Feather Of The Crow
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classified location | classified time | pov: unknown
They were dropping dead all around him. It would have been so easy for him to look away, but he couldn't bear to, no matter how much the sight made his belly lurch and nauseated him. Tears were flowing out of his eyes as, one by one, they fell to their knees, and somewhere out there, the mysterious, cloaked figure was beheading more and more of them.
Something was forcing him to kneel, crushing his limbs and pulling him down. He tried to fight back, but pain exploded in his chest, and he screamed. No one lent him any help; his comrades were all dead. And so much was happening around him; shadows were swirling and taunts were whispered into his ears, the pungent scent of it was choking him. And above his bowed head, the cloaked outline was slaying more and more of his old friends. Their heads chopped off, and their eyes bulging. The cloaked figure was holding a weapon in one clawed and bony hand, and in the other was a sight that made the loner retch. The other hand was holding hearts.
Real hearts, warm and steamy, covered in blood. The creature would once in a while take the hearts into a sack of gray fabric, which was trimmed with silver edges. But for a reason, the creature never took notice of the only one left, no matter how much he stood out among the paling, red-stained bodies.
But soon the power overcame him and thus, he was forced to stay as still as stone, and he couldn't even move his head up. His eyesight was fixed on his hands now, and his neck was stiff, until he heard the sound of a rough caw, and he saw the feather of a raven drifting right in front of his blazing eyes...
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I move in darkness,
But I shed tears of light.
I'll grieve with sorrows,
But I'll do what is right.
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dci headquarters | late afternoon | pov: rasa
The DCI Headquarters were clean and empty. Rasa stood near the exit, watching as the other agents left. Dare and MacCoy were walking together, because they shared the same apartment, talking to each other. After a moment Dare giggled loudly as MacCoy whispered something into her ear. Meanwhile, Glitch was dragging Mo away, his excitement bubbling, as was Li'l T doing to her sister Taye in another direction. Bodie and Emilia were side by side, having a light conversation. Emilia bumped her partner with her elbow and they shared a friendly laugh.
Lima stood behind Rasa, locking up the HQ entrance. At the same time Rasa's eyes were focused on Oblio, who was walking home alone, his head held high as he found his motorbike. He looped one leg over the small vehicle and in less than a minute he was off. Rasa watched the other agents tread away, then turned back to Lima as the doors were secured. The DCI leaders brought up a short conversation, mostly reviewing the day, and also a sharp retort about how Rasa had been a little uncooperative lately, even though it was merely a joke. Their talk consisted of other matters. And it turned out that they were still speaking to each other for five minutes. Switching from topic to topic they went. For one moment they were exchanging thoughts about Li'l T's exceptional performance that day, and the next they were asserting facts about Oblio.
Unexpectedly, that subject refrained them from parting ways for another ten minutes as they remembered their previous battle with Tan and Oblio's abrupt betrayal against his own father. Ever since then the blue-haired dancer had been quietly addressed as solitary, as if he were unseen during his DCI days. No one talked to him; not even the loud-mouthed duo of Glitch and Li'l T pestered him with a single question. He would contribute to the Dance Central Intelligence as if he were never their enemy in the first place, which did have an agreeable point to it, but never shared a word to anyone. Coming and going as be pleased, no one spared their time to stop him.
Rasa and Lima ended up discussing things that grew to an unimportant scale, in which they were debating on vodka and a night out for all the DCI workers, which was deftly dismissed by a tired Lima. They went their separate ways as everyone else that night.
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I fly with swiftness,
And with it I am grace.
I glide with deftness,
Though the veils and lace.
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tan estate | sunset | pov: oblio
Oblio swiftly dismounted his motorbike and switched it off in front of his house. It used to be his father's, of course, and it was massive in size, with the theme of M.O.C. only too reminiscent of what would have been the future of dance, Tantopia. Now he had to carry the burden of responsibility, for now what used to be his father's was now his. For weeks he organized the contracts of his father's corporation and only then he realized how much Tan had done to please him. He shook his head and banished those thoughts to the back of his head and lumbered towards his room, which was quite unlike his usual, confident walk.
Lavished in this sort of way was normal to him, but now that he had to bear the troubles that Tan had gone through, life had become strained, much like the relationship between father and son. Tonight would be like a gift to him; he could finally have a rest. He longed for the springy comfort of a mattress under him and the soft fleece cover of a blanket draped over him. Tiresome, he pressurized himself, knowing that a cozy, caressing room would be waiting for him. On weary, trembling legs he trundled forward, but he paused periodically to shake off the stiffness of his joints.
Not a moment too soon and he was back in his own space. However, his room—formerly Tan's—felt eerily, menacingly dark and empty despite the light that kept the room well illuminated. Now that Dr. Tan was no longer here, Oblio had hard times in his attempts to forget his father and bury those memories in new ones. Losing a family member was one thing, but having obscure doubts about a father's wellbeing and knowing that he's alive somewhere without being able to see him—that was a different kind of feeling. One that brought back grief and sorrow. There was so much to worry about that Oblio almost forgot about his craving for warmth under the covers.
He changed his clothes and switched off the lights, but he left a gap between the curtains on purpose—his father had always done that when he was but a boy, and now his voice rang in his ears—a voice of undisguised love and compassion. 'Sleep well, Oblio,' Tan would utter, his whisper fading as Oblio would slip out of consciousness. But now, it was a fragment of memory that, to Oblio, sounded like a ghost's presence, a hiss saying, 'Goodnight, sweet prince,' a sentence that sent chills down his spine.
