Ouroboros II | The Wolf

9 | Ira Has To Say Goodbye

"He's, uh, a strange guy, isn't he?" Father Pine said as the boxy black Prius peeled away from the curb to haphazardly jam itself back into the heavy lines of New York traffic. 

"Strange is putting it lightly." Ira corrected, shaking his head with a scoff. There was definitely something off about that devil. And Ira was about to traipse off behind him--straight down into Hell. There was so much wrong with the plan that Ira chose to ignore it, deciding instead to sink himself fully into it. It wasn't as if he had an alternative. The fate of the world depended on his success, which mattered much less to Ira than the other part of the plan: finding Melchior.

"Does he. . ." Father Pine frowned, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his head. "Know?" 

Ira flinched and then wished he hadn't. Father Pine blew a sigh from his nose and placed his palm on Ira's shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze. The weight of his hand was almost greater than the volcanic glass weapon clasped in Ira's trembling arms. 

"It'll be fine." Ira said. "He doesn't know. Or, he doesn't. . . seem to know? It's not as if he's ever confessed to me before."

He couldn't. According to Mayvalt, humans weren't meant to know if they'd been reborn. A secret which Ira himself had been keeping from the rest of the Progeny. How could he be the one to tell them? To ruin their belief in angelic reward. There was no pearly gates, there was only the next attempt. There was no end to the merciless hamster wheel. The angel's promise--give your life in service of a world free of demons and find eternal reward--was a lie. Ira couldn't even imagine the damage that particular truth would deal. Would the Progeny surrender if they thought themselves immortal? Would they fight harder to save the world? Ira didn't know. He didn't want to find out either. 

Led them to their death. Ira shuddered. Maybe he was exactly as the Cardinal had painted him to be. A snake in the grass, a poised viper. He didn't know. All he knew was that he was glad Father Pine didn't dream of his death at night. Mourn his losses all day. Like Ira had. Like Ira still did. His past lives were stained on the interior of his skull. It wasn't a fate he wished on anyone. Not even the Cardinal, who had subjected Ira to testimony and ridicule for the crime of his past lives. 

There were still so many missing pieces. Ira wasn't in purgatory, he wasn't being looped like a favorite song just for kicks--no, it would have happened anyway. So, why could he remember? Why had he been placed in the path of the Progeny? Why did the Prince not recognize him? Why did the Prince still seek him? What possible advantage could his existence serve? Was that all that he truly was? A pawn in a sibling rivalry? Who's pawn? What invisible master did he serve? Mammon? Angels? It was all so terribly confusing still. His entire life was spread out on different colored yarns, pinned and threaded along the corkboard. And he just couldn't see it. 

 "Are you sure?" Father Pine pressed. "Why else would he help you?" 

That was, Ira had to admit, a very fair question. One not even he could figure out--but he was sure the Prince didn't know him. It was as clear as spring water in his cold golden eyes. The Prince was on edge around him, tied up in his puppet strings. It was a sort of skin Ira had never seen him wearing before. "Father, please. Just trust me."

"Angels, kid." Father Pine exhaled. "Of course I trust you! Do you think I would have done all this if I didn't? I'm so terrified I feel like my heart could just stop any second now--but I believe in my kid. I know you're going to come back." 

"I will, I swear." Ira nodded. He dropped the Vestige to his side, letting it hang there from one clenched fist. He used his free arm to draw Father Pine into a hug, holding him as tightly as he could without placing him beside the black glass blade.