Glory of the Damned

Little Cyrus walked for what seemed like years. Continuously walking. Walk walk walk. It didn’t seem to bother him that he was walking in complete darkness or that he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. It never occurred to the ten year old to question it. He was on a mission, he knew that much. He had to find something and it was of the utmost importance that he find it. But find what? Cyrus didn’t know and he didn’t care. He just had to find it.

Cyrus abruptly stopped. His big, blue eyes stared ahead of him, gazing intently at something he couldn’t see. He could have sworn he heard…there it was again! The little boy tilted his head as he strained his ears. Yes, definitely. Someone, just ahead of him, was singing. The voice was beautiful and sounded oddly familiar.

“One, two my heart’s in bloom. Three, four my heart will soar.”

Cyrus walked toward the voice. He couldn’t stop himself. It was as if the simple song was enchanting him, beckoning him. His bare feet began to pick up speed. He went from walking to trotting to jogging to full out running towards the voice coming from the darkness. Was that what he had to find? Yes, he had to find the owner of the voice.

“Five, six the world is sick. Seven, eight it’s not too late.”

Cyrus began to pant as he ran. He had to reach the voice. He just had to. It depended on it…what depended on it? Cyrus didn’t know and again he didn’t care. Something depended on him finding the singer and he was going to make sure he did. The little boy’s heart leapt when a pillar of light came into view. Thump, thump, thump went his heart as he sped towards the glorious, shining pillar of light.

As Cyrus got closer he could make out a man standing in the middle of the light, doing nothing more than standing and singing. The song was ever so sweet as it poured out of his lips.

“Nine, ten evil will end.”

Finally little Cyrus reached the magnificent light. He stopped near the outside of it and simply stood there. He had found what he needed to find. Now what? Cyrus settled for sucking his thumb while his other hand played with his inky black hair and he watched the man. The figure had his back to him and carried on with his child-like song.

“Eleven, twelve…” the man stopped unexpectedly and turned to face Cyrus. Even though the man was standing in the pillar of light, his features were hidden in shadow, but Cyrus could feel the mysterious man’s eyes on him.

Cyrus stared back as he continued his thumb sucking and hair pulling. Suck, tug, suck, tug. The boy blinked when the man abruptly giggled. Men weren’t supposed to giggle. Only girls giggled.

“My, my, you are a persistent little one, aren’t you?” the man asked, his voice light and full of amusement.

Cyrus didn’t reply, but began to fidget and rub his toes against each other. Suck, tug, rub. Suck, tug, rub.

“Now how many times do I have to tell you? Not yet. There’s no hurry. I’ll come to you when the time is right,” the man told him.

Cyrus pulled his thumb out of his mouth with an audible, wet pop. Without the comfort of the thumb his hair tugging became more insistent.

“Five, six the world is sick,” the little boy murmured softly, taking his eyes off the man to look down at his thumb that glistened with saliva.

The man giggled again, making Cyrus pout at his thumb. Men don’t giggle.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” the man asked.

“Sick,” Cyrus said again as he stuck his thumb back in his mouth and looked back up into the light at the man.

“I also said evil will end. Doesn’t that give you any sort of comfort?” the man asked.

Cyrus shook his head, making the man sigh.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it until it’s your time,” he said. “You and I can’t force the issue. Just be happy with your life until then, okay?” the man told him reassuringly.

Cyrus looked off, away from the light. Pondering. He then lowered both his hands and entered the pillar of light. It was bright. Very, very bright. Cyrus had to blink several times until he was able to look up at the shadow covered man, who seemed to be looking down at him.

“What am I going to do with you?” the man asked with a sigh, but didn’t sound annoyed. “I’m getting more aggressive as I get older, I think, or at least peskier.” This time it seemed the man was talking to himself, rather than Cyrus.

“Bright,” Cyrus muttered, blinking and squinting up at the man. This seemed to turn the man’s attention back to him and he chuckled. Good, no giggling.

“Yes, it is bright,” the man agreed with him. “You’re not ready for it. Now listen to me this time and wait. If you keep seeking me out like this I’m going to start to be angry with you and I don’t like being angry.”

