Mhaieiyu
Arc 3, Chapter 4
Tell Me Who I Once Was
“I have to say, bun-cakes. You look especially pale. Is there some grime we need to scrub?” Ava said, a mischievous smile most queer on her hard beak.
Holly sighed and gave a little laugh. “Please, I’m not a princess or anything.” She leaned back into her chair, the tangy scent of Bluemalus making her nose twitch unconsciously. “I haven’t come so close to a Crawler since I was a kit. I’d have soiled myself back then, but now? It’s amazing what a little courage can do.”
“You speak of it so vividly,” Ava commented, working her immaculate talons through the Lypin’s head hair.
“Funky, huh?” Holly sneered, craning her neck back and over the backrest of her seat to get a better look at the bird. Being seen from such a silly angle always made Ava blush. “Being a royal ass-kicker must be giving me some sort of drive.”
Ava put her hands on her hips. “What was that about not being a princess?”
“Guilty.”
Holly returned her head to upright normalcy after feeling too much blood rush to her brain. Her assistant resumed the grooming session, humming a tune for the rabbit’s enjoyment much to her avian tendencies. To hear a Ravyn sing was a rare sight to spot. Holly had the privilege of hearing it on a daily basis.
“Your face is still cold,” Ava said.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
“I intricately dress your every texture and wrinkle. Hairs to hymen. Did you think I wouldn’t notice a chill? I’d be fired.”
Holly couldn’t resist the contagious chuckle that they both shared. “Point taken. I guess there’s no hiding things from you.”
“You’re under no obligation, Bonnie, but an uncorked bottle is easier to deal with for most.”
The chair creaked when the lapine readjusted her posture. “It’s Emris.”
“Of course it is,” Ava sighed.
“I mean, yeah, of course it is, but not just the him part. It’s the act. He’s getting… He’s getting worse, Ava,” Holly said.
Ava moved away from her head to soothe her shoulders instead. “Is age catching up?”
“Maybe. He’s two men in an argument, now. And the nicer one almost never wins.”
“I’m surprised he has one.”
“He used to be better. Like, way back. Well, Dad says so. Then again, Dad said a lot of things that weren’t true. Lied to me about taking a break off coffee.” Holly relaxed into the gentle care of her feathers. “I know Emris was better, though. He could hold his own back then; managed his emotions.”
“His emotions, sweetie?”
“They’re the only part of him that hasn’t calloused. He drinks them away, but all that really does is jumble them up and confuse him. Emris doesn’t walk without booze on him anymore.”
Ava stopped, her voice becoming quieter. “Are you… Are you certain he’s worth seeing these days? He gets you in an awful bit of trouble.”
The Lypin grabbed her face and tugged at her cheeks. “I know, I know. It’s not that simple, though! He worries me.”
“He does?” Ava asked, more so indulging in her confession than curious.
“Well, yeah. He’s not my Dad, but… Well, he’s something.” Holly paused for a second, looking at herself in the mirror and trying to find the right words. “He’s like… a fucked up uncle. You don’t want to spend too much time with him, but you feel bad because he loves you, and wants to see you. And you know he loves you. And in his case… seeing me might be among the few good things in his life.”
Ava looked at Holly through the mirror. “Sounds like a heavy load.”
“Tell me about it… Look, he’s not my family, but I’ll miss him one day. Maybe by then I’ll be too late, and then I’ll be the hypocrite paying his tombstone visits on the weekends.”
Ava smiled at her. “Aww. You’re tearing up.”
“Yeah, yeah. A total drama act.. I just hope he’s not getting into any danger.”
“Let’s hope.”
♦ ♥ ♣ ♠
The softly gliding car dragged neatly against an otherwise loud turbulence, shaking the vehicle and the stomach of the recently sick Koto all the more. Emris wanted to believe that his eyes had failed or tricked him just now, but as the image of the distant Celestial grew, the weight of the situation became all the worse. The Guardian took a worried glimpse toward the yet unaware people in the back. Naturally, if the worst manifested, he’d survive. Their lives were over, though.
