The first chapter of my new Fiction. Well, hope you like it, I know this chapter won't appeal to all. As Lack of Noir. But it's an intro, and I'm sure we all know how much I hate writing intros. Well, please be patient and wait for better things, but still, please review this. Please? I don't want to give away the plot, but I WILL tell you now, as if you are like me, then you NEED to know. This will eventually be a Mireille Kirika pairing, although I am planning to take it slow, and have them both slowly succumb to their new feelings.
Scripture I - Dark are the souls of the Fallen. Dark are their hearts, and Numberless be their sins. Those that once were Holy, are now beyond redemption.
The tall cloaked man walked slowly deeper into the sanctuary, the echoes of his feet upon the floor sounding loudly in the quiet atmosphere. Deep in the distance one could hear slightly the low sound of some foreign instrument playing. A light and peaceful melody to sooth the soul.
The man's dark brown gaze turned back to the task at hand. Sparkling white marble floors, dotted with vibrant gardens of bright flowers, reaching into walls which curved upwards in almost impossible architecture. Constructed of some unknown substance, whiter than any white, brighter than a thousand suns. And yet the sharp light did not hurt, would cause harm to no being.
There was a large door ahead of him. Light brown wood, reaching high towards the ceiling of the building, a ceiling which could not be seen from the floor. For clouds and mist swirled at the edges of one's vision.
The door was of an ornate build, with bright polished silver tooling scrawling along the unblemished wood, circling patterns and symbols of peace and prosperity.
Two tall beings stood at either side of the door. Silver armour breastplates gleaming brightly in the light, with white linen cloth underneath, falling in waves down their legs. Their bodies were as still as rocks, their spears held perfectly vertical. Their faces were calm, their colourless eyes still, and yet they were always aware.
As he neared, twin spears fell across his path, forming a cross before him, blocking him from the door. The guard on the right spoke.
"Your kind are not welcome here. Leave now, whilst you still can." The man turned his gaze upon the young looking guardian on the right. The guardian's face was calm and serene, with his eyes lidded and his lips in a straight line. Long blonde hair draped over his shoulders. His partner looked almost identical, as if they were close brothers.
"I wish to see the Seraph, allow me to pass, or suffer the eternal end." Neither moved, nor did the spears drop.
"We would give our lives in the servi-" His oath was cut off in a throaty gurgle as his windpipe was torn out in a strong grip. The bone in his neck cracking and his head falling backwards as the front of his throat was ripped away.
A spear flew from the man's left, cutting through the meat of his shoulder as he fell to the side, crimson blood splattered on the pristine white floor, running across the marble like some macabre painting. Cursing angrily, the dark eyed man knocked the offending spear aside and rushed forwards towards the guardian. A quick blow to the stomach knocked the wind out of him, forcing him to buckle over in pain. A knee slammed into the guardian's face, breaking his nose and bloodying his face, before a darkened black knife plunged into the back of his neck, dropping him loudly to the marble floor.
The scene was one from a nightmare, white walls now covered in red blood, the body of a once handsome man slumped against the wall by the door, what remained of his throat pumping his life blood out onto his now red smeared breastplate. White linen was stained red.
His partner was sprawled on the floor, laying in a growing pool of dark crimson, a knife, now a dull grey sticking from his neck.
It was useless now, the enchantment gone with the first person it pierced. Not that it mattered the man had to concede.
As he stepped over the form of the dead man, careful not to slip on the slippery floor, and reached for the handles to the door, preparing to push them open, a loud chorus could be heard emanating over the once calm air.
This melody, if it could be called such, was not as the calm and peaceful chorus before, this tune held urgency. An alarm, alerting all to the enemy within their midst.
The door opened with a single push, swinging inwards with a loud groaning of wood and stone, as the hinges shook and dust fell from the ceiling in billowing clouds. Coughing lightly the man strode purposefully into the room, his eyes searching for the one he hunted. They did not have to search far.
Standing not thirty paces from him was an impressive figure. A tall man, over six feet tall, with long billowing silver hair that hung down almost to the backs of his knees. Not grey with age, but a shiny silver, like that of a coin caught in the sun. His clothes consisted of long blue, silver and white robes that reached down to and concealed his feet. A long slit ran up the back of it, between his legs to allow mobility. And one would also run up the front, like a divided skirt.
The dark man was snapped out of his reverie as his target turned to face him. A long sad mournful face, pale of skin and strong of character, a face that looked more used to joyous song than sad mourning. His eyes were bright silver, shining brightly, and yet, though there were no pupils, he had no doubt that they were focused solely on him.
"So you passed through the gates unharmed." It was a statement, and not a question, made in a voice that was soft and quiet, yet seemed to be soaked in authority. The dark man shrugged carelessly, dismissing the question as irrelevant.
"What do you wish here?" The silver man continued, his voice still soft, "Your kind are never welcome here, and to come alone was foolish indeed. Unless... have you come to repent? The lord is merciful-"
"I need no repentance!" The man snarled angrily, interrupting the bastard before he could even suggest it. "I have cast down your puny beliefs and serve a different lord, your impotent God can die for all I would care. I came here for a different reason!"
"I understand." The man spoke quietly. There was a groaning as the doors behind them closed shut, cutting out the sounds of the chorus of alarm. "And yet, I am sorry that this is the course you choose, I again give you the chance to repent. Or even to leave. Your course is a foolish one, I am in my home, my place of power. The sanctuary feeds me with it's divine might. I can make for you a portal, to take you back to your homeland."
"A fine offer, but I did not fight my way through the pearly gates just to go home again." Out from under his dark cloak a black knife came forth, etched with dull runes. The silver robed man spoke again.
"This war is folly, we are brethren. Why do we persist in killing ourselves?" Ignoring him, the cloaked man walked towards the calm figure dressed in silver, walking closer with his weapon concealed.