Cyrus tilted his head. He tried to study the man, but no matter how much he would squint the light refused to stop blinding him and the man was still shrouded in shadow.

“Who are you?” the boy asked softly.

This seemed to throw the man off guard and he visibly jumped a little. He then let out a loud laugh that rang through the darkness and made the boy cover his ears.

“That’s a new one. You’ve never asked that before,” the man said as his laughter died away. The man then leaned down a bit, but it didn’t help Cyrus see him any better. “I am nothing and everything. I am the life giver and the death dealer. To simply put–”

Cyrus stared with wide eyes as a great ripping sound drowned out the man’s voice and giant, magnificent wings erupted from his back. They blocked out the blinding light as they folded over Cyrus like a makeshift roof. They were beautiful and the feathers were a glossy ebony.

“I am a Dark Angel. Know the name well, Little One,” the man told him. “It won’t be the last time you hear it so keep it well within your mind.”

The man stood tall and the wings arched up until the tips reached for the sky. Cyrus gave a start when the mysterious man disintigrated into a flurry of black feathers. The boy looked up into the blinding light as the feathers rained down on him.

“Don’t chase after the answers. Wait and the answers will come to you. Trust in that,” the man’s disembodied voice said, chiming around the boy.

Cyrus continued to stare upwards as the feathers fell around him. A few ran down his face and arms in their descent. They were soft, like little bits of cloud falling from the sky.

“Dark…Angel…” Cyrus said softly as he closed his eyes. Even with his eyes closed he could still see the bright light through his eyelids.

The pillar of light slowly began to shrink in size. Smaller and smaller it became until it was little more than a beam of light on Cyrus’ forehead. Then it went out all together, leaving the boy in thick darkness.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Cyrus. Cyrus!”

Cyrus groaned as a hissing voice demanded his attention, pulling him from his sleep. He became aware that hands had hold of his battered old nightshirt and were shaking him with great force.

“Whaaaaat?” Cyrus grumbled in irritation as he tried to push the hands away. Thankfully the insistent hands stopped and gave Cyrus enough time yawn and dramatically stretch before bothering to open his eyes. He had to blink several times to shoo the grogginess away and let his eyes adjust to the darkness.

Cyrus stared dully up at the face of his best friend Faben. The other boy still had his hands tangled in Cyrus’ shirt and was staring down at him with knitted brows.

“You were doing it again,” Faben said in a hushed voice, so as not to wake the other boys sleeping in the large room.

“Doing what?” Cyrus asked in an equally quiet voice. He still sounded tired and his tone was laced with agitation at having been woken up.

“You know what. That weird thing. Muttering in your sleep and thrashing about like a fish on land. It was creeping me out. I always think you’re having a fit or somethin’ when you do that,” Faben told Cyrus, his chubby cheeks puffing out more as he huffed.

Cyrus sighed as he looked past his friend to the worn ceiling of the battered, old orphanage. It seemed more and more cracks were appearing in the wood whenever he looked, making him wonder if the roof was going to cave in and kill them all someday.

The boy then pushed the hands off him and sat up. He rubbed at his face roughly with his hands to help wake him up completely.

“How does it still creep you out?” Cyrus muttered when he was done and glanced out of the corner of his eye at his friend.

“I dunno, it just does,” Faben answered. “I’m sure that’s how someone looks when they’re possessed. Muttering strange words and moving about all unnatural like. Maybe I should start flicking holy water at you like Father Gaelan taught us,” the boy said, snickering a bit at the image that appeared in his head.

Cyrus pouted and scowled. He then swiftly shoved at his friend’s shoulder, almost knocking the other boy off the bed.

“Are you saying I’m some kind of demon’s whore?” Cyrus snapped, using the term he had heard the Priests use when they spoke about possessions. “I’m not some feeble minded, demon bait. Take it back,” he said in a harsh whisper.

Once Faben got his balance on the old mattress he glared back. He didn’t like being pushed around, especially by his scrawny best friend.

