The Curse

by MasterArchie

The great archangel Gabriel, full of love, refused to participate in the deadly conflict that sparked what was known to be the biggest and bloodiest war that heaven has ever known. In siding with the humans, Gabriel traps his brother Lucifer, but not before Lucifer casts upon him a curse, a curse that will haunt him and his whole bloodline. Updated regularly.

The Curse

By: JC Archie

Introduction

The great archangel Gabriel, full of love, refused to take part in the deadly conflict that sparked what was known as the biggest and bloodiest war that heaven has ever known. Choosing to abandon his family, the once powerful angel discarded his wings and fell to earth, finding salvation in his father's creations. Living among humanity, he could not help but admire those that his father loved, the cause of his brother's rebellion. They struggled, lived each day with such passion because their life is not eternal, they searched for perfection because they are imperfect, and they find the courage to choose because they have freedom.

Courage. Freedom.

These were words that he wouldn't have understood. They would've held no meaning no matter which side he chose to fight with.

Love.

He'd never thought that he would fall once again. He had always known that he loves his father with all his heart, but has never felt love, until he met her. She caught him in her gentle arms and refused to let go. Knowing who he is, what he is, only served to tighten the embrace that she had for him. For a while, she had him believe that he too, can enjoy the greatness of being human.

The sound of Michael's sword reverberated throughout the heavens. It was incredibly mighty, so full of power that the shock caused the lands of the earth to crumble, to shake in fear of its majesty. All it was for Gabriel was a memory he wished to forget. He watched as the stars fall, one by one, to earth, the brightest and shiniest falling past into a place beyond worlds, beyond thought, beyond darkness. Those that have fallen to earth spent no time in destroying it, ravaging civilizations, burning down cities, humiliating his father's creations until he could stand idly by no longer.

So Gabriel fought. His name remembered, his power once again feared. He slayed thousands of his brothers, but in protecting the humans, he left the one human that mattered to him most, not knowing of the burden he would bring upon her and cross that he would have her carry.

Before the brother that terrify him most, dragged down by millions of servants, by his brothers and by those that was created in mockery of his father's creations, Gabriel stood firm and mighty, finding inspiration in the mightiest of his brothers. Discarding his life, he fought against darkness incarnate, trying to shine a light into the darkness that is the bringer of light Lucifer. In Lucifer's moment of anger, Gabriel found weakness, allowing him the small opening that he frantically searched. With a last spark of power brought about by will, he summoned a masterful array of chains which bound his dear brother Lucifer to his throne, preventing him from ever leaving his new kingdom of hell. With death's skinless hands on his shoulder he smiled, looking upon the ugly personification of darkness as his brother, the one who once brought light. His eyes blur, and then start to darken, the lids finally starting to close. He had hoped to see her beautiful face once more.

He never expected to open those eyes ever again.

Lucifer, full of pride, refused to let a traitor, a maggot weaker than him have the last laugh. With a point of his finger he brought Gabriel's body to his hand. Lucifer's hand slowly and painfully sinks into the traitor's stomach, forcing his eyes awake. The mad eyes of the livid king were the first that the newly awakened Gabriel saw. Against his will, Gabriel's body moved closer to Lucifer, the scorching breath of his maniacal brother burning his ears as he whispered.

Dear brother, how naïve you are. In your undying love you discarded your power and stood before me, the most powerful being in all creation.

Dear brother, what a fool you are. In your undying love you challenged me and in exchanged forfeited your life to me.

Dear brother, what an insect you are. You chained me to my throne and refused to let me lead the earth you love the most.

Dear brother, how pathetic you are. Unable to defend your son and your son's sons and the sons of your blood from the misfortune you forced me to bring upon.

Dear brother, how sad you will be. To know that all the souls created by your blood, the bloodied hands that those blood will touch, all of them, belong to me.

Dear brother, how dead you are. But do not fret for death shall follow your blood and will soon enough follow you, cursing you for who they are and what you have done.

Generation after generation, Gabriel's bloodline died more than it multiplied, carrying along with them the burden of many lives who died because of their undying love. From God's wrath of flood, to Sodom and Gomorrah, through wars, diseases and disasters, the blood of Gabriel diminished, every son and daughter and every civilization around them has been brought to ruin.

Now, only one remains. Refused entrance to heaven, awaiting torture in hell, hunted by earth and its inhabitants, only one is left to carry along Gabriel's legacy, along with the most painful burden, especially for those who cannot help but love.

The burden of being alone.

Chapter One: Touch

Kimberly stands in the middle of a large green field, soaking in the majesty of everything around her. She takes one last glance at the sun's blinding light and the vast blue sky before closing her eyes savoring that one specific moment, the sound of a group playing football on her right, the two girls chatting on her left, the music played by some aspiring maestro at a distance, the birds chirping along to some rhythm only they can hear, the squirrels skittering about, chasing each other to their heart's content, the fertile taste of grass and dirt, the feel of the breeze that makes the tiny hairs on her arms stand attention, all of it, reminds her of the new life she's about to start, allowing her to forget, even for a moment, the reason why she had to leave her old one behind.

Trying to find her way in such a big prestigious school is harder than she expected. She browses around the floors of the four main buildings that surround the green middle pasture that is the quad. Somehow, she even finds herself on the football field behind the eight story west building. She finds a map in the grand library of the south building, hoping to get to the room of her class. Looking down, looking up, looking down and looking up in successive motions she tries to figure out where she is in the map and where her classroom is supposed to be.

"Stop."

She stopped, finding that she almost hit the post in front of her. She was so focused on her location that she forgot what's in front of her. She looks up to thank the person that called out to her but finds that whoever it is, is no longer there. She looks back to her map to find that there is now a circle on it. She looks around, dazed and confused, but there is no one in sight. Chalking it up to faith, she follows the circle on the map and much to her astonishment, she finds her destination.

