For the Grace of Knights and Angels...
By: Doctor Megalomania
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, you know the drill.
Notes: I know I've said this story is due for re-writes - some major ones at that - but I figure I'll finish this one off as it was meant to be first, then perhaps make up a different story instead of rewriting the small chunks of this that I'm not happy with. It's good to be back, and thank you to those who read this and don't obey their first instint: KILL DrM...
Chapter Thirty-Four: No Ordinary Demon
"So, you say there is no God?"
His hand tightened around his slivery scythe.
His violet eyes stay upon the dark cloaked form of his fa—his foe. His chosen foe. The dead creature who pretended to be his father. He began to walk forward, noting the thing that called himself Father Maxwell was lumbering closer in long strides. The strides of a priest, used to wearing the long garb of a padre. Duo wanted to throw up, his anger boiled. "How dare you pretend . . ." he hissed aloud, "How dare you pretend to be my father!"
"Pretend?" Growled Father Rowan Maxwell, "Pretend! The only façade here is you! You, the god of death! You bastard child!"
The sand raged around them, clearing a small arena for the two to fight. Duo held his scythe tightly in his left hand, Maxwell held his tightly in his right. Their black cloaks swirled around them, revealing flashes of identical daggers for their inevitable hand to hand combat. Duo was seething, his rage boiling over for the first time since the wars. Even when Mariemaia attacked with her armies, he'd not felt so angry. This . . . This was a personal attack on him! This resurrection of his father, it was cutting his heart so deeply Duo wondered if he would ever heal from it. His father had been a kind man, a patient man. He was the saviour of so many children, so many lives including his own! Even if many of those lives had perished when the Maxwell church had collapsed, Father Maxwell had been an inspiration to the dozens of children who'd been adopted and saved. Duo could still remember the look on the faces of the children when their brave father had stood up and faced the mercenaries.
"We will not fight."
He had said. Plainly, clearly, they could not mishear him, could not misunderstand. Father Maxwell had been serious, even though it probably meant death for all of them. They couldn't fight, Heero Yuy . . . the first one, the colony delegate whose death had brought about everything. . . had been his guiding star. Father Maxwell had been a kind man, a patient man. . . this abomination that stood before him insulted every fibre of Duo's soul.
The unmistakeable green eyes of Father Maxwell stared as the wind blew his cloak all around him.
/Bastard child . . ./ Father Maxwell's mind spat at him/kill him, revenge, revenge, revenge/
Revenge! Because he'd survived the attack? Duo swallowed a dark feeling of guilt and defeatism. Maybe the father had had a point, but Duo wasn't important now. The earth! The earth was the only thing that was more important. Duo swallowed again to clear his throat and began walking forward, each step as hard as. . .
. . . walking through the small bodies lying around was one of the hardest things he thought he'd ever had to do. His eyes were dry though, he couldn't cry not now. Solo had taught him that. Boys didn't cry. He was definitely a boy so he wasn't allowed to cry. He stepped over the leg of the rat boy. The rat boy had been a quick thief, managing to get in and out faster than you could even imagine it. Rat boy thought that he could out run the Big Sleep if he could steal enough money.
Solo said it was pointless though.
The Big sleep was the last sleep you'd ever have, Solo said. No one could buy death, no one could bargain with it. The poorest slut, the richest jerk, the cutest kid, the scariest crone, the nicest nurse, the cruellest copper. No one could stop death, no one could out run it, no one could skip-hop and jump over it. The kid – Solo hadn't given him a name yet, so everyone just called him the Kid – wondered what death looked like. Death was a scary guy if even offering a blow wouldn't shake him off your tail! The Kid used to stare out the window of their little bedroom, pointing at all the scary people and asking Solo if that was death.
Solo sighed and glanced out the window, the little sill providing something like a seat.
The kid always thought standing by the window always made Solo look really cool, no matter where Solo stood. The Kid could sit in the window sill and stare at Solo sleeping in their little bed – cause the kid was really special to Solo, Solo liked to keep him sleeping in the same bed. It was warm for once, and not soggy cardboard. Of course the bed wasn't much more than a beat up old mattress with a couple of mangy blankets and pillows thrown on it, but a bed was a bed. Anyway, the kid's favourite view of Solo was when he sat on windowsill and stared out. The kid thought Solo looked really nice. It wasn't the scary kinda look, no, Solo wasn't soft, but he wasn't hard either. The kid could never really find words for it but Solo was just about the most nice looking kinda person the kid had ever met.
