“Akuma”

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Forgive me, but please let me talk here a little bit, without metaphor or illusion, saying what I want to say in all its blunt glory...

Behind a shroud of every ideal that people hold dear in this world, what truly exists? You talk of honor and chivalry, but what is really behind these sounds you so easy force from your mouth? It is so very easy to claim one thing and do another, especially when your respondant does not know any better, even more so when you yourself to not realize your own behavior.

Today, this world which all claims to be wonderfully liberal and beautiful, in this country that raised me that preaches the freedom of democracy and the wonders of this creature called man, I see only a lie. Forgotten children, raised on the ideals of their parents, that people are wonderful and beautiful, that life is a thing to be treasured for the many experiences that one can entrust his happiness to. We live in a day and age in which our more essential cravings are more often satisfied than not, and thus our survival varies quite substantially from those who had to face “real” hardship; over-population, depression, starvation, segregation, and so on. Sometimes you look at the sad people in this world today and feel only contempt because their problems seem so petty. And then you turn around and truly do wonder why they have not found happiness in the world, despite the easy plenishing of themselves and their families. Perhaps it is perfectly possible for a man to live a substantially satisfactory life today. He can work and feed himself, pay for his residence, and raise a family in his spare time. What does he have to fear? Perhaps people are wrong in their lackings, for modern technological advances have turned what seemed to be massively hysteric need into only a minor afterthought. I have heard, after all, that “only bored people think about their past and origins,” or at least to closely paraphrase as such.

However, does any of it truly matter to the one who dares to want more? Perhaps he does take for granted his stomach full and the roof above his head, but that does not mean he cannot wish for something that mere statistics can not see and read and gauge and evaluate. Is the life of solace measured by how long a man will live with his body fulfilled of hunger? Or do we as individuals really crave something invisible to our vision, something that we really have taken for granted since the dawn of time and never fully noticed only until our body’s wounds were healed and human selfishness and bitter hatred grasped the development of wealth, class, and prejudice, all under the veil of ambition?

You talk of how wonderful this world is, but look around you at people who are afraid to voice their true thoughts because a mob of society will cut them open and spill their innards upon the street. Look at parents who care not for their children, and when the offspring grow cynical to fight off the crowd’s bigotry because their kin will not protect them, the mother and father take not the blame for themselves but rather fault the child for doing harmful “childish things.”

“Rap music, violent video games, gangs, drugs, bad haircuts, tattoos, alcohol.”

.

But [XX] years ago, the environment was not dying quite so fast. Chemical and nuclear weapons were still near-science fiction. Families, even if troubled, stayed together in nice, neat picture-perfect frames that we make fun of today. You wonder why some kids in this age take a gun in hand and start blasting away at their peers? Would you like to blame one of the above reasons? Go ahead, it is only natural of human beings to lay blame on something other than themselves. I will not hold it against you.

When one has nothing left, when his heart has drained of warmth and love, why should he care about his shell’s fate in this sick world? If he is envious of his peers for finding comfort in their lives, would that envy not turn to hate because is deprived of their treasures? And hatred of the soul holds no discrimination for its retribution...

...

The angels have not walked the stars since the banishment of the great evil king, DaiMaouBaan. That was the age of legends, when Hashira’s children walked beneath the gaze of the legendary hero high up in heaven, when the child Jenova brought forth the grace of a new world, and when the Sacred Goddess made the ultimate sacrifice to stop the mad god, Kazuyuki. Few of Her servants remained behind after the doors closed, locking out the destructive matrix that Kazuyuki had hoped to release upon the world. Unfortunately, the last of the angels were left only to be swept up in the upcoming eons of man’s turmoil, and they were enslaved within the breadth of technology as killing machines. Their failure of resistance was not a fault of their lack of defiance, but rather their respect and love of Her kept them from killing the children. And thus, they finally submitted, and hoped that these brethren would right their own wrongs in Her name, trusting oh so dearly...

And one has finally re-awakened millions of years later, only to witness...

‘You talk of life being the greatest gift to own, but what worth does life have when you are in pain?’

This chapter is dedicated to a friend who has had to take leave, but whom I hope will return while our words remain fringed with innocence.

...

“You know he got the cure... but then he went astray,

He used to stay awake

To drive the dreams he had away

He wanted to believe

In the hands of love...”

--- U2, “Exit”

...

...

...

...

...

Ancient streets heavily littered with papers and debris cast upon their faces dark shadows of the foreboding city before them. Broken buildings with steel shards poking out from their plaster and framework slowly crumbled on the borders, their teetering foundations home for only the most desperate of the homeless. Yet, men hid in the windowsills, gazing out towards the light fearing the day that the government might take the opportunity of abandoned property to level the grounds into their own realization of military facilities and massive mechanisms of production. Within the broken haven of cracked and splintered concrete, people slowly died away from a life that had tried so hard to kill them. Even in defiance, it was still very hard to stand tall, and harder to do so proudly.

From the dark skies fell a mist of snow, a couple free-floating feathers of pure white scintillation that had fallen from the angel’s wings. Slowly, he descended from the dark skies like a savior of light, and the few who had dared to peek out from hiding gawked at the modern day messiah that had come to bless their humble home. Waves of dust rose in circles around his feet as they touched down on earth, and the long, blond mane of the seraph billowed out behind him with such brilliance, no one seemed to notice the spectacle as any less beautiful when his wings dissolved into a swirling whirlwind of cherry blossoms.

A gentle hail of soft petals curved around his body, seeming to reflect in the simple white shirt he wore and deepest black of his smooth slacks. Yet, their seemingly natural beauty was mystified by their tendency to gather about his aberrant right arm, where instead of human flesh remained the scars of war. There, metal armor of dark green and blue hues refracted against the low sun, and curving talons at his robotic fingers' end bore no sympathy for any who stood in his way. It was his permanent remembrance of the sacrifice he had made.

“Freedom,” whispered the angel, his acute eyes gazing about once more at the civilization of mankind. It had been so long since he had been imprisoned for war, he had almost forgotten what it was like to walk about on his own legs once more. But what had happened to the world as he remembered it? Once, there spanned beautiful greens as far as the eye could see. Now it was all replaced by a dismal plane of roadwork and sidewalks. He saw no animals, only cracked earth and abandoned establishments. The only plants that remained were the weeds of self-centered architectural development. What had happened to the life he had left behind? In the common danger of facing complete and total annihilation, humans had banded together in their cause. Great heroes rose up in cooperation, not competition, to slay the great bestial monster that had sought to endanger their lives. But with the leave of the Sacred Goddess and her avatars, order seemed to evaporate. Perhaps in the absence of calamity, they had grown selfish in reaping the rewards of their ancestors’ valor. It was disheartening indeed, but it did not mean his overdue awakening was in vain. There was still time to make things right, that was all that mattered. For these children of Her grace, he had been entrusted to respect them, oversee them, even stand by them side by side. All he could do now was try to make things right once again.

He smiled and strode forward as he waited for man to welcome him into their world once more, celebrating the return of God’s touch upon the earth. However, he received nothing but drunken or suspicious stares from the people around him. No one came out to greet his rebirth. No one cast about stares of wonder and amazement. Most disappointing of all was the despair that hung heavy in the thick atmosphere, dense with pollution and dread of every coming day. He did not see how they welcomed death so easily now. He had not witnessed as the hierarchy milked their funds and labor until they were nothing more than bones and dust, and then were discarded. It is hard to dream in a world with no hope, and the rich had certainly succeeded in convincing with violent brutality how futile it was to fight back.

But the angel walked on, looking up to the dark spires at the city’s core and believing that was where he would begin the new crusades for justice.

‘Black Wyvern of Armorica, what do you see?’

“I see a neglected people,” whispered the Black Wyvern silently, his blond hair whipping in the wind. “I see a chance to redeem my absence for Her honor.”

‘... you have truly been asleep too long. How cruel for someone with your heart to wake up in this horrible, merciless world.’

...

...

...

“Adam,” said Edge softly in the confines of the darkness. “You know what he is, don’t you?”

Silently, the seraph stepped forth from the black, bathing the young boy with the light of his wings. Again, Edge had come back to this dark place to question and learn, and again this man whom he was beginning to trust stepped forward to answer his questions. However, today the peace did not show as predominantly upon his face as did the tension of worry. Today, he had already seen a violent future to come.

“All things in life are meant to meet an end, eventually,” he mused. “This angel you have set free, the Black Wyvern, did not need to see where this world was headed. It was a mistake for him to claim life once again.”

“But why?” questioned the android desperately. “He was only a robot before, and then...” What could have possibly triggered such a metamorphosis? In the instant that the mechanism of war had touched the larva Shiken, both had been consumed by a change that brought them together as one. Layers of ancient armor had fallen from its body, revealing not metal organs and veins but real flesh and blood. And as a pair of wings spread forth from his back, the body of a woman revealed herself to be that of a man. But before the mythical creature had flown off into the skies, he had seen him smile. How had such a man been able to be birthed from the womb of what he thought to be a monster? From what once was a mere humanoid, a bipedal device created for the art of killing, was brought forth a magical being. Did this mean that he too could accomplish such a feat?

“What you have seen was not a miracle,” said Adam coldly. “Know this before the wonders of your vision consume your aspirations. This rebirth was a crime, a product of something that was not to be. No matter how wonderful it may have appeared, this angel, the Black Wyvern, should not have been given sight in this plane of reality ever again.”

“But how could something that was once a machine turn into a man?” questioned Edge. “Was it the Shiken who triggered this transformation?”

The six-winged seraph patiently crossed his arms and closed his eyes in thought as he deliberated on the situation. When he opened them once again, they were filled with distant memories of a great pain long past.

“What you saw was not human,” he said, his wings flapping irritably as they re-adjusted themselves in the shadows. “This unfortunate soul was a victim of the Clone Wars, a vicious cycle eons ago when man dared to harness the power of angels and devils in their paltry arguments between themselves. They stole forth the souls of the creatures from both realms, imprisoning their spirits in controlled solidarities so that their strength would amplify their iron soldiers a thousand-fold. This change that you have witnessed is not real, but merely a re-awakening, the deterioration of that one’s prison, of that captive heart. The physical modification is nothing more than an amendment of his freed thought, the bio-mechanical technology taking form of something he is more familiar with. Essentially, he is still an android, but now a new mindset has taken control of the frame: his own soul. As for the transformation itself, there is more connected between angels and the Shiken than you might first presume.”

“Does it have something to do with the fact that Zero can sense the Shiken as well?” asked Edge.

“A bit,” came the reply. “But that is hardly the important thing right now. This man was never destined to reach consciousness once more. His fate was dictated long ago, ever since he gave in to the imprisonment of war’s indiscriminate bonds. To see that violence and believe it futile in the end is a cruel thing. He should have died in peace. How sad to see that he was preserved for all this time, even worse to know that he must now deal with the results of his unwilling efforts. This man is not familiar with these times, nor its people and its tragedy. What he believes in comes from a time of prosperity and hope. I am not sure how he will react when he discovers the change that age has passed.”

Edge stared at the angel, his eyes slowly moving up to the feathery wings that shown with brilliance. The change? How could believing in a beautiful world be so terrible? He himself yearned for something wonderful to look forward to, an exquisite place where everyone could attain the happiness they so greatly desired. What was the reality of the place he lived in now? A perfect culmination of ravenousness voracity, perhaps proving the inefficiency and worthlessness of the human race. Yet, he looked towards Yoshime and saw a completely different kind of people, one who was willing to share their wealth, no matter how little it was. He looked and saw someone who had helped him selflessly, knowing that what he did and where he was going would not fulfill any of her own goals. There were still good people in the world. Kouryuu believed it too, brandishing forth her sword for the rebels. They all believed in something better. How could this one’s existing belief in that distant dream possibly cause any harm?

Adam suddenly glanced at him, his eyes questioning his thoughts. He always did seem to have an uncanny ability to sense his own worry.

“You don’t believe me?” he asked nonchalantly.