“What if I don’t wanna? Gonna do something about it, demon whore pipsqueak?” Faben sneered, pushing Cyrus back. There was a brief pause before another push was executed, followed by another and another. This went back and forth a few times until the two boys were fighting and wrestling on the bed. Many grunts and squeaks issued from the tumbling boys’, the protesting of the worn mattress joined them every now and again.

A few of the other children around them were briefly awoken by the tussle, but went back to sleep just as quickly. The fights between the two boys’ were not uncommon and usually went ignored by the others.

Then the fight was over in the way it usually ended. Faben lay on top of Cyrus, using his larger girth to hold the other boy down. Cyrus struggled and wiggled to try and get free. He soon gave up when he saw it was useless.

“Okay, you win, now get off me. I can't breathe,” Cyrus wheezed.

“No, you have to say it first,” Faben told him. A blond brow rose when his friend muttered something into his pillow. “Sorry, I didn't hear that.”

“Uncle, damn it!” Cyrus yelled, though he was thankful the pillow muffled it somewhat. The boy took a deep gulp of air when his friend mercifully rolled off him.

“Better not let Father Gaelan or any of the Sisters’ hear you say that word,” Faben said as he settled down to lie next to his friend.

“Hmph, your mouth is dirtier than mine," Cyrus grumbled, not bothering to flip over onto his back.

“True,” Faben agreed. “But don't forget I'm ahead now in saying those words without getting caught,” he boasted, proud to be ahead in their little competition.

“Meh, I've only been spanked two more times than you," Cyrus said, still pouting into his pillow.

“Mad I won again?” Faben asked with a grin. No matter how many times he beat Cyrus when they fought it still elevated his ego a few notches.

Cyrus turned his head so he could look at his friend. He didn't reply to the question and poked at Faben's stomach with his hand.

“You're too fat,” he said simply, as he massaged the soft fat of Faben’s belly.

Faben just shrugged and put his hands behind his head.

“And you're a twig,” he replied.

Cyrus and Faben were as different as two boys could be and most wondered how the odd pair could be so close.

Cyrus had a cute enough face, a face round and sweet, like a ten year old should be. The pitch black hair that framed his face was stringy at best and always looked greasy, no matter how hard he scrubbed at it during bath time. He was also the skinniest of all the other children. If Cyrus were to pull up his shirt his ribs could be faintly seen underneath his taunt, pale skin, making him look unhealthy and malnourished. The Sisters’ usually watched him like a hawk during mealtimes to make sure he was eating. The odd thing about it was that he ate just as much, if not more, than the other children, but he never gained any weight.

The little boy’s only redeemable quality was his eyes. He was said to have the biggest and prettiest blue eyes anyone had ever seen. They were the crystal blue of the ocean’s surface when the setting sun made it shimmer in its waning light. Then when he was upset they would turn to a deep, haunting blue, like the hidden depths of that same ocean.

Faben, on the other hand, had such beautiful, golden hair most of the Sister’s couldn’t help but pat his head whenever they saw him. His eyes were a dark brown, like the color of thick mud after it rained. He was a complete charmer as well. It was known amongst the children that he had almost all of the staff at the orphanage wrapped around his finger, which made it easy for him to be a bully to the others and never get caught.

But no matter how much the staff loved him he always received just as much food as the other children, which was why it always baffled the Sisters’ why he was so much bigger and chubbier than the rest. Cyrus was the only one that knew the answer to that. Faben knew all the staff’s schedules: The Sisters’, the Priests, and most importantly, the kitchen staff. So, when Faben wanted a snack, he’d wait until no one was in or around the kitchen then help himself to whatever he pleased.

The day the two boys’ became friends was the day Cyrus was brought to the orphanage. His mother had died in childbirth, so he never knew her and at the age of five Cyrus’ father was mugged on his way home and stabbed to death. The other member’s of Cyrus’ family were distant and wanted nothing to do with the orphaned boy, so he was carted away to the only place that would take unwanted children: The Golden Heart Orphanage.

As soon as Cyrus was situated in his new “home” he was confronted by the youngest bully of the orphanage: a seven year old Faben. To show the younger boy who was the boss, Faben took the last possession Cyrus had of his old life, a beat up old stuffed bear.

