Thread: Of Psychosis and Salvation

He had been beaten. He had been bruised. He had been punished, wounded, and cursed. Yet he still remained in the Heavenly Light and the others hated him for it. Why hadnt he been cast out? He had heard them whisper. Why wasnt he without his Light? They had murmured behind his back. He didnt understand it much himself, but apparently their Maker had decided to keep him around, despite how different he was from the mold. Perhaps he had been designed that way. Perhaps HE had wanted him to find his own path and be his own individual. Yet he wondered how much forgiveness he could warrant. How much love and acceptance he could hold onto. And yetyet He still didnt give a shit. The worst pain he had ever experienced was when one of the other Angelus had ripped one of his wings off while he had been chained up for a misdeed. Unable to defend himself, two Angelus had ganged up on him and pinned him down, taking one of his precious dark wings. No matter how strong and determined he was, he hadnt been able to stop the tears from escaping his eyes as the wing was torn asunder. He hadnt been able to hold back the screams. The feathers had laid in bloody heaps around him as the others had laughed at his plight. Blood had soaked his back, forming a pool underneath him. It had felt like half of him had been stolen. It felt like half of his being had been destroyed. And part of him had shattered. None of the others had been prepared for his scream of outrage and anguish. None of them had been prepared for him to rip his own wing off. Even through the pain and the anguish, the tears and the shattering of his heart, Athrun had laughed. Laughed! And claimed that he didnt want to dwell with the self-righteous, deluded, corrupt masses that spouted hatred and judgment from their place on high. He had claimed with utter conviction that he wanted to Fall. Instead, he had been given another wish of his heart- to be free enough to be on his own and still have the backing of his Maker. His wings would not be restored. But he would still be allowed to fly. And so with his own blood, their Maker had created a tattoo to replace the beloved wings he had lost. It wasnt the same. It would never be the same. But he could still disappear. That had been about twenty-five years ago. He could still feel the throb from the removal of his wings, but he didnt let that bother him now as he sat on the edge of a rooftop over-looking an insane asylum. He did his own tasks, helped whoever he felt like helping, but his Maker had asked him to try to help this one. Why? He hadnt bothered to ask but the question still spun in circles about his head. What was it about this one he needed to try to save? He seemed like any of the other crazies just wanting to kill and be free. Yet Athrun felt drawn to him. Just what was it that pulled him like an invisible string? Tapping off the ash of his cigarette, the Angerous, the name given to One Who Has Not Yet Fallen But Tilts , stood up and stepped off the buildings edge. Maybe he could find his own salvation here. It seemed odd, but the thought didnt leave his mind as he dropped from the building and disappeared from sight. Using his abilities, he walked through the metal door and looked at the curled up human on the small bed. At least it was better than most crazies got. Glancing around, he took a small puff from his cigarette before sitting at the desk and looking at his charge. The man wouldnt be able to see him unless Athrun wanted him to and for a moment, he just looked at him. He was a pretty thing, not too feminine but not too masculine. Just a right amount of captivation of face and body. Grey eyes and brown hair was uncommon but not unknown amongst humans. Athrun himself had black hair and bright yellow eyes - like that of a wolf. Pale skin was common amongst Angelus and he was no different. However, he was leaner and taller than most and stood at a solid six feet. Most Angelus were warriors and while Athrun could and would put up a fight, his fighting skills werent necessary for his duty. He only kept himself in shape to fend off Duras or demons and other Angelus. Though, the Duras had more respect for him than his own kin. Whatever. You seem awfully agitated for a crazy person, Athrun said, allowing himself to appear. Taking a drag from his cigarette, he knew what the human would see A man with his eyebrow pierced, long black hair, piercings in his ears, covered head to toe in dark colors. He looked like the combination of a gentleman and a member of a biker gang. Especially with the way he spoke - soft and elegant but with a touch of sarcasm. His eyes never wavered from Reds face, wondering just what the human was thinking with the weird man in his room.