Chapter 1
An angel renounced, the darkest wound.
"Holy hell..." he muttered, both shocked and amazed. He took his mind from it, not wanting to use that much destructive power unless it was absolutely necessary, in fear of destroying
more than intended. He stretched out a bit, still stiff from sleeping on the hard marble floor of the church's alter. He let out a sigh of
relief as he stretched his wings to full extension. They towered over him when fully extended, almost exceeding in comparison to the length of his entire body. He moved them about in order to work out the stiffness, he had never
used them before now. He then brought them down powerfully and was immediately impressed at his newfound strength as he was lifted violently into the air. He began to test his speed and agility in the air, which he
soon found to be quite formidable. He had thought that his wings' size would hinder his moving ability in the air, but the power he had been granted allowed him to move them extremely quickly. They were also quite articulate,
he could move them in almost any direction. He could also pick things up with the claws at the main joint. Throwing a large rock at a tree with one, he laughs and said, "Haha, that's clever. An extra set of hands is always useful."
He walked up to a tree, wanting an idea of exactly how strong he was, physically. He grasped the tree with one hand, sinking his fingers deep into the wood. He
lifted up and the tree was effortlessly removed from it's station in the Earth.
Satisfied, he relaxed his mind and searched within himself, trying to discover if there were any obvious, new branches of his consciousness. He stumbled upon
his psychic potential again, now aware of how to use it. He heard the agonized scream of the tree that he had thoughtlessly removed from it's standing point. Then something odd hit him. It was cold, silent, black.
It was the part of him that made him what he was, the part that was created in him in all of his suffering. He knew then that he was capable of
wielding the dark majicks as well as the majicks of heaven and the majicks of earth.
He looked slowly down at his hands, now lost in this melancholic side of himself. He manifested a translucent black ball of pure torment into existence. It was negativity incarnate, filled with every amount of suffering ever experienced by all life
that had ever lived. Agony, fear, rage, jealousy, betrayal, desperation, humiliation,
loneliness, heartbreak, madness. Nothing was left astray, this power was the cold substance of negativity and suffering.
The spheres irradiated blackness that the brightest light could not penetrate. The substance dripped from the sphere like blood from a bleeding heart.
Again, he let the power dissipate into nothingness, now feeling cold, stricken with melancholy. He remembered the tree, and mourned for it, now aware of it's pain. He picked it up and placed it back into the Earth where it had stood before. He summoned
up the majick of heaven in him, and healed the tree with a bright, golden light. He listened to the tree once more, and heard not, it's previous cries. He almost thought he heard it
whisper it's gratitude. Shaking his head at the notion, he looked around in thought.
He wanted to find the nearest human habitat. Villages, I believe they were called. He spread his large, black, demon's wings and hesitated as something caught his attention. A presence from far, far away struck his
interest.
"In due time." he thought, remembering his intention to find a village. "We are all slaves to due time."
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