That was probably why it hurt so much to walk into the room.
To see Solo curled up on the bed, clutching his tummy and coughing so hard that blood leaked from his nose. The kid blinked and looked down into the bowl of water he held in his hands. For a moment it was so still he could see his face in the water. His chubby rosy cheeks never seemed to dim, even when he'd not eaten for a few days. His round eyes, with their bright colour – Solo said he hadn't ever seen eyes quite like his – blinked once again. His long hair fell over his eyes slightly, it was something special that made Solo personally combed every day with his own comb, even though the stick bits were bent and nearly all of them were missing.
Had he been a little older, he would have recognised the feeling but for now, as a kid no older than all the fingers on his hand, the feeling was simply labelled in his heart as Solo's feeling.
He glanced up, and stared at Solo.
The young boy who'd found him in the trash one day managed a weak smile as he wiped the foamy blood from his lips. "Hey-yer." He whispered hoarsely, "What's that yer got, kid?"
The kid managed to shrug and not spill anything, "Thought you might want to drink summin', you look hot. . ."
The older boy smirked a little and started to sit up. As he drank, the kid got up and walked over to the window. He didn't know why, maybe he wanted to open the window or something. Maybe try and see if Solo looked better from the window. He half shrugged to himself, whatever it was that made him walk to the window just gently tugging at him slightly. Enough to move him, but not enough to make him frown and get scared. He stopped by the window, thinking that he should open it when something caught his eye. A tall woman, as tall as some of the brutish Federation soldiers, was walking away, cutting though the crowd like she wasn't really there but she was. People didn't seem to know it, but they stepped out of her way.
Her black cloak was flapping about, dragging on the floor behind her. Her hood hiding even the basic shape of her head, yet the kid knew she was a woman.
In the same instant, he knew the plague would get worse.
He knew the people he saw on the street would be the people he'd see dead tomorrow.
Turning around and glancing at Solo as his hands shook, spilling the water, the kid knew this would be Solo's last night.
He spun, trying to see the woman again. She was further away, but this time she actually hit someone, her shoulder brushing against the old man's. The old man was hobbling in a group of five old men. His dark brown hair was greying, his face showing signs of getting very old. The Kid pushed himself on to the tip of his toes, trying to see the woman as she disappeared around a corner; his reflection was the only thing he could see now.
He knew one more thing.
Wide violet eyes blinked, a slightly turned up nose wiggled as a hand came up impatiently and brushed away the thick auburn hair.
He knew who death was.
"Yeah! If there really was a God, then wouldn't He make it so there weren't anymore wars?"
How he detested fighting.
How he loathed it.
War had devastated the colony at L2. War had killed so many people. War had made so many little children have to grow up with hate in every direction. Sinners who ignored the word of God and then went on to murder and pillage, proclaiming they were fighting for the honour of God made him sick. His green eyes narrowed as his so-called son, the boy who he'd raised to be a fine replacement for him, began to walk towards him finally. His own gait had been slow and halting. When the Maxwell church had crumpled in, it had broken both of his legs. Being raised from the dead hadn't exactly cured that impediment, but it was healed enough for him to walk.
His scalp itched slightly; he could feel the clotted blood in his matted hair. Once he was rid of the bastard child, once the earth had been destroyed, such mirror trivialities would cease to matter. It would all cease to matter. Everyone and everything, everything his God had created would lie in ruin and He would have to begin from scratch. He could create a new world. A beautiful word. A fair world. A world which never knew hatred, never knew the disgusting creatures who constantly fought over its beautiful lands and breathtaking oceans. The war machines of humans would not taint the skies. Everything would be perfect, untainted by human hands.
It was such a beautiful goal for him, after so much pain, that father Maxwell felt he would weep.
He could almost smell the crisp, sweet air cold as it filled his lungs.
