint that they were barely audible, drifting away with the breeze.

"I want you to kill this angel."

Jax flinched. "...do I have to?"

"Yes. Take my sword." Dark pressed his whole body weight onto the angel and held out the sword to Jax. Jax's hand recoiled as the hilt brushed his fingers, but after a moment, they grabbed the hilt, weak and uncertain.

Once he was sure Jax held the sword, Dark devoted his full attention to keeping the angel pinned down. "Now kill it! A single blow will be enough."

But Jax remained there, not moving an inch. When he spoke, his words were faint and full of shame. "I...I can't Master Dark."

"That's nonsense!" Dark gasped out as he struggled to restrain the angel. "It's simple!"

"No, it's not!" cried Jax. "I...the angel...is alive. They want to live as much as you and I do. I...I can't..."
"This desperation is an act," hissed Dark. "Fake. Remember what I told you? Angels are evil. Cruel. Merciless. The only way you can rid this world of suffering is to kill the angels. Pull it together and kill it!"

"B-but, I--" Jax swayed on the spot, as if he were so weak that the breeze was enough to stir him.

"For your future, Jax!"

Jax took a jerky step forward, sword raised. For a moment, Dark's heart soared as he thought Jax would deliver the killing blow, but then he lowered his arms again.

The angel redoubled its efforts, almost throwing Dark off in an unexpected burst of power. "Enough!" Dark shouted. He yanked the sword from Jax's hand, and, without a moment's hesitation, plunged it into the angel's throat.

The angel grew still; once again the night was silent.

Dark brushed off his clothes and rose from the corpse, then turned to fix Jax with a glare.

Jax shuffled awkwardly, facing away from Dark. "...sorry."

"Clearly, you still have much to learn."