"You have involved the mortals." He continued, "A pact was made that never would they be involved, for such an action would lead to the destruction of everything, of the end of the world! You lead us all to ultimate ruin!" The man passed by, stopping next to him, with their shoulders almost touching. He leaned his head close to the silver man's ear.
"So?" He whispered arrogantly. The robed man seemed to sigh in a depressed manner. The knife swung, aiming to plunge into the back of the man's head.
Robes twirled as the figure ducked under the swinging arm and span on the ball of one foot, delivering a powerful blow to the cloaked man's stomach. The hand did not connect, and yet great force flung the man back, so that he slid ungracefully across the floor.
With a quick hand plant the man was back on his feet, staring hatred at the figure in silver. He was different now, the oncoming fight had caused him to reveal his full form.
Still, with the long silver hair, which now no longer hung down his back, but floated and wafted in the strong breeze, whipping around the back of the figure's head. His eyes seemed to blaze with an even stronger intensity, the silver shining like twin stars. But that was not what drew the attention.
Purest white they were, those that reached out from behind his back and stretched almost to the sides of the sanctuary. Wings of great span. There were four, two coming from each side of his body, proof that this was one who had progressed even further than his brethren. Among the Angelic, wingspan was an indication of strength, this was the strongest of all the divine Angels.
Last of the Seraphs. High Seraph Metatron.
The man snarled in hatred. Running forwards with unnatural speed he vaulted off of one wall, and leaped towards the Seraph's chest, his hand clutching the dagger spearing towards the figure's chest, even as his other hand stabbed towards his less protected thigh.
A strong arm blocked his arm, stopping the blade before it could pierce the angel's heart, a wing took the blow instead of the man's thigh. Cutting a deep gash in the feathery, yet strong material, merely a shallow cut to an angel. Thwarted the man tried to leap backwards, to quickly avoid a counter attack. Unfortunately for him the wind seemed to pick up suddenly, almost forming into a solid as it slashed against his body, the strength of the wind actually cutting though cloak and skin alike.
Dazed and bleeding, the man stepped back to allow himself some time to heal.
"Who are you?" The Seraph asked, "Who are you to our enemies? You are human! At first I believed you to be one of them. A Fallen Angel, but you are too slow and weak-" The man's blood boiled in anger.
"SHUT UP! I am powerful! The fallen angels bow down to Me! They do all that I order!" The Seraph's head lolled to one side in apparent thought.
"A dark prophet then. If you lead them, then why do you fight for your life here, where I am strengthened and you weakened. The divine power of my sanctuary weakens you. You know you cannot kill me here." The damned angel was right, already he could feel his unnatural healing fail to stem the bleeding.
"I foresaw your death in a vision, and it is as yet still coming true!" He leapt forwards, daggers slashing wildly in quick flashing arches of light. The Seraph fell back before the onslaught, using a combination of hand and wing to block each deadly blade before it could pierce his flesh. He fought with no weapon, and yet every now and then some invisible force, some magic, would pierce the prophet's skin, slash across his exposed arms or face. Goading him to greater fury.
Wings beat with great power, creating a gust of air powerful enough to knock him back. Angrily he prepared to attack again, only to be brought up short by the sound of pounding on the great door. The Seraph saw his panicked look.
"I have created a barrier to hold all away from us, and to protect them from what damage we might inflict on them. We shall not be interrupted. I offer you again, the chance to leave."
He's holding all the angels off, and killing me. Already I'm panting, and yet he's not even short of breath. I guess I overestimated my power, and that vision. Still, there is ONE last chance. Not a chance anyone would take willingly. Except for a fanatic, and the dark prophet was nothing if not fanatic.
"Die!" He screamed as he leapt forwards, prepared to fight to the death, it was not long in the waiting.
Faster than ever before, with such speed that showed he had been toying before, the Seraph reached back and drew a celestial spear from nowhere, aligning it with the shocked prophet's body, all in the space of a heartbeat.
Pain erupted in his chest, with such ferocity that he could not even scream, such an action felt beyond him, as gravity pulled him painfully down the length of the shaft, towards his hated killer.
"I hope the lord forgives you my son. I hope he grants you eternal rest." The prophet smiled as he slid his hands higher.
"Fuck you, Seraph." He managed to croak out. He smothered his gasp as he slowly plunged the dagger into his own stomach, forcing it in as far as it would go, already he felt it eating at his flesh.
"And say "Hi", to the demons in Cania for me, I'm afraid that Satan will consume my soul for this exchange." The Seraph's eyes widened in sudden fear and realisation as he tried to throw the impaled man away from himself.
Too late as he felt the knife just nick his arm, barely just spill his blood. The dark prophet screamed in anguish as his still living soul was devoured, yet the scream was barely heard over the swirling sound of a whirlpool. A black whirlpool, that spun on the floor and was dragging the shocked Angel deeper into it's depths.
"Lord! Forgive my failure!" His last words cried out, reaching the ears of the struggling Angels outside as the Seraph's barrier crumbled and the door burst open under the combined might of the Archangels.
Inside the deepest room of the sanctuary, the last of the Seraph was no more. All that remained was the empty corpse of a dead man, his blood smeared face twisted in terror. And a few floating white feathers.
Metatron, Highest, and last of the Seraph.
Had fallen.
Dum-Dum-Dum! I Hope someone liked this idea. And I know that there was no Noir in this episode. Don't worry they come next chapter.
But did anyone like it, EVEN THOUGH, there was no Noir? Please review, it doesn't take long, barely ANY time! I mean, for my other one I get something like 400 hits and 10 reviews. You bloody lazy 390 people! Lol, sorry, but it's true. It isn't hard to review and you don't need to be registered, just click on that damn button at the bottom left of screen...