Chapter one, here we go.
I'm sorry if there are things historically off or off from the comics, but alas, I DON'T KNOW EVERYTHING. It is just a story, LOLOLOL.
Marvel owns all the Marvel-y goodness, I own Malachi.
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Nothing good ever came out of war. I had seen battle after battle, watched empires be built and then saw as they crumbled, and all I could see was suffering. It amazes me how the slightest impurity in life can lead to fighting. It also irritates me.
I now sit on a cliff, overlooking what was being called "The Crusades". Blood and mangled bodies littered the hills and grasses, staining every bit of Earth in the area.
I sighed, pushing my long platinum blonde dreadlocks back out of my face. My golden eyes showed nothing but disgust and boredom.
There weren't many survivors on the field this day, and my ears picked up the sounds of the dying soldiers. My eyes shut tightly, and I leaned my head back and forth, popping my neck. My four crimson wings lay limp behind me, the feathers lightly waving in the wind.
I opened my eyes, only to see a figure on the cliff across the way. From what I could tell, he must be a part of a group of people called the Neyaphem. They consisted of demonic looking mutants. I belonged to the Cheyarafim. We were the angelic looking ones. I've met quite a few in my travels, many having one or two wings. I met a man with six wings on the coast of Turkey. I also met a woman in Persia with wings of an owl. The coloring was beautiful.
All in all, people have been confusing the Cheyarafim and Neyaphem with real angels and demons. As coincidental as it may be, it is not true. I have met many mutants in my days, most of them appearing "normal" or "human", and some like myself, and the fellow across the battlefield.
From my perch, I could see his spaded tail swing back and forth. His red skin almost glowed in the bleak sunlight, barely peaking through the clouds. The rays were unnaturally bright for such a cloudy, dreary day. He was crouched down, his eyes focused upon the turmoil below. Even from my distance away, I could tell he was enjoying it. A warrior I may be, but to take delight in others' suffering is revolting.
A sharp whistle emitted from my lips, and I caught his attention, my wings spread to their full extent. I watched as his gaze locked with mine. I spoke in Latin, a popular language used among the Cheyarafim.
"What brings you here on such a day, stranger?"
I could barely hear his quiet chuckle over the groans and screams from the dying soldiers in the gorge.
"Enjoying the weather! I do love the smell of carnage in the morning," he yelled back. His tone was formal and casual at the same time, which threw me off. It was unusual, to say the least.
My head tilted in curiosity, and I stood up. My wings fell back into a limp position, and I saw him stand as well.
But then he was gone.
All that remained was a cloud of smoke.
"Tell me, why haven't I seen you around before?"
I jolted in surprise at the sound of his voice, not even a foot behind me. I turned to face him, and our eyes locked once more. My wings folded up, and I took a step forward. I have never before seen eyes so blue, so cold. There was a smirk on his face that made me want to hit him. His accent made it clear he was from farther north, and much more inland.
"Because unlike you, watching people kill each other isn't a hobby for me," I shot at him sarcastically.
"Isn't it wonderful, though?" he smiled and walked to the edge of the cliff, taking in the view of all of the death before us. He sighed with delight and looked up at me.
"You are disgusting."
"And what does that make you?"
I said nothing and walked up beside him, my white robes and teal sash flowing behind me. We were quite the contrast. My almost white hair to his raven black, my tanned skin to his vivid red, my golden eyes to his ice blue, my wings to his tail… We were complete opposites. Even his clothing differed from mine. He wore dark robs with metal armor fitted to him, and what appeared to be a goat's skull sitting on his shoulder.
"What's your name?" I asked in attempt to change the subject.
He chuckled and took a step toward me, "Azazel. And what do I call you?"
I hesitated. Did I want to tell him?
"Malachi."
He scoffed slightly, "Such a strange name for such a beauty."
"And your name is so much better?"
At this he laughed. I stared at him, unenthused. He acts as if all of this were a game. It obviously doesn't affect him that thousands of good men are slaughtering each other not even a mile away from where we stood.
He stopped laughing and studied the tattoos that littered my arms, neck, and chest. I had many on my back, legs, feet, and even my lower stomach and sides, but those were not visible to him.
"What kind of tattoos are those, little one?"
Now it was my turn to scoff. Little one?
"It's Arabic. Codes to live by, bits of prayers, the works."
He chuckled and reached over, tracing a finger along a tattoo on my arm. I shivered and glared at him.
"Interesting."
"If you know what's good for you, you won't touch me again."
I could almost hear his eyebrow go up. He moved closer to me, and I could feel his hot breath run down my neck as he whispered into my ear, "I guess I don't know what's good for me then," and lightly touched my cheek.
My reflexes happened to be quicker than his, and I had him in a headlock in mere seconds.
"I warned you."
He laughed as best as he could as I choked him, "Fiesty, aren't we?"
I leaned into him and whispered in his ear, "You have no idea," and threw him over the cliff.
Yet again, in a poof of smoke, he was gone. I heard the sound of swords being unsheathed, so I quickly unsheathed my knives and turned in time to deflect his attack. We stood in that stance for at least five minutes, and I took the time to admire his swords. They were beautiful. Ragged and well used, but beautiful all the same.
"Quite the reflexes, angel," he chuckled.
I glared and chuckled darkly, "How original. Call the girl with wings angel. It's only fitting, right?"
At this he smirked, "Of course it is, angel," and he winked.
I snapped.
I pushed him away as hard as I could, and we began to battle. The metal of our weapons clashed over and over again, creating sparks. His smirk grew as we fought, and I have to admit, even I began to smile.
This was fun.
Our fight may seem pointless, but I don't enjoy being called a stupid pet name, or being hit on. My near-fiery temper didn't help, either.
We carried on for almost an hour. He had sliced off a good amount of feathers from my left wings, so when I got the chance, I pulled my wings into my back, where they were no longer visible. The cuts they came from healed up, and his head cocked to the side curiously. I took that chance to take a slice at his face.
Target hit.
He now fashioned a rather large gash on his left eye. That's definitely going to scar.
I backed away as his hands flew to his injured eye. That would've been my chance to deliver a killing blow, but I didn't want to kill him. Fighting is simply too much fun. He raised his head and looked at me with his good eye, "You win this time… angel," and with a wink he disappeared into smoke again.
I huffed and shook my head, turning to look at the battlefield below. The remaining soldiers were slowly making their way out of the valley, all limping a different way.
I let my wings slide back out, hissing in pain as the wings that were hurt slowly healed up and the feathers re-grew.
I sighed again, "What a fruit." And with that I jumped from the cliff and glided my way to the nearest city.
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And so they meet for the first time.
I realize Latin is a dead language, and I have no idea whether half of those words even existed at that time, but how about we play MAKE-BELIEVE! :D
K thnx.
(:
I hope this was all right for a first chapter, I'll be writing more tomorrow probably.
And do not fear, I am not dropping A Demon's Heartache.
I just need to get these other stories out of my head before I start throwing details into the wrong stories. You know? BAHAHA.
I wanted to catch more of Azazel's "ladies' man" attitude in this, and I hope I did it well.
Anyways, reviews are greatly appreciated. C:
