Chapter 1

Marik sat up in his cot and stretched one day, spreading his wings and arms at the same time. He yawned, covering his mouth with a hand, and smacked his lips. He gazed around sleepily for a second, and finally stood up and yawned yet again. Needless to say, Marik was not a quick person in the morning.

Finally, after he'd stretched and yawned about eight more times, he gazed out of the small window in his room. It was light in the realm of Angels, and as usual, Marik was probably the only one up. He grinned slightly and quickly dressed in his uniform, a blue, long-sleeved shirt, and black pants. While he was putting on his shoes, he spread his wings out to keep balance. Finally, Marik left the dorm room and ran down the hallway.

After he stopped at the end of the hallway, he flicked around and cupped both hands over his mouth.

"Wake up, you lazy, fat-asses!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. Groans and cursing could be heard from each room, and he grinned and laughed. He paraded down the hallway, knocking on each door with one of his shoes. "Get up already! We don't have all day! Let's go, let's move it! Up, up, up!"

A tall, muscular man with bent wings came stomping towards Marik. He seemed to be quite peeved, but one could understand why. He was still in his pink, polka-dot pajamas.

"Ishtal!" he bellowed. Marik smiled innocently and tilted his head to the left.

"Why, what ever is the problem, Commander?" he said in his best "I'm so innocent, look at me" voice. Down the hallway, people opened their doors and peered out curiously.

"Ishtal, this is the last time you do this!" the commander roared, jabbing a finger at Marik. The young Angel yawned and folded his wings against his back.

"How do you know that? I was thinking of doing it again after the battle tomorrow," he said dully. The commander gritted his teeth.

"Ishtal, you're the first person I've said this to. I hope you die in tomorrow's battle!" he yelled, and stomped off.

"Hey, it might just happen! You'd better pray, chief!" Marik yelled after him. He snickered evilly, sounding very anti-Angel indeed. Some of the other Angels in the dorms whispered to each other, and others glared. Marik just smirked and walked to the mess hall to get breakfast. He got in line with the others, who all did their best to avoid brushing elbows with him.

"Good morning, Marik," the lunch lady said with a scowl. All the faculty at the base knew his name well. He was the most fiendish Angel they'd ever seen, and all agreed that he should have been born with black, bat wings instead of feathery white ones.

"Good morning to you too, Gwen. Chipper as usual, I see?" Marik said with mock enthusiasm.

"Just get yer eggs and leave, buster," Gwen growled, and shoved a plate at him with one gorilla-like arm.

"Thank you, Gwen. Have an excellent day," he said with a grin and grabbed the plate. He got his breakfast, a pathetic pile of scrambled eggs, and a thin piece of bacon, as well as nearly-expired milk. Marik swore that the lunch people were hoarding all the old, crappy stuff behind the counter just for him. He sighed and sat down at his usual table, the one in the back corner of the mess hall. It was secretive and isolated, so no one else sat there. Marik sighed again, sadly this time.

Though he was a very outgoing-sort of person, no one wanted to interact with him. They all thought that he was part Demon, even if he wasn't. They avoided him at all costs, though Marik was usually a friendly person. He was isolated; an outcast Angel.

"Maybe I should have been born a Demon," he muttered with a sigh. The bacon was hard to eat, as usual, and the eggs felt as though they were made of rubber. Marik didn't even bother to try the milk—it looked toxic. He looked enviously at the other Angels in the mess hall. All of them were sitting and chatting with friends. Some of them sat with their boyfriend or girlfriend, while others just hung out with the group. He so wanted to be one of them. Popular. Loved. Even if he had just one friend, he'd feel great.

"Yeah, I definitely should have been born a Demon," he mumbled and rested his arms on the table. Maybe then people would like him. He frowned and leaned back in the chair, gazing up to the ceiling. He didn't know why he was looking at it—it was a dull, white color with a few blotches here and there from times the ceiling leaked.

The bell rang and he got up, leaving his tray. The lunch ladies could pick it up later. It was their mess hall, not his. He scowled and left the hall and went outside for roll call. As usual, the commander said his surname, rather than his first and last name.

I don't see why I just don't leave, he thought with a mental scowl. Then he remembered—how else was he supposed to pay for college? His entire family was dirt-poor, he couldn't keep a job for more than three days, and he hadn't earned one scholarship at all in high school. The only way he could make any money whatsoever was by joining the military and thus possibly risking his life.

They were sent to training sessions, and Marik was sent to the hardest one, as usual. Thankfully, he'd gotten used to having to crawl through fake trenches and dodge harmless bullets. He'd only been hit twice since he started, but now that there was a battle the next morning, all of the training was a world harder.

"Remember! You'll be out in the real world, fighting these Demons! They won't hesitate to kill you! Demons are cruel, heartless creatures with no mercy in their heart! Even if you survive, and you're taken to interrogation, they'll beat you so badly, you wish that you'd never been born!" the commander bellowed. Marik felt the blood rush from his head, and he stumbled a bit. "Ishtal! What are you doing??! If you stumble at the battle, you'll die!" the commander roared.

"Sir, yes, sir!" Marik yelled, saluting quickly and continuing.

The rest of the day was similar, and almost all of his training sessions ended in him being yelled at for missing a target, tripping, or even scratching an itch on his nose. By the end of the day, everyone had received their guns and armor. Of course, Marik received armor a size too big for him, and an unreliable gun. As far as the commanders were concerned, he was trash; something you needed to throw away.

He returned to his room and gazed out the tiny window. In the distance, he could see the Demon Headquarters. It wasn't too far off, probably fifty miles or so. It was very large, a bit bigger than the Angel Headquarters. He sighed and pulled out a pen and paper to write to his parents back at home.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Well, I'm heading out to battle tomorrow. The commanders and most of the troops are quite nervous about the entire thing, as I am. Then there are the idiots who are actually eager to kill someone. I sure as hell am not. I've already promised myself to not shoot my gun, no matter what. So you might not hear from me again if things are bad. Most likely, I'll be killed by one of the commanders. Today they were especially mean, but I can't mention any details.

Besides the fact that I'll be dodging bullets tomorrow, things aren't going so great. I'm lonelier than ever out here without you and sister Isis. Tell her that I miss her, and I hope she's doing alright. I'll try my hardest to stay alive, I promise. If I don't come back, I leave all my possessions to you two so you can hopefully sell them and get some money.

Hoping to see you again,

Marik

He folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope, and set it on his desk. He wrote "Send to Parents" on the front, and sat back in his seat. He sighed again, picked it up, and kissed it gently. Then he set it back down and crawled into bed, dreams of his home making him feel less worried about the next day.

TBC