Chapter One
Man had all but destroyed itself. Through war in the name of religion and racial hatred the situation had escalated to the stage where mankind was pushed to the brink of extinction, and then, in their hour of need, she arrived. From the ashes of the old world formed the new. Sure, she had uncovered their demons, shown them another way; a way of tolerance and accepting, providing a world where crime was an abstract notion requiring conscious thought in order to comprehend, a relic of the past seen only in history books, and foolishly, she believed they had learned. In truth all they had really learnt was how to substitute one religious saviour for another, one of flesh and blood that could be seen with the naked eye. And so, just as blindly as before they held their unwavering faith in her abilities, never questioning, never looking beyond their own selfish desires, content in their blissful ignorance.
But not everyone had forgotten how things used to be. Deep beneath the civility of the New World still lay the old, decaying remnants of the past, long since swept under the carpet but plain for all to see by those with the desire to search for it. Demolished buildings now formed the ruins that only permitted vermin to thrive, the old library proudly standing solitary as a testament to what once was. An ominous stone statue stood at its peak, proudly looking out towards the rubble with a – now ironic – look of pride in his authoritarian posture. Human waste flowed soothingly down the old roads, a fetid greenish brown river gently sloshing against the curb in a hypnotically calming fashion, and awaiting in the darkness stood K`mtar, only the faintest shimmer of light trickling through the cracks in city above him providing the minimal light separating his disfigured form from the black. Tall and muscular, his dry, cracking, pale yellow skin covered his hunched over body. Tattered denim jeans and a torn shirt barely capable of covering his toughened skin, visibly peeling back in areas to reveal red sores underneath where the unsanitary air in his surroundings was aggravating his unsightly condition. His unusually wide eyes almost entirely black, and with his crudely fashioned wooden staff he remained motionless, in a state of cat-like readiness, intensely focused on the rocks in front of him.
Deftly he sprang to life, a rapid spin of his staff before it came crashing down, slicing through the air and landing squarely on the rats skull; the loud cracking of the thin bone resonated throughout the underbelly of the city, and with its dying breath the creature uttered its final panic-stricken squeal. He used the purposefully sharpened end of his staff to skewer the morsel before traipsing back towards the remnants of what he assumed was once was some form of town hall (now with only one of the walls still intact), sloppily allowing the dripping of blood and various other bodily fluids onto the cold stone floor. Slumping against the forlorn looking wall, he pried his meal from its involuntary perch and fumbled around in his pocket, drawing out a small, rusted flick knife. Bending the head back to arch the spine, he firmly drew his blade lengthwise along the stomach before placing it between two long broken stones. At either end of his incision he cut perpendicular, the dark blood seeping out, trickling down the still warm fur. Folding back his blade and returning it to his pocket, he clawed at the deep cut and carefully pulled it apart like a child opening a kitchen cupboard. Greedily he looked at the organs inside and began to feast.
A small ray of light shone down upon his arm, and as he looked upon his necrotic skin a look of disgust emerged on his face. Raising one blood soaked hand to his forehead, he gently touched the excess of bone, thickening the mid-region of his forehead and recoiled. He loathed the thought that he had anything in common with those demons. Their rock hard copper coloured skin as dry as the deserts they inhabit, with all the deep seated cracks present in the hard rock floor, grinding together with every movement made. Their three-fingered claws fixed rigid in position, and their wide powerful jaws proudly displaying the long canines that inhabited them. The males also possessed a curved protruding horn on their foreheads, perhaps once for ceremonial purposes but now better suited as a place to hang their hapless victims in a childish show to impress the rest of their despicable kind. He had witnessed the cruel manner in which they toyed with their victims in their numerous attacks on the outlying villages, slowly torturing them until their demise in some sick and twisted game, remorselessly beating their own kind to near death, even resorting to feeding on their own kind where the situation required it. The gluttony as they devoured the raw flesh of their victims was enough to make him wretch, and yet as he looked down at the creature in front of him, he saw that same desire. Cursed with a conscience that forced him out of sight, he felt like an accident; a freak of nature that should never have survived.