Closing his eyes didn't help; Oblio was having trouble falling asleep. His eyelids felt heavy, of course, but something was keeping him awake. Be it the gentle sound of his own breathing or the air that was seemingly too still, Oblio spent the time by thinking of his father again, hoping to lift some weight off his shoulders. Instead, he recalled blazing eyes and shattered hopes, so he whimpered, hoping to let these thoughts dissolve as he tossed and turned, waiting for sleep to consume him.
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I am not a token of bad luck,
But when they see me, they still fear me.
I am not a sign of suffering,
But when they see me, they still dread me.
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classified location | classified time | pov: unknown
Among the throng of the dead, he pushed through, hoping to find a living soul out there. His kin, his friends, they were all fallen. On marched the nameless being, with graceful wings arching from his back, with black feathers drifting downwards every time he gave them a twitch. Those were all he had now; he could fly if he wanted to, but he would rather travel on foot, for that way he could see all and mourn all.
What was he to do? He shivered, and thought of his name. His name, like all the names of his kind, were bound like a spell. Legendary tales tell stories of spirits and ghosts, and that they are to name each newborn, and that the name, once given, could never be removed. Names, here, are prophecies that never miss. And that, now, made sense to the lone creature, for his name meant 'Sole Crow-wing.'
Tradition of his kind would have also condemned him to slice off their wings, all of them, and set the feathery limbs on fire, as belief told them that the spirit resided in those wings. Then, the bodies would be buried right beneath the place of where their wings were burned. However, there were so many of the victims that, for once, he decided to go against the rituals, just for one time. If the cloaked killer found him now, he'd be as good as dead like his family and friends, anyway.
Young and uncertain, the winged creature was torn. He would have spent a moment to cry, and shower his former homeland with the feathers of his grief, but that was not to be. So he took a deep breath and ran, plunging into bushes and at the same time retracting his wings, so that he looked just like any human being, of which he would encounter soon, even though at the moment he had no idea of them. To him, with retracted wings, he was helpless unless he had high endurance. And hopefully, in this escapade, hiding in the undergrowth would make him less easily discovered.
Deep sapphire was the color of his orbs; his eyes. And so with those eyes he cried more tears, shedding them, to the extent of forming a small pool of water. Then the youngster looked up, seeing a strange void. It was merely a ripple in the air, like when heat was bouncing light around and playing with sight. But there was no reasonable source of heat for the void. What it was, the boy with hidden wings did not know. But the void was inviting, and the curiosity of the child's kind was never satisfied. For a moment he was lost in the portal, losing all his anguish, until the ripples disappeared, the distortion of colors gone, as if they had never existed.
He trudged on, his glossy eyes glimmering as the sun was setting. There was no visible threat from the cloaked enemy, so he spread his wings, hoping to stay near the treetops as he entered the forests and far from the isolated village where he had been raised. Here and there he noticed more voids, appearing and dissolving as quick as the first one. They shimmered with an enticing glow that captured his attention. They were calling to him, almost. And so, unsatisfied by merely gazing at them, his wings burst out of his back, accompanied by a heavy rain of feathers, and straight into the entryway he flew.
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The collision starts here;
When sorrow breeds with pain.
The shadows grow here;
When stormclouds meet with rain.
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tan estate | midnight | pov: oblio
The dark night made it hard for Oblio to drift into sleep. For hours he lay awake. Staring at the ceiling provided no entertainment for him. He longed to sink into a comforting slumber, but it would not come to him. He grunted, and hid beneath the sheets that covered him, but to no avail. He simply couldn't fall asleep, no matter how much he wanted to.
Whispers and shadows alike swirled around him. Unnatural ones, in the shape of spirals. They writhed as though they were black flame, rousing Oblio from his bed. He carefully rolled into a sitting position, frozen in place by fear. The darkness spread, turning section by section of the floor into pure black. Nothing was visible beyond the cloud, and Oblio's eyes widened. The voices were all around him now. They were close to inaudible, as if they were drowned by the sound of a whirlwind. Sometimes they were loud, and by the next second they dropped. One murmur, louder than the others, was all Oblio could hear.
"I am Crow."
author's note
It's been a while since I've actually written something acceptable and published it. I've decided to try making a different kind of multi-chapter story as Ryugon Alphae didn't exactly work out the way I had hoped for it. From now on I'll place my made-up poems in every point-of-view switch, and also once in a while include short references and list them. I will also include information about the species in this story.
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species notes
Name of species: unknown
Nickname for species: crow-winged, crow-feathered
Distinguishable features: glossy black retractable wings; other than that, they look just like normal human beings, with varying eye colors, skin colors, hair colors, etc. but they always have black wings
Abilities: flying, great strength, control over darkness; other than that, they have the same abilities as the average human being
Weaknesses: very high curiosity, low adaptability, fear, and will die immediately if wings are chopped off when exposed
Character of species: Crow (Chapter 2)
Name of species: unknown
Nickname for species: ravens, raven-winged, crow's nemesis
Distinguishable features: raven wings that lack the gloss of a crow's, red eyes, the head of a raven, talons on their hands, and are covered in feathers.
Abilities: flying, shooting feathers at high speed capable of causing great damage, telepathy with their kind
Weaknesses: short lifespan, weak against their own kind's feather-missiles.
Character of species: Rainburn (Chapter 3)
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references
'Goodnight, sweet prince' — a quote from William Shakespeare, with the full quote being "Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."