From the moment she walked in, she was already under many eyes. They were eyes of wonder, of lust, desperation, even eyes of envy from other women who have the mindset of beasts, as if she stepped on some invisible line that marked their territory. Their glares are suffocating. She finds herself gulping just to continue breathing. They talk about her during the class, as if there's an unspoken rule against outsiders, especially for those who are not made of gold. She got in through a scholarship after all. But it seems as if "scholarship" means "vacancy" to the good students of Fireborough High. She is treated like she's mud in water.

If she can sum it up in a word, life in a distinguished school full of spoiled brats with bottomless pockets is cutthroat. Everyone is a selfish sycophant, some more so than others.

With no one to talk to, she finds herself sitting alone for lunch hour. Having food in front of her is nothing short of a miracle when looking at the school's expensive menus. Looking around, it is easily discernible to a good eye the groups that form the school's segregation. There are the jocks who play around with a ball as they were eating, the delinquents on some corner smoking openly with their glass courage, the nerds who can't seem to stop talking about how wonderful their magic powers are, the misfits who are always picked upon and bullied, and of course the bullies themselves. She tries to find a neutral place, trying to avoid any sort of communication. After all, considering the hierarchy of the school, she is even lower than the misfits. Far be it from her to cause a distraction in the school's social system.

"Hey," a man sits in front of her. He's rather bulky and the air around him suggests that he is a kid in the bully section. She was disgusted as he trips the oncoming student that was headed to the misfit group. She stood up to help but she was cut off.

"You're going to ignore me for that piece of trash?" She pulled her hand away and retracted it. She slapped the man in front of her with conviction.

She sighs inside. Three years. Was it too much to ask?

What kind of generation was I born under that these people would ignore the bullies that are running about thinking they own the place? Somebody had to put a stop to it. She just wished that somebody was not her. But she had no choice. She can watch it no longer. A lot of unwanted attention is now focused on her in all her new-girl glory.

"You bitch!"

"What's all the commotion?"

These are common words coming out of a seemingly ordinary guy, yet it felt more like a roar, as if the king of the jungle has now arrived. Everyone is silent as they turn to the man who spoke. Whispers and murmurs ensue as he walks towards her. Eyes follow him as he walks, almost majestically. The air of authority around him is palpable. The man looked skinny from the formal, three button suit he was wearing, almost fragile. The once confident bully has lost all of his vigour as he stands before this skinny king.

"Are you so much of a weakling that you would hit a woman?"

She knows this voice. She recognizes it. She watched as he walked past her, falling into the same stupor that he had everyone else. His eyes are the clear blue skies on a hot summer day, small but deep, and spaced evenly apart, under slightly thick eyebrows that curved at the edge. That's what stood out the most to her. He stands only a few inches taller than her yet he seemed to be as tall as a mountain at that moment.

All the bully can do is growl under his tongue as the skinny man continued to insult him, his face held forward in a steady gaze. Two more bullies band behind him, ready to take down the skinny king.

"Girl," she shakes away the trance that he seems to have caught her into. "Girl, is that brat important?"

Girl?! "What?" Who does he think he is?!

"What do you want to do? You're up against three bullies, no matter how pathetic they are."

The three bullies could handle his insults no longer. They thought a show of force towards the misfit on the floor might faze the skinny king, but it only served to faze her as she asked the skinny king for help.
"You heard the girl," he says. The full brunt of their anger is now directed at him. He stands in front of her, his back a great wall of protection. She watches as he negotiates for the safety of her and the misfit. The leader of the bully laughs, and then pits his family with the skinny king's, even going so far as saying that he can leave the skinny king barely breathing and still get away. The skinny king, unfazed, asks for the amount that he needs to pay in order for them to leave her alone.

It surprised her how he simply pulled out a couple of hundred-dollar bills from his wallet.

"Are we done?"

"Not quite." The leader says with a smug.

"He also owes us a beating," one of the underlings adds, referring to the misfit, thinking of the cleverness of his words.

"I wouldn't recommend it," says the skinny king, which the bullies took for a threat.

It sounded like a threat. Even she could tell it was a threat. She wanted to hold him back but he moved his hand apart just before she touched him, almost out of reflex. What the hell? Her hand was avoided as if it was a disease. She wanted to protest but couldn't disturb the tense silence that started to build up. I may have overthought it. The bully leader clicks his tongue, giving in. He walks past the two reminding them of their luck.

Without a word the skinny king starts to walk away, which only added to the mystery that has already surrounded him. The mutters and the murmurs around him didn't help his case. As once again she tried to reach for his hand, she found that he is truly avoiding touching her.

"Don't," he says with a glare that would scare even the bravest of men. What the hell is up with that?! That was the last straw for her. She can accept being talked down, being under scrutiny, but being treated like a disease is something that she refuses to tolerate.

"How was your day?" her mother asks.

How was her day? She attracted unwanted attention by trying to stay invisible, a man who protected her today thought of her as a disease, she didn't make any new friends she had to give up her old ones, and as if that wasn't enough, she had to suffer through people calling her weed, or trash the whole day. But she couldn't say that, not to her mother.

She smiled.

It's fine, she says, reluctant to believe in her own words. She already lost a part of her that allows her to enjoy things like she used to. She smiles, her sadness poorly disguised with a tiny fake smile. It's no wonder her mother would easily recognize.

"It'll get better," her mother says. How can she believe that? Nothing has gotten better. In her life, all she can hold on to is misfortune after misfortune, until misfortune bestowed upon her a scar that will never fade, a fear that will never let go of.

She bursts out in a verbal attack, undeserving towards her mother, as if these misfortunes are her mother's fault, that it was because her mother was too weak.

