Pentagon

Prologue

"I loved her not for the way she could dance with my angels, but for the way the sound of her name could silence my demons."
-Christopher Poindexter

"Kiarsa." My mother sternly warned, placing an angry stop between each syllable. "You cannot go there." Her waist-length black hair floated softly in the strong winds. Her stunning four Seraph wings nervously fluttered. Her glowing, piercing blue eyes contrasted with her dark skin, causing me to hesitate walking away from her. "Kiarsa, I forbid you to go any farther." The waves right next to us crashed, as if they were trying to say something.

"What the fuck, mom? I'm not one of you, I will never be... I come from a powerful family... but I'm different." My clammy hands clenched into a fist and I shut my eyes. "My markings are different, I don't have wings... I can't fight or protect myself. I'm a damn burden. I'm the reason Cain-"

"No, no, NO! You were never the reason he perished. It was my fault. I shouldn't have left him by himself when his wings were injured. He wasn't as powerful, and I still had to watch you." She sighed, desperate to change my mind for the final time.

"Why?" I whispered. I want to leave. I need to figure this out on my own. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE ME WHEN YOU KNEW I WAS LIKE THIS?" I clenched my teeth. The more I talked about this, the more I saw red and the more I wanted to run. I inhaled the salty air and spun on my heels to face the other direction. She stared in shock and didn't answer. I successfully brought tears to my eyes and made her rethink her actions . She is the wrong one, this time. Not me...

Screams. I heard blood curdling screams coming from behind me. I saw my mother being dragged into the water by a hooded man with talons as long and sharp as that of a lion. The dark red hood fell back from his head and exposed a creature that made me scream in fear. His skin was made of scales the color of coal, and they shined like a clean quarter. His eyes were two pitch black gaping holes on his face. He had 4 long canines coming out of his mouth, all four reaching the length of his chin. His lips looked like burned steak. Seeing his eyes burned mine, as if someone poured onion juice directly into my cornea. The moonlight shined on his face and he fled, carrying my usually powerful mother like a sack of potatoes.

I snapped back into reality and tried to chase the one that is endangering my mother, but the sand grabbed me. Literally grabbed me. It acted as quicksand, I was sinking faster and faster, watching him escape with my mom. Soon, the sand was up to my neck. Seeing my mother struggle was stressful, as it made me kick to get out, but I unfortunately failed and sunk faster.

Soon enough, the sand was at my nose. I couldn't breathe, I was blacking out, I was going to die...

"KIARSA!" My mother exclaimed. She was wearing a pink apron with a white, ruffled rim.

Oh. I was dreaming. I would never talk to my mother like that. That is, unless I wanted to get slapped on the face with both hands and all 4 of her wings.

I looked at my palms. Yeah, those different markings were still there. On both palms, I had an all-seeing eye, like the one on the back of a dollar bill. They were black and the lines were thick, they never moved or glowed like my mother's markings did. I sighed and lazily readjusted myself so I could get up from the bed. I was wearing my brown banana pajama pants, I remembered as I looked down. My bare feet were a rich, cocoa brown. I plopped my head back down of the soft, white throw pillow my ex, Daniel, bought me.

We were still on good terms, mostly because we broke up over something stupid: His fear of the paranormal and supernatural. He was a human and knew I was a dysfunctional renegade angel. I'm so glad he didn't think I was crazy after I explained everything to him. He avoided me for a few days, but we were all fine when I told him I wasn't going to bring demons into our high school gym with me.

I laughed thinking about Daniel. He was such a dumbass, but he was a sweet dumbass, and that's all that really mattered. We haven't talked to each other in a while, about 5 or 6 months. I wanted to talk to him, just for catching up with each other, as friends.

Still in bed, I thought about our home city, the Holy Land, the place for the Seraphim to live peacefully and mate. I've always wanted to go. My mother told me that the roads and lights were made out of gleaming gold and buildings were made out of shimmering diamonds and magic-proof glass.

My ancestors escaped the ruby-encrusted silver gates.
Holy Land seemed perfect, but it was a dictatorship. A corrupted utopia; a dystopia. The rules were strict and the Seraphim were brainwashed into hating all races but their own... after all, conversating or associating yourself with a fairy or giant... especially a demon... you will be damned to Hell. You will get sent right to the Castle of Sin, where Seraphim are tortured by the hands of Death... Satan himself. It's the reason why no one escaped, until a few centuries ago when my ancestors, Mariasaki and Joriana escaped and managed to flee the grips of Archangel Micheal. The life expectancy of a Seraph is about 8 centuries old. We age very slowly in our later years. Luckily, I'm only 17.

Our ancestors mated and, long story short, our family never went back to the Holy Land. We're still on the Wanted list, though. Our family is strangely powerful. The more wings a Seraph has, the more powerful you are. My mother has 4. I heard Messiah himself has 20 wings... all powerful. But sadly, he's in a deep sleep. He's readying himself for the End Times.

I closed my eyes and realized how hungry I am.

I groaned as I got out of the bed. Back pain-- it hurt like a bitch. A rude one, at that. I bounced down the brown carpeted stairs two steps at a time. On the second to last step, I heard loud, high pitched noises coming from outside. My mother turned her head to face the large beige door. The sound stopped. My mother and I looked at each other with eyes full of confusion.

"I'll take a look." She said, retracting her wings and plastering a fake smile on her face. She walked over to the door. We didn't have a peephole, so we had to slightly open the door to see who it was. As soon as she opened the door, it busted open, bringing in a foul smell, as if something crawled in the air vent and died.

Rotting meat... is a sign of demonic activity.

Someone walked through the door. The smell got stronger and stronger. And then it struck me. The person standing in the doorway is fucking hot.