Act 19

Trounce

"How does it feel to be a fallen angel?"

Cross' brows furrowed. The figure before him suddenly transferred to his left. Its touch froze his soul and its voice ringed in his head, echoing like the whimpering of lost souls.

"Do you think your path is a divine one?"

"The gods have assured me."

"A path of bloodshed and death will never be for a holy cause. You are simply a mere pawn, a foolish tool used in murder."

"Enough of this nonsense. Who are you?"

"Who am I? Do you not recognize this voice?"

"Certainly not."

"I am the blue in the sea, the red in blood and the black in darkness. God."

"You are no god. Stop with your lies."

"Lies only tell the truth that is kept hidden within."

Cross waved his spear in the darkness. "What blasphemy."

"If you announce that I am a blasphemer, then see for yourself what blasphemy your own hands has caused."

Mirrors appeared from the darkness and surrounded him. They returned his murderous gaze before shattering one by one. Faded images of a cross where two angels were crucified on each side flickered in the darkness. Screams of pain ringed in his ears. His line of vision started rotating as the images of the cross were replaced by burning houses and burning angels. A jolt of murderous pain flowed through his body like electricity. He envisioned himself beheading countless numbers of innocent souls, pitting them into eternal damnation. The souls shrieked and screamed, deafening him. Then, a certain blonde angel appeared in front of him. Its bloodied hands stained his cheeks as it touched them.

The blonde angel's voice was muffled with tears. "Why Cross? Why?"

The question, coming from the blonde angel, kept on repeating in a ceaseless rhythm. It kept on growing louder and sharper, until he couldn't take it anymore. The two images flashed in his mind alternately in an infinite loop. The immanent pain revisited him, stabbing him like daggers. The screaming of horror joined in to complete the melody of death.

"Argh!" Cross yelled with his hands clamped against his head. One by one, the things that haunted him disappeared back into the black void of nothing. He regained his sight and was pulled back to where he previously was. The blizzard whipped him again, letting him kneel to apply force against it. Not far off, Cross noticed a female passed out on the snowy ground. He headed towards his partner and carried her bridal style.

Rozalin shot up from the bed. She looked around and found a young man in crimson sitting on the chair beside her. "W-what happened?" She stared at Cross, who now had a white, wolf-themed outfit to protect his body from the cold. Spiky fur lined the garments and a wolf head rested on his shoulder.

"You fell unconscious during our travel. We are currently staying at Frost Inn in a town somewhere in the glacial mountains of Meltankos." Cross transferred his attention from his hand to her, his wild fringes obscuring half his face and giving him a mysterious appearance. He sat on the ivory chair without moving an inch.

Rozalin looked at herself after feeling comfortable with her clothes. To her surprise, her tribal clothes were replaced by pajamas.

"Pajamas?" she thought in bewilderment. "Where are my clothes?" In the back of her mind, a short scene played, which involved Cross slowly removing her top. She clenched her teeth and tried to keep a smile off her face. "Woah, girl. A little self-control there."

"I replaced them. The innkeeper had them washed. Was it a rude idea?"

"Rude? It was perfectly blissful." The grin forced its way out. She tittered involuntarily like a giddy schoolgirl. "No. Thank you for doing so." Rozalin was so distracted that she didn't notice Cross head for the door. "W-wait, where are you going?"

"To get your clothes back."

She crawled on the bed, sitting on the edge of it. "You can do that later."

Cross closed the door and reclaimed his seat. The breeze that previously swept through the room from the open door made the girl shiver since the pajamas were nearly as thin as her clothes before. She grabbed the bed sheets and wrapped herself with them. The thick fabric provided the warmth that her body yearned for. Although, she wished that Cross was the one who would share to her that warmth instead.

"Did you also have your clothes washed?" Rozalin asked, looking for a conversation.

"No. You apparently lost them before you passed out."

"Oh dear. I'm so sorry."

"You need not apologize." Cross shook his head and looked outside the window. He promptly left her side and quickly ran down before coming up again. He carefully handed her a new set of clothes and the old one that she had worn. "Please get changed."

Rozalin reached for the hemline of her shirt. Cross looked away.

"In the bathroom."

Rozalin chuckled. "Oh."

Nodding, Rozalin skipped to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. A few seconds later, she emerged from the small prism, her pajamas in hand.

"If you are ready to go, let us leave this place. I sense something unpleasant emanating from this town."

Nodding again, Rozalin followed Cross as he threw the door open. The angel bearing black, ravenous wings advanced toward the exit. He flipped a gold coin to the innkeeper before completely leaving the place. He guided Rozalin north, his cape acting as a shadow. Sometimes, Rozalin wondered and thought of the red cape as a symbolism – Cross was carrying a blood-stained weight on his shoulders.

Watchful eyes never gave them the opportunity to relax as the two angels made their way to the other end of the town. Though Rozalin was unrecognized, Cross' black wings stood out. They passed a tall crucifix in the middle of the town. It was planted on top of what looked like a circular fountain. They circled one side to continue, and Cross became aware that the fountain had no water. As his eyes gazed at the wooden cross, the horrifying image from his nightmare flashed in his mind. He closed his eyes momentarily, averting the fear of its haunting. An angel opened the northern gate for them as they approached it. Letting Rozalin go ahead of him, Cross fixed his eyes on the angel in black. The angel was dressed in chaotic black and shrouded by a cloak. The angel turned his head as Cross turned his, eyes meeting. Finally, the former broke off and closed the gate. Cross swore he saw that cloaked being before.

Far, far away, a group of divine entities observed the world from the Mirror of Narcissus. "Is the angel of magnetism developing a fondness for the dark one?" one of the gods asked Goddess Elvira.

"Perhaps so. It is inevitable. They have manipulated and led their destinies to be intertwined."

The second god roared, "If so, we have no further use for her."

"Patience," Goddess Elvira stated plainly, "Patience."

The four gods were silenced.

"Only time can truly tell what lies beyond this upheaval. Falter not, and watch with flawless attention. They, those that have connected destinies with the dark one, are a force to be reckoned with," Goddess Elvira spoke, waving her hand across the crystalline body of water, the Mirror of Narcissus.