07-13-2010, 10:58 AM
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From the depths of sleep, a voice called and Gabriel woke. Twin coals burned hot within his skull but he saw nothing. He heard a voice, though it was not the Voice, and knew that the end of days was upon him. Almost mechanically he went through motions, though none of them were what a wise man would do. A wise man would have planned a trap. A wise man would have called his army to him and slaughtered the beast with all those who had suffered.
Gabriel was not wise. Gabriel was a creature carved out of the wilderness and filled with fire. His world had taught him the power of symbols and the terrible stupidity of ego. Yet he knew that the beast he now had to hunt was neither dead nor living, and for this reason, he and he alone had to destroy him. The coy-wolf stopped only once to contemplate his death, standing outside of the den he had shared with his family, smoking what he supposed might be the last cigarette of his life. He had not smoked in well over a year. The smell burned his nose and filled his lungs with ash. If he was to go into hell, he would do so well aware of what it tasted like.
His mind fell back and for a while the world was dark. His body moved as it had been trained, to hunt and to kill. When he caught the scent his eyes finally became his own again. The world was dark and covered in fog, as the last dream of this man had been. Unlike then, the Optime came armed. A spear was clutched in his hands, and that knife, that damned knife, hung on his side like a bad dream. He needed it. Some part of him knew that the demon could not be felled without such an unholy tool.
The Aquila sensed his brother, his shadow, his greatest enemy, and readied himself.
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From the depths of sleep, a voice called and Gabriel woke. Twin coals burned hot within his skull but he saw nothing. He heard a voice, though it was not the Voice, and knew that the end of days was upon him. Almost mechanically he went through motions, though none of them were what a wise man would do. A wise man would have planned a trap. A wise man would have called his army to him and slaughtered the beast with all those who had suffered.
Gabriel was not wise. Gabriel was a creature carved out of the wilderness and filled with fire. His world had taught him the power of symbols and the terrible stupidity of ego. Yet he knew that the beast he now had to hunt was neither dead nor living, and for this reason, he and he alone had to destroy him. The coy-wolf stopped only once to contemplate his death, standing outside of the den he had shared with his family, smoking what he supposed might be the last cigarette of his life. He had not smoked in well over a year. The smell burned his nose and filled his lungs with ash. If he was to go into hell, he would do so well aware of what it tasted like.
His mind fell back and for a while the world was dark. His body moved as it had been trained, to hunt and to kill. When he caught the scent his eyes finally became his own again. The world was dark and covered in fog, as the last dream of this man had been. Unlike then, the Optime came armed. A spear was clutched in his hands, and that knife, that damned knife, hung on his side like a bad dream. He needed it. Some part of him knew that the demon could not be felled without such an unholy tool.
The Aquila sensed his brother, his shadow, his greatest enemy, and readied himself.