Edge fidgeted, caught in the act of his own daydreams. Only occasionally, he wondered what made his tension so obvious. Then there were times like this one, where he realized how long he had been staring in silence.

“It’s... it’s just that....” he began. “... I don’t see how it could be bad that this Black Wyvern already looks forward to a perfect world. Would that not be better, to be driven by that optimism rather than know what everything can truly be like?”

Adam only grinned, his familiar smile.

“You truly are innocent,” he said. “But unlike this one, you are familiar with this society about you. You know what to expect, and thus are not surprised when you receive its acidic response to your word. This you possess, besides your other wishes. However, Black Wyvern has none of the latter. He comes from a generation where all one sees is a single goodness and a desire to preserve it. Unfortunately, human beings are no longer like that, and when he discovers this, the sole expectation that remains within will be crushed. The purest of these creatures are also the most frail in their beliefs, and are often to first to fall when their hope is crushed. This procedure is only a matter of time now.”

The young boy watched, pondering what it would be like to be this angel of whom his companion talked of.

“So what happens when he sees this truth? What happens when he has nothing left?”

There was a sad look on Adam’s face now, and he turned away as he whispered the words.

“A long time ago, I talked to a wonderful woman,” he said. “She was wise beyond her years, and my admiration for her was unbreakable. And one day she asked me what my [dream] was, and I told her as such. She nodded in approval, and told me that ‘a man without a dream is not even human.’ I have feared facing such a beast ever since...”

...

...

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“A man... without a dream?”

'Yes. You and I are alike in many ways. Life has not been fair. But we are children, grown up on drugs, lust, and hate. Someday, love will grow.'

...

Despite the state of world poverty, Aruna Trane’s city of Highmark remained one of the busiest, most prosperous centers of trade and market. Thousands of people milled about the crowded streets, pushing and shoving through others for purchase and sales. The skeletons of monstrous skyscrapers and elegant structures that reached towards the sky had been cleared of trash and obstructions, turned into massive multi-leveled cores from which merchants sold their goods. Hovering trader’s ships floated lazily from window to window offering their wares, and occasionally even a pirate or corporate vessel flew in low enough to deal with clients directly beneath the massive shadows they cast. Traders and citizens milled about in every direction, most of them still displaying the rags of poverty on their skinny bodies. Yet, they made their livings on the sales and crime of the vast bazaar. Occasionally, seller-consumer negotiations escalated into arguments, and then sometimes to riots, but Aruna Trane was smart enough to know the value of a prolific economy. Perhaps the only facet of public service that they maintained, the nation’s police force was quick to strike down on any incident that even remotely began to resemble the chaotic mob of unrest, excessive force never rising up as a political issue. Yet, the job was done efficiently enough to keep the public at sufficient attention to avoid such confrontations, leaving only the pressure of their neighboring rival, Moruki Dana, to keep the high council in worry.

Black Wyvern transversed the crowds carefully, steering through the thick assembly as he starred upwards at the bustling skylines of merchants. It was far from the street sales he was more commonly used to, but besides the mediums employed for transaction it was still a rather familiar scene. Maybe things had not changed as much as he had thought they had. It was still the same planet and the same people with only the difference of time standing between them. Surely, there remained some who had stayed true to their faith in the Goddess and continued to spread her wisdom. He could not even detect the magic of Valkair’s vile brethren anymore. That, at the very least, must speak volumes of what good had been done for the populace. Yet, it vexed him to see that no longer did these inhabitants seem to revel in the light as they had before. In fact, the predominant force now overlooking him were the armored soldiers whose visors glistened crimson from their watchful perches overhead, long-barreled sniper rifles fully loaded with ominous clips of armor piercing bullets and laser batteries. Why did these types of anxious precautions need to be enforced? Surely, society had not degraded so much that they required---

“Watch where you’re going!” growled a gruff man as he shouldered Black Wyvern out of the way, directly into an opposite flow of living traffic.

“Forgive me,” sputtered the angel nervously as he tried to regain his footing. “I didn’t mean to---” But before he could finish his apology, the never ending tide of consumers had already swept him up in waves that threatened to thrash him upon the ground and grind his body beneath their trampling feet. He was tempted to simply rise up and fly over their masses, but that demonstration of power was something strictly held off in front of those of normal mortality. To break that rule was to break his privilege of moving among mortal humans. Unable to control the shoving hands that tossed him about like a bottle forsaken upon the ocean waves, Black Wyvern found himself being thrown forth only more haphazardly and violently the longer the confusion continued to last. He nearly felt relief when he finally did come to a sudden stop still standing on his own two feet. However, the momentary illusion of solace quickly faded when he found out what had ended his turmoil.

“What do we have here?!” growled the thug whose broad, smelly chest he had thumped into. His contemptuous grin held no possibility of letting his newfound prey off the hook as easily as Black Wyvern hoped, and his dirty appearance only made the dispute all the more unbearable. A sudden mechanical grinding flared up as one of the man’s two biomechanical arms--- both of a cheap, obviously illegal black-market make--- clenched him by the collar and lifted him off the ground. From his elevated position, the seraph saw a small army of goons backing up their leader, wearing chains and hair dyes of all colors of the rainbow. His hopes for a peaceful confrontation were quickly fading away.

“I apologize for my unintended actions,” smiled Black Wyvern sincerely. “I assure you, I meant no---”

“SHUT UP!!!” laughed the gang leader, and the angel grimaced as his skull met the paved streets with a heavy cracking of concrete beneath him. “As if I care about your formalities! Nobody bumps into me like that and gets away with it! That’s just downright impolite, isn’t it boys? Why don’t you just cough up whatever money you have and we’ll call it even?”

Humans and their material possessions. It was a simple lust of theirs that he cared little to indulge himself in. Yet, if a few pieces of gold would make this one happy, then would be contented to oblige. Reaching into his pocket, Black Wyvern dug through his clothes in search for a bribe to end the dispute. Much to his chagrin, he found only dust and lint left over from his eons of sleep.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t seem to have any cash on me---” His apology was quickly cut off by a punch to his jawbone, and he fell to the ground from the recoil.