In reality, she was too weak.

The chair rattles, screeches, and almost fell as she stands before her mother fumed with unwanted fury. She turns towards the door, asking permission to leave, as if she had any more right to.

Her understanding mother allows her to, leaving her with the gentle words, "Buy some milk when you get back."

She smiled.

Hours of walking around, with the raging lights and alluring places of the city's main street, she finds that she is more comfortable in a silent, secluded, park just beside an old, abandoned, half-demolished office building. The woods behind the building suggest that she has found her way to the edge of the city. There is half a basketball court looked down by a post shining upon it with its flooding white light. She's able to weasel through a small break in the fences that surrounded the property.

She rests a gallon of milk on the floor as she sit just under the board, ring, and net, allowing herself to be blinded by the light and deafened by the buzzing sound disrupting the silence.

She had found her haven. She's able to tolerate her school with all the hazing and the discriminating because she can look forward to the silence of that empty court. That was the place where she felt productive, where she felt as if all her troubles were melted away by the bright white light. Sometimes she would even hum a song to destroy the silence. She'd stay there until it was time for her to go home.

One night, as she was walking back, she came across distant voices, voices she recognized, catch her attention. The voices grew louder and soon enough it became definitive that the voices are slurred, incoherent.

She knows this kind of voice. Drunk voices.

Sure enough, three men walk towards her, wobbling, their arms flinging about like boneless jellos as they try to walk in some kind of straight path but fails. She looks down, trying to avoid contact. She tries to walk around them but could not find a designated path that the three walk, almost as if they're blocking her from getting past them. She finds herself in the middle of the three, stopping, hoping they would be drunk enough not to notice her.

She had hoped for too much.

She swings the gallon of milk that she just bought to the first that grabbed her. She finds an opening, but even when drunk, the two men are faster than she can ever be.

Stop.

I'm just playing around. Don't you want to play with me?

Stop.

See? Look, your mother's it. She's so tired she can't get up. I tagged her three times but she wouldn't stop running.

Stop!

Let me play with you.

STOP!

I know. Let's play dress-up.

STOP!

She screams hysterically, swinging around her arms and legs frantically, aimlessly, trying to escape the six maniacal hands holding her down. The fabric of her shirt rips on her right shoulder. She screams bloody murder and still no one. But she won't stop fighting. She will kick and punch until they break her bones. She will scream until her voice runs out.

Please! Somebody help me!

Why is she here?

The girl who had haunted Carlo's dreams for as long as he can remember has now found herself almost hitting the post that's in front of her.

"Stop!"

-What the hell am I doing?-

He hides as she looks up.

-I don't hide.-

He's been observing her for a few minutes now. He has looked for her, but now that he's looking at her in person, he finds that he is unable to find the words for all the questions he's been wanting to ask. She is the only connection he has with his lost memory and yet the moment he saw her, his memory, the most important thing in his long life became less important than just interacting with her. He hasn't felt his heart beat in a long time and it pounded his chest with a vengeance.

He knows the place that she wants to go yet he finds that he's unable to tell her up close. He even goes so far as circle the map, just so he can avoid some confrontation with her.

Hiding once again he finds himself sweating, shaking, struggling between fear and beatitude. He was suddenly allowing his emotions to get the better of him.

It never felt as visible as it was during that lunch.

I'm apathetic. Yet his fists are clenched, tighter than they've ever been. I can't get involved. Yet his mind is riddled with the thought of death to those who harm her. I'm not a hero. Yet his body is itching, trembling, craving for a chance to jump to her rescue. Why the hell are they all looking at her like that? His mouth, ahead of every part of his body, speaks without permission, almost instinctively, as if a defense mechanism is activated within him the moment she's in danger. He put himself in between. He found himself negotiating for her safety. He found himself wanting to kill. If they didn't walk away, who knows what he would've done. I am in control. Yet he couldn't control himself around her. He had longed for her touch.

But he couldn't. Not to her.

If he'd been a moment late, she would've grabbed his hand and it would be the end of the line for her.

-She must've thought I was angry at her.-

Yet it was not anger that pulled his hand away from hers.

It was fear.

Who the hell is this girl?

He soon realizes that he is unable to rid his mind off her. He had tried to for last couple of weeks. The image of her wide cheekbones and her slightly rounded jaw line with a softly pointed chin that perfects her cute, oval face refuses to leave his head. Her eyes—big, honest, slit-like, the color of an uncanny, fiery red-orange brown sunset—full of sad confusion rattled his uncaring nature. Her thinly plucked eyebrows were shaped into a deceivingly perfect arch that followed the slight curve of her eye made it even harder to stay away. As he prepares for the night, he finds that he is unfocused, or rather, too focused on her, daydreaming, imagining life with her, imagining having the life that he's always just observed.

With her, he can imagine being anything else but him.

Human.

How nice. Hugging. Shaking hands. Holding hands. Playful punches and pats on the head. Gentle caress. A touch. A kiss.

Kiss.

-I wonder how her lips taste.-

A hint of a smile emerges from his face. The thought of her kissing him with those lips—full, lustrous, and light rosy pink—just underneath her cute little nose makes him sweat and shiver with excitement. He didn't realize it at the time, but just the thought of her can make him smile, a smile that has only existed once before. But that moment, just like the one before it, vanished as fast as it emerged.

How nice it would be to wrap her skinny lean body in his arms and squeeze her tight. But he can't.

ROAR!

"Shut up," he commands to the now squealing creature stabbed by his sword through its mouth that stuck it in a tree. Squirming, its broken claws on its four legs struggled to reach him, to lay even on scratch on him. Its fangs try to break the sword lodged in its mouth.