Indeed, he had heard rumours of those who had not; the mother rarely capable of surviving the child birth, the overwhelming trauma at giving life to such a revolting creature, a half-breed trapped between worlds, yet belonging to neither. For years he had remained locked away in the foundations of her home, fed through a crack in the floorboard he survived in the dark, though for this he did not resent her. For a time, perhaps, as he heard the other children of the village play their simplistic joyous games, blissfully unaware of his existence. He had always sensed he must somehow be different but it wasn’t until he had escaped, the rage bottling inside of him until he could contain it no longer, breaking through the wooden floor to make for his escape that he saw the true nature of his form. Quickly pinned and tied down by the other villagers drawn to the commotion, it was not his physical pain that caused him grief, but watching as they dragged his mother across the floor by her long blonde hair, normally flowing like in a stream of golden curls, now a torrent of lightning as she screamed and kicked out frantically, desperate to escape the clutches of her new found captors. He could still hear those blood curdling screams tormenting him. They made him watch as the flames arose around her, crackling and hissing furiously, as though possessed by some infernal being getting ever more violent, eager in anticipation of the flesh delivered to them. Tied to a wooden stake, her piercing shrieks for mercy at the hands of the humans punishing her for merely allowing him to survive went unheeded. The fiendish glint in their eye, their absolute belief in their actions; these humans were no better than the demons they feared. He watched as his mother was burnt alive, the nauseating smell of burning flesh lingering in the air, infecting his nostrils with an unholy stench, and as the last scream had finally escaped her lungs it dawned on him that he was next.
It was then that he looked up into the overcast sky and first saw her; wings glistening in the moonlight, floating down like a leaf caught in the wind, her beauty and grace seemed an eternity away but soon she was at his side, ready to whisk him away from the nightmare in which he resided. As he was carried away he looked back at the smouldering remains of his mother, whose only crime was allowing him to live - if he could have traded places with her he gladly would have, there was no place for him in this world - and as she took him ever higher into the night sky the villager’s cries for justice faded away like a distant memory. He didn’t care if she truly was an angel, she was his angel, and as much as his mother had died to give him the gift of life, Tenshi had liberated him and given him the gift of freedom.
He looked about the sewers he inhabited, the ruler of his kingdom of rats. ‘Some gift’ he thought bitterly. He had seen the city she had created – indeed he saw it every day of his life – a haven for all races, she believed her people had changed, despite knowing that one look at his form would be all they would need to decide he was not worthy of life.
He shuffled out of the light; he hated the sight of himself for reminding him of his past. He was far more comfortable in the darkness, out of sight from himself and others. Wiping the blood from his mouth onto the back of his hand, using the fur of the rat he had so recently devoured to get the worst off, he gently placed the remains into the river of waste gently lapping up against the curb beside him, watching as it slowly drifted away from him, carried by the gentle current. Meandering across the river where the road beneath had worn away to yield pits in the stone that lay beneath, out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of light. Instinct taking over he arose to his feet in seconds, clutching his staff he agilely darted across the river, using the crumbling rock as stepping stones, scrambling up the dilapidated ruins; the only sound the scattering of pebbles crumbling beneath his clumsy oversized feet. With a flying leap, he deftly landed onto the roof of the library, perched behind the stone statue and peering out at the emerging figures, no doubt drawn to crashing of the rock against the ground.
Large firearms at their side and torches illuminating the black they walked, their boots making a satisfying thud with each stride. Long before they could be properly observed in the darkness, their fluorescent blue uniform made use of what little light there was present, and there could be no question of their identity. They were guardians; the peace-keepers for a city without strife. He was sure they would profess their honour at being allowed to so dutifully serve their Queen, Tenshi, but behind the layer of lies the painfully apparent truth was they chose their profession because it was cushy. Her helpful temperament was incapable of denying anyone a position on her staff, and so the streets were flooded with these societal parasites, wandering the streets with a deluded air of self-importance. Their presence here was curious however, they had no reason to subject themselves to the wasteland beneath their beloved city. Patiently he waited, their torches lighting up the ground in front of them as they searched unenthusiastically, and when they had passed he crept down. Something was amiss, something had changed, and there was one person whom he knew had the answers; it was time to see his angel.