“Aw, too bad!” mocked the thug, his goons quickly moving in around him to block off possible venues of escape. His metallic arms hummed with energy as they warmed up in preparation for action, and a sadistic grin gradually spread out over the gang leader’s face. “Well boys, you know what we do to guys who can’t pay up. We teach them a lesson, so that everybody else will know not to make the same mistake again!”

“Now, there’s no need to result to violenc---” started the angel, but stopped as another fist slammed into his face. If he didn’t start acting quickly, he might be turned into a bloody smear upon the ground. Yet, he had confidence in humans and their morals. For every single one that became corrupted by sin, there would be another full of love for his fellow man to counteract his hatred. The market was full of people, someone would come to his aid. Someone would help him from these common street punks.

And yet, no one came to assist him.

He was all alone in a small ring in the middle of the city, helpless, alone...

“Wha-- what...?” said Black Wyvern, whirling about in confusion. Why did nobody protest this violence? This injustice? Why didn’t they help him? Half the crowd simply ignored the scene altogether, but the other half had actually gathered about to laugh and jeer at the event, bets and money passing around as to who the victor and loser would be in the outcome. They seemed to revel at the atrocity, they accepted it, ENJOYED it even. The angel’s eyes sought someone amongst their numbers who would meet his own gaze, but not one looked at him with sympathy for his plight. Not even one saw this wrong with the sight of pity. Rather, they looked at the opportunity to exploit their fellow man as a temporary break of entertainment from their normal lives or a chance to increase their meager earnings through the tipped odds of gambling.

“What’s the matter?” growled the thug, gears audibly winding back as his left arm rose high to strike another blow. “You ain’t going to find anyone out there to help you out!”

Black Wyvern feebly put up his forearms to block the hit, but it did him little good. Falling to the ground from the impact, his glazed vision once again looked out to this cynical world that only mocked his defeat. Why didn’t they help him? WHY?!

Had man truly become so selfish as to completely alienate himself from one another in the name of foolish greed? Had society degraded so as to simply accept and take pleasure in one another’s failures rather than work to remedy the situation? Was this what man had become, a mockery of everything She had wanted...?

‘This world has changed, my friend.’

“No...” whispered the angel, grunting as he felt a boot knock his chin with enough force to send his body flying across the circle of laughing observers. “Maybe the time and face has changed, but I won’t accept this just yet. Inherently, they’re better than this, aren’t they? Don’t they even want to be happy? Why would they rather fight one another rather than grant themselves that simple wish?!”

In futility, he looked up towards the skies where in the eves of skyscaper’s shadows rested the nation’s armed forces. Yet, even they ignored the event down below. Their jobs were merely to enforce the law well enough so the economy could run with smooth progression. Something as minor as this hardly constituted a financial emergency. If nothing else, it let the citizens of the state enjoy themselves in a brief mockery of Roman gladiators, and it was something the authority was content to let the people take pleasure from for themselves.

Even the police, the ones meant to look over and protect the common man, did nothing. What horrible place had he woken up in? Did not anyone believe in [justice] anymore?

“You...” sputtered Black Wyvern as he struggled to stand. “Whatever happened to the days of the Sacred Goddess... don’t any of you remember her lessons anymore?”

“Sacred Goddess?!” said the thug incredulously, and he snickered at the joke. “Listen, boys! Now he’s delusional, spouting out children’s fairy tales!” A heavy boot slammed down on the seraph’s thigh, forcing him to one knee as the gangsters towered over him. “The only ‘lessons’ now are to stay out of our way. Too bad you’re not going to live to remember that one.”

Deep in his own thought, the seraph barely noticed as the thug’s fist erupted in flames and small heat generators around the mechanism’s palm flared to life for the finishing blow. Nothing was the same as he had remembered it. Everyone had forsaken Her name for the purpose of their own ambitions, not even lending Her enough respect as to speak of that legacy in minor reverence. Not one had stepped forward to help him in his time of need. Not one.

Was this... a nightmare...?

No, he felt the pain of his bruises and cuts well enough. It was real, but he would have been so much more comforted if all of this had merely been an illusion that he was passing through on his never-ending slumber. What was someone like him to do in this sadistic world now? He meant nothing to them, less than dirt. They were willing to watch him die to give themselves a fleeting moment of pleasure, to amuse themselves for just one more second in their short lives. That was how much his existence meant to them. That was how much he was valued. Most likely, that was how they looked at one another as well. How could one’s spark become so meaningless amongst their peers? How could they look upon each other with such careless animosity and yet still hypocritically revere themselves as beings too honored to need to help his compeer? Perhaps that was why someone like himself was so weak in this world, why no one chose to listen to the bidding he passed along. If his word and ideals truly meant nothing to their shortsighted cupidity, then perhaps he had to start speaking in terms that their feeble minds would better understand.

‘You can’t do that. You know you are not that type of person.’

“But this is a life in which I am the fallen soul surrounded by a society satiated and contented by their own deaths. They will not listen to someone who still wants to celebrate life. In this reality, I am the lonely man amidst a different, unsacred deity who brings his subjects a sick kind of happiness. Alone, I mean nothing. However... what happens when someone like me starts killing all of god’s happy people...?”

‘Don’t....’

Here he was, having woken up in a lie. His dream of serving [GOD], even that had been shattered by a corrupted people who ate one another alive. He had nothing left but the emptiness in his own heart, and from there was spawned an opposing force so strong that it threatened to consume him whole...

...

The thug’s flame covered fist landed in a solid thump as Black Wyvern caught the blow squarely in front of his face with his own cybernetic arm. He did not even quiver as he held his opponent’s shaking limb in place.

“The pansy wants to fight now, eh?” said the gangster crudely, and his goons laughed at the late attempt of defiance. The angel no longer smiled.

His body suddenly erupting with the power granted to him long ago by his caretaker, Black Wyvern clenched his fist and crushed the thug’s hand in the small of his palm as he rose to his feet. Staring at the useless stump where his digits used to be, the man no longer laughed so confidently.