With claws so big it can decapitate with a swing, and saber-like teeth, and saliva like acid, and pure black eyes of hatred gives the word fear a whole different meaning. For humans, this hideous, outrageous monster is an omen, a nightmare more than the depths of their mind can ever imagine.

But not to him.

-Because I'm not human.-

"And neither are you," he mutters quite loudly as he beheaded the monster at the mercy of his sword. Its body fell among the ten others that have gathered around his feet, drowning his shoes with their blood. His athletic shirt—black and fit—protected his broad chest and his sculpted abdomen from the blood that spattered all over his body. He wipes away the blood on his cheek with his lean, athletic arms. He maneuvers his way out of the pile of monsters at his feet, trying to avoid getting his slacks dirtied.

"Damn demons."

He walks out of the tiny forest just behind the old abandoned building that was built over his once great mansion a few generations ago. He picks up the basketball that's been waiting for his return, thinking about the increase in the numbers of those creatures gathering around his city.

Please. Somebody help me!

THUMP!

-The hell?-

He grabbed his chest as he fell on one knee, trying to subdue the sharp pain to his control. He exclaims in pain as now his head feels like exploding. As he closed his eyes blue as a clear sky in the summer, flashes of images pass through as clear as he could see them with his eyes open.

-What is going on?-

There he saw her predicament and instantly an assortment of emotions bewilder him.

-What is this?!-

Her scream for help jolts his semi-muscular body, as if all those accumulated emotions just decided to burst out of him as pure energy. Full of sweat from the burning anger that consumes him, he squeezed the ball, disfiguring it. With that tightest of grips, he threw the ball of uncontrolled fury and like a comet it shot out of his hand, impossible to dodge, almost invisible due to its speed.

-How dare you?!-

KILL!

Once again Carlo stood in between her and who he now considers as his enemy. The two were struck down in almost an instant. There was only one left. This is good. He hadn't realized what hit him just yet. For him, face getting drilled with a basketball and his body being thrown into the car behind him with force to spare was not enough. No it is not enough. I have a more suitable punishment.

He stops.

The car's alarm won't stop its incessant ringing. The tiny whimpers of the girl behind him are louder still. The glass window of the poor, innocent car received the full force of the anger that he needed to vent, allowing the three bloody, beat up bullies escape.

She's quiet, curled up in a ball, sobbing, as she doesn't realize that the danger has passed.

I should just leave. Yet he couldn't take another step away from her. He finds himself closing the gap, wondering when it was that he had been so close to another person.

-What am I doing?-

He would never find the answer to his question. At that time, he already stopped listening to that tiny voice in his head telling him to stop, telling him that it would only bring disaster, telling him that he is making an irrefutable mistake.

The only voice left for him to listen to is the one loud and clear voice telling him one thing and one thing only.

Protect her!

She shrieks in fear, still fighting as he tries to comfort her. "No! No!" she says, retaliating, punching and kicking against him.

Protect her!

Stepping into unknown territory, he wraps his arms around her, against her relentless squirming, and gently squeezes, pressing her against his chest, taking in all of her frustration, her punches, her kicks, her screams.

"I got you"

The screams turn into cries as she finally recognizes him as a safe shoulder. She covers her face with his shirt as she screams of humiliation, of disappointment, and of fear. She cried until the calm has finally settled in. He looks to find that she has now fallen asleep, crying all the way through, using him as a pillow.

"I got you."

Chapter 2: Consequences

She ran. She tried her best to run. She ran away from him. Her mother held him back while she continued to run. She didn't stop running. She ran even when her baby brother's cries for help reached her fearful ears. She ran up the stairs, running out of places to run. She reaches for the door, thinking that maybe she can escape by locking herself in the room. Just a bit more and she's got it.

Stop.

Just a bit more.

"Do you think you can get away?!"

STOP!

GASP!

She wakes up, bullets of sweat from her long, autumn colored hair trickle down her pale cheeks. She finds her mother by her bedside, whimpering sorry in her sleep. She wonders how she got back to her bed when the memories start to rush back in. Who was it that saved her? Those big arms were so warm, so gentle. That broad chest was pounding so uncontrollably fast. Those words and his voice were so calm, so safe. She gets out of the bed gently as to not wake her mother. She goes in the shower, trying to wash away the feeling of helplessness that she feels.

She can't.

She covers her ears, trying to block out that man's laugh, but covering her ears doesn't help. She tries to erase that miserable little girl who can only cry, that can only curl up into a little ball, but she can't. She looks up as the sharp steady stream of water hits her face. She closes her eyes, only to be showered by images of the three men grabbing her and overpowering her. She opens her eyes, hyperventilating. She lets out a grunt of desperation. She pounded the ceramic wall over and over, weakening with each strike. She screams as loud as she can, the shriek echoing throughout the bathroom.

Misfortune after misfortune.

She slides back into a ball, hiding her face under her bent knees, taking slow deep breaths. Her mother calls for her but is muddled by the sibilant rain of the shower. Her eyes are squeezed shut. She can taste salt mixed in with the plain water. She felt like she was drowning.

An hour later, she comes out of the shower, refreshed, to be greeted by her mother's warm and caring embrace. It was one heavy morning. The awkward silence full of concentrated frustration was only disrupted by her brother's non-stop complaints. She wished that she can go back to a time where everything is normal, where there are no misfortunes.

But she can't. Because those times don't exist.

-This is annoying-

Even his actions are now dictated by this one girl. He even came early for the sole reason that she is in the same class. I don't need to go to class. Yet he is going. All for her.

He couldn't stop thinking about her. He didn't want to leave her last night. He didn't want to let her go. He feared for her. He worried about her. So much, in fact, that he could not sleep and instead ended up watching her from the roof of the house across. I tried so hard to avoid her too.