He opened his eyes again, the hot stifling sand filled winds around them making the air warm, muggy, dry. His son was closer now, and he could see into the violet eyes he once blessed every time they opened. The child behind those eyes had been so smart, the heart so warm, the soul practical. He'd been so perfect to take his place in life. Father Maxwell could have retired one day, watching as his adopted son took the responsibility of Maxwell Church upon his young shoulders. Helen, his cousin, had gotten there a little sooner, actually arranging to adopt the child as her own. However he'd accepted that Helen was perhaps the one Duo needed maternal connections with. Rowan Maxwell had accepted that because he was the one Duo would learn from. After a few years, as their plan went then, Helen would take Duo to earth to live for a while so he could learn about how earth really was, so he could see the wide gap between the colonies and the earth's standard of living.
His cloaks flapped around him and he swallowed struggling to keep his throat wet as the sands whipped around them.
How he hated fighting, how he loathed it.
Duo's grip tightened on his scythe and the young boy began to run forward. His violet eyes, once so adoring, hardened. Father Maxwell tightened his hands on his own scythe and damned Duo for his very existence!
". . . Bastard child!" Maxwell swore darkly as his rage spilled over, "BASTARD CHILD! YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH THE REST OF US! YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH THE REST OF US, YOU BASTARD CHILD!"
Duo's face creased into a scowl as he began to yell, scream with a wordless rage.
"Duo . . ."
Helen screamed as she fell, rolling into the bloodied sand.
Her leg burned. HER LEG BURNED! She'd been shot! The hot blood trailed down her leg as she tried to crawl out of the way. She cried, she felt she was dying all over again. Duo, her precious child!
Her hand clawed at the sand.
She couldn't leave him like this, she couldn't die again. She'd promised him, she'd adopted him! She'd left him once before and it was NOT going to happen again!
Helen opened her eyes, surprised to realise she'd ever closed them. She stared at the strange midday night sky for precious moments, gathering her breath. Grinding her teeth, Helen sat up and looked at her blood-spattered leg, it wasn't as bad as it felt. The bullet had narrowly missed the vein in the thigh. She wouldn't bleed to death immediately, but she did need urgent medical assistance. Helen nodded to her self and reached over to a dead solider near by. She turned him over, whispering a quiet prayer for his soul. Helen ripped his clothes and made herself a small bandage. Pulling it tight around the top of her leg, she swallowed back bile, fighting hard against the urge to throw up. All around her, explosions rocked the ground. All around her, people were dying . . .
Her thoughts were blank. She couldn't think anything other than fighting for her survival. Any mental scars would just have to wait. Her expression hardened. Duo was fighting for her, Duo was fighting for them all.
And so, with tears streaming down her face, the quiet mouse of a nun got up and . . .
. . . ran forward.
"No, Please! Stop it!"
Helen stared into the faces of the mercenaries who had claimed asylum in their small church. There were small children here, so many small children! Even though God granted all who sought him sanctuary, didn't they realise their very being there was endangering all the children!
"Please. . . no more!"
She pleaded with them, staring into their hard faces. Father Maxwell's breathe behind her laboured and shocked. They'd struck the man who'd helped them, who maintained this church. She wanted to damn them, wanted them to just leave but Helen was strong enough to not given in to that kind of hysteria. She held out her hands beseechingly, fully intending to continue Father Maxwell's plea for them to stop fighting. She didn't even see the blonde woman's hand as the busty fighter ran forward and delivered a strike so painful it left Helen's ear ringing. Helen sank to her knees, trembling. Never in her life had she been struck by a woman. By men, certainly. L2 was a rough place to live, especially for a woman. Yet the shock of being struck by another woman, a woman who clearly had no feelings for the children they were scaring . . . Helen's cheek flared up with hot, spiking pain.
"Shut up!" The blonde growled at her, "We've got to have total solidarity!" She sneered at Helen, "Why are you confusing people with useless talk about peace at a time like this!"
Helen felt tears prickle at her eyes, fear welling up as the men leered at her from behind the blonde. She heard the children whimper quietly, could hear the younger ones hiding their faces. She could already imagine them rocking back and forth, willing time to go back before the mercenaries came, before talks broke down and the Federation stepped up their attacks on the colonies. She swallowed, thankful that she could hear Duo, her child, whisper quietly to the older children. He was telling them to try and comfort the others as best they could.
