°°°

Chapter III [Filth ~ The Meeting Of…]

Katan was running away. Walking briskly down the steps of the palace, he did not look back nor unveil his hooded features. Katan felt a yearning to look upon the towering palace one more time, the smooth marble surfaces and beautiful structures.  A magnificent work that truly belonged in heaven, and the only place he had ever called a home. It held his most treasured memories, a precious childhood with.. Him.  But he couldn't allow himself to turn. Just one glimpse would make him break and lose all of his resolve.

            Katan flexed his right hand. Or rather, tried to. It was the only reminder of his inner conflict, the telltale sign that wouldn't go away. His right hand was the one part of him that still remained a mass of twisting wires, meshing themselves into the surrounding flesh.  Katan wore a loose black glove over it, he didn't want to look upon the thing that he was.

He had not gone to seek the Inorganic Angel after his disappearance.  Rociel-sama does not need me as I do him. In his perfection he does not need this irksome child. I must do what is right, not what my foolish heart desires. I have already done too much wrong to you. I would rather die, but..  There is something still holding me here. Rociel-sama; take care. I can no longer do anything for you.

***

            A room surrounded end to end by art. That was the only word for it, the mural that extended all around the room from the top of the walls to the very bottom. The diversity of the work was something to marvel at too. Beginning on the left side was a tale of creation, the world created by God.  The blue soothing rivers, the lush green forests, and the very first human beings, a man and a woman. That portion of the wall was painted in light pastel colours, emitting an aura of peace. However, the scene soon gave way to something darker.  The pastel colours faded quickly into dark lines that streaked across the walls. The colours were heavy and dark, a sea of faces emerging from the black waters. They were neither human nor demon, but something in between. Gaping mouths and wrinkled lips cried out in what was either anger or pain. This was the final great work of the artist, as she had met with sudden retirement shortly after.  It was one of the rooms that Sevotharte had hardly touched when Rociel was still sealed in the Earth. Of course, Sevotharte must have entered the place at least once. He was a very thorough man.  But it was doubtful he came more than that, as there was no useful information trapped inside the empty room and the painting would remind Sevotharte all too much of Rociel.

.

It was within that room Rociel was brooding, long hair cascading down his back and hands folded neatly on his lap.  His pressed lips and dark expression gave off a dangerous aura, indicating his bad mood. And so the servant waiting for him did not to disturb his meditation. He had been standing there for half an hour now, but he did not mind. To look upon Rociel was a privilege in itself; time easily slowed into something that was meaningless when it was the Inorganic Angel that one beheld.

            "What is it?" Rociel asked, finally acknowledging his presence.

            The servant bowed respectfully. "As you requested to be notified of, Cherubim Katan has left Atziluth, Rociel-sama."

            "I know," he said sharply, suddenly irritated. The atmosphere around Rociel seemed to bristle suddenly, like an agitated cat. A very dangerous cat.

            To his credit the servant did not question Rociel's mood. No one ever did.. Almost no one.  He lowered his head further in submission. "It is predicted that he will enter the slums of Shamayim at any moment. I await my orders."

            Instead of answering him, Rociel asked slowly, "Would you.."  He paused. "Die for me?'

            "Yes," the servant answered promptly. If he was surprised at the sudden question, there was no reaction to hint it.

            "Do you follow me unconditionally, my command over your own?"

            "Yes. No other's words are higher than Rociel-sama's."

            "Good."           

Like a good puppet; like all the others. You are perfect; and that is what makes you lacking. Is that why.. "He" is different?

            "Continue to follow him and report back to me."

            "Hai," The servant hurried on his way, eager to please.

Meanwhile, a predatory gleam had entered Rociel's eyes. I gave you a chance Katan; the reins are not yours to hold this time. I will partake in this chase, but know that even the fastest birds can have their wings easily clipped. You will be mine once more...

***

Forever alone.  You wicked angel, you've done it again. Teiaiel  looked down at her small hands, covered in blood. Some of the liquid had dried, but most of it remained moist. The aftertaste of flesh still lingered unpleasantly in her mouth, fresh and raw. Yet she could not stop doing the unforgivable deed, she never could.  In the slums, the dead bodies of angels were always so abundant. They beckoned to her with their silent voices, telling her to consume them so that she may live.  So she did, and everyone hated her for it.  They called her an angel eater, the cute child that had her innocence stolen by the devil. Adults looked at her in disgust and the I-Children pelted her with insults and violence, to them she was no different than a cockroach to grind to the floor.  But what else could she do? The dead offered themselves all too willingly.

Teiaiel whispered some soft comforting words to the half-eaten head that sat next to her. "Honto ni gomen nasai. Demo ne the insects would come to you sooner or later, and the big ones eat really messily."

The man's own knife had been used in his decapitation. He appeared to have been a common thug looking for food, stumbling onto the wrong place at the wrong time.  The inspector patrols were not forgiving. His last thoughts were so strong they had been permanently marked into his brain. She could feel his lingering feelings as easily as she could read the hearts of others. They were the thoughts of many who dwelled in the lowest level of heaven; the yearning to die but the struggle to live.

A shadow fell upon her small form. Teiaiel moved slightly, instinctively lifting an arm to protect her face. She narrowly escaped the swing of a glass bottle. It was flung to the ground, the impact shattering it to pieces.  A young female angel stood above her, bearing a deep scowl on her youthful face. Fists clenched, a single wing was unfurled from her back, a unnatural mutation that indicated her blood as an I-Child. She bore the simple garments of a white short-sleeved shirt flecked with dirt, and faded blue trousers.

            "You!" She pointed a finger at Teiaiel accusingly, her glare intensifying.  "It is your fault! The other kids and I are working so hard to live, and you're here calling the attention of the inspectors down upon our heads." The girl's eyes flickered over the corpse briefly. "Can you not let the dead lie as they are meant to lie?"

Teiaiel gazed up at her sadly. "The dead don't want to lie in this scary place. They don't want the bugs to get them. They want to go to heaven."

The girl slapped her across the face, leaving a tender red mark. "Don't you even dare talk about 'heaven' with that dirty mouth of yours!" she hissed. Sweeping an arm around the surroundings for emphasis, she said bitterly, "This is heaven. We are in heaven already."

"This is not heaven," Teiaiel stated simply, rubbing at her cheek. "There is no God here, I have not seen him. He is somewhere else, and that somewhere is where heaven is."

The I-Child looked as though she was going to strike Teiaiel again, but a gloved hand held her back at the wrist. "That is enough," someone spoke from behind her. The girl whirled around coming face to face with a tall man, his face hidden by the loose folds of a hooded cloak. 

            She tried to worm her hand from his grip but found that it was too strong. "Who are you?" she bit out. The question seemed to catch him off guard momentarily, so she took advantage of that second to yank her hand free.

            "I am Cre..on," Katan said. The syllables were unfamiliar to him, but the girl was so caught up in her own anger that she did not notice Katan's poor pronunciation of his own name. "This child is the same as you, poor and rejected by society. Why can you not accept her?"

            "She's nothing like me, she's a fallen one!"

            "And you are an I-Child, by the red of your eyes and the absence of a wing," Katan said matter-of-factly.

            The girl was at a loss for words, she was not pleased by his assessment. Being reminded of her less than honourable status was the thing that she hated most in the world. The angel's cheeks were flushed, quick anger a sure sign of her youth. It seemed that she would stomp her foot at any moment. I was not like that back in those days, was I? Katan thought.

            Then she did something that was very unexpected. She stuck out her tongue at him, making a face that was a deathly glare but to Katan it looked almost comical. No, definitely not, he concluded.

            "I have better things to do, than to argue with a fallen one and a stranger," she retorted.  "The others are waiting for me. I am Shateiel, if you are ever lost in the slums I can help you. But not if you intend to stay with.. Her." The I-Child turned her back on Katan, moving away with quick deft steps. She soon disappeared around the bend of a battered building.

            Teiaiel had stayed quiet throughout the exchange, seemingly forgotten. Katan turned to her now, taking off his hood.  He smiled gently at her, the first nice smile that Teiaiel had seen in years. "Forgive me for intruding," he immediately apologized. "What is your name?"

            "Teiaiel," she answered, looking up at him with her large, unblinking eyes. "Onii-chan."

 Back to Fanfic °°° 4th chapter