guarding the body of hate

A ten year old boy hides in a cupboard, he can hear them outside, shouting with his father, his mother, his brother. Their power radiates from them, staining the things around them with an angelic smell. He opened the door slightly, and saw the four members of the holy host Seraphim shouting at his parents. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but he was scared. Then something happened. Something that would burn itself into his mind for the rest of eternity. One of the angels takes out a sword, a simple human blade. The other three take out swords that ignite in the air. The angels rush at the family. Their swords scorch the air behind them. They unfurl their wings. The boy’s father takes out a gun, and fires four times, one for each angel. The angels cover themselves with their wings, and the bullets crumple against them. The angels leap up, and slash at the family with their blades. The boy watches, a feeling of helplessness giving way to pure fear. In a matter of minuets, his family is dead. The angels surround them, and hack at the corpses. By the time they leave, there is nothing recognisably human about the body, spare their heads. The boy saw that one of the swords once held by the angels, lying in the ground. The boy picks it up, the blood of his parents and brother dripping off it.
“…I swear…I swear that I will get my vengeance. On the blood on this sword, and the blood in my veins. I swear that I will avenge you.” He says, his voice rasping in his throat, fear, anger, and disbelief tearing at his heart. The blood on the sword stops dripping, staining the sword blood red. The boy gets up, and takes one final look at his dead family, and left. The next day, the papers reported the story in all its gory details. The name of the child was unknown, but he became known as the forgotten target.



Thirty three years later. A figure ran into an alleyway. The figure looked human, and could have easily passed for one. He had blue eyes, and bleached white hair. He was thin, and scared. The only thing that showed his inhumanity was the pair of wings coming out of his back. The boy ran as fast as he could, occasionally tripping over one of his wings, which had been savagely broken. One hand was covering a wound in his side. It wasn’t bleeding, or very deep, but it did hurt. He heard footsteps behind him, and turned his head. He saw a figure standing there. A tall man, with wide shoulders, and muscles to match. He wore blue jeans, and black boots. A black shirt, and a large grey trench coat, that was closed by one leather strap. It had been closed by several clasps as well, but they hung open, dangling as uselessly as the wing on the boy. The mans face had scars out lining his cruel eyes, a piercing green in the gloom of the alley. In the mans left hand, there was a sword, its blade a blood red colour. He smiled slightly upon seeing the desperation in the young boys face, and walked slowly forwards. The boy cried out sharply, as he ran into the wall at the end of the alley. He slid down the wall, and curled himself into a ball as the man came closer. Bringing the promise of a painful death for the boy closer with each step. He came to a stop in front of the boy and looked at him.
“Wh-why?” The boy whimpered. The man was silent, and then opened his mouth. He paused before speaking, as if choosing his words carefully.
“Because your angel.” He said carefully, his voice a mix of hatred, anger, and content. “And that alone warrants your death.” The man pointed the sword straight forwards, and slowly raised it.
“I’m not an angel…I’m a half angel!!!” The boy shouted, trying to press himself through the wall. The man paused.
“And?” He said. “I’m still going to kill you.” He raised the sword higher, and held it in the air, like a deadly cobra, before it strikes. “Think of this as…going to live with daddy…I’ve probably killed him as well.” His face broke into a savage grin as the boys face slowly slipped into despair. He slashed the sword down, the bade bit through the boys wrists when he tried to defend himself, the boy screamed in pain and turned his head away.
“It’s useless! No-one will help you now!!!” The man roared, slashing the sword towards the boy’s unprotected neck. The metal bit into the boy’s jugular vein, splitting it and sending the boys crimson blood flying. The man pulled back the sword, and plunged it into the boy’s heart. He twisted the hilt once. The boy let out a silent cry of pain, and then lay still. The man leant over, keeping the sword in the boy’s chest all the time, and pulled one of the boy’s feathers out of his non broken wing. He stood back up and waited, until he heard the boy let out a chocking sound. At that, he pulled the sword out. He crouched down and whipped it clean on one of the white wings, leaving streaks of red on the white feathers. He stood up and put the sword away. He opened the coat up, and placed the feather inside, amongst a collection of almost identical white feathers, that coated both sides of his coat. He closed his coat up, and connected all the clasps. “Ruthligar” he muttered. A sheen appeared over the clasps, indicating that they were now locked to everyone but him. He turned and walked away, his boots, face, trousers and gloves covered in blood. Somehow, the mans coat was bloodless. He looked at it and put it down to the cleaning charms that had been used on it so many times, it was probably now one itself. As he left the alley way, a winged figure landed and looked down at the dead half angel.
“Forgive me my son...I could not protect you in time.” And with that, the angel took off, tears streaking down his face.