-What am I doing here?-

The thought of the repercussions of his actions, the consequences of his touch, were the farthest thought from his mind.

"Don't touch me!"

Loud and clear he hears her voice just outside on the hallway. He finds her on the floor with her fellow students trampling on her books, her notes that have leaked out of her backpack. As he had guessed the trauma of last night has affected her. All it took was a touch. She flinched, and aggressively pulled away. Who else would revel on that fear but those who incurred it in the first place?

Compliments of the tormenters.

I can't. As he walks across that hallway, everyone moved away, as if giving way for him to reach her. As they should. Touching him is punishable by expulsion after all. For a man who can buy a whole country with money to spare, he can easily make anyone believe that he has a weak immune system and just a touch can kill him.

Haphephobia, fear of touch. What an excuse. If only they knew the truth.

Trash, they called her. Weed, they called her. I can't. He can hear all the whispers, the murmurs, the verbal abuse. He knows how strong she is, that even through all the scrutiny against her, she stayed and persevered. Even when she was hated by those she protected—the misfits of the school—she didn't stop protecting them. Even when she knew that she was painting herself a target, she didn't falter from her convictions, her belief.

I can't! I can't! Yet yesterday she screamed. Today she screamed. Even with all of her strength, she crumbled before the trauma that had overwhelmed her. She's falling, deeper and deeper into a dark abyss that she won't be able to climb out of.

I can't… He walks past her, his stare straight and never wavering. I can't… His hands closes to fists, every step he took away from her became heavy.

Screw it! From behind, he gently lifts her, and like a princess, with gentle care he carries her in his arms. He walks forward, ignoring all the implications of his actions. All he can think about at the time was how much lighter she is when she's not struggling.

-How warm.-

She wanted to put up some resistance, considering the way she reacted to a touch.

"Shut up."

Those were demeaning words, but it felt comforting. There's an enormous amount of kindness around him that it's almost overflowing. Her aggressiveness faded the moment she found herself in his arms. He lifted her so affectionately, so full of persuasive care that she had no choice but to give in.

"You're an idiot," he grumbles.

Again with that voice. She has heard him threaten, his calm, cold voice, but not his caring one. He felt so warm, so safe that it makes her heart jump frantically. He gently sets her on one of the beds around the clinic. The nurse was out, but it seems as if he didn't need the nurse. Calculating and calm, he drops down on one knee and looks at her swollen ankle.

"W-what are you doing?" she asks, with a tone that can't seem to decide whether she wants to stop him or not as she watches him lean on her scraped knee. He kisses her knee which makes her lift it away in defense. Annoyed at the tiny victorious smug he displayed after, she suspiciously asks, "why are you doing this?"

She is ignored as he asks how her ankle was, avoiding the subject. Surprisingly enough, the pain of the supposed swollen ankle is now gone. She looks for signs of swell, but her ankle feels brand new. She looks at her knee to find that the scrapes that were once drawing blood is now gone. She looks at him with her mouth agape, trying to figure out what just happened. All he gives her is a smile, a gentle smile with a hint of sadness in exchange for an explanation.

"You shouldn't push yourself so hard," he says as he washes his hands in the sink. He didn't even know why he said it. She looked so sad that he wanted to do something, anything to change that. He didn't think about how it might've looked from her perspective. He turns to see a smile, a smile that he knows all too well. The curiosity she once had was replaced with that smile. What the hell just happened? He tries to chase her, but finds that he is unable to walk straight with his right ankle swollen. Blood trickles down the side of his leg, coloring his white socks red. A patch of red stains the right knee of his pants. He gives up on chasing her, knowing that he can't possibly chase her in his condition. It's started. An unfathomable pain constricts his chest as he falls over the equipment and into the floor. Maybe I said too much.

Pity. That's why he was helping me. She walks as fast as she can to her next class, trying to avoid any more conflicts. She didn't know why she was so upset. How can I expect any different from a spoiled rich brat? She sits down on the vandalized chair that was assigned to her. The hazing is getting worse. It's hard not to notice the people whispering about, all looking at her. Still, it's nothing she can't handle. She looks out the window, trying hard to concentrate on anything else but the room and the people around her. Why would he help her? After all this time, all he did was watch.

The dark clouds have settled in. At the end of her last class of the day, she finds herself trying to beat the inevitable rain brought upon by the black clouds that have now covered the yellow sun. The rain starts to drop, getting heavier by the minute and she's stuck running, trying to get back home as fast as possible. Unlike the other boys and girls in school that gets picked up by their fancy cars and chauffeurs, she has to walk home. But on times like these when there's a storm brewing, she runs. Even with the danger of slipping from the wet ground, she runs, chased by an enormous fear brought on by the ferocious storm.

The sky grumbles. Sparks of light flashes through the clouds, gathering the energy needed to strike the ground. She finds cover under the bus stop, soaked by the heavy rain after being left by the bus she so desperately needed not to be on time. She whispers a prayer, pleading to the skies. Please, please, no lightning.

Her prayer was not answered.

BOOM!

The clap of thunder echoed in her ears. The lightning strikes down so bizarrely close to the bus stop. The sound of bowling pins clashing against each other as a heavy metallic ball collides with the plastic pins roared in her ears. She finds herself blind from the terrifying white light that flashed before her. She clasps her hands above her ears, trying to cover the terrifying sound. She finds herself taking the next bus, trying to find solace in the sturdy roof of the large metallic vehicle. The rain taps the windows furiously as the bus waded through the flooded streets of the city.

ROAR!

What is that? It was not the sound of thunder. It was a more distinct sound. She looks out the window to find the metal trees of the city bending and falling, paving a path to the street that they're on.

BAM!

