Categories > TV > Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Black Angel's Wings
He remembers a time when he felt nearly nothing, no regret, no pain, no loss. Everything seemed to have lost its special glimmer, this certain kind of light that makes life bearable. Days slowly melting into another, hours flying by without him realizing time is supposed to be an enemy not a lover caressing a long lost fantasy. A body losing the last remnants of humanity, following a path destined to lead to never ending darkness, where imprisoned behind ebony walls of destruction his heart transforms into something even his cruel imagination can't fathom calling monstrous, diabolical, evil.
He remembers a life so far removed from what he knows, its tantalizing beauty, poetry written in crimson liquid dripping from a loving blade, beyond everything an uninspired soul as his own is capable of comprehending. Remembers love lost and never found again. Remembers a heir crying out in the throws of agony, screaming for the help of a father who doesn't deserve the honour of the name, pleading for assistance that will never come, can never come because really, the boy managed to get into trouble all on his own. But help arrives just in time, comes waving glorious banners of revenge and freedom right in front of a black knights desperately searching gaze, and saves the day by letting a despot fall into a conveniently placed gorge, saves all that remains of his lost life by relinquishing what is left of his own time.
His son will live, now it's time to die.
Now it's time to die...
Though, if he allows himself to think about it, that isn't how he left the mortal plain. Even if it was only of a short moment, this memory definitely does not show the reality of his last breath, does not even come marginally close to the pathetic truth of his descent past the borders of purgatory.
~ ~ ~ * ~
There aren't many things that bring joy into his heart, fighting and killing perfect examples for what makes his heart sing, but imagining elaborate plans to elegantly acquire what is not supposed to end up in his hands without paying an exorbitant sum is a sport his teachers just couldn't get out of his system. It still makes him smile, remembering their faces, their reaction when learning about his latest misdeed.
And here in this temple of shiny nonsense, he crosses the infinite waves leading towards what he seeks, following the lead of a princess, a heiress on the threshold to great power. Though he is tempting fate in parading around the town beside this girl, there is a certain knowledge, a distinctive something he cannot grasp but...
His eyes find two faces he did not expect to meet in this place, two desperate little boys playing at being grown up and dangerous. Two young men, heads filled with a thousand stories and a gift to create, instinctively calling out to all those able to hear the sounds of their silent cry, looking for someone powerful enough to guide them, be their master. Well, if they wish to serve, he'll give them what they need.
With a tiny tweak to hide himself, he stands behind them, softly tapping their shoulders. The smell of fear is saturating the air, surrounding him, filling his nostrils and nearly sending a smile to his lips. Not that anyone could have seen his face light up with the curved line that most sentient societies would have named a smirk, even had he not hidden his face under the traditional face wrappings of a desert's people. True emotions only show on the inside, his best friend once taught him that, right after performing the ritual honouring the eternal suns.
“I greet you, younglings.” Terrified the two who are the last surviving members of the once Terrible Trio turn around, already knowing that fate has played them a terrible hand. He can hear their hearts pounding, the blood rushing through their veins. It inspires hunger in him, a kind of hunger he already thought defeated and nothing more but water on the burning rocks of a Krayt's bed.
His hand pushes a recording device into the hands of the covering men, a small computer filled with all the data, all the plans to build the machine that will separate him from the voice that constantly demands his ear. In three days time they will return, either with the construct in their hands and only dreading what will happen to them if they deceive him, or empty handed and wishing that death would be the only punishment dealt out to them.
With his black coat billowing majestically in a wind that only exists because he wishes it, he leaves his new servants and again takes his place in the shadow of a future queen. He can feel her annoyance at letting her wait on the sidelines like the child she believes herself to be, the child everyone else sees when looking at her young face.
Though seeing a child behind her ancient eyes is a feat he couldn't even accomplish after ripping his eyes out. This woman, chained to a form she obviously despises, imprisoned behind a mask of green energy, knows what the future has in store for her. Prophesies are wound around her skin so tight that to break them would destroy her very core, and to destroy her is the last thing on his mind.
“Why were you talking to them?” she asks him, her voice full of artfully concealed contempt. She makes it no secret of her feelings toward his servants.
“This is a question I cannot answer, milady.” His voice is cold, controlled, everything he strives to be but never finds enough piece of mind to truly become.
“Can't or won't?” An eyebrow of hers has changed position, sign of the inquisitiveness in her query. “And don't you dare lie to me. I always know when you lie.”
“As you do not wish for any falsehood in my words, princess, you will have to contend yourself with my silence.”
~ ~ ~ * ~
This new improved version of her friend seems to enjoy infuriating her as much as the old one did. Only, if her eyes don't play tricks with her, he really doesn't want to make her angry, he enjoys the challenge, but would be just as happy with her babbling about some stupid idea or other.