Two months later. A woman wearing a black formal suit walked through the back alleys, a small brunette child following behind her. They approached one of the doors, with the sign “Money only” on it. They opened the door and stepped through into the dirty hallway. The woman looked around in disgust, and signalled for the girl to follow her. As they progressed along the hall, they saw children in rags gnawing on bones, and scraps of meat. The woman carefully led the little girl to a door at the end of the corridor. There were cracks in the door, and a sign so dirty, that the only things visible on it were the letters “_O____R_ __R H_RE” The Woman took out a White handkerchief and wiped away the grime, grimacing at the now black rag. The sign now said “BODYGUARD FOR HIRE” The woman knocked sharply on the sign with her knuckles. There was a pause, and the door opened slightly. Someone looked out through the gap. All they could see of the person was some black hair, a green eye with scars around it, and part of an unshaved chin. The eye studied them, as if working out the best way to dispose of their bodies. The owner of the eye grunted and closed the door. The woman stood there in shock, and observed the person through the glass. All she could make out of him was a silhouette. She saw it move around, and put on a shirt and coat. It kicked some things, and then turned to the door. There was the noise of things being un-done, and then the silhouette moved away. The woman took a deep breath, and tried the handle. The door opened, its hinges groaning in protest to being used. The Woman led the girl in carefully, and looked around. There was a layer of dust on everything. Books on mythology and religion lay on the floor, their spines broken. There were several places on the walls and ceiling that were crumbling away, and there were blood stains on the floor. At the back off the room, there was a wooden desk. A man wearing wore blue jeans, and black boots, a black shirt, and a large grey trench coat sat in a chair, his head resting on his hands. His feet were resting on the desk. He shifted his weight slightly before speaking.
“Aah. I’ve been expecting you.” His voice was deep and gravely, with no particular tone standing out. Grey smoke curled out from between his lips, and twisted up to gather in a foul smelling cloud above him. He had obviously been smoking.
“Of course you were.” The girl said, her voice strong and cold. “We knocked.” The man looked at her, and raised an eyebrow. The woman coughed to get his attention again.
“We would like to hire your services.” She said, her voice nasally, and whistling. The man raised the other eyebrow this time, and made himself more comfortable by taking out a cigarette from a beaten up packet, and putting it in his mouth.
“You mind if I smoke?” He said through the filter, searching a pocket for something to light it with.
“Yes actually. I do.” The girl said, glaring at the man. He looked at her, raised both eyebrows, and withdrew a silver lighter in the shape of a skull. He put the end of the cigarette in one of its eyes, and flicked the jaw open. There was the noise of a flame igniting and he took the lit cigarette out of the socket.
            “Tough luck brat. It’s my office.” He breathed deep, allowing the nicotine smoke to fill his lungs. He breathed out in the direction of the woman and the child. “Now...what do you want?” he asked, looking at the woman.
“I want to hire your services.” The little girl said. The man slowly looked at her, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Sorry kid, but I don’t do dealing with bullies on the playground. You’ll have to beat them up yourselves.” He took another drag, and breathed out, the smoke curling out of his nostrils.
“I don’t have any problems like that.” The girl snapped. “Do you not know who I am?”
         “I know exactly who you are kid.” The man drawled. The girl looked slightly shocked. “You.” He said, holding out his hand, so the cigarette pointed at her, “Are a brat, who has nothing better to do than waste my time. Now beat it kid, even if I was interested in helping you, you wouldn’t have enough money for me.”
“I.” The girl began, “am a princess.” She made herself stand at her full height.
“You and every other little girl.” The man muttered
The girl glared at him. “I assure you sir. I am a real princess. My father was killed, and my throne stolen from me.” The girl put her hand in a pocket and took out a gold coin. She threw it on the desk top, where the man watched it slowly circle round, and round, before rattling to a stop. The man lazily plucked the coin from the desk and studied it, before biting it hard.
“Hmm…well, it’s real gold alright…” He looked at the girl. “Who did you say you were?”
“I am Princess Tanra Inrengo. Princess of the fortress.” At that the man locked eyes with her.
“YOU are the daughter of THAT king?” He chuckled to himself. “Well…don’t that just beat all…a royal summons. Very well princess. The gold coin is worth one thousand…” He threw the coin back “my rate is different for royalty than it is for normal people, 'cause it’s a lot more dangerous to protect you blue bloods.” He took his feet off the desk and picked a piece of paper up from where they had been. “My rate will be eight hundred a day, plus expenses. You pay four days up front. My contract lasts for two weeks. You agree to that, and I’ll protect you till it runs out.” He put the grubby paper on the desk and pushed it forwards. “You sign in blood, or ink. Your choice, but you’ll need your own ink, I ran out two months ago.” He leaned back and took a pen up from the floor. Before handing it over, he dipped the pen in a cup of strange smelling liquid. There was a hissing sound from the jar, and he takes the pen out, the nib looking cleaner. Tanra raised an eyebrow and snapped her fingers. The woman next to her took out a pen, and handed it to the princess. The man just shrugged.
“What can I say,” he asked “I don’t like digi-pens.” Tanra raised an eyebrow and set the pen on the paper.
“Signature.” She said to the pen. “Princess Tanra Inrengo.” The pen jumped up at her command and scribbled a neat signature onto the contract.
“You see…that’s the problem with the things.” He said, taking a bottle of something out from a desk draw. He pulled the top out, and took a swig. Then returned to talking. “They’re too easy to forge someone’s signature with. Watch. “He leant over, and tapped the pen. When he was sure it wasn’t going to write anything, he slipped a blank scrap of paper under it. “Signature. Princess Tanra Inrengo.” The Pen sprang up, and scribbled the same signature down. “You see?” The man said smugly, putting the scrap in his pocket. “Far too easy to forge.”
“…what is your name?” Tanra said. The man swung his feet back to his desk.
“That’s right…I didn’t get round to telling you that did I.” The man said, stubbing the cigarette down on a bug that had crawled onto his desk. Something in the shadows gave a small shriek. “My name is Ultionis. Zeane Ultionis.”
         “Zeane Ultionis.” The princess said, pronouncing it as Zeen Ultonis. “Right.”
         “No-no-no.” He said, pushing back from the desk with his feet, and standing up. Tanra looked up at him. He looked down at her. “You’re pronouncing it wrong. It’s not ‘Ze-en Ul-to-nis.’ It’s ‘Ze-ane Ul-tio-nis’” He glowered down at her. “If you’re gonna use my name, then use it properly.”
         “I was just curious. I’m not going to address you by your name, for you do not deserve the honour. I will address you simply as, Bodyguard.” The princess did her best to look important, regal, and powerful. Zeane took this in, and laughed to himself, before slipping his lighter in a pocket.
“Another thing, bodyguard. No smoking while under my hire.”
“No problem kid, I’m trying to give them up anyway.”
“And another thing. It will be troublesome for me to pay you 800 a day, when my gold costs 1000, so I will hire you for an extra week, and pay you 1000 a day.”
Zeane turned around, smiling. When he smiled, some of the scars on his face shifted position, making him look ruthless. Tanra secretly hopped that he wouldn’t grin very often on their journey. “I had a feeling you’d say that kid. I’ll just get some things, then we can get going.” Tanra sighed and sat down on a pile of books.

Zeane opened a small briefcase, and started to put things into it. He put a change of clothes, a book he was currently reading, a spare set of knives in-case the ones in his pocket got lost or stolen, a pack of cards, and a small package roughly wrapped in tissue paper. He closed his briefcase and waved a hand over it and then his coat.
“Ruthligar. Larghk.” He muttered. A sheen appeared around the briefcase, and his trench coats clasps flew open. He checked inside it to see if all his illusions still worked. He saw that two had broken. “Damn.” He muttered, taking the two illusions from the coat. He’d only bought them two days ago, and they already needed to be changed. “Last time I buy illusions from that faker.” He muttered, before scrunching the two illusions up and throwing them away. They landed in the bin, which seemed to get a hole in the middle of it. He closed the clasps and angrily muttered the word of sealing again, before stalking out of the room with his briefcase.

“You took your time.” Tanra stated. Zeane raised an eyebrow at her and started putting things in his pockets. Tanra watched as he slipped in two cut throat razors, three switch blades, four pens, a watch, and a crumpled piece of paper. “Do you really need all of that?” She asked impatiently.
“Do you want to make it through the four weeks alive?” Zeane retorted, slipping crumpled notes of money into his pockets, before turning around with a hand outstretched. The princess looked at it.
“I am NOT holding your hand.” She said. Zeane snorted.
“Good.” He said, keeping his hand out. “You signed the contract. I want my four days paid ahead. You said you were going to pay me one thousand a day, for an extra week of pay. Give.” Tanra started to come up with an excuse, when she saw Zeanes mocking look slowly shifting into a cold glare. She gulped almost without meaning to, and dropped four gold coins in his hand. She looked at it and saw that he had hard calluses on his fingers, and scars on his palm. His fingers curled round the coins, and he smiled, before turning to the woman.
“I hope that you won’t be following us. I’m paid to protect the brat, not you. I recommend getting a very good hotel room, and hitting all men that hit on you between the balls.” He turned around and made for the door. “Say goodbye to nanny kid, I’ll be outside.” He kicked the books out of his way, and left his office.
Tanra turned to the woman. “You have served me well. I just hope that insufferable oaf does half as good a job as you did. You are relieved from my servitude as soon as you leave this building.” Tanra turned round, and left.
“You took your time.” The mocking tones came from beside the door. She turned, and saw Zeane leaning against the wall next to his door. “Watch your step. That boards rotten right through.” Tanra sniffed and stepped on the nest one, which instantly broke. “or was that the other board.” She whirled around and glared at him. His face was almost a portrait of innocence, except he had too many scars, and was trying not to laugh.
“Not funny.” Tanra snarled. Zeane Let out a short sharp bark of a laugh, and started striding out of the hallway. She realised that he wasn’t going to wait for her, and hurried to catch up. Zeane held the door open with mock chivalry, and whispered in her ear as she went past

“Don’t step on the dog.” Tanra looked down, and saw a dead dog. She went slightly green, and jumped over it. Zeane chuckled to himself and effortlessly stepped over the dog corpse, and closed the door. He stopped and listened for his own door opening and closing. He nodded to himself, and muttered “Rathea Ruthligar.” There was a small ringing sound, as his door locