-A Few Hours Before-
-Corenthus-
The beast of a man, Corenthus, continuously beat his tight fisted hands against the punching bag in front of him that hung from the ceiling of the training facility. Death had said it'd be vital for him to hone his skills to absolute perfection. Yet, the damning Angel of Death wasn't even here to see him train!
He growled savagely as he continued to ravage the bag with his fists, slowly, his mind changing the blackness of the bag to the likeness of Azzy's face, pummeling over and over....
Yes, Corenthus was angry. And this was the best way to let it out.
He felt Azreal appear before he announced his presence, and the creation didn't think twice about spinning around and throwing a hard fist towards his Creator's face.
Death caught his fist a mere centimeter from his nose, and looked at Corenthus from under his dark hood. "Impressive."
Corenthus snarled and pulled his arm back, and dropped both to his sides. "Is that all you have to say?" He hissed, as he felt swear running down his neck to his bare chest, felt it run down his back; the cool air of the basement where the gym was, drying him off as it cooled his feverish skin from the extensive workout he put himself through.
Death gave a soft shake of his head. "No...that was good, very good, reflexes for someone as new to the world as you are."
Corenthus laughed. "If I wouldn't have known better, I'd say you just complimented the beast you created less than a week ago." He said before turning, stalking back to the punching bag and began wailing at it again.
"Corenthus.... you know I'm proud of your progress..."
"Shut up, Death, you're not here to witness so what gives?" He snarled before a wrong blow smarted his knuckles and he was forced to withdraw.
"Oh, dear..." Death whispered and softly approached the breathing heavy man that was Corenthus. "Your anger gets you bad, Corenthus. You need to keep calm in order to fight your best." He gently took his hand in his own and let a little energy to heal the injury.
Corenthus was motionless, letting him fix it. "Just tell me what you created me for." He said bitterly. "Its not like you care how often I injure myself training."
Azreal said nothing for a moment, and let his hand go. "I've kept what I made you for, so you could be ready to fight at a moment's notice, as well as accept a memory, I must share with you when the time is right. The time must be right or the Heaven's would flip since they did not make you and the purpose you are to be used for... they really wouldn't like."
Corenthus growled softly. "When do I get my own weapon? You have a scythe. Do I get one like it?"
"No...your weapon will come in due time." He said and looked off in the distance. "Someone's bound to die, I must go, Corenthus. Keep at it, we'll spar tomorrow." And just like that, Azreal was gone, without even waiting for Corenthus to respond.
"Fine, fine..." He spat bitterly at the leftover black mist from Death's departure. "You get to do what you want, treat me like shit." He stalked over to the bench press and began with two hundred pounds... yet even that was nearly light as a feather for Corenthus. He kept adding pounds, til near four hundred and seventy five before his muscles got too weary and he sat up again. Sweat glistened freshly on the straining muscles of his arms, chest, and shoulders before he wiped it away with a towel sitting on a bench by the edge of the facility.
He relaxed his muscles and closed his hazel eyes, knowing the golden color appeared brighter from his rage. "You'll get payback eventually, Azreal. For doing this to me... you will. Just goddamn tell me already." His voice was surprisingly calm and mellow as he spoke to the open air. Knowing he wouldn't be heard for saying those words. He sighed softly, and ran a hand through his midnight black hair and after drying off, walked out of the trainimg facility and upstairs for some food, his boots making even thuds against the cement and stairs.
He'd wait. Patience was key, as Death said, regain control over emotions. Funny, how the only emotion Corenthus ever felt.... was anger. Nothing else.
Corenthus sighed, finally upstairs and sat at the table with a large sub sandwich, packed with everything on it, and took a giant bite. Back to thinking.
What kind of weapon would he weild?
What was his purpose?
****
YOU ARE READING
Her Death Guardian
Teen Fiction"Wake up and smell the roses," She told herself one morning. As if nothing would ever go wrong. Padding barefoot down the stairs and slowly outside, did she ever realize how wrong she was to do this... especially when what lay by the roses.. a black...
