Creating the Fire

chapter 3 part 1

"He wasn't overjoyed about the situation the monster had created. It meant duty and commitment towards his position. This wasn't going to be easy. Changes ruined his plans. Why now? Why so suddenly? He needed the plan to get rid of him. He might kill him for reverence but that was a lie. He didn't care about the man, and neither did he care about others. The only thing he cared about was reasons and his own lucrative interests. Besides, killing left dirt in his hands, heart, and mind. That was only a blind joy that took one's sanity. He had business and reasons.

"Sir, can I help you with anything?" the maid's soft, overly polite voice called from the doorway where she was watering the flowers. Messiah rose from a particularly comfortable armchair. He took his glass of expensive Scotch. "No, Carry, you may leave," his voice was commanding and fierce even though he pardoned himself with a half-voice. Almost, he managed to fall deep in his thoughts, stepping from one foot to the other, in search of a solution. "Sir, forgive my interests, but you seem miserable," the voice interrupted his thoughts again. "I am, indeed, leave," he left a thoughtful break between each word said in a strict manner. "Pardon," the woman backed off discreetly.

But his peaceful moments stayed short because his phone started ringing stubbornly. He picked it up with an annoyed stare but winced in pleasure seeing the caller's name on the screen. Walker, his right-hand man, never disappointed him. "I have an angel, knocked off," the emotionless voice jumped right away into business. "Well, well," Messiah's mouth curved into a dark smile. "Let's meet at the spot."

Now, he was in a hurry but quite in a relaxed manner. He left his Scotch on the table, glass half-empty. "Carry, I'm out," he announced before leaving. His maid gave him a disappointed look. "Are you back for dinner?" she was eager to get the answer. "I have the solution," his mouth twisted, and he was assured when saying, "Don't wait, I won't be back before dawn."

"SIR," Eric, the man with a chalk-like white face, greeted Messiah with politeness. "Where's he?" the man seemed to be in a hurry. 'Yeah, I've been hunting for an angel. That seemed impossible, but now he's shot down. The only thing left to do is to break his wings and burn them,' Messiah subconsciously discussed in his mind when he approached the black car. "Here," Eric moved to open the back, where the angel was lying. Messiah moved closer to take a good look at what he had got.

The blonde man was tied up, his body unmoving in dreamless sleep. His face was covered with a cloth. Messiah stretched his hand to take the corner of the cloth slowly. He revealed a part of his smooth cheek, smelling the chloroform. Poor thing, after this, he'd have horrible side effects. When the cloth was taken off, Messiah was shocked in amazement. He had seen his face before, but seeing it now made true sense of those rumours about a fallen angel who was creating fire wherever he went.

"Beautiful," Messiah wondered how could even a man this beautiful exist, "an angel indeed." He could fit into the agency of modelling, but not here. What was he capable of? His beauty wasn't sure all he had. Even though Messiah himself was considered extremely handsome and popular among women and men, the angel's beauty wasn't anything that could be compared to it. It was somehow different.