Fallen Angel

Horror and Remorse

On a silent and cold black winter's morning in an identical cubic box house to many others it sat between, young Samuel awoke abruptly to smashing in the next room. The scent of gunpowder filled the room and his bushy hair stood on edge. There was a cold, metallic and dangerous presence in his boxly home. He turned on the light bulb wrapped around his headboard, left his blanket, lit the dying candle on the floor next to him and slowly crept toward the door frame. His innocent child voice called out to his parents, to which was met with a bottle smash, metal clanging and an ominous whoosh. He came to the door frame, his entire being shook from the constant cold and fear that covered him better than any kind of blanket he'd slept under. One gentle stroke of his foot across the concrete floor triggered the candle to be snuffed out by a passing breeze - the first breeze he'd ever felt. He was confused, there hadn't been a weak breeze for hundreds of miles from the town since years before even he was born. Samuel relit the candle and continued forward for a few steps, a strong whiff of iron invaded his nose and a damp feeling outlined his feet. He leaned down and tilted the candle softly to the side in order to see. Blood bathed the floor around him and still leaked past him to the next room. A sick feeling gripped his stomach for dear life, he shivered violently. As he would extend his skinny arm out in front of him and step only a couple metres forward, that sick feeling would squeeze and twist and claw and pull and bend and tangle until he threw up to the horrific sight screeching it's way into his brain. Against black rubbish bins was the headless body of his courageous mother, her head lay a few feet from her and small parts of her neck and throat scattered the room. Opposite her, against a broken and stained kitchen counter, Samuel's deformed father looked forced against the corner of it. His guts leaked out a torn part of his abdomen and his eyeballs had been literally pulled out of the sides of his head. Blood was everywhere. The orphaned boy dropped to all fours, throwing up even after his stomach felt completely empty. The salty taste of vomit like messy lipstick on his mouth, the green and beige liquid dripped from his lips and mixed with the red stuff to make another disgusting substance he couldn't not stare at. He choked and gasped for breath, his head feeling lighter than a feather. He was mature enough to know that whatever could have made such a blood curling scene may still be inside, and had to stay conscious to get away or kill it. The candle was a lost cause, what little wax remained had splattered on the floor and the flame was practically dead already.

The eight year old gathered the strength only to stand and wipe the disgusting mixture on his tattered navy blue fur puffer coat, brown hoodie and stained red and cream striped t-shirt. The whoosh of wind past behind him again and the hair on the back of his neck stood up and ran off. Calm metal footsteps from behind him crushed his fear into panic and he spun his body around to face the sound. His eyes lay upon on a tall and thin figure that gently lifted it's arm to the light. One long finger covered in a metal slowly extended to the light switch and with a slight push, the figure was plunged into darkness once more. The blackness of the room shifted again, and up onto the steel beams of the roof. The poor boy, drowned in fear and confusion, only knew that whatever he'd seen would be after him now as a witness, if he wasn't already a target. The assumed-killer landed with a loud thud on the concrete in front of him. The whole earth felt like it shook beneath Samuel, he flinched massively and lost his footing. Whatever it was reached out, gripped his arm tight and held him up so he wouldn't fall. Silence was left between the boy and the figure. He could now see it better, though blurry from the light headedness of throwing up. Fairly long clumps of messy blonde hair almost glowing a white-ish colour (despite having a gentle highlight of blood) flowed out of the back of it's head and down over the black cloak it wore to cover the rest of it's body. A steel mask sat on it's head and over its face, covering any skin it might have underneath. It resembled somewhat of a knights helmet - only this knight wasn't white and definitely wasn't shining. It was jet-black and had some signs of battle over it that were visibly painted over to return it to it's all-black fear-striking glory. The only feature of the faceplate was the eye, and was a fancy v-shape that flicked both to the left and the right giving it an intimidating evil vibe. It curiously tilted it's head, and pulled Samuel back to two feet, the firm metal hand that clutched his wrist had cut off all blood to the boy's hand and made it the palest body part on a human being in unknown years. The dark knight came closer. A slow, calming, and soothing motherly voice came from behind it. A woman's voice. "It's alright, kid, I won't hurt you." It spoke, relaxing the poor boy immensely just by the tone. He gave in to his weakness and let his body fall numb. The voice hummed him lightly to sleep in a lulling tone with reassuring words.

He would wake not too long after, in the snowy woods near the town he lived, propped up against a tree wearing the large cloak of the woman. He was too relaxed to fully understand the situation, the warmth of the fabric seduced him into a passive mode in which he only watched as the thing in his house, which could now more obviously be seen as a human lady (explaining the voice) in a black cape and a full black streamline and dangerously sharp knight-resembling armour, conversated with a man in a gigantic winter coat. He heard part of their speech: something about a small boy - him, a mission and a 'target item'. After exchanging a coin, the woman clicked her fingers and dismissed the meeting. She returned to the boy, speaking gently to him as she lifted him in her arms. Metal clanked as she stepped carelessly through the dark woods. "You're under my protection now, I'll take you somewhere safe. Sound good?" He didn't answer, but she continued anyway. He'd never felt so much warmth and comfort in his short life. It put him to sleep again, along with the rhythmic beat of metal penetrating the thick layers of snow.