August 27, 2007

  • Beginings chapter 1

    So, been awhile... Haven't been doing much of anything. Restarted this story since my computer is wasted and Sara's wiped out all her memory and files, so we've been archiving and planning and stuff...sorta. Mostly reading but whatever. :P Enjoy...hopefully. Not my best work, but give a girl a break! I'll be updating this by the chapter, so hopefully you all won't have to wait as long...hopefully...

    Warnings: yaoi, violence, language, and randomness. That should always count as a warning.
    Disclaimer: Azazel isn't mine, neither is Heather and her Michael is just a bastard I don't want and are Sara's. Vlad, Yasuo, and Kaggren are mine, and the plot is both of ours. The world? Good question, we're still deciding. :D


    Beginings Chap. 1 Crystal's (my) Chapter

    Tied with golden twine, wings broken bloody and useless, and body marred, Azazel had seen much better days. Long pale golden hair was tied back, for some reason left untouched by his tormentors as deadly, jaded silver eyes glaring up at Michael with pure hatred, no longer the love he once felt so very long ago. Thin, fragile looking pale body was covered in torn and thrashed what used to be white robes, which were now worse then rags and stained the reddish brown of dried blood. The freshest of his wounds still bleeding, they were splotched with a sticky red that gleamed in the light that seemed to come out of every corner of the judgment room.

    His glare turned from his enemy to his other one, perhaps even greater then the High Arch Angel. Heather stood by him, wiping off a bit of blood onto her finger before looking at it, disgusted, and rubbing it off on his wing. If he could have moved, he would have lashed out, and she would no longer have that hand, nor the look of superiority about her. If he had his way, she would be put out of existence forever, and he wouldn't feel any pity for it. Well, not anymore. The Azazel that loved and cherished his sister died when she betrayed him, much like how he now hated Michael with a fiery passion for raping him, leading him on like he loved him only to turn his back and give him his sentence out of Heaven.

    “If you were more cooperative, we wouldn't have had to gag you,” Michael sighed, causing the small crowd who had come to witness his Fall into Hell to chuckle. “However, talking wouldn't give you much help anyway. Your sentence has been passed and therefore, we can't turn back on it. Don't worry, traitor. You'll be put where you belong shortly.”

    Azazel didn't protest, seeing no point in struggling. Besides, it would have only reopened some of the older wounds which had finally begun to heal, and make his new ones start bleeding again as well. He could only hope that the Fallen had some sort of medicine to help with the healing process, and maybe even get his wings back to being fly worthy. He glanced back at his torn wings and suppressed a grimace at the sight of them. They really did do a number on him...he was going to be scarred for the rest of his days from this.

    With a solid smack, he was tossed into the portal that would lead him into his new home, never to see the Golden Gates of Heaven again. To never feel the soft grass under his feet, to know and talk to the creatures that had found themselves there and called it home. To allow the warmth of the Holy Light to warm him, to sing praises, to paint the beauty while standing in its glory. However, he could no longer fight his fate, no longer look upon those that condemned him and take his revenge.

    At least, not yet.

    /breaking point.../

    his state, he couldn't even get the strength up to break them. He looked disdainfully at some feathers that had fallen from his already bare looking wings, and felt the urge to throw up, even on an empty stomach. His only hope was that someone came for him soon, or he somehow escaped to see if anyone was around this barren wasteland. Either way, he didn't want to run into anything that would try to kill him. After all, the would make him even more of a failure.

    /left for dead/

    Vlad, one of the Fallen of the Shadow's best assassin, had been sent on the most stupid mission that he had been on in awhile. He had to go recover a newly Fallen, that Michael couldn't just send to Kaggern's castle and be done with it. No, he just dropped him on the Sands of Hell for no apparent reason and made himself and Yasuo, his best friend since childhood, to go get it. He just hoped that whoever it was that they were cooperative, he really wasn't in the mood to be fighting with anyone at the moment. The currents were especially strong today and it didn't help that he was already in a sour mood. He had to kill children the previous day, and he hated doing that and avoided it where it was possible.

