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Chapter Four

ANAKIN

Angels receive their segment once they hit one hundred and fifty years of age. Fire is something that's seen as dangerous. I didn't mind it but that's simply because I am me. Fire is something I can always rely on to make me feel. The sensation of burning, cleansing, being forced into a state of anew is an addiction. Everything that has occurred over the last two hundred years has soaked into my soul. The death of my parents, the betrayal of the gods, and the consequences of him weigh heavy in my soul.

My sins weigh heavier. The flames and the shadows never judge me and my so-called sins. If anything, they welcome it. They feed off it and I have so much for them to devour.

As I stand face to face with the shears, I suck in a shuddering breath. Today has been awful. I have taken another life, forced to do so when I wasn't ready to take it. The life of a child and her mother. The memories of their screams, their nails ripping at my skin will scar me. Every scar is from Calytrix's torture.

    And a torture of my own creation.

    The fire and the shears help. The only way I can really cope is by taking the pain from my head and placing it in my body. The deeper the cut, the more avenged I feel, I deserve it because I made someone else around me feel something that they didn't deserve to feel. If I could feel every pain in my body instead of my head, I absolutely would.

    But I can't forget these memories.

    I take the shears I have hovering over the rippling fire secured in my hand. The metal glows at the touch of flames licking up and down the blades, trying to devour something that refuses to burn. Without hesitation, the fire dies, and I press the shears into my rib cage, slicing through the flesh, and growling at the pain. The pain rips through my chest and down my back, I force heavy breaths through and out my nose.

    I continue to press in deep, deep as my body will allow. Drool falls out of my open mouth and I close my eyes to the world around me. All that exists is the pain. As always at some point the pain becomes bearable and I can not find redemption in what I feel.

"That was scar 945." I mumble to myself as I pull the shears from my body. A sickening sound meets my ears and my blood drips to the floor. I allow the shears to fall alongside the blood.

I feel bad but I can't stop this horrific reality I live in. A reality of torture and pain and no way out besides having my soul collected and shot through Gehena's beautiful skies.

    There are even days where I question my entire existence. If my parents could see this pitiful excuse for a man they have created, I feel as if they would be ashamed to see how they're precious baby boy turned out. I was my mother's dream and I was also the reason she is now dead.

Feeling a tear drop along my cheek has me sobering up, I immediately wipe my tears away. I refuse to cry. I know tears don't do anything, they only allow you to suffer in your misery even more. Tears won't wash the blood stains from my hands. I have already taken too many lives.

I never asked to be this way, but I am as broken as I am damaged, and that is quite a bit. Some say I have no morals, others say I have too many, I guess it depends where one lies.

I go towards my bed to lay down, while grabbing the rag closest to me and cleaning the manmade wound on my rib cage. When I am satisfied that the blood isn't going to ruin my sheets I toss the rag aside and settle into a seated position. My ribs ache and I am so exhausted. Right as I am about to lay down, a rock flies through my window.   

"What the fuck?" I stand up and grab one of the many knives at my bedside table. Heavy hands plop against the open windowsill as grunts break through.

I poke my head out the window and gaze downwards to see familiar teal eyes looking back up at me. I smirk at the obvious struggle on his face.