But not everyone had forgotten how things used to be. Deep beneath the civility of the New World still lay the old, decaying remnants of the past, long since swept under the carpet but plain for all to see by those with the desire to search for it. Demolished buildings now formed the ruins that only permitted vermin to thrive, the old library proudly standing solitary as a testament to what once was. An ominous stone statue stood at its peak, proudly looking out towards the rubble with a – now ironic – look of pride in his authoritarian posture. Human waste flowed soothingly down the old roads, a fetid greenish brown river gently sloshing against the curb in a hypnotically calming fashion, and awaiting in the darkness stood K`mtar, only the faintest shimmer of light trickling through the cracks in city above him providing the minimal light separating his disfigured form from the black. Tall and muscular, his dry, cracking, pale yellow skin covered his hunched over body. Tattered denim jeans and a torn shirt barely capable of covering his toughened skin, visibly peeling back in areas to reveal red sores underneath where the unsanitary air in his surroundings was aggravating his unsightly condition. His unusually wide eyes almost entirely black, and with his crudely fashioned wooden staff he remained motionless, in a state of cat-like readiness, intensely focused on the rocks in front of him.
Deftly he sprang to life, a rapid spin of his staff before it came crashing down, slicing through the air and landing squarely on the rats skull; the loud cracking of the thin bone resonated throughout the underbelly of the city, and with its dying breath the creature uttered its final panic-stricken squeal. He used the purposefully sharpened end of his staff to skewer the morsel before traipsing back towards the remnants of what he assumed was once was some form of town hall (now with only one of the walls still intact), sloppily allowing the dripping of blood and various other bodily fluids onto the cold stone floor. Slumping against the forlorn looking wall, he pried his meal from its involuntary perch and fumbled around in his pocket, drawing out a small, rusted flick knife. Bending the head back to arch the spine, he firmly drew his blade lengthwise along the stomach before placing it between two long broken stones. At either end of his incision he cut perpendicular, the dark blood seeping out, trickling down the still warm fur. Folding back his blade and returning it to his pocket, he clawed at the deep cut and carefully pulled it apart like a child opening a kitchen cupboard. Greedily he looked at the organs inside and began to feast.
A small ray of light shone down upon his arm, and as he looked upon his necrotic skin a look of disgust emerged on his face. Raising one blood soaked hand to his forehead, he gently touched the excess of bone, thickening the mid-region of his forehead and recoiled. He loathed the thought that he had anything in common with those demons. Their rock hard copper coloured skin as dry as the deserts they inhabit, with all the deep seated cracks present in the hard rock floor, grinding together with every movement made. Their three-fingered claws fixed rigid in position, and their wide powerful jaws proudly displaying the long canines that inhabited them. The males also possessed a curved protruding horn on their foreheads, perhaps once for ceremonial purposes but now better suited as a place to hang their hapless victims in a childish show to impress the rest of their despicable kind. He had witnessed the cruel manner in which they toyed with their victims in their numerous attacks on the outlying villages, slowly torturing them until their demise in some sick and twisted game, remorselessly beating their own kind to near death, even resorting to feeding on their own kind where the situation required it. The gluttony as they devoured the raw flesh of their victims was enough to make him wretch, and yet as he looked down at the creature in front of him, he saw that same desire. Cursed with a conscience that forced him out of sight, he felt like an accident; a freak of nature that should never have survived.