"They might be Alliance Spies . . ."
Her head snapped up as she stared at the auburn haired man, the bushy moustached man beside him chuckled darkly, "It's possible."
She wanted to scream at them, how could they! How dare they accuse their saviours, the Father and herself. . . the children . . . of being spies! But the look in the auburn haired man's eyes made her voice die in her throat, leaving her only with a pathetic whisper. "B. . . but . . ."
He smirked, "Shall we make them confess?"
She closed her eyes, and began to pray that they'd have the decency to at least take this someplace else where the children couldn't—
"HEY! WAIT!"
Her eyes snapped open. Duo, her child, her precious child, his voice pierced the air like an arrow.
"ALL YOU WANT'S ONE MOBILE SUIT!"
The mercenaries glanced between themselves as Duo ran in front of her and began yelling at them.
"I'll go steal one for you! And in return, I want all you guys to get out of here!" Duo motioned with his arm violently, "This is supposed to be a peaceful place!"
"Hmph," the leader of the mercenaries snorted as he dismissed Duo with a wave of his hand. "The kid's talking nonsense."
Helen's voice still betrayed her, her whole body seemed to be frozen. The icy cold feeling of dread crept into her heart as Duo suddenly seemed to grow up. He became a young man, passionate and fearless, trapped in the body of a small child. Fear made Helen's eyes water, the pain in her face forgotten.
"I may run . . ."
Helen's hands twitched, her lips moving but her voice remaining silent.
". . . and I may hide . . ."
His violet eyes seemed to shimmer with latent power as his fists curled by his sides.
". . . but I don't tell lies like you guys!"
The spell holding Helen back broke and pushed her forward violently as she wrapped her arms around "Duo." The mercenaries spun on him. "Say what!"
"Duo!" Helen gasped painfully, "Duo, don't!"
He wrenched from her arms and started to sprint toward the heavy black entrance doors. His long braid of hair whipped behind him as he tossed over his shoulder, "One Mobile Suit! Coming right up!"
The ground shook and rumbled as a million and one things happened all at once. Little children ran out of their hiding places near the sides of the church and sprung forward to hide under the pews. Father Maxwell groaned as he woke up. The mercenaries who'd been watching outside ran towards them, screaming something about the Alliance forces finding them. Loose bricks from the ceiling fell with a long stream of dust. Outside, the rumble of the Alliance mobile suits drowned out the screams of innocent civilians.
But for Helen the world had gone silent.
There was a massive explosion above her, the beautiful stained glass Duo so loved to stare at during sunny days cracked and imploded, raining down on them with deadly yet heartbreakingly beautiful shards of multicoloured glass.
Duo's thick, handsome hair still trailed after him. His black priest clothing making him melt into the shadows as he ran to the door.
Helen drew a deep breath. The last breathe of her life.
"DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
The black doors were flung open and the sunlight spilled in, making Duo's eyes seem to glow as he spun and caught her gaze for the slightest of heartbeats before running out into the light.
". . . wars aren't started by God. . . but by people."
"BASTARD CHILD! YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH THE REST OF US! YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH THE REST OF US, YOU BASTARD CHILD!"
That broke Duo's heart to hear that and finally he allowed Shinigami, the old rage that sustained him through the war, to break loose and truly cause the creature that stood before him real hell. He opened his mouth and roared as he ran forward. His scythe was cool in his hands; his cloaks billowed out behind him. Shinigami ran to his father, fully intend on killing him with the first blow.
Father Maxwell's dark green eyes narrowed until they were nothing but slits as he too began a death charge toward Duo.
Their scythes struck each other, throwing up sparks as the two jumped back and began a deadly waltz. Duo jumped as the dark scythe came swishing through the air to cut his legs. Father Maxwell ducked as Duo's scythe came down; striking the sand and throwing up dust everywhere.
"I loved you!"
Father Maxwell snarled as Duo began to ground out broken sentences, totally unaware he was finally speaking of his deepest pain. "Damn you, I loved you more than anyone else!" The light glinted off Duo's scythe as he spun it around his head, momentarily blinding the old man. "I trusted you with my life!"