“You and your kind were once meant to be the culmination of perfection by your creator,” breathed the seraph. “And, like children growing in the womb of the mother, my kin were meant to guide you on the path of righteousness. Now I see that it was all for naught, that in Her and our absence, you degrade to nothing more than mindless beasts. Perhaps Lucifer was right in his defection, for what is it worth to cherish a creature that cannot even come to the realization of the warmth it receives?”

“Enough your psycho-babble!” growled the thug, but before he could fully raise his fist again, he found himself being lifted off the ground and gasping for breath as Black Wyvern clenched his cold metal fingers around the man’s jugular.

“I thought that even gone from this world for so many years, you would right things by yourselves,” whispered the angel with vehement anger tinging his voice. “You think you are great with your technology that you have built and erected, but at what cost?! Not only does your cancerous existence serve to suffocate the planet, its resources, and its wildlife with your carelessness, but you threaten your own kind as well! You are truly the lowest of animals, a viral infection that holds no prejudice in whom it kills. You cannot even find the mercy to help your own fellow man.” He added a glare to the side at the ravenous crowd, now standing silent as the tide of the street fight turned in dramatic motion. High above, government snipers saw the tension building in the mob and prepared to strike down the troublemaker with swift action. However, their sudden turn of opinion would make no difference to what would happen now. Why should he spare any of these people when all they desired was each other’s deaths? As a caretaker of their souls, he should grant them at least that sadistic wish.

“Look man, we were just joking around,” said the thug nervously, rivets of sweat dropping from his forebrow. “You know, clean fun for all, right? You can---”

“Shut. Up,” articulated Black Wyvern in clearly separated words. His mechanical arm abruptly released the man, his descent back to the ground seeming to last hours instead of seconds. Before his feet even touched the cracked streets once again, the angel whirled back and launched his fist at his skull with such force that the air cracked under the pressure of the speed, glass objects all over the marketplace shattering from the fracture in the sound barrier. His opponent’s head likewise broke apart in such a matter, his cranium instantaneously smashing into dozens of bloody bits that flew into the crowd, the brain immediately ceasing its life function as its meaty chunks became airborne material.

Screams and shouts immediately erupted from the masses as they began to realize the true strength of the foreigner within their midst, and panic overtook them as they clamored to find shelter from the danger. Black Wyvern merely turned his cold eyes to the remaining gang members of the deceased leader’s troupe, his bloodshot glare no longer caring so carefully about how he went about as a messenger.

“You too shared this monster’s ambition,” he said, his voice prickling their taunt skin with the ease of which the murderous tone fit beneath his words.

“H---hey man! We were just---”

“Die,” said the angel, not even giving them enough time to press forth a fair rebuttal. His hand shot forth in a wave about his chest, a plume of white fire flowing forth from his fingertips. As the magical flame contacted their prey, the sin of their hearts turned the flower red with lust, and the fire tore their bodies apart as it cut through bone and bloodied muscle alike. Gunshots began ringing out high above the plaza as the police sensed the lack of control and responded by aiming their weapons in the direction of the disturbance. Black Wyvern could only mock them as he turned his head upwards, watching as he made their small metal projectiles lose momentum and simply come to a halt in midair, inches from his nose. Plucking one of the baubles from the atmosphere with curious fingers, he felt a smile creep upon his face. It was only too funny. Now that he endangered the selfish state that the people held in such veneration, they felt threatened. They suddenly feared him. They suddenly wanted to listen to him. To understand him. To respect him. And yet, if given even the slightest opening, they would try to kill him once again. Even in violence, they remained cowards. Lining the bullet up with his eye and picking out the gunman on the closest ledge, he flicked it back with such force that the entire left side of the armored man’s body exploded on impact, his entrails raining down on the fleeing merchants below.

“Evolution, perhaps, has retarded their ability to reason,” he laughed solemnly as chaos erupted around him. A brave bystander was courageous enough to charge him with a piece of metal pipe, thinking that someone had to stop his killing spree. Black Wyvern merely smiled as the swinging object bent over on his skull when his opponent smashed the makeshift bat upon his head, giving the mortal a second of false hope before he tore him in half. Distant sirens signaled the arrival of larger armed vehicles, more machines of war that the humans used to settle their disputes instead of their voices. They would come and try to slay him. And then, when they realized that their mortal weapons meant nothing to his flesh, they would curl up and cry, begging for mercy. This was [GOD]’s dream? This wicked society of barbarians? No, it could not be. He would not accept it. He had seen man do good, he had seen the race that had been blessed the ability of self-consciousness and ambition, the ability to wage love and not war, the ability to respect and thrive in equal harmony. These were not those people. This was not Her people. There was no excuse for this pathetic masquerade to exist any longer.

In the presence of panicking thousands, a pair of magnificent wings spread forth from his back, basking in a magical light that bathed all in his glory. And yet, their feathers were shedding from the tips and joints, revealing a black onyx beneath their sparkle, a leathery pair of smooth serpent’s pinions that had poisoned the perfect vision. Slowly, the angel lifted off the ground, the earth shaking as bolts of light rose up about him in a brilliant pillar that reached up towards the never-ending sky. And as Highmark’s most prestigious fleet of air force jets swooped in and let loose their explosive missiles in the spirit’s direction, Black Wyvern only welcomed their assault with open arms, watching as true [justice] was dealt upon these devils by his own broken heart.

...

...

...

“Aruna Trane,” mumbled Kouryuu regretfully. “War territory, not good. It’s bad enough that we’re chasing what looks to be a living weapon that doesn’t realize what year it is, but if either Arune or Moruki soldiers catch us...”

“Boom,” finished Double coldly, his eyes continuing to focus on the road ahead. “I just want to finish this as quickly as possible. Both sides have shorter fuses than the WNHR, I don’t think they’d tolerate us jumping the border so unexpectedly.” Their hovercraft now ventured on dangerous grounds, keeping low among the gray ruins of the shattered megalopolis’ to avoid the acutely precise detection of the nation’s radar and detection systems. Fumiya’s small convoy followed close behind, taking care to keep their noise levels as low as their leader. The assassin wasn’t about to let the bastard out of his sight after something like this. The scuffle back at the mountains had been short, but it didn’t take much of Double’s anger to coerce the mercenary to help contain the monster he had unleashed. Maybe he hadn’t been directly responsible for everything that had happened. None of them could have predicted the reaction between the angel-class android and the Shiken larva. Yet, he had committed a crime nearly as appalling as releasing the beast itself: He had lied to them. Again. In his book, that was unforgivable.