“Koto,” Emris called the ferret quarter-blood lowly, “Come up front.”
The sleek-fur groaned back a phlegmy response. “I just puked through my goddamned nose, Em. Gimme a second.”
“Ain’t asking ye please, ‘K’. Get yer ass over here now.”
Qun spoke up. “Hell’s up with the pushy-pushy?”
“Portside. Peel ‘em,” Emris practically whispered.
The drum of the overworked motors made it hard to hear. “Say twice? Can’t piece together shit over the— oh. Bastard.” When Qun caught onto the man’s worries, he stuck out a finger toward the target of their worries and his voice raised an octave. “Fuckin’ dip!” he shouted, bleating right into Emris’ ear.
“Fuck me!” Emris winged, swatting the panda back onto his seat.
The car suddenly keeled downward, sending the trio on another orchestra of terrified amusement. The Celestial remained where it flew, still idling — still observing. The limo had dipped well beneath the clouds, now having to narrowly evade the tallest spires with flips and turns the flyer just wasn’t suited for.
Emris shouted again. “Koto!”
Koto pushed through the malaise to reach the front seat, holding onto its frame for dear life. “What?!”
In a panic, Emris yanked Koto’s hand onto the steer. “Take the wheel, I’ll try negotiatin’!”
“The fuck are you gonna smooth-talk a Celestial with?”
“The shite are ye gonna outfly a Celestial in?!”
Agreeing that their situation was hopeless, Koto switched places with Em. When the limousine threatened to capsize, the ferret smashed his foot into the accelerator and whirled the birdie ‘round, regaining control. Emris propped himself against the ceiling to steady himself. Glancing over to the panda, he noticed Qun had passed out from the shift in g-force.
Tossing aside his concern for now, Emris closed his eyes and honed his thoughts on the faint words that had begun to invade his mind..
“Guardian Emris. It is by decree of the Skyborn Major that you make yourself shown to His Excellency. Discard and be rid of the illicit vehicle. Are you its owner?” Whomever’s voice was profoundly heavenly. A true example of angeldom, yet strict, firm and clear. Authority by holiness.
Emris staggered and clenched his eyes shut. To speak in this manner felt like learning how to wink again. “Not mine, nay. Can’t smash it. Belongs to a friend of a friend.”
There was no hesitation in their response. “It is law that you do so.”
“If ye’re gonna get tight about that, ain’t ye supposed to be by the Major’s side at all times, Thaumiel?” the Guardian challenged, feeling in his toes Koto’s surprising performance as a drug addicted pilot.
“The Major is currently safe amongst the Syndicate’s forces. Borrowing Jules and Orosius’ eyes, I can see he is discussing with your new chief.”
“He won’t like ‘em.”
Emris found the Archangel in the sky again, thanks in part to his massive wing-pairs and cornea-toasting halo. As an Archangel just beneath the Skyborn in rank, Thaumiel was considered a Principality of the highest esteem. His powerful visage carried more than aesthetics. Whenever the limousine flew out of reach, his figure would simply reappear within ample range. The slow beat of his two great wings and two smaller, still graceful ones beneath pushed enough wind to veer the floater off its course a quarter of a mile away, slamming its tires on a diagonal ceiling just short of Koto turning the car fast enough to do so.
“Fuck me!” Emris recoiled, his body mashing against the wall from the impact. “Thaumiel, can ye maybe piss off? I’ll go see the old man, fine. At least let us get there!”
“That’s right. You’re wingless…” Thaumiel trailed off, even in Emris’ head.
The telepathic silence soon afterwards only aroused the Guardian’s tension. Wary of the Celestial, Emris reached toward the two idiots. Judging by how long Qun had stayed unconscious, he began to doubt whether it was g-force or substance abuse that had stolen his awakeness.
“Koto, fly northbound. Get us to the Facility,” Emris said, pointing toward where he knew the building to be. “If Qun lights another cig, kill him.”
Koto didn’t object, as much as he wanted to. Turning the limousine around sharply, Emris tumbled off to the side much as the ferret had. Emris almost complained until a flash shined in his peripheral. Choking on air, the Guardian shouted out a brief ‘Duck!’ before a thin sheet of light slid through the limousine’s rear end, leaving behind an orange line across the affected doors, glass, ceiling and floor. Emris watched as a third of the vehicle fell off with soundless serenity, leaving behind two of the four wheels as well as the only source of airborne propulsion; the whole of which would smash against the pavement fifty feet below.
What remained of the unimpressive flyer, having lost its stabilisers, began to teeter downward. Koto panicked out a few expletives as elevation became impossible — a slow tilt threatening a death spiral.
Qun somehow slept through this.
Emris and Koto’s back-and-forth shouting was completely muted by the wind’s blow, both trying to steer their ship a few notches away from oblivion. There was no rescuing this ride. Without options, Emris ripped Koto from his seat and plucked Qun out from the seat belt tying him down. They both looked down over the edge. It was now or never.
Koto screamed out obscenities as Emris threw the three of them off the car, leaving it to explode in a yellow-blue flame against some newsletter agency’s office. Among the privileges of the Syndicate were included zero liability. Those poor sods.
Just before they hit the concrete shredder at a horizontal speed of at least a hundred and twenty miles an hour, Emris put an arm forward and conjured up a translucent blue bowl an inch off the parkway, upon which the three landed. The softness of the bowl was vaguely akin to a foam mattress, and they dragged onwards for a good five seconds, Emris’ spell following along with them. Qun fell off about three seconds in, leaving him to tumble on his thick fur and smash violently into a few rubbish bins. Koto tore Emris’ jacket off its sleeves trying to hold on, but he too rolled off near the end, doubtlessly leaving a few bloody gashes as his thinner pelt did little to save him from the roadburn.
Emris on the other hand suffered from a different kind of lesion. The exertion of the impromptu spell and the damage it had taken left within him an acute pressure that forced blood from his nose. When he pulled his digits away from his face and saw the red substance, his anger began its boil.
A figure significantly taller than he and most of man landed softly upon the fizzling, gelatinous bowl; his torso encased in a vest of dangling, bronzish scales. Emris had to angle his neck back so far that it cramped as he tried to capture all of Thaumiel’s features from a kneeling position. His glow matched the sun's glare and yet his rectitude was stone cold.
An insignificant smile curled the Archangel’s lips. “How illuminating. For a good few years, I was convinced the Guardian had lost his power.”
The Fifty-Seventh wobbled a knee to stand and frowned at the angel most bitterly.
Thaumiel didn’t react to it though. “Such good news. The best of news. You might even start doing your job.”
“The fuck was that, Thau?!” Emris roared and took a step forward, his hands coming up but stopping midway. “Are ye just toyin’ with the ‘mere mortals’ by fancy, now?!”
The Principality dismissed his every concern. “Well? Are you ready to depart, wingless one?”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Emris pointed a finger at Koto’s body up ahead. “Does it look like it, twat?!”
The Celestial shirked his question entirely. “Come now, I’ll carry you.”
When Thaumiel reached a hand forward to grab Emris’ shoulder, the Guardian swatted his wrist away and pushed him back at once, forcing the four-winged Principality to stumble backwards.
“A-Ah…” Thaumiel stuttered. The noise he made was one of fragile bewilderment, feeling the spot on his chest that had been vandalised. The lightest pang of pain in his ribs felt so foreign. Looking back at the Guardian—his body identical to that of a human—his shock took longer to process than expected, allowing the Guardian the time to help his battered friend up after a distant call confirmed Qun had survived.
Lifting Koto to his feet, aching his poorly leg, Emris felt remorse for having allowed these hopeless dopes to convince him to involve them in his affairs. Danger dripped off of the supposed protector like morning dew; a restless, ceaseless bank of misfortune.
A long sigh left Emris’ diaphragm. Had it been so long since he last came to blows with the Celestials?
Could he kill one and get away with it?
Again?
There wasn’t a lot of sand left in the hourglass either way. Might as well.
Emris took a stand, straightening his ever-slouched back and producing a satisfying crack. Facing off the Archangel, the Fifty-Seventh’s frigid stare tensed. Thaumiel looked back at him with shaking brows, not believing the gleam his all-peering eyes told of.
Emris’ head tilted. “I reckon ye ought to be apologisin’. Quick,” he said, reaching the floor to pluck what little was left of his coat. His heart stopped racing when he felt the bump of his locket, pistol and switchblade within. He took the rag and draped it over his shoulder.
“What?” Thaumiel stammered a stern response. The Archangel’s fingers had begun a methodic dance, preparing hyphenated spells if by Victus that impossible turn of events were to be.
But they were. Emris exhaled a low, loud drag like a puff of smoke. His right fist tightened. “Apologise, and figure out how in the shite ye plan on payin’ for Qun’s lost property.”
“Do you…? Are you really trying to bicker with me over a Cryptid’s…?!”
Thaumiel could just barely make out this scene before him. His imprudence cost him. When Emris took a step forth, and before his boot touched the ground, he vanished. Then he reappeared, but closer, and vanished again. And again, this repeated; all in the blink of an eye. Before the Archangel could react, Emris had closed the distance and turned Thaumiel’s skull up and sideways with a violent impact neither could begin to process. The wind carried through Emris’ knuckles, rebounded off the Celestial’s bones and swirled back inwards for a second hit, doubling the power behind this blow that would’ve killed most of anything less.
The Principality hadn’t even the chance to prevent this. The entire ordeal was over the instant it began, and only when his eyes remembered to function did he realise he was airborne. Thaumiel’s many wings flapped uselessly before he smashed into the side of a building, bouncing off concrete and tearing it up in the process.
This pain wasn’t mild. His sensitive flesh and bones, not used to taking the brunt of combat, stung like a branding iron. The pressure of his hurt temple made his very brain feel dislocated. Before he could so much as kneel, Emris was already back atop him, looking down at the magnificent heaven-spawn and stomping at him like a heap of rubbish. Picking him off the rubble, he jabbed his fingers into the angel’s abdomen and smashed a knee into his forehead. Confused yet furious, Thaumiel tried in vain to retaliate, letting loose spells that could halve houses and did tear the road asunder without the slightest resistance, only for them to be ignored by the Syndie’s effortless zips. The few times Thaumiel uselessly tried to defend himself, Emris simply pushed his limbs away and carried on.
“What is that?! What are you doing?!” Thaumiel protested much like a child would, trying one last time to strike Emris down only to suffocate his spell when he remembered the terms he was obliged to follow. “Who taught you how to do that?!”
Emris stood, a hand outstretched to stop the attack that never came. His silence gave the Principality answer.
“The heretic…” Thaumiel hissed.
“The man did us a service, oy…” Emris grunted, cracking his neck.
Thaumiel’s eyes bulged bloodshot. “He killed a fucking Guide Earl! That imprudent brat stole from us, from everybody a Goddess-given right!”
“And he died doin’ it. Thildan was a right fuckin’ cock. We’re all proud.”
The Archangel laughed out of outrage. “Hah, hah! Alpha isn’t.”
“Small blunder of ‘is.”
An empty tin of beans flew through the air and almost banged the angel’s head, but it disintegrated into a laughable spit of smoke before contact was made. The Archangel turned with a jolt to see the two goons throwing waste at him, having gotten too drunk with excitement on the beatdown thus far. They had clearly underestimated Thaumiel by now. With renewed vigour, he quickly stretched out a hand and unleashed an instant lightning bolt that brought them to their knees in a flash. Thaumiel’s sadistic pleasure was cut incredibly short as his body’s impetus once again forced him upon the concrete with a beautiful chop from the Guardian, who wasn’t too pleased to see his friends suffer the consequences of their actions.