"Then you were a fool!" Maxwell snarled back at Duo. Rowan swung his body out of the way, "That makes us both fools! You were supposed to take my place in life!"
Water erupted from the ground and shot high into the air. It rained down on them hard, making the ground slippery and wet. Duo struggled to keep his footing as Rowan forced more water up from the earth. The old man's dark green eyes opened as he ran toward Duo, his scythe raised high. The younger boy slammed the heel of his staff into Maxwell's stomach and spun away, slipping and sliding as he desperately tried to run from the wet patch of sand. He ran into the sand storm that seemed to surround them all.
The sand bit into his tear stained cheeks.
"I loved you."
"What people begin . . . People must end for themselves."
"DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
He paused briefly. Glanced back.
Sister Helen, the closest damn thing he had to a mother, knelt on the floor her arms outstretched to him. The shards of the stained glass rained down on her like raindrops. He couldn't stop; he needed to get that mobile suit. Just one mobile suit could save them all. Consequences be damned. He had to save his home!
Solo once said he'd never seen a kid run quite as fast as Duo did.
He prayed to the God he'd been taught to believe in that He would make Duo as fast as the wind, faster than sound, faster than light. Faster than death herself!
"Damnit!"
Faster than anything in the universe. He would be the best, the fastest. Only his speed, only his stealth. Nothing else mattered as he ran through the decaying streets of L2. Destruction lay all around the base where they kept the mobile suits. The grounds were treated like the personal training grounds of the scum who piloted the mobile suits.
"Damnit!"
His fists clenched, his lungs burns but still he kept running, running like there would never be another day. Like he was in a race against death. The only way he could win was to keep one step ahead of her. Ahead of her pale hands, her sad eyes, her dark cloaks. He closed his eyes finally screaming out against the injustice of his situation.
"DAMNIT! WHY!"
His eyes snapped open as he nimbly jumped over fallen walls, loose bricks and the odd broken off arm.
"They all used to HATE war just the other day!" He called out to no-one, to everyone, "Why go start another one!"
He scrambled up the base's fence, cutting himself on the barbed wire but not caring about the blood running from his arms. He ran along the high brick wall and jumped down quickly.
"INTRUDER!"
The yell went up, and spread around the base's outdoor guards like wild fire, but Duo kept on running, trying to be faster than the guards, the grown men who chaise him.
/I hate the Alliance too! But . . ./
He ran across the courtyard, still faster than death, still faster than the wind. His young body not knowing, not recognising the need to slow down anymore, he could run forever at this pace.
/But still/
"Stop!" Yells seemed to bounce off the concrete as he kept on running. He was too focused to understand, he could only see one thing, the one mobile suit they needed. The one mobile suit that was the price of his family, of his home, of his life. "Stop or we'll shoot!"
Duo shook his head, his violet eyes wide open and sparking with power he would never know about until one fateful day when five knights would gather to save the earth. His mind and his mouth worked as one as he screamed out, "If you want a war so much . . . then why don't you jerks all go fight EACH OTHER!"
Bullets pinged off the concrete around him, and yet he was still the faster. It felt like hidden wings upon his back had spread and he was flying toward the mobile suit, the one mobile suit.
"St-stop, he's just a kid!" One solider finally saw what he was, grabbing his comrade's arm.
"Yeah?" The other said callously, "So what? All the colonists are our enemies!"
/They keep on making more orphans like me/ Duo gritted his teeth as his body began to admit to feeling the burn of his flight. He screeched to a halt as he twisted around a corner. Breathing heavily, the young boy looked around, he needed one mobile suit but he didn't know how to flying one. He needed on in a truck or . . .
"There!"
One mobile suit was all ready in a truck and ready to roll! Duo sprinted up to the trucks cab just as the driver got out the other side. The small boy ducked in and locked the doors, just as the driver realised someone was there. Duo twisted the key, pounded his small feet on the levers, and spun the wheel.
"Don't let him get away!"
One shot smashed the window and exploded the passenger side's headrest. Duo didn't care, didn't look. He just pressed the pedal down harder; crashing through the gates, sending twisted metal everywhere.