He had talked to Asimov briefly before they had set off again. No matter how much he would hold Toy’s former henchman in suspicion, the man had experience, and information was always a valuable commodity. He had lived long enough to see glimpses of the Clone Wars, to tell him of the bloody battles between the angels and devils that man employed in these suits of armor. He said that whatever inherent good or evil that existed in those creature’s souls were squelched by the lust for death, the instinct to kill that man violated in their minds. They became things of such depravation that nothing could compare to their indifferent brutality. Double could not even imagine the horrors of witnessing combat between such mechanisms. And now, one of the creatures had re-awakened into full consciousness of itself and its existence in this modern day, venturing out on its unholy mission. He wondered that even if they did manage to find their game undetected, would it have been better to be shot down by one of the warring countries rather than face the behemoth itself?

"Where in the world would Fumiya have found one of those things anyways?" asked Edge. "He said he found it in Nefpret's tomb, but that doesn't make any sense when the Nuclear Age was years after those things had been issued for combat."

"A random guess," said Asimov. "But I'm supposing that angel and devil class cyborgs were found through similar excavations in those times as well, ones that never made it as far as the battlefield. More or less, it could be compared to the shelter you found Zero in. Chances are, our particular case was kept in storage for military observation and testing, but got buried along with the rest of the operation when the war ended."

Double only shrugged. It hardly mattered anymore where the thing had come from. Now, their biggest concern would be stopping it in its tracks before it decided to go berserk.

“We should be reaching the capitol soon,” said Yoshime, staring at the mapping program that flashed on her computer screen. “Highmark is infamous for being a center of trade. If our guy came this way, there has to be at least a couple witnesses in the crowd.”

“You hear that, Fumiya?” said Double loudly, shouting so the built-in transceivers on the hovercraft would pick up his voice. “We’re closing in, so get your guns ready. For all we know, he might have decided to stick around for a while and I have no intention of getting caught off guard.” His eyes narrowed as his fury briefly lit the top of his thoughts, his hands clenching the steering wheel with forced restraint. “I trusted you the second time we met only because I was told to do so. I’m not even going to wait for your pathetic explanation if you screw up now.”

“Don’t worry,” replied the man bitterly, his voice slightly butchered over an unstable signal. “What happened was a mistake. I have enough honor to be able to admit my oversights, as well as enough obligation to take responsibility.”

Double just grunted at the response, not bothering to dignify it with his own words. The man had played them for fools twice, even succeeding in his method of deception the second time. Yet, for all the trouble he had sowed, the look of surprise and shock in his eyes upon the angel’s rebirth had been genuine. He truly did not know what he was dealing with, and that sincerity was the only thing that had kept him from splitting open his head like a ripe melon.

The road up ahead suddenly became heavily cluttered with debris, forcing the assassin to slow their progress through the city ruins to a mere crawl. Taking advantage of their decreased speed, he glanced about at the toppled buildings and piles of rubble around him and shook his head, impatience overtaking his mouth.

“How much farther are we going to have to trudge through this slag?” he grumbled indistinctly to the side. “At this rate, it’ll take us forever to get to Highmark.” To his annoyance, he received no answer, neither from Kouryuu by his side nor from Yoshime in back. He truly did loathe their tendency to ignore every serious inquiry he made. Stomping on the brake and bringing the carrier to a halt, he swiveled about in his seat with the sour taste of sarcasm already forming on his lips. However, it was the pale color on the young girl’s face that ended up slowing his scathing rebuke into a more docile creature. “Wha--- what’s going on? Why the look?” He scratched his head in disdain as he watched Kouryuu peer over on Yoshime’s computer screen in curiosity. “Is there something I missed?”

The young girl had to take a deep breath before speaking again. Her eyes never left the monitor.

“This...” she started, her voice slightly shaking in the gentle breeze. “This is Highmark.”

“What?!” shouted Double, tearing his gaze back to the broken landscape around him. For as far as the eye could see stretched mile after mile of concrete desolation, great structures that once reached up into the sky whose steel vertebrate had crumbled under a pressure not their own. It had been the same thing they had seen since crossing the border, acres of destruction left by the crazed rounds of war vehicles between the bickering countries. This poor victim of the angel’s wrath looked no different than the casualties of man’s hatred. "This can't be Highmark. Our guy couldn't have passed through here more than a couple hours ago! What about the people? They couldn't have just disappeared!"

"Scanning for organic materials," hummed Terpfen as his massive computers reached out over the one-time front line and measured every particle he could read. "Traces of carbon-based life traces present, but no remaining organisms are present living within a fifty kilometer circular radius. Incineration is the most probable cause of elimination. However, if the projected target has passed through this area within the last one hundred and eighty minutes, there remains a logic flaw as to why the average temperature has dropped back to a normal level with such haste."

"There are many things that science does not account for," added Clef, pensively looking out across the rubble. "Physics never did account for the complexities of magic. Terpfen's calculations are perfectly correct, and the only missing piece of the puzzle is as to what our opponent actually is." He looked back towards Double and others with a sober gaze, the ice from which his face was carved from never yielding so much as a twitch. "I'm afraid your friend has no idea just what kind of creature he had unwittingly unleashed upon the world."

The assassin could only look at him, stunned dumb by the method of destruction. His eyes lazily wove back across the ruined tapestry, as if unearthing the innumerable tons of stone would give him the easy answer that he so wished for. Finally, finding nothing left in that loss, his face exploded with furious rage and he leapt out of the hovercraft and headed straight for Fumiya's carriage.

"Double!!!" shouted Kouryuu, her voice desperately trying to reign in some authority over the loose cannon. Yet, she was only too hesitant to add anything to her initial cry, for she knew just how futile it would be in the end.

