Dammit, I’m such an idiot.
“Dammit, Alene, why are you such an idiot?” Punch’s muffled voice was barely audible through the palms of his hands. He was restlessly fidgeting on top of the thick windowsill, swinging his leg anxiously into the frosty air outside.
Yes, I know, Punch, offering to buy rounds for alcoholic men of the sea was definitely not a good idea. Get your head out of your hands you pouty halo brat. Punch had a bad habit of gripping the mop on his head too tightly whenever he got too stressed. Thick black strands floated like feathers down onto the ground whenever I let him and Line out. He tugged a bit of his bird’s nest out and closed up his puffer jacket a bit tighter; I could tell he was suppressing a shiver. Probably chose to sit by the freezing air to impress me. His melanin-soaked skin reddened at winter’s bite.
“I don’t know, Punch, why am I such an idiot?” I sarcastically throw the question back to him.
“Hehe, maybe it’s because you got your head hit too many times, Alene,” Line giggled and twirled the bottom of her waist-length blonde hair around her index finger. With her other hand, she readjusted her beige corduroy jacket as she leaned back in our suite’s desk chair.
Their antics this early in the day were not good for my hangover. I did, indeed, beat my record chugging that thirty-five proof, but at what cost? When I came to, I was crouched over a toilet and my hand was halfway in the miniature swamp I cultivated with someone’s excrement they forgot to flush and my second barf of the night.
Punch and Line were migraine-inducing more often than not, but I loved them nonetheless. Never would I have expected in my life that a boy with acne scars and a girl with freckles all over her entire body would be angels; never would I have expected in any lifetime that these angels would be my weapons to confront the gods being plagued by the disease known as mankind. And us, as a microcosm of mankind, have a duty to protect this affliction at all costs—even if it means destroying the very thing that created us. Punch and Line were as human as angels come, which meant they have a high resilience, likely immunity, from the illness. Angels or divine beings that were closer to godhood were more susceptible to corruption.
Punch and Line escaped the chaos when their patron, Eleos, fell to the disease and became a shell of his former self. Before they fled, they stole one of the sacred weapons kept within heaven’s forge itself; it was one of the most simple, yet powerful tools of destruction, the metal knuckles that I wield and they inhabit while I fight. The knuckles were light enough to carry, and they were unexceptional enough for gods with decayed minds to not notice their disappearance. Punch had stolen them to defend themselves while The Fall was happening. Eleos commanded his other angels to wreak havoc across heaven, starting a war. They didn’t know what happened to most of the angels and gods, but at least two of them went on a rampage with Eleos, leaving destruction in their wake. Bloody battles ensued and thousands of angels gave their lives to defend their now bleedable gods. Many of the gods failed to find it within them to attack their brethren. Terrified and at loss at what to do without their former master, the angels fled and aimlessly wandered the earth.
I had given up on life when the angels found me. Boxing was the only thing I had left after I lost everything after being hit by one of those calamities, so I decided to go with the angels to find out the truth. For some reason, angels by themselves weren’t that strong, but they could lend their strength to gods or humans to empower them instead. Whatever these two see in me, I’m glad. They at least gave me purpose.
“Do you think we’ll be fine against the God of Tempests? Oh, fuck, we’re so screwed. All we’re able to do is make Alene heal faster, Line. We’re against the God of Tempests… TEMPESTS! We literally almost died on the way here from a storm.” Punch dug his nails into his forehead, and his green eyes peered at us between his fingers. This boy needs to chill the fuck out. You’d think he’d be able to do that considering he’s halfway in the goddamn snow.
“Geez, Punch, no need to be so neurotic. We’ll be fineee. Alene is amazing at fighting, and she has two angels by her side. Sure her magic could use some work, but we can address that before we meet Reshien,” Line’s voice grew softer the more she spoke, a conscious decision to help Punch’s anxiety. She leaned back onto the chair’s hind legs, tapping the ornamental back rails methodically against the desk behind her.
“Can’t we just live out our lives here and forget everything? Reanth didn’t get nearly as bad as other cities around the world,” Punch pleaded.
“You know we can’t do that. We have to save Eleos and everyone else. I know if you won’t do it for any of the gods, you’ll do it for Aurora. Weren’t you two in love?” Line sat straight in her chair. The usual playfulness in her eyes had vanished.
“… If she’s even still alive. Sorry, you’re right. It’s just… I never thought this would happen. It always feels much easier to give up when I look at how bleak our circumstances are. Most of the world just sees calamitous disasters and issues arising and writes it off as bad fortune, but we know the truth.”
“I know. It’s a lot of weight to carry, but we have each other. We’ll get through this, okay, big bro?”
Punch sighed and got up to give Line a tight hug. For angels, having the same patron god was something similar to being siblings.
As for saving everyone, I wasn’t sure how we were gonna manage that. As things were looking, we’d likely have to fight every god infected with rot that’s too far gone. It seemed many had fled to earth as well after their angels had been dealt with or to live in isolation. From the looks of the storms, Reshien is probably up on the chopping block. These weren’t Atrocities, though. These are gods, gods that are becoming more like humans every day. I knew taking lives might be necessary to save the world, but still… No, I have to remember why I’m here. I don’t want whatever happened to my family and my hometown to happen again.
“Alright, you two, back into the knuckles,” I ordered like some after-school caretaker.
“Aw, really? Can’t we stay out a little longer? I wanted to walk around in the snow,” whined Line. She did her best impression of a whimpering puppy and clasped her hands together as if I was this seraph’s patron all along.
“Now? Now you want to come out? Where was the offering when I felt like I had more alcohol than blood in my body?”
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“It has been a while since we’ve been out, Alene. We sort of just hibernate after a while since we get bored there. It’s not like we’ve come across anything strong enough to the point where you’ve been in any real danger, or else we would intervene.”
Real danger, huh? I guess these two were “hibernating” when I was stabbed in the neck last night.
“Fine, fine. I’ll let the two of you out for the day. But if anything happens, you better get back inside the knuckles and help me out.”
In response to my charity, Line cheered and clapped her hand over her head; Punch leaned back and smiled with his eyes closed, his anxiety dissipating like water in a scorching desert. I felt bad. I guess it had been a while since I let the two of them out.
The woman in charge of the front desk at the tavern gasped when she saw me descend the stairs with my two angels in tow. She must have thought I snuck in two anachronistically dressed prostitutes in a drunken stupor at the dead of night. I did nothing to soothe her misconceptions; the look on her face was too priceless. I tossed her my keys, a pouch of my due, and finished it by throwing a suggestive wink her way.
The cold air prickled every part of my exposed skin forcing involuntary trembling across my body. I regretted even opening the door to leave the tavern. While I was contemplating whether or not to just turn back around and retreat to the dingy, stained blankets of my temporary lodging, Line impatiently shoved me forward. I almost tripped and fell face first into the snow.
“Ah… This is wonderful. I wanna throw my face in the ground like I’m shooting some white up!” Line hugged me from behind and rubbed her face in my hair. I don’t know how she was so lively. The early morning fragrances of fresh fish trading hands and dock water made me want to hurl. I just focused on the taste in my mouth of the cheap travel toothpaste.
“That’s not very, angel-like of you to say, Line,” Punch chided while walking up to the frosty dead. He performed a post-mortem analysis with a few kicks to the things side. Yup. Dead. I considered contacting the police to clean the body up. Some kids may wander here and gawk at the corpse, becoming traumatized for life in the process. But I didn’t want to be involved in the pain of giving a testimony, so I just made the lady at the front desk aware that there was a dead Atrocity in front of the tavern.
“Hey, kids, time to go. Come on. Stop messing around,” I snapped at the two. For being hundreds of years older than me, Punch and Line did not act like it.
Reanth Port was as dead as always. I had heard that one hundred years back it was a bustling trade sector with people from all over the world visiting it. Spices, weaponry, animals, medicine, recreational medicine… All sorts of stuff traded hands here for coins or other goods of the like.
It was a shame when the storms came a hundred years ago. Reanth was such a beautiful town; it still is. On every street we walked on there were dark green, stylistic lamp posts that had tapestries of a lion. Ornamental attachments surrounded the lamp like beautiful metal vines. Blood was splattered and a dent was left on the one near the dead Atrocity, yet it didn’t take away from the lamp’s craftsmanship.
Every building we passed was rustic with their mix-color brick outer walls and their spire roofs, even the tavern. Every stone in the ground looked as if it was laid down with care. Crunching snow and the clicking of our feet against the smooth walkways tingled my spine. As we got further from the odor of bilge water, fragrant smells of fried rice, sour beef, pickled vegetables, and freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air.
Fountains, parks, and public amenities were constructed using the commerce tax brought in. On our way looking for a place to eat, through the wide streets and cramped side passages, we passed by kids in scarves, beanies, and jackets playing tag around in a small playground. One of the children bumped into Line.
“Ah, sorry, missus!” the rosy-cheeked girl apologized.
“Hehe, it’s okay! Just be careful next time,” said Line, beaming. Her faux sympathy seemed genuine enough for her half-assed fake smile to look legitimate. Line hated kids.
The kid ended up getting tagged and ran off, so we went on our way. We heard there was a good tea shop near this park.
This walk made me realize one thing about this place: it had the beauty like that of an abandoned chapel, melancholic and recognized as great for what it once was, not the shadow it is.
As we entered the tea shop, a light-skinned young man with white hair took our order; hair of that color was scarcely seen around here.
“Uh, I’ll take it plain and iced. Yeah, no yeah I want it iced. Give me a sweet bread roll on the side,” I told the server. I made sure to affirm that I did indeed want iced tea in this weather.
Like the white-haired Osteran man serving us, foreigners that settled here were starved of their culture’s food and people as the ships stopped coming in. Some of the sailors I arrived here with were dedicated men willing to make the trek out to their families so they could bring back some semblance of home.
I met the frothy matcha tea placed in front of me with an unamused gaze. I thought plain implied no milk. It got shoved aside as I jumped to business with the angels. “So, what do you guys think I should do first? Am I plundering the city, dealing with some of the Atrocity sightings, or getting everything prepared for the confrontation with Reshien?”
“I vote for plundering and then preparing for the fight,” Line started. “Maybe we’ll find something useful while we shop for gear, but we need a bit more money first.”
Punch nibbled on his donut before interjecting, “Only more Atrocities will come to the city if we don’t deal with Reshien, anyway. We should only fight them if we have to.”
“How’s your Enhance Magic practice going, Alene?” Line inquired as she tapped her foot playfully against mine underneath the table booth.
“It’s… uh, coming along, I guess. I think it’s still intermediate at best.”
“It’ll have to do for now,” sighed Punch. “The knuckles and the Boots of Gravity should keep your body centered against the wind, so we just have to hope the enhancement can protect your neck from getting snapped by debris. Let’s go see what Reanth has for us before anything.”
After finishing our drinks, the angels and I departed to the center of the town. In the middle was Reanth’s Beacon of Hope. A regal limestone lion laid dormant atop a pedestal that dwarfed the sculpted animal. To the city’s residents, it seemed like an eccentric design choice to have a chiseled subject be outshined by its bust. No one was ever able to ask the mastermind behind the sculpture why this was. The people would get their answer today.
Powdered snow caked even the walkways we trudged along as we made our way to the desolate city center. Snow, with no sign of abatement, piled and slid off the green umbrellas that adorned much of the outdoor seating across the square; some landed on Line’s hair, turning her into a hot-blooded snow angel. In the corner of my eye, I could see people observing me out their apartment windows as they went on with their day indoors. I wondered if I would ever see this place regain its title as Reanth, The City of Warmth.
The angels and I approached the base of the stone sculpture, which stood a good five feet above even Punch’s head.
I glided the silver ring on my finger against the speckled sedimentary. Along the limestone, previously unseen runes became lucent with the color of the sky. As if house-sized boulders were dropped upon from above, the ground shook several times. Bulks of the sculpture collapsed into a spiral staircase that cascaded down like dominos. Punch and Line flashed gold and zoomed back into my knuckles that I was already fitting onto my hands. I gobbled the remainder of my pastry and discarded the wrapper into the snow before descending into the dungeon below.