Duo blinked then, something catching his eye, breaking his fierce concentration for only a second.
A woman, a tall woman stood by the side of the road, dressed in black. She glanced up at him, and he caught her eye.
Her red lips moved slowly, willing him to catch her meaning even though the encounter never lasted more than a fraction of a second and he never remembered it.
'. . . faster than death.'
His concentration returned as he passed her, his eyes on the road, his mind resuming the rage he'd held inside of him. The shattered glass made it hard to see the road, he swerved and stuttered until he came up to the church. His mind was made up.
"I'm only alive through luck anyway . . ." he glanced in the mirror; the Woman in Black was walking away now. "If someone's gonna do the dirty work, it should be me!"
He kept on driving at a break neck speed, instinctively knowing when to stop even though he couldn't see through the windows anymore. The truck travelled forward after he hit the breaks, sliding on the debris. He jumped out of the cab and found . . .
. . . a smoking crater, his life in ruins, his family dead.
Rain.
Like the day Heero had blown himself up.
Like the day Solo died.
Like the day Solo found him.
Like the day his mother and father were hunted down and killed, both loyal serving members of Romafellor and rising, brilliant scientists ran out into the streets of L2 to hide their son from the assassination squad sent to their home after it was revealed they'd become disillusioned with the direction Romafellor were allowing the Alliance to take and had begun to give secrets to the resistance movements.
Rain.
It started to rain as he stared at the smoking crater that had once been his home.
"No . . ." he whispered as if he could make it all go away with a prayer. "This . . . this can't be . . ."
Somewhere, in the L2 weather production facility, a man who'd never seen the real sun on Earth noted with some disinterest that for the third time in eight years, something unknown was causing the colony's artificial weather system to create a freak storm.
"Hmmm . . . so it really doesn't matter if God exists or not?"
The sand parted.
Duo gasped for breath as he flew out of the sand storm and ran over the sand dunes. Beside him, just seven meters away Father Maxwell ran with the bloodcurdling gait of a man whose legs were broken yet he still found the ability to run. Duo had to be faster. Duo had to be faster than this dead man; he had to be faster than death once more. There was a fairly large sand dune coming up, he would use it to turn, running along the side of it as he curved back to strike at the demon that pretended to be his Father. He ran up and over the sand dunes, sometimes tripping, sometimes flying. His focus crystallised on that large sand dune. Nothing else – not the clear sky, not the golden sand – nothing else existed for him.
His free hand came up to his clock's clasp and worked at it.
Duo's massive black cloaks flew and billowed away from him as he ran from under them. The shiny silver buckles on the inside leg of his knee high boots - much like the ones he'd worn during the wars – sparkled as he ran, the black, metal shin pads were dull, but almost blurring as he slid down the side of a sand dune. The metal armour he wore over the black leather trousers and vest protected his chest and back. His arms sported heavy leather forearm bands, which held the black metal forearm armour. Black chain mail hung loosely over the parts of his body not covered by the black armour. It glinted dully as he moved, strangely light as he moved with complete ease.
The last dune.
Duo growled as he made the sharp turn, running up and across the side of the massive dune. His scythe flickered in the light as he raised it, grasping it with both hands. For every pain, for every death he caused, Duo roared.
Rowan Maxwell ran up toward him, his own scythe raised. Showing no inclination of slowing down.
"Th-that's not so!"
"Alistair!"
"We haven't got a choice!"
Her long hair fell over her eyes as they ran through the rain. She closed her eyes and cried as her husband tightened his hold on her hand and pulled her hard through the dirty back streets. They'd lost their pursuers for now but they were far too well known, too easily recognisable to ever disappear. Her small son squirmed in her other arm, he'd stopped crying at least but somehow she knew he could feel what they were going to do to him.
"We can't leave him in the streets!" She cried out, "We couldn't! That will kill him! Alistair! We'd be killing our own son!"
He ducked around a corner and pulled her down amongst the rubbish and the soggy cardboard. He held her and his son for a long moment, all three just breathing hard. He knew she was right. He knew it! He was going to kill his own son by leaving the boy here in the back streets of L2. It would be better to break his little neck and be done with that.