Everything to hear her voice.
Everything to make her smile.
What a disturbing thought to have at this moment. What betrayal is secretly waiting for its time, waiting patiently to battle all her hopes? And is she ready to fight back?
He remembers a life so far removed from what he knows, its tantalizing beauty, poetry written in crimson liquid dripping from a loving blade, beyond everything an uninspired soul as his own is capable of comprehending. Remembers love lost and never found again. Remembers a heir crying out in the throws of agony, screaming for the help of a father who doesn't deserve the honour of the name, pleading for assistance that will never come, can never come because really, the boy managed to get into trouble all on his own. But help arrives just in time, comes waving glorious banners of revenge and freedom right in front of a black knights desperately searching gaze, and saves the day by letting a despot fall into a conveniently placed gorge, saves all that remains of his lost life by relinquishing what is left of his own time.
His son will live, now it's time to die.
Now it's time to die...
Though, if he allows himself to think about it, that isn't how he left the mortal plain. Even if it was only of a short moment, this memory definitely does not show the reality of his last breath, does not even come marginally close to the pathetic truth of his descent past the borders of purgatory.
~ ~ ~ * ~
There aren't many things that bring joy into his heart, fighting and killing perfect examples for what makes his heart sing, but imagining elaborate plans to elegantly acquire what is not supposed to end up in his hands without paying an exorbitant sum is a sport his teachers just couldn't get out of his system. It still makes him smile, remembering their faces, their reaction when learning about his latest misdeed.
And here in this temple of shiny nonsense, he crosses the infinite waves leading towards what he seeks, following the lead of a princess, a heiress on the threshold to great power. Though he is tempting fate in parading around the town beside this girl, there is a certain knowledge, a distinctive something he cannot grasp but...
His eyes find two faces he did not expect to meet in this place, two desperate little boys playing at being grown up and dangerous. Two young men, heads filled with a thousand stories and a gift to create, instinctively calling out to all those able to hear the sounds of their silent cry, looking for someone powerful enough to guide them, be their master. Well, if they wish to serve, he'll give them what they need.
With a tiny tweak to hide himself, he stands behind them, softly tapping their shoulders. The smell of fear is saturating the air, surrounding him, filling his nostrils and nearly sending a smile to his lips. Not that anyone could have seen his face light up with the curved line that most sentient societies would have named a smirk, even had he not hidden his face under the traditional face wrappings of a desert's people. True emotions only show on the inside, his best friend once taught him that, right after performing the ritual honouring the eternal suns.
“I greet you, younglings.” Terrified the two who are the last surviving members of the once Terrible Trio turn around, already knowing that fate has played them a terrible hand. He can hear their hearts pounding, the blood rushing through their veins. It inspires hunger in him, a kind of hunger he already thought defeated and nothing more but water on the burning rocks of a Krayt's bed.
His hand pushes a recording device into the hands of the covering men, a small computer filled with all the data, all the plans to build the machine that will separate him from the voice that constantly demands his ear. In three days time they will return, either with the construct in their hands and only dreading what will happen to them if they deceive him, or empty handed and wishing that death would be the only punishment dealt out to them.
With his black coat billowing majestically in a wind that only exists because he wishes it, he leaves his new servants and again takes his place in the shadow of a future queen. He can feel her annoyance at letting her wait on the sidelines like the child she believes herself to be, the child everyone else sees when looking at her young face.
Though seeing a child behind her ancient eyes is a feat he couldn't even accomplish after ripping his eyes out. This woman, chained to a form she obviously despises, imprisoned behind a mask of green energy, knows what the future has in store for her. Prophesies are wound around her skin so tight that to break them would destroy her very core, and to destroy her is the last thing on his mind.
“Why were you talking to them?” she asks him, her voice full of artfully concealed contempt. She makes it no secret of her feelings toward his servants.
“This is a question I cannot answer, milady.” His voice is cold, controlled, everything he strives to be but never finds enough piece of mind to truly become.
“Can't or won't?” An eyebrow of hers has changed position, sign of the inquisitiveness in her query. “And don't you dare lie to me. I always know when you lie.”
“As you do not wish for any falsehood in my words, princess, you will have to contend yourself with my silence.”
~ ~ ~ * ~
This new improved version of her friend seems to enjoy infuriating her as much as the old one did. Only, if her eyes don't play tricks with her, he really doesn't want to make her angry, he enjoys the challenge, but would be just as happy with her babbling about some stupid idea or other.
Everything to hear her voice.
Everything to make her smile.
What a disturbing thought to have at this moment. What betrayal is secretly waiting for its time, waiting patiently to battle all her hopes? And is she ready to fight back?
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