The creature rammed the side of the bus that she's on, forcing her out of her seat. She only saw a glimpse of it. It's definitely an animal, but it's unlike any animal she's ever seen, or known. It's humongous, a pet of the giants, if there ever existed one.

The bus had no chance. It was flipped into chaos almost instantly. The bus turned oversize washing machine spun them with no intention of stopping. The interior of the bus collapsed, glass windows shattered, fluorescent lights dropped from the ceiling, leaving her and the passengers inside almost blind. But it wouldn't have mattered. Most of them have their eyes closed. The creaking and crashing sounds of the bus deafened their ears, a mercy that prevented them from hearing the screams of pain and panic as their bodies were thrown off in multiple directions, bending in ways impossible to imagine.

The bus finally stopped, halfway wrapped around a tree. Inside, people try to gather their battered bodies. Some find that they are unable to. The sound of creaking was still present but was overwhelmed by moans and cries of the injured.

Trying to stay coherent, she finds herself staring at the surreal carnage that's left. With multiple thoughts running wildly in her head, she is unable to move, let alone make a decision. The panic keeps her paralyzed.

ROAR!

The sound made her desperate. The creature that now looks to be a gigantic lizard landed on what's now considered the top of the bus, forcing screams from the terrified people inside. Its weight started to crush down the deformed vehicle, separating the passengers. The beast moves to the front, determined to find a way inside which incited even more madness. With blood trickling down the side of her face, her thoughts organize like an army falling in line. They united with the sole purpose of saving as many as she can. The pain from her thigh and the sharp stabbing sting in her head became numbed as she tried to kick open the squashed exit at the back. Three times did the trick. The door pried open. Busy, the creature fails to notice the people coming out. Impatient, it ripped apart the bus, creating a gaping hole in the front.

It was at that moment that she lost her balance. The blood that she lost has finally caught up with her. The creature closes in, rocking the bus, making her even more light-headed than she already was. As close as she is to the creature, more details emerged at her, even as her vision blurred—its humongous mouth that encompasses its whole face and the red gums holding the mammoth tusks that are its teeth. No good. Her eyelids grew heavy as she falls towards the monster that's about to eat her. Just before she went unconscious, she saw a shadow catching her body that seemed to fall out of her control. Who? A person? I can't… I…

-I made it in time.-

Carlo grunted in pain, the weight of one giant fang from a row pierced his left shoulder. Half of his body was inside the demon's mouth, forcing it open.

The demon growled angrily as it refused to back down from Carlo's challenge of strength. Then it stopped, feeling his presence. The pierced fang broke as he removed his body from its mouth. The creature's head jerked back. A line appeared on its extended neck, opening as liters of blood oozed out from it. The demon let out a tiny whimper as it fell on its back, listening to his last words.

"You went too far."

Quickly the demon went from a rampaging monster to a lump of flesh and bone. Terrifying, but nothing that he's not used to. He pulled out the fang that's lodged on his shoulder, grimaced as the leftover pain slowly dissipated along with the wound on his shoulder. On his right arm, he had held her unconscious body, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder. He sighs as he lifts her feet from the ground.

Chapter 3: Warnings

I tried. I really did try. Carlo coughed trying to breathe. Lying on the rooftop of his home unable to move is not how he expected his morning to go. He's wheezing, gasping for all the air that he can get. His body is heavy, his joints aching. The wound on his head had finally closed. His thigh rests atop a puddle of blood that painted the floor of his rooftop red.

"Nice hiding place. How long do you plan on lying there?"

"Who's there?" Carlo asks raggedly, his throat needed to be cleared. The sun keeps his burning eyes from opening.

"My name is Aeon. I'm a messenger," the other man says. "Michael wishes to know the reason for your betrayal."

Carlo laughs, but not fully as his laughs turn to coughs. Aeon remains silent, waiting for his answer. "What, am I supposed to just leave her there?"

"It seems you still fail to understand."

Carlo groans as he tries to move his body, but to no avail. He drops back to the floor, still gasping for air. "I'm a little busy to listen to your little lecture at the moment."

"Leaving that human was the best protection you could've offered."

"Shut up," Carlo says, willing his body up, refusing to listen anymore. I already know that.

"Haven't you learn anything from Elena's—"

Aeon jerked back, Carlo's outstretched hand a hair's breadth from his neck.

"You truly are fast."

He walks past Carlo who's frozen, one leg in mid-air, one arm stretched, and body in mid-lunge.

"That demon attack is only the beginning. If I can manage to find you now, it won't be long before they do. It's not just wandering demons that you'll have to deal with now." He stops, looking up at the heavens. "It would be the ideal time to run." But you probably wouldn't now, would you, Alexus?

That was too real to be a dream. She can't get it out of her head. She woke up in her room, without a single sign that what happened to her was real. There was not a single trace of a stab wound anywhere in her body. Not in her short snow-white legs, nor her head. What the hell happened? The images ran a marathon over and over in her head. She's not sure if she believes it or not, failing to decipher whether what she remembers is a memory or simply a dream. There was not a single mention of the incident on the news, no people who came forward, and no reports of a bus accident. The one thought that's really bothering her, the one that she can't seem to wrap her head around is the animal that she saw. There's no way that such a creature exists. She wandered to the site of the supposed bus crash to find no trace of any accident whatsoever.

"How peculiar."

She looks up to find a man sitting on the tree that is providing her with a much-needed shade. She was on her way back after taking the day off from school. She wanted to at least catch her afternoon classes when she came across this man.