Indeed, Thaumiel had only been so weak-seeming due to the Guardian’s protection on the Celestials’ behalf. His petulance was on full display when it came to commoners that had no such safety promised. Had Emris waited but a moment longer, one bolt from the heavens would become a thousand, and their bodies would be reduced to sinew, then bone, then ash; perhaps less.
“Vainglorious, narcissistic blighters, the lot of ye,” Emris chastised with each drop of his foot upon the Principality. The sound of popping from Thaumiel’s dislocating joints only tempted his wrathfulness. “Won’t but a bird soar the heavens, if it ain’t the likes of ye. Aye, and the blood, sweat, and tears of the land-farers? Fuck them for giving it a go, or nay?”
The Principality managed to stand on wobbly legs and tried to throw a punch but was shamed by a quicker return. His swollen face was a pretty sight, some incomprehensible gurgles trying to convey something he hadn’t the concentration to say telepathically. A timed jab threw Thaumiel’s head into another, bobbling the gracious’ head almost comically. This was finally enough to collapse him onto the pavement, forcing his unfilthied hands to soil when he caught himself on the smooth rocks.
The ruined majesty of nature dragged himself like the curs he trod upon, his many wings carried like lumber on his back. For a brief reprieve, Thaumiel was left alone in his squalor; a seething, somehow quiet Guardian looming behind. The Archangel’s limbs shook as he clambered his way back to standing form, still processing the violation of his status he had just undergone. Such immense power was wasted on this man, much as Emris’ Guardianship was lost on him.
His entire face bulging and cut, Thaumiel could taste the fluid silver in his blood. He let out a scared gasp when one of his four flappers failed to unfurl. The sight of Emris made his ruined complexion tense, a vein bulging from his skull. “The only thing…” Thaumiel tried to speak, his voice distorted with absent teeth. “The only thing keeping you alive is the King.”
Emris’ eyes narrowed. In an instant, he decided the skirmish wasn’t over. The disdain he felt for his own race mixed with his spite for this kind of man. The Guardian approached.
Thaumiel’s only eye not forced shut widened. “You use your enemy as a shield. What good are you meant to serve——?!” Even as his volume peaked, nothing could stop the thunderclap of Emris’ right hook.
Thaumiel dropped yet again with a gargled howl. Koto had reached Qun by then, sparks still shooting off their blackened fur, and the two watched the event unfold at first with anger, but then with repulsion as the violence unravelled.
“Ah, Ah…” Thaumiel wheezed. “Compared to Athena… You are nothing…”
Emris raised his heel once more but was stopped as the Celestial whirred around and grabbed his ankle. Emris could feel a crunch just from the seal of his fingers. The pain made him grimace.
“Go ahead, you sinful bastard. Kill me. Kill me, so that there may be room for conception. In two years' time, Victus will finally be rid of you,” the Principality pleaded with malice instead of misery. With this declaration, he released his grip and laid upon the floor invitingly.
Emris watched the shaking body of grace for a good few seconds, cold as a statue. Hundreds of memories of his childhood echoed within, and about ten of them were pleasant. There was only one Celestial he gave thanks to. With a long, deep breath, Emris removed his leg and walked towards the two he hesitantly called friends.
“Clean yerself up,” he said, hands back in his pockets.
Koto and Qun looked at each other, baffled beyond words. The Archangel was unable to even fight back. Emris discarded his sleeves, exposing the oily tanktop beneath, and rustled the rag for a fourth item that wasn’t there. The flask had been lost. He sighed.
“You tits alright?” Emris asked, his concern rapidly waning. He took what few possessions he had and stuffed them in his trouser pockets. “What’s with ye?”
Koto wiped his brow. The stress of being struck by such a menace still weighed in his stomach, though he was thankfully still in well enough condition. “Leg’s probably gonna be fucked for a while, and I’ve burnt half my trim off, but yeah, I’ll live. Felt like my heart got rebooted or some shit, phew.”