Cyrus wasn’t at the orphanage long enough to know the unwritten rule that he was supposed to be afraid of Faben and allow the theft. Instead, to the astonishment of the other children, Cyrus tackled Faben after punching him. A vicious fight ensued and the boys looked like two feral cats defending the territory.

Not even the Sisters’ could pull them apart. A couple of the priests had to be called in and they forcibly hauled the children off each other. Cyrus went away with a black eye and bruised ribs, but not before he had knocked out one of Faben’s teeth and given him a bloodied nose to remember Cyrus by.

While the two boys sat outside Father Gaelan office – the Priest that ran the orphanage – Faben glared darkly at Cyrus. Then he got up and walked right over to the little black haired boy. Cyrus raised his fists, ready for another fight, but, to his surprise, Faben stuck out his hand and had a wide, bloody grin set in his pudgy face as he introduced himself. The two had been inseparable ever since.

“So, was it another one of those dreams?” Faben asked offhandedly as he stared at the ceiling.

“I guess,” Cyrus said. His reply was muffled since he had his face buried in his pillow, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep.

“What happened in it?”

Cyrus turned his face to the side to scowl at the other boy.

“You know I never remember them,” he muttered, tired of having to go over this each and every time.

“Sor-ry,” Faben said sarcastically as he rolled over onto his side to face Cyrus.

The two lay there for a time in silence. Faben didn’t find the need to go back to his own bed so he stayed with Cyrus. The night was pleasantly warm so there was no need to huddle under the blanket, but not so hot that they couldn’t stand each other’s body heat.

Cyrus abruptly sat up, pulling Faben out of his drowsy dozing.

“What’s wrong?” Faben asked, which was followed by a big, open mouthed yawn.

Cyrus didn’t answer right away. He stared off into space with a look of complete concentration. There was a distant tingle in the back of his mind as he tried to remember something.

“Fabe…what’s a Dark Angel?”

Big brown eyes blinked up at the other in confusion.

“I dunno. How the hell should I know?” Faben said, never having heard the term before. With a labored grunt he sat up. “Where’d you hear it?”

“I dunno,” Cyrus replied as he scratched his head. He was just as perplexed by his question. “I think I heard it in my dream.”

“You said you didn’t remember anything from your dream.” Faben huffed with a glare.

“I guess I lied,” Cyrus said with a shrug. “But I don’t remember the dream, dream. Just that word.”

“Dark Angel…maybe it’s a bad angel,” Faben guessed.

“Bad angel?” Cyrus repeated in confusion. “How could an angel be bad?” He had never heard of such a thing and the priests or the nuns never mentioned the possibility of angels becoming bad.

“I don’t see you coming up with any ideas,” Faben said defensively. “You should ask Father Gaelan tomorrow. I bet he’ll know,” he suggested as he lay back on the bed. “But I’m tired so I’m goin’ to sleep.”

“Then go into your own bed,” Cyrus said, but there was no firmness behind his voice. It was just something he had to say. No more to it than that.

“Make me.”

Cyrus had the vague desire to roll the other boy out of the bed. He knew from experience that Faben was just the right amount of roundness that could roll extremely well. But he was tired and there would just be another fight. Instead Cyrus pulled the covers out from beneath Faben then covered both of them with the blankets.

As the two snuggled down Cyrus told himself that tomorrow he would ask Father Gaelan about Dark Angels. Whatever they were, he knew the head priest just had to know. Father Gaelan knew everything.

Night stretched on in the sleepy orphanage and as it did Cyrus and Faben unconsciously huddled together and in their sleep they held onto each other tightly. Being an orphan meant you had nothing. No home and no parents. It was something each child knew from the moment they stepped into the orphanage. The only thing they had to hold onto, the only thing they could rely on was themselves and friends. That’s why, even in their sleep, Cyrus and Faben would never let go of each other.

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It’s funny, I was going through some old files and I just stumbled across this. It was only half way done and as I read over it I was like “Oh, yeah, I remember what I wanted to do with this!” So, I finished it up and polished it and here it is. I hope you enjoyed it and tell me what you think.