A ray of sunshine passes through the shadow of the tree, momentarily blinding her. She puts her hand just before her forehead so as to not lose sight of him. Yet as the moment passed, she found him standing face to face, only a few feet from where she's standing. It was only for a moment. He has a rectangular face with a sturdy jaw line. His jet-black, deep-set eyes sitting below intense, especially low eyebrows that seemed to be as straight as an arrow are sternly gazing at her, examining her from head to toe. He twitches his mouth to the right, destroying the thin, straight line that it once had. His mouth is kept closed in a way that made it seem like he's pouting, yet there is a sign of a confident smirk hidden underneath it. His hair—short, wavy, and the color of sandy gold— is combed to one side, with just a bit covering his wide forehead. The white long coat he wears over his broad shoulders, even with the dead heat of the sun, is buttoned up just under his slightly pointed chin with neatly polished buttons, almost army-like. He walked straight, his black boots silently touching the ground with each step. She looks down, flustered by the way he refused to break eye contact.

"I was curious to see what kind of human can make him betray his vow."

"I'm sorry, mister. I don't know what you're talking about."

"You should stay away from Mr. Masters, Ms. Chase."

"Wha—"

"Hey!" A girl from a distance calls out.

"Give my regards to our dear Mr. Masters, would you?" was his final remark as he walks past her. She turns to ask him who he is, but is answered with a wave of his hand. The girl from a distance has now reached her.

"Kimberly, right?" the girl asks. It's the first time that another student from her school has called her by her name. Most students in the school would call her "weed" or "trash" or just ridicule her altogether. Kimberly smiles at the girl, happy that there's finally someone who reached out to her. It felt as if a heavy burden was lifted from her chest.

"There's someone who wants to meet you."

Let the madness begin. Aeon opens his arms wide and laughs at the heavens, walking as he slowly vanishes.

"I'm Victoria."

This is impossible. She looks a lot like—

"Nice to meet you."

Carlo, silent as always, refuses to shake Victoria's hand that's reached out to him. Beneath his closed mouth, his teeth are grinding, trying to figure out how the hell this girl is standing in front of him.

She's almost exactly the same. Her round face with a timidly pointed chin and high angular cheekbones, her big round eyes that contain a richer deeper auburn than Kimberly's, the inviting arch of her eyebrows, her straight, thin nose above the red sultry smile of her full closed mouth, her hair—long, straight, and the natural black that fades to look brown in the sunlight, her sun kissed skin, her long legs, her lean, willowy and slim figure, all of it reminded him of a past that he keeps trying to escape from, and the mistake that he can never atone for.

-Elena…-

"That's right. You can't touch people can you, scaredy cat?" Victoria teases as she leans to his face, examining for some signs of emotion. She looks down, giving in to his hard-hearted demeanor. She finds out the next moment how easily that demeanor can be shattered.

No… He walked long strides, almost sprinting towards the terrifying sight that is presented upon him. Kimberly's hair looked disheveled, like she had a crazy five-year old take a pair of scissors and played around with it like a doll, most of it covering her face as she's walking with her head down. Her clothes were tattered, her socks trapped dirt from where she walked, her shoes nowhere to be found. He gently shakes her, trying to get her to look at him.

She looks up at him, smiling, black charcoal draws a line from the two corners of her closed, arched eyes, cutting through the big filled red circles on her cheeks. Her white teeth are trying its very best to shine through the smears of red that dirtily surrounds her quivering mouth. Her grip on her handbag is tight, so tight that it causes her arms to tremble.

"I'm fine, sir. Please let me go. I have a class to go to."

Sir?! He didn't know what to do. He can't undo this. Shit! This isn't a pain that he can take, a wound that he can heal. He couldn't comfort her; he has no more right to. He's holding her shoulders tight and still he couldn't close the gap between them.

"It's none of your business. Let it go," she says, trying to hide the quiver in her voice.

Shit! Shit! For all of his self-made promises to protect her, he can only stand there, in all of his uselessness, as she walks past him. He kept thinking of protecting her from his past but he couldn't even protect her in the present.

"So you're afraid to touch anybody, huh?" Victoria mumbles to herself as she watches Carlo's action towards Kimberly.

"You're just a toy to him, like you are to us."

Kimberly was disappointed at her own naiveté. This was her fault, actually believing that there is someone in the school who recognizes her as a person. She wanted to go back home, but she couldn't, knowing that her mother would be there. She didn't want to put unnecessary burden or stress on her. She's already at her limit.

"Don't go acting all high and mighty just because Carlo gave you a bit of attention."

Three years. She shouldn't have disturbed the school's social system. She shouldn't have saved that student. What did she get back by saving him? The thought of it makes her scoff in disbelief. She doesn't understand what the deal was, what it is about him that attracts so many love-crazed teenagers who can get away with anything. Maybe it's the money. It's the only thing that he's good for anyway. Yet, she couldn't stop thinking the times he rescued her.

"He's not for you to own."

Own? What is he, some kind of accessory? She finds herself unable to focus on the class, digging her pencil to her notebook.

Misfortune after misfortune.

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She should be used to it by now.

"Trash like you should know their place."

At the end of the school day, she finds him at the front of the school, waiting, resting his back on his car—expensive, luxurious and exotic. He had an air of a celebrity around him. Every person who passes by him couldn't resist his charms—his rectangular face with a square chin, a broad jaw line, and a wide high cheekbones. He kept his small, narrow mouth sternly closed in a straight line through all the flashes of cameras and the clamors of amazement that surrounded him. His short hair—black and glossy—is combed over to one side, causing some parts to spike up. The sunglasses that wrap around his face perfectly and comfortably don't hurt either.

"Stay away from him."

She wants to. She likes nothing more than to blame him for all that has happened to her ever since she moved. It's because he had to meddle in her fight that she became visible to the rich but less brilliant students of Fireborough High. It's because he had to carry her off from that hallway that she attracted students the likes of the three jealous girls she fought, only succeeding in making them angrier. She should hate him.

She walks past the waiting Carlo with no intention of recognizing his existence.

"You're going home like that?" he asks.

"It's not like I can't walk," she says, trying to distance herself.

"Really? In the same state that would make your mother worry before? What's the point of not going home earlier?" He asks again, this time with a much clever tone.

She stops. She had to admit to herself that she was outwitted by him. "You've been talking a lot lately."

She kept walking, repeating the words that the three jealous women left her with, Stay away from him, over and over again in her head.

"Hey," he grabs her hand, stopping her. "Is it really none of my business?"

She couldn't answer.

"Come on. Trust me."

She couldn't say no.

That was her first time to the mall since she moved to Fireborough. It had been a long time since she's been inside a mall. All the time, she observed how gentleman-like he acted—opening doors for her, allowing her the personal space she needed—and how he can distinguish himself from all the other people in that mall simply by being the quiet, brooding man that he is. I guess all rich people have to act like this in public. She also couldn't help but notice how bossy he can be. For someone who refuses any sort of human contact, he can be truly persuasive. The previous times she went to the mall, she could only wish to buy. With him, there was a certain fear that went along with wishing. She noticed this right after the first shoe that she held in her hands. Every time her eyes lingered upon a certain apparel for a long period of time, he'd have it bought and wrapped almost immediately, without giving her time to react or to deny.

"I-I couldn't possibly—"

"Don't worry. I own this mall."

That was the only time he allowed her to interject the pace that he had her following. The certain awkwardness that was there since the time they left the school refused to dissipate. All the time, she was wondering what his motivation could possibly be. What is his reason? Maybe he's trying to buy her friendship, which somewhat offends her, gratifies her, and also leaves her with a lingering question.

They went to a salon to get her hair fixed. They went to every store, not leaving empty-handed with almost every one. It was ridiculous. She had to pull him out of some stores just to prevent him from buying her more clothes that she really didn't need.

At that time, she realized that the awkward air around them was already gone. She felt comfortable with him, almost as if all of what just happened to her was at a distant past.

In the end, he bought her one—she would only allow for one—new pair of shoes, and a new set of clothes. He didn't speak much, except for the occasional ordering of the employees.

"Thank you," she says, holding onto most of the bags that she has burdened him to carry the whole time, with the new clothes and shoes that he coerced her to buy with his money, even despite her complete resentment to it. He wouldn't allow her to wear her old tattered clothes any longer that day. The sun was starting to hide behind the mountains in the horizon, reflecting upon the skies the color of her eyes. The hours since they left the school seemed only minutes.

"I'll pay you back for these," she says, looking down, trying to avoid eye contact.

"How about dinner?" he asks.

Once again, she could only refuse the place where they were going to eat. She couldn't enjoy eating at such an expensive place. Even with his convincing powers, this was the one thing that she refuses to back down on. After minutes of persuasion, she was finally able to convince him to eat at the place she wanted, at a rather run-down restaurant just a few blocks from the complex that she lives in.

After dinner, she offered to walk, not wanting to take up any more of his time.

"I'll walk you home," he said, leaving no room for refusal.

The awkward air has returned. The silence that usually calmed her down now bothered her to no end. She would glance at him then take a sip of the drink that she had brought from the meal that he paid for.

"Why me?" The lingering question that's been on the back of her mind this whole time has finally come out of her mouth. Realizing what she just asked, she returns to sipping her drink.

"Because you're the one I want to protect," he says without hesitation almost instantly, causing her drink to go down the wrong tube of her throat.

How can he say it so nonchalantly? He stood cool and determined even after those words, almost as if erasing the awkward way that she asked the question. She didn't expect such an answer. She thought maybe it was because he felt pity for her, or that he just got bored, not to mention the lingering words you're just a toy to him running around in her head. He calmly put his mouth to her straw, taking a mouthful from her drink.

"Tasty," he said arrogantly, setting a trap that she unconsciously bit. She quickly turned away from his unusually calm appearance, pushed him, trying to hide the rosy scarlet color that spread over her cheeks.

They finally made it to her house. The sun was already down and the moon has taken its place.

"So this is it," Carlo asks.

"This is it," Kimberly replies. "Well, bye. Thanks again."

She turned around to go inside. But her night wasn't about to end just yet. Her eyes widened, her mouth let out a quiet sound as she felt his arms surround her, gently grabbed her body from behind and gently wrapped her to his chest. Her mouth agape, she couldn't fathom how she easily fell back to his embrace. Most of the time, she would panic and fight to get away. But it's different with him. Carlo doesn't have any malice, any sort of evil desire that most men have, especially that man. Even if Carlo did have it, she certainly didn't feel it.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. She can feel his warm breath on her cheek. Her heart is frantically trying to escape her chest, but she can also feel the loud pounding of his. "If anything like that happens again, I wouldn't know what to do."

She didn't know what to do. His words came straight through to her. "Y-you're acting weird."

"Please. Let me protect you. Let me stand by you if anything happens."

This is the guy that I hated, the guy I wanted to blame. "G-good night," she stutters as she pulled away from his embrace. Quickly she walked inside the complex. Once she was inside her house, she finds herself leaning on the door. She takes a deep breath with her eyes closed, finding that she can't erase the smile that she has on her face.

She knew after that night that there was something born inside of her, something that she could never live without.

The loud drum of Carlo's chest wouldn't stop, as if following a certain rhythm of a rock song he's never heard before.

"Shit." Because you're the one I want to protect?! Let me protect you?! Who says that? He shakes his head, unable to tell whether he's happy or troubled by what he said to her. He scratches his head, smiling after remembering her smile.

"Wow," Aeon appears just behind him. "I don't think I've ever seen you like that. You want to protect her? Don't make me laugh. The more you hold on to the fantasy that you can protect her, that harder it will be for you when you realize that you can't."