The entire front door of the mercenary's vehicle flew off as Double wrenched his hands through the metal and tore it from the hinges in one mighty pull. Its inhabitants could only stare in shocked confusion as their purple-haired commander raced to the opening with anger stitched deep upon his face.

"What the hell do you think you're---?!"

He never got the chance to finish his sentence. Yanking him by the collar and literally dragging him through the dirt, the assassin quickly quelled any fight that the man might have been able to muster. Somewhere in the background there was shouting from both groups, some mention of insanity, of stopping him before it was too late. But he knew what he was doing. He knew what this poor fool whom he held by the neck needed to see. And somewhere back there, he heard Kouryuu trying to stop the mob, because she always somehow seemed to understand the way his brutal method worked.

Twisting Fumiya around so his face could look towards the crumbling metropolis, Double held him by the roots of his hair as he stopped and let the mercenary's scraped and bleeding body rest.

"Look at this," seethed the assassin, his stolid face doing its best to betray his animosity. "You take one good look and burn this image in your mind for the rest of your goddamn life. Do you know what this is? THIS is the result of your paltry 'revenge.' This is the work of that horrible thing you awakened just so you could have your little tussle with dear old dad. Are you happy knowing that a whole city died because of that? That there could be a hundred more places like this--- thousands more lives--- destroyed because of something you did?!" The noise had stopped now. No one dared to shout now, and Double abruptly realized that that was because he himself had been screaming furiously at his captive. Forcing himself to gather a little more dignity, he snickered bitterly and threw Fumiya's head into the ground with a dull thud. "It's one thing to kill for your honor, but not taking responsibility for what that mission does to others is the worst kind shame. I hope you realize the sacrifice these people unwittingly made in your name just because you would go to any length to see one man dead. Otherwise, if you so like, I'll spare you the humiliation of living any longer myself."

Nobody tried to stop Double as he stomped back to the hovercraft, nor did anyone try to comfort Fumiya as he sat in the middle of the chaos on his knees, his head bowed solemnly to the ground. For once, all the mercenary's arrogance and deception flew away from the mask he wore to hide himself from the world, and the only thing left was a fragile young boy who had seen too many terrors to tell the difference between anything anymore. Had anyone been close enough, they would have seen a single drop of salty water fall from his eyes and nurture the dusty earth in a vain attempt to make right again the atrocities he had committed.

"What... have I done...?"

...

...

...

Black Wyvern cowered in the dust as his body quivered and convulsed uncontrollably. For hours, his innards tumbled over one another in a tightening rage, spasming with such force that they threatened to tear his body apart. Small droplets of blood met the drifting dust as he doubled over and coughed violently, unable to bear the pain that racked his shell. All the while, silky feathers fell all around him, carried by the wind and spiraling away on quick feet. In their wake was left a shell of his once glorious wings, the darkness of the devil's pinions. By now, only one of his arms of heaven had any down left along its length; the other holding the soft brilliance no longer.

Was this the price he paid for defying the creed he had pledged so long ago? To be cast down from the light as Lucifer had been before him? To lie in a pool of his own suffering and simply wait for an end to come? But how could that all be so when everything he wanted to believe in was false? He had tried to carry out Her will, he had looked towards these people asking for help truly and sincerely as any other would. However, they returned none of his truthfulness, giving him only stale and bitter hatred that had bred amongst their numbers in Her absence. No longer did [justice] remain in their hearts. Only greed and unattended appetite that had been sown deep with massive weeds without a gardener to tend to her beauty. How could he teach to such myopic monsters? They would have tried to kill him if he had not revealed himself, if he had not struck down with his own proper retribution fitting for their corrupted type. Yet, She continued to disapprove, and wounded him deeply for his disobedience.

"Why...?" he whispered as his arms hugged his shoulders. His hand suddenly flashed with silver metal, a six-inch balisong from which he had spared his fire, flipping out into his palm. Grunting with reluctance, he let the blade bite into his flesh in a desperate attempt to redirect his attention from his internal struggle, the foreign pain easing his mind as a dark stream of blood flowed forth and seeped into the ground. How could She have let this planet--- these people--- die as such, and then punish HIM when he tried to make things right again? These were not the subjects he had left behind in his imprisonment. These were not human beings who deserved mercy and affection. Rather, they were immoral creatures who were as debased in their actions as every other animal around them, only their raw technology and power made their disputes a plague that devoured everything within reach. They were nothing more than a virus to the earth now, a useless sickness that served only to pilfer and destroy. So why did She insist on sparing them so? Why did She inflict pain on him?

The knife still in hand, the angel slowly pushed himself to his feet, staggering as he looked up to the clear sky and despaired. Confusion wracked his mind on what to do next, whether he should harbor protection on these fools who did not deserve it or suffer more agony for his defiance. Neither side would accept him, and he felt lost between the two choices from which he had to choose.

'Since our leave, this has become an existence that is not as clear as you may think.'

"Heh," laughed Black Wyvern bitterly, flipping man's weapon in his hand over and over again. He briefly wondered if his physical form served to hinder him, if losing so much blood was causing him to hallucinate. Yet, the prickly point of the metal in his sensitive flesh reminded him that somehow the conversation was real, and he took the opportunity to speak freely to the visitor that had followed him so many miles. "I don't even know who you are. For all I know, you may merely be a voice that my consciousness has created to appease my worries."

'That may very well be. However, I am not such an illusion, I assure you. Rather, I am your equal, someone who understands your torment. I see your pain and sympathize with your suffering. And yet, I must beg of you to hold off on your holy crusade of retribution for the wrong you see because it is not the right thing to do.'

"Why is that, he whom I cannot even see with my own eyes?" spat Black Wyvern cruelly. "For all I know, you may merely be another one of the Demon God's voices, his lies. You may be the very one who's been trying to deceive me all along!"

'The Demon God is many things, but he too is honor bound, though in a different direction. No, the devil that holds you is much different, something not quite as old, but far more deadly. As for vision, I would have thought you better than to judge by physical appearance alone.'