    “Where the hell is this new recruit,” Yasuo complained for the millionth time. “He might be buried for all we know!”

    Vlad ignored his companion's complaining and instead focused on the task of looking for something, anything, below. He finally sighted something, and without warning, dove for the figure that seemed to do nothing buy lay on the sands. Yasuo yelled in surprise, following Vlad in his dive, not wanting to pass up what he had been complaining for the past hour. They both landed softly on the Sands, robes of identical black and red with golden ties flowing around them like black auras.

    Vlad was the first to snort and go over to the unconscious Fallen, inspecting the damage. To him, it seemed that those in Heaven really didn't like this one, the way the marks looked as if they were meant to scar over, and his wings would be lucky if they would ever carry his weight again, even with the overly thin frame. Even with these currents, it wouldn't take much for him just to carry this one back to the castle by himself. Sighing, he carefully picked up the other, Yasou whistling behind him.

    “They really did a number on this one,” he openly observed. “I wonder what he did to be beaten so badly and then thrown down here like a rag doll for.”

    “I'm wondering that myself,” Vlad sighed. “However, I'm sure we'll find out one way or another. After all, you're the best at infiltration.”

    Grinning, Yasuo couldn't help but feel a streak of mischievous thoughts coming on. It was true, it was what he was good at that. That was how they found out as much as they did, because of his skills at sneaking in and out of places quickly, quietly, and getting everything that they needed.

    “So, we heading back,” Yasuo asked. “I wonder which one of us has to train this one.”

    Snorting, Vlad took off into the air, Azazel in his arms bridal style, since it was the easiest way to do things. Yasuo laughed and followed him, not wanting to be left behind by the increasingly irritated Fallen. They both knew that it would be one of them or both training this newly Fallen, and training was one of the more boring jobs when they were used to infiltrating and killing those who seen them, as well as their targets.

    on the wings of a Fallen/
    Azazel finally came to on the way to Kaggren's castle, watching it rise in the horizon as he was carried towards it. It rose in the midst of the swirling sands and midnight blue sky. This was so much more different then Heaven, so much darker, but wasn't that was he expected? Things to be mild undertones to the brightness that Heaven allowed him to see and bask in? However, imagining something and actually being there is always a bit different, and this situation was proving to be just that. After all, he expected to be eaten alive, and not being carried... He was being carried. That thought alone put him back asleep, not wanting to deal with whatever reality he had found himself in. unknown destiny He was roused fully, and found himself kneeling before a large stone throne, tall floor to ceiling windows leading to the thrown, draped in heavy burgundy curtains that covered most of them, but still allowed one to glimpse the sky from either side, dark blue in an everlasting twilight. He looked at the figure on the throne, deep navy blue hair against tanned skin with piercing green eyes, the black wing Fallen looked regal in his court. Robes of gray, trimmed with white and a tie made of silver if he wasn't mistaken, was this his leader? Was this the one that Michael sent him to for all eternity? “It seems you have finally awoken,” Kaggren said, voice carrying in the large room. “I am Kaggren, your new leader until you can stand on your own feet. Tomorrow, you will begin your training, with whom has not been decided yet. I take it you would like to clean up?”
    Azazel dumbly nodded, wanting nothing more then a hot bath to get the sand out of his wounds and a bed to sleep in. Actually, this stone floor wasn't too uncomfortable...

    “Vlad,” Kaggren called. The raven haired Fallen was at his side in an instant, awaiting his orders. “Take Azazel to his new quarters. You will also be the one responsible for his well being.”

    Bowing, Vlad stepped down from beside the Leader of the Fallen Angels of Shadow, and to Azazel's side. Holding out a hand, he helped Azazel up and led the exhausted and hurt Fallen to his new room, to be prepared for whatever may be in store for him in his new home.