Garder mon Ame

Chapter Fifteen: What is Mercy?

This is me, a sinner on whom the Lord has turned his gaze . . . I am a sinner, but I trust in the infinite mercy and patience of our Lord Jesus Christ, and I accept in a spirit of penance.

~Pope Francis

Cyra was bored.

He sat on a low-hanging tree branch to a massive oak tree, and he peered down the neighborhood. Emery had told him to be on watch, "just in case." The Warrior was just a few blocks over surveying his own territory. Didier and Lacy had gone off in search of the Reapers. He was not told much, other than it was a serious situation and he could not goof around. But he found it hard to keep his mind from wandering. He thought of black doors. His mind whirred around the very thought of the girl with the chocolate-colored hair. The cognitive content confused him, and he found himself completely lost when he imagined opening the door. He delved even deeper when he saw those soft brown eyes.

He was rudely shaken from his daydreams by loud sobs. A woman was hobbling down the street, clutching her leg. She was rather beautiful with dark makeup and a black cloak. However, black wings sprouted out of her back, so Cyra grasped his halo and held it out a bit just as a precaution.

The woman advanced towards the tree, and Cyra froze, hardly breathing, especially when she slumped down against the oak tree's trunk. Her makeup was running from the tears, Cyra noticed, and she had blood pooling on her leg.

He was barely moving, cautious of every noise he made, but the woman suddenly cracked a small smile.

"I know you're there, Guardian. I'm weaponless. I'm injured. You're safe."

What made Cyra trust her words he did not know, but he hopped down from his branch anyways and sat down on the grass in front of the woman.

"What's your name?" she asked. She was laboring to breath and talk through sobs. Cyra realized that she looked positively defeated. And she was frightened.

"I'm Cyra," he said. He glanced at the woman 's leg. "I should get something to stop the bleeding. It's not good for you."

The woman smiled again. "There's no need to. Cyra, huh? I know an acquaintance of yours. I feel like I know you. You are a Guardian?"

Cyra fluttered his wings, and the woman nodded. "Good. Because Hell is no place for the righteous, which you are. You are aiming to defeat the Reapers, yes?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good. But, oh, Cyra, things are about to get so much harder for you. I can feel it. I can see it. The demons are going to rise, and someone has to be there to stop them."

Cyra cocked his head to the side in confusion. "I don't get it. You're a Reaper. Why are you saying things like that?"

"You're a good soul, Cyra. One that's about to be put through a horrid trial. But if anyone can make it, it's you."

"What happened to your leg?" Cyra asked, suddenly curious about the strange bite marks on her raw flesh.

"It doesn't matter. I would be more concerned for your fellow Guardians. They are in a dangerous position right now, and I must say, I doubt they will make it."

"Really? Who? Who's in trouble? I'll go help."

"I think it's already too late," the woman said. "I'm so sorry. Didier and Lacy were good souls, too."