Indeed, he had heard rumours of those who had not; the mother rarely capable of surviving the child birth, the overwhelming trauma at giving life to such a revolting creature, a half-breed trapped between worlds, yet belonging to neither. For years he had remained locked away in the foundations of her home, fed through a crack in the floorboard he survived in the dark, though for this he did not resent her. For a time, perhaps, as he heard the other children of the village play their simplistic joyous games, blissfully unaware of his existence. He had always sensed he must somehow be different but it wasn’t until he had escaped, the rage bottling inside of him until he could contain it no longer, breaking through the wooden floor to make for his escape that he saw the true nature of his form. Quickly pinned and tied down by the other villagers drawn to the commotion, it was not his physical pain that caused him grief, but watching as they dragged his mother across the floor by her long blonde hair, normally flowing like in a stream of golden curls, now a torrent of lightning as she screamed and kicked out frantically, desperate to escape the clutches of her new found captors. He could still hear those blood curdling screams tormenting him. They made him watch as the flames arose around her, crackling and hissing furiously, as though possessed by some infernal being getting ever more violent, eager in anticipation of the flesh delivered to them. Tied to a wooden stake, her piercing shrieks for mercy at the hands of the humans punishing her for merely allowing him to survive went unheeded. The fiendish glint in their eye, their absolute belief in their actions; these humans were no better than the demons they feared. He watched as his mother was burnt alive, the nauseating smell of burning flesh lingering in the air, infecting his nostrils with an unholy stench, and as the last scream had finally escaped her lungs it dawned on him that he was next.
It was then that he looked up into the overcast sky and first saw her; wings glistening in the moonlight, floating down like a leaf caught in the wind, her beauty and grace seemed an eternity away but soon she was at his side, ready to whisk him away from the nightmare in which he resided. As he was carried away he looked back at the smouldering remains of his mother, whose only crime was allowing him to live - if he could have traded places with her he gladly would have, there was no place for him in this world - and as she took him ever higher into the night sky the villager’s cries for justice faded away like a distant memory. He didn’t care if she truly was an angel, she was his angel, and as much as his mother had died to give him the gift of life, Tenshi had liberated him and given him the gift of freedom.
He looked about the sewers he inhabited, the ruler of his kingdom of rats. ‘Some gift’ he thought bitterly. He had seen the city she had created – indeed he saw it every day of his life – a haven for all races, she believed her people had changed, despite knowing that one look at his form would be all they would need to decide he was not worthy of life.
He shuffled out of the light; he hated the sight of himself for reminding him of his past. He was far more comfortable in the darkness, out of sight from himself and others. Wiping the blood from his mouth onto the back of his hand, using the fur of the rat he had so recently devoured to get the worst off, he gently placed the remains into the river of waste gently lapping up against the curb beside him, watching as it slowly drifted away from him, carried by the gentle current. Meandering across the river where the road beneath had worn away to yield pits in the stone that lay beneath, out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of light. Instinct taking over he arose to his feet in seconds, clutching his staff he agilely darted across the river, using the crumbling rock as stepping stones, scrambling up the dilapidated ruins; the only sound the scattering of pebbles crumbling beneath his clumsy oversized feet. With a flying leap, he deftly landed onto the roof of the library, perched behind the stone statue and peering out at the emerging figures, no doubt drawn to crashing of the rock against the ground.
Large firearms at their side and torches illuminating the black they walked, their boots making a satisfying thud with each stride. Long before they could be properly observed in the darkness, their fluorescent blue uniform made use of what little light there was present, and there could be no question of their identity. They were guardians; the peace-keepers for a city without strife. He was sure they would profess their honour at being allowed to so dutifully serve their Queen, Tenshi, but behind the layer of lies the painfully apparent truth was they chose their profession because it was cushy. Her helpful temperament was incapable of denying anyone a position on her staff, and so the streets were flooded with these societal parasites, wandering the streets with a deluded air of self-importance. Their presence here was curious however, they had no reason to subject themselves to the wasteland beneath their beloved city. Patiently he waited, their torches lighting up the ground in front of them as they searched unenthusiastically, and when they had passed he crept down. Something was amiss, something had changed, and there was one person whom he knew had the answers; it was time to see his angel.
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