"No." Alistair shook his wife, Karen. "No, baby . . . I know, I know he's going to have a hard life . . . but at least he'll live! We can't take him with us, and we can't leave him with a family in the richer part of L2! You know that! As soon as we're dead, they'll go looking for a boy recently left abandoned!"
Karen cried harder, clutching her baby to her chest, the boy's hair so much like her own it made Alistair's heart ache.
The little boy stared at him with wide, knowing violet eyes.
Violet was a family trait, he'd never had them, but his great-grand mother had been blessed with it.
He stared into his son's eyes. Never would he hear the boy's first word. Never know his first love. Never see his first grandson. Alistair swallowed and pried his son from his wife's arms.
"No! You can't take him!" Karen began to cry out, her maternal instincts kicking in. "No! Don't you understand me! You can't take him! Alistair, no! GOD, DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND! HE'S OUR BABY! ALISTAIR, NO!" Her face creased with complete fury, "GODDAMN YOU!"
Alistair ignored her. Placed his son safely as he could in a soggy cardboard box and covered him with newspaper. He pulled his wife away screaming, down the street. Karen wouldn't look at him; she snivelled as they trudged down the street as fast and as far as they could get from where they'd left their son. It was only a matter of time before they found them.
"We've killed our baby . . ." Karen choked quietly, "for nothing . . . Alistair, what have we done?"
"Hush . . ." he wrapped his arms around her as they came to a church. He pushed open the heavy doors, revealing the empty hall. A woman sat in the pews, watching the Father and the Sister of the church as they quietly talked. Alistair pulled his wife to the statue of the Mother Mary, studiously avoiding the gaze of the pale-faced woman as she stood. Her dark violet eyes should have made him gasp as they knelt together before the statue of Mary and prayed, but some how he was comforted to see her.
Karen pulled the cross from her chest and kissed it, she glanced up at the woman who knelt beside her and stared into the deep violet eyes. The red lips pulled into a sad smile. "I . . ." Karen stared at the woman, "We've just left our baby on the streets . . ."
The woman nodded, "I know." She turned her head slightly and nodded to the father and the Sister. "They will find him for you; they'll take care of him."
"And you?" Karen felt a tear spill from her eye; "Will you take care of him?"
The pale woman smiled again, sadly. She raised her hand; her fingers were longer than any normal human yet Karen and Alistair felt no fear as she took their hands and lead them out into the streets.
They walked down the stairs and glanced back at her.
The woman in black looked up as the assassination squad's black car drove up. She looked into Karen's eyes.
"I shall try . . ." she walked down the street, away from them. Her soft voice floated like the breeze back to them, touching their hearts and giving them hope. "But I fear . . . he maybe faster than Death . . ."
Karen and Alistair touched hands briefly, kissed softly then were dragged into the black car, never to see the light of day, never to see the woman in black nor the fine solider their son, the only survivor, the fastest pilot, the God of Death would grow up to be.
"Then the only god in this world is the God of Death!"
"ARGH!"
Rowan screeched as Duo's scythe dug into his shoulder and the boy used his momentum to leap up and over the old priest. He felt the bones crack and break as the silvery scythe tore through the flesh on his left shoulder. The shoulder bone was pulled right through until it poked from under the flesh and the cloak. He stumbled and pitched into the sand, hearing Duo's black booted feet thud as they landed in the ground. The scythe was yanked loose and Rowan managed to push himself out of the way as Duo raised his staff to land a blow to his head.
The old priest rolled down the sand dune and yanked off his cloak as he stood.
He glowered at Duo as his cloak whipped away from him. "Vain child, spiteful child . . ." he hissed darkly, "Dastard child. . . you are too impure, this world is too tainted . . ." he swallowed hard as he raised his dark scythe once more and sprinted toward Duo once more, "YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO EXIST!"
Duo's eyes narrowed as he ran toward the crazed man, his lips parting once more to utter a soul wrenching roar at him. "GOD DAMN YOU! HOW DARE YOU PRETEND TO BE SOMEONE YOU'RE NOT!"
"Duo . . . You don't believe in God, but you do believe in the God of Death?"
