Disclaimer: I don't own Saiyuki but the Angel of Death is mine! Mine! All mine!!!! *maniac laughter echoes*
A/N: This fic was written and typed in between study breaks so any angst and extreme depression is the result of me having studied Computing, Pure Maths and still having to study Economics, not to mention English (which comprises of 21 senseless stories written by Graham Greene-who was also a very depressing person who attempted suicide a number of times and was dumb enough to fail every single time!!! Had he succeeded in at least one of his attempts I would not be forced to drink saturated coffee in order to stay up during the night reading his damn stories!)
Hanae da Firefly: Guess what?! I finished the sequel to 'The Blonde, the Good, the Bad and the Bubbly"!!!! I will upload it during my Christmas hols i.e. after the 20th…I hope you like it!!!
Thanks to any reviewers, sorry I haven't been able to review much of your stories yet but I'm really busy with school! Will try to make up for it during holidays! And that's a promise!
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Angel of Death
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Preparing to leave once again, she sighed as if to let some of the sadness that dwelled in her heart escape. She lived in the heavens yet she never felt like she belonged there. She was not the bringer of life yet if she had not consented to their bargain, immortality would be a far way dream…Life itself was not enough to donate this. Whether they had brought a blessing or a curse upon themselves she did not care. Whether the gods were immortal or not, to her made no difference. Whether she lived in Tenkai and had received the title of goddess or not, to her it did not matter either. She had consented to take part in this whole parody of divine power only because it did not affect her: unhappy she was and unhappy she will remain, FOREVER ALONE. It was her destiny.
Long waves which reminded one of a night without moon and without stars; skin the same colour as the earth and her eyes: brown with a tinge of gold. Yes, she was another of the heretics Tenkai used for its own benefits. But perhaps she was the most respected of the lot…and the most feared. A feather floated freely in the air and gracefully landed on her palm: a black feather from her own black wings. Yes, she was an angel, the Angel of Death.
She pulled her black hood over her face and grabbed her sickle. Tonight she had to collect another soul; humans could not live on as gods did. They were inferior, unpure…but were their hearts as corrupted by the seeds of ambition and power? No. Even a youkai's heart was purer than a god's if you looked deep enough in its core.
She felt a surge of pain. She had been around forever and she still couldn't numb herself to the pain of tearing someone away from his loved ones. Tonight, she would take away another person. He was young, strong and his absence will be felt, it would leave scars in hearts which will never heal. She knew that and she was not insensitive to the pain she brought, but his time was up and that was it.
She walked the dark corridors of an inn, her footfall as soft as a moth's. She passed a door and sensed an extreme flood of internal energy…no, it was not him she had come for tonight. The person she wanted did not bare smiles. She passed yet another room, the smell of tobacco and sake was strong. It was a scent she should have looked for but her soul was not resting in that room. From behind the next door she could hear a youth murmur something in his sleep. She laughed a little at his thoughts but then, as instantly as it had come, the smile was wiped away. The pain got stronger, what she would do tonight would leave the deepest scar of all in a young heart which had already suffered too much…
She reached a room at the far end of the corridor. Yes, this was the person she had come for. He slept lightly, his mind always preoccupied but his expression betrayed none of this. He never smiled or the few times that he did he covered it up so well that it went completely unnoticed. He kept away from others, he made you believe he was as cold as ice, but he felt more than he let on…In some ways they were the same.
He shifted slightly. He was wide awake yet he kept his eyes shut. He could feel a presence in the room: not human, not divine yet not evil either. It was overwhelmed with sadness. He thought he could smell, faintly, a woman's perfume. He turned around to find himself facing his own death.
He could have given in. He should have given in. It would have been quick and painless. He would have been freed of the things he hated most but something made him keep strong. Her lips never moved yet her voice reached him as clear as crystal. He had understood what she wanted. With the sutra draped around his shoulders, he chanted…The vision smiled and, like the mist, she disappeared leaving no trace. She was gone. He smiled, somewhat satisfied. "Let them do their dirty work". He lied back on his bed and turned around to face the wall and in a few moments he was asleep. And someone, somewhere, in a dream he had forgotten by morning, whispered: "Thank you, Genjo Sanzo"
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