Emris picked at his teeth. “Aye, aye. Galvanic’s real good at joltin’ ye, and keepin’ ye well stiff.”
Qun found it in him to snigger despite the circumstances. He’d endured the shock a lot better than Koto had, despite the size difference. Werebjorn genes. Tapping down his puffed-up coat, he said, “Shit, if you’re gonna kick his shin in, at least bite a check off ‘im.”
“Celestials don’t give a shite about money or you,” Emris so gracefully clarified, snorting and spitting on the ground. “Sorry mate, but yer money’s gone.”
The small panda shook his head. “Kick us a pisspot, Vicks... I’ll make it back.”
“Always do, half-pint.”
Koto couldn’t shake off the anxiety as well. “You’re just gonna leave him there?” he said.
Emris turned back to watch the shambling angel. “He’ll live.”
The two idiots exchanged another glance. Koto spoke up. “This beef is way beyond us though, ain’t it?”
The Guardian smiled. “Aye. If I could, I’d kill all but a handful.”
♦ ♥ ♣ ♠
The absence of wings looked odd on a halo-less Celestial with short, combed brown hair. His stature always felt imposing despite his moderate height compared to the boy’s, even if he did often greet him with a pleasant beam. The boy’s body did not fit his mind, bearing instead the appearance of a young man he had scantly spoken to during the brief interactions he was allowed on occasion with those outside the vetted group of mentors and supervisors that had dedicated themselves to his nourishment. At such a young age, the boy in a man’s body was watched like a hawk, his every little action jotted down and accounted for.
The boy, Emris, felt like an alien in this place. No brothers nor sisters would struggle with him. Not even the other youths were allowed near him — not that they would approach, with his conflicting looks.
Emris knelt down as the Hawk came to greet him, shrugging off this gesture with a laid-back laugh. Emris took the hand he was offered and stood up, allowing his full stature to be assessed. Just short of the other Celestial’s.
“Good afternoon, sport. You slept alright? You tossed and turned something fierce,” the Hawk said, a disarmingly humble grin showing off those pearly whites.
Emris nodded with a childish smile of his own. “Yes. I’m just nervous.”
“Now, what did Aquila tell you, sport? You just have to relax.” He took Emris by the wrist and tugged him along out of the bedroom, which lead to a mostly featureless bronze and quartz hallway. “All that’s changing is your study periods. You get to challenge yourself with something new and exciting, too.” Seeing that Emris didn’t react too well, the older Celestial gave him a friendly pat on the chest. “C’mon. You get to finally give your legs a shake. Must’ve been a real itch this whole time, storing all that Guardian in you.”
Emris looked away. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
A laugh caught on his lips. “Don’t be ridiculous! You won’t hurt anyone, little man. Tygrith’s a real hard-ass, he’ll manage you.”
Emris blinked. “Tygrith…? I thought I would train with Aquila…”
The easy-going gent scratched his wing feathers. “Yeah, about that… Major said it would do you good to fight with someone you’re willing to get serious with. Not to mention Aquila’s too fond of you to really put her mind to it.”
“She is?” Emris asked, facing the floor. “That’s comforting at least…”
“Liven up, little guy!” the Hawk said. “And of course she is! Loves you like a nest egg, just like all her students. Maybe even more.”
“She would make a good mother.”
“Heh, yeah. Don’t tell her that, though. She’s still taking the news of her… condition, pretty hard.”
Emris looked up at the Hawk for a second and nodded in comprehension.
“Woop! Veer right, it’s down this way,” the Hawk said, pulling Emris toward a corridor he’d never gone down before. The young Guardian seemed confused.
“I’m starting so early?” Emris said.
“Early’s better than late! Not to mention it’s about time you got started. I think Aquila’s been holding off some. You didn’t hear that from me, though.”