He sighed.
Another day, another rainstorm. It was the second in a week. Solo sighed as he ducked into an alleyway and tried to find shelter from the rain. Faint memories of his real home, his family touched his mind as he thought he heard his mother tell him to come out of the rain. His mother had been a lovely but frail, little Japanese woman; his last memory was of her being heavily pregnant with child travelling back to L1 via a space shuttle. His father had recently died, or gone missing. Solo couldn't rightly remember now, not after so long. He'd been on the streets for three, maybe four years . . . he was supposed to be left with his uncle, but the Alliance had come and put an end to that particular agreement. Hell, he'd even come to forget his own name so he named himself. Solo. Because that was what he was, just a kid trying to survive on his own, solo by name solo by nature.
He picked through the trash with some disinterest, throwing out used, bloodied pads and junk mail.
When he finally came to something worth eating, a quiet wail caught his attention. He blinked and looked around, until his gaze fell on a squirming box. He lifted the old, wet newspaper gingerly and gazed down at the baby within. Stinking of shit and piss, the violet eyed, brown haired child stared up at him. His arms rose toward Solo in a pleading gesture.
The young boy's heart broke.
How could anyone abandon such a baby here on the streets were beyond him. How he could leave the child here any longer appalled him. How he would take care of the babe when he was eating out of trashcans himself scared him.
Yet still, Solo reached into the foul smelling box and pulled out the baby.
Hushing him quietly, Solo walked out into the rain again. Carrying the child to his chest, keeping the rain out of his face, Solo walked through the streets, caring for the child as best he could, teaching him to speak, teaching him to beg until a frail old woman called to him. She gave him food and she gave him clothing for the baby, saying something about it being a crying shame that a boy and his brother should be left in the streets to rot.
She gave him her house to stay in, even though it was a derelict place with no furniture. She gave him every act of human kindness she could, until she died that very same day. Solo dragged her body away from the place fearful it would be taken from him, but made sure she was left in a spot where she'd be found quick enough.
When he returned, the rain had finally stopped and he found the baby-sitting on the windowsill, talking animatedly in baby gibberish to an imaginary woman outside. She was dressed in black, or she was black. All he could discern from the baby's utterances was 'wobam', 'Bwack' and 'pwetty'.
Solo sighed pulling the child from the windowsill, taking him to be washed.
He glanced out the window for a moment when the baby suddenly crowed again . . . but he never saw the tall woman in black, watching their window with her pretty, dark violet eyes.
"Yeah! I've never seen any miracles but I've sure seen lots of dead people!"
Determined not to fall for the same trick twice, Rowan spun just as Duo flicked his scythe toward him, as a result the blade caught just under the already mangled shoulder from behind. He smirked darkly, even though the fresh pain ripped through him harder than the day he'd died. Duo continued the same trick, flipping his whole body up and over the father. His left arm popped out of its joint and dangled useless by his side but the arm wasn't what he needed. Duo landed before him, stumbling and falling to his knees. Rowan Maxwell's right arm flipped out with the scythe and pulled back quick, catching the Knight of Death off guard and by the neck.
". . . heh, heh . . ."
Father Rowan Maxwell smiled down at the small, bright boy in his lap. His long auburn hair trailed down in his favoured style, the braid, and his bright violet eyes sparkled with yet another triumph. Duo had really challenged him today with his arguments about God. Just the trait needed to be a good priest. Father Maxwell smiled warmly as Sister Helen touched her bottom lip with one of her fingers a sure sign that Duo's argument had caught her too. She glanced at the Father with a worried expression, concern perhaps for the boy's faith, but Rowan laughed it off quietly, "Dear me . . ." he murmured to the cherished boy, "It's hard to argue with you . . ."
Duo's face spilt into a giant grin, one that would light the whole colony, Father Maxwell was sure.
Sister Helen slid to her knees before them both and gazed up at Duo with the growing motherly affection Father Maxwell had noticed over the time Duo had been with them. She gazed at him for a moment longer, before touching his cheek and murmuring softly, "You say the strangest things . . ."
To be continued...
DrM: No, really, I mean it. Next week or something, not next year! blushes Sorry...