Fragments Gallery
The Fallen
Blood ran from the cuts in his wings. It traced long red lines along his flesh as it flowed down his arm; eventually the scarlet liquid reached his elbow. There the blood welled up before falling to the ground as red tears. The orbs joined with the rain as they splashed down into the mud.
The man shifted on the ground, his jaw clenched from the pain of his numerous injuries. His pale white skin was marred by the red streaks of blood, many open cuts and mud. Light blue eyes blinked rapidly to purge the rain which streamed down his face from his long and lank white hair. Silver wings rose from his back, wings which he had once held high now lay broken and snapped in the grime, unable to properly fold due to their extensive damage.
Soon he would heal; his magic would see him through. Until then he could only wait.
His bare torso heaved with the exertion of remaining upright in a sitting position. The armour which had once protected him, made him impervious, now lay mangled in a silver and grey pile of useless steel and cloth. With some effort he dragged his second vambrace free of his arm and tossed it into the pile with the rest of his armour. The pieces did him little good now.
Thunder flashed overhead drawing his eyes back to the heavens. Flashes of what had transpired came back to him and he grimaced again and closed his eyes. He couldn't help but to remember how they had cast him down that short time ago.
Cast him down.
The phrase echoed in his mind. He raged at their violent betrayal and he hated them for what they had done. But even so, part of him understood why they had acted in such a way; that sliver of his mind knew that what they had done was just.
Illumin had been his name, although he doubted he had much claim to it now. It no longer fit who he was... No the man who had proudly carried that name was dead.
How could the bearer of that name have lived with what he had done? He had been part of a proud and just order. An order, a brotherhood, filled with those whom he had taken for family. And he had betrayed them. It was only after that they had turned on him. So they had cause. That didn't make it seem any better. No it was far easier to hate.
He had never intended to betray them; his intentions had always been good. One thing had led to another and eventually he found himself with no choice.
He had been a guardian of all that was good, the blade of the law, and the defender of justice. What was he now? One word came to mind in answer.
Fallen. He was fallen.
He could feel his body mending as his magic did its work. However something felt different, perhaps a side effect he had never before felt of the magic taking hold. His skin tingled as his magic swept across and sealed the physical damage. With a sickening crack his wings began to straighten, he groaned as the bones which had been broken by his fall to earth knit themselves back together. The unpleasant sensations only lasted for moments and yet they were an eternity of agony for him. However after the magic had finished its work he still knew that something was different. Something had changed about him.
Reluctantly, almost nervously, he looked down at his arms. Red streaks still marked where the blood had touched his skin. He dipped a hand into a nearby muddy puddle and splashed some of the cold water onto his flesh. With the skin dampened he began to rub at the mark. The outer coating of dried blood came free to reveal a bloody stain underneath. He splashed water on the streak again and this time grabbed a piece of grey cloth to wipe it clean with. After some rubbing he lifted the cloth away to see what his efforts had rewarded him with. No change to the streak. He tried again to no avail. His scrubbing intensified but it made no difference. The stain was not coming off.
He stared at his arm in dismay and something else caught his eye. His skin which had once been a brilliant pure white had faded to grey. He extended a newly healed and tender wing out to get a closer look at it. A deep scarlet had replaced the silver around the edge of each feather. It was as though he had been marked.
Slowly he rose to his feet, wincing as he put weight on newly healed limbs. What was he now? His purpose had been torn from him.
"I am Rodirem, the fallen," he decided, "I will complete my mission. And my brothers and sisters will pay for what they have done."
His wings unfurled behind him as he stared towards the sky.
They would pay.