The bronze of the walls became noticeably lighter, the door up ahead already wide open. Emris couldn’t help but notice how pushy his superior was being. Trouble must be brewing, he thought. The idea of leaving his birthplace was a scary thought, to say the least. For each of his years, Emris had only known these corridors and rooms. These winged beings that cared for, educated and above all else protected him.
“Now, uh, I should warn you. Tygrith isn’t exactly graceful. I mean, I’m no silk either, but he’s a little more… pronounced.”
“Pronounced…”
“Yeah, out there, you know. He speaks when he wants to, says what he feels like, makes himself loud. A lot of us tend to scold him, so if he gets too brash with you, just let us know and we’ll sort him out, yeah?”
“S-Sure, I suppose.”
“Great! Break a leg, little man!”
Not once had he pronounced the boy’s name. The Hawk practically shoved the young Guardian through those open doors, burning his eyes with a massive and bright room. After a few blinks, he adjusted, and set his sights on the features therein.
It was a stadium of sorts, but colossal in size. Emris stood at the top of a square of stairs of some gold-like metal, which descended inward to its centre. The midsection consisted of a sizeable arena, its loose sands designed to test stamina.
Upon this arena, already prepared for the arduous task ahead, stood a Celestial Emris immediately deemed unlikeable by all measure. Off his scalp hung messy clumps of unkempt spiky hair, he bore the complexion of a middle-aged man and his whole skin was leathery and dry. A wicked scowl lingered on his face. This very deed was of the greatest inconvenience to him. His wings were relatively short but stout, bearing the muscular features of well-trained flyers. Though his muscle mass wasn't overbearing, he had the right amount of size to impose, standing at a slightly larger height than most men.
Emris looked down upon him from where he stood. The man he understood to be Tygrith stared back. Patience ran thin, and the man's husky voice growled.
"Down," Tygrith ordered.
Emris gulped, beginning his descent. Each step rang loud, with nothing to impede the echo. Besides their movements, all was quiet. The awkward tension was frightening. All the way, Emris felt Tygrith's analysing eyes dig into his every feature, prying the lad for exploits even though he had no combat experience.
The feeling of smooth sand felt pleasant on his feet. Emris took a moment to thoroughly enjoy its textures pass between his toes and caress his soles. He took a deep breath.
"It's nice to meet you, Tygrith sir," Emris said, offering the Celestial a hand.
Tygrith didn't stop his mean glare. The bags under his eyes gave him an unpleasant disorderly look unbefitting the angels with which he worked.
Emris withdrew. "I'm sorry. What will our first lesson——?"
The Fifty-Seventh couldn't finish his sentence before a sudden fist flew directly into his abdomen. With a yelp and jagged breaths, a second question could only be thought of as two pummels smashed into his neck and chest. Emris was propelled back by the tremendous force of Tygrith's blows. His ribs had broken and lungs punctured, making breathing an impossible task.
"On your feet," Tygrith spat, plucking Emris off the floor only to hit him with another rapid flurry. Emris could only lift his arms in defence, but Tygrith broke them both with little effort. The poor boy in man's skin, with not an ounce of experience to his name, was roughed like a ragdoll.
It took less than fifteen seconds for the Guardian's worthless corpse to lie by the edge of the arena. Of course, he wasn't actually dead. And Tygrith wasn't done.
Emris couldn't even fight back. He was given not a second to adjust. The Celestial who was meant to tutor him sadistically smashed his heel into Emris' back over and over again, hearing each horrid crack, relishing each morbid crunch. Emris' body did only what it could do best: regenerate.
Over and over, for hours, the torment went on. Through tears and pleas, Tygrith tirelessly assaulted the child. When Emris tried to fight back, Tygrith would snatch his arm and break it again, and then drop his stomach on a knee and carry on. By the time his first sparring session was over, Emris had already come to terms with what his life's purpose would be henceforth.
He wasn't a Guardian, for he couldn't protect anyone — not even himself. No, he was Mother Victus' punching bag. Mortos' scorn. The King's Vessel, to be purged before long. There was no Emris. He was a number, and a pitiable one at that.