The seraph sneered bitterly, but a sudden wind pulled his attention away from his caustic remark. His eyes followed the dusty trail he had come from, a path lined with the ashes of his victims, and he slowly smiled. Somewhere down that long journey, he saw the voice that spoke to him so softly. He watched as it approached him with steady speed and heartily anticipated the hour in which they would meet so he could squelch its whining.

"You're coming for me," he whispered. "Even at this very moment, you follow me in hopes... of what? Is it vengeance you seek for the 'wrong' I've committed? Or is it merely a one-on-one conversation that you desire?"

'I only wish to talk with you. I am sure that once you see my face, you will know the right path to walk upon.'

Black Wyvern could only chuckle, but he stood and waited for his unseen opponent to approach. The hurt no long tortured his broken body, but rather birthed a seething desire to meet this persona who so dared to lead him in the right direction. Living in a world without meaning or objective, he would see if this foolish creature who so dared to taunt someone of his authority with what was fair was more than just words. Saying something was so much different than doing it yourself, and he did not want to live a life in which he preached falsely to those who would not listen. In his own visualization of a perfect existence, even the worst criminal deserved at least one voice to speak on behalf of the whole. Let this be it.

Let this be it...

'Together, you and I. You will see, I promise.'

Let this one being come forth, and if he could not prove him wrong then the planet would shake with the consequences. And once this place known only as Akuji was cleansed of the black death known as [life], then he would carry out G_O_D's true desire himself and bring forth a holy race of pure creatures, full of love and compassion, bringing themselves together in a matrimony of bliss…

...

...

...

His was not a two-sided ideology of good and evil, but a single glowing thread upon which he had walked for his entire life. There had never been anyone to teach him a human moral, and thus he grew up never thinking that there existed such a thing in the world. He grew up thinking that all children would become terrible creatures like himself and his father. It was not a wrong way of thinking, but one that arose only because he had no other example to learn from. He hated himself, and many times wished he could die. And, presuming everyone else was like him as well, he did not care about their lives either...

...

"Young Master," said Seth, standing in the doorway of the cold room. "It's time to wake up. Come and eat your breakfast."

Somewhere in the darkness, a figure silently stirred beneath a cover of fabric, the small mound of a human shape slowly turning to address the man who had entered his domain.

"Get the fuck out of my face," muttered Fumiya, adding a vicious glare from beneath a mountain of blankets. "It's eight in the morning. Leave me alone."

However, the butler barely heeded the boy's words as his shiny black shoes clicked across the smooth, marble floor towards the massive bed.

"Come now. You know your father will be displeased if you do not keep to his schedule," he said in muted brightness, peeling back the layers of thick sheets to reveal a limp and unwilling child in dark pajamas beneath them. "It's just best that you stick to his routine, otherwise you know how he can get. The cook is even making your favorite today, hotcakes with blueberries and sausage! Now if you'll please raise your arms for me...."

The request was quite moot as Seth lifted the unwilling boy into a semblance of a sitting position and tugged off his pajama top, having already prepared a neatly folded white shirt for him to wear for the day. Never once did he hesitate in the routine that he performed so regularly, only continuing on with the daily ritual of dress. Didn't the butler understand anything? He was just as much a slave as he was, living beneath the hand of his father, unwillingly trapped in his line of service until death. Of course, the reparations for defying Yoshiki would be much more severe for the servant than himself, but even then he wondered if absence of life itself was better than facing each new day in this horrible life. After all, what good were warm hotcakes and sausage if the man providing them was as cold as ice?

The poor fool still didn't see the value of sleeping in. At least, wrapped away from consciousness in the safety of his dreams, he could find the love that he so lacked in real life...

...

Fumiya had locked himself in his private chambers hours ago, and the transport truck bumped along gently as Double and Yoshime continued to track the angel. He no longer smiled arrogantly, or frowned with such obvious disdain at being coerced into such a situation. Now, he was content to let his vision glaze over as he stared at the dirty wall in placid peace.

What had he done? An entire city died in seconds because of him, because of a monster he had awakened from long ago. Why did it matter so much? Why now? He had killed so-called innocents before and it had never bothered his conscience in such a manner. Numbers were irrelevant. He had seen far too many deaths to be even remotely sensitive to their loss of existence. So why did it bother him now? Why did his heart feel... regret?

A painful smile crept up upon his face because he knew why deep inside, but did not want to admit it. He was truly afraid, afraid of loosing the only thing he had in his life for direction, afraid that the plight he had dedicated himself to for all these years was just a false advertisement of wasted life, his own and his followers. He did not want that to be true. It would only mean that he lacked any meaning whatsoever for this world to accept him.

For what does it mean when a killer looks down upon a man because he did not spare the innocent his pain? What does it mean when an assassin who had lived out his entire career devoted to bringing an end to others looks down on oneself as something less than human because of a crime he had committed? Even murderers had their honor, and to be spat upon by one only meant that his petty call to arms was no more horrendous than the fairy tales of racial genocide that plagued the early nuclear generation. Than the arbitrary carelessness of the planet’s government. Than the very crimes he hated in his own kin.

To seek something so carelessly, so selflessly, to not even care about himself, to operate for years off of hatred alone...

And what of these people he had gathered to help him? What of their lives? Did he care so little for this ragtag band of men and women who took up a gun or blade to assist in his crusade as well? Did he lead them falsely into a bloody death on a battlefield they did not even understand? In retrospect, they really were good people. Anyone who would be that loyal, that strong, in the face of such a situation certainly had worth... more worth than himself. He had done absolutely nothing for them, promising only false dreams that he could not keep. Maybe he expected them all to die before they even got that far, but now he wanted to do something more. Deep inside, there was still something that stirred, something that shed a narrow beam of light upon an ancient dream of a young boy that had been so easily squashed by the carelessness of adults. That was the thing inside him that all children possessed, the irrefutable power of their youth. It was the one thing that still desired to live in a decent world with decent people, the one wish that now called out for him to take action.

Perhaps, it was time for change.

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“***’Programa de Sueno’ loaded. Time until activation: 576000 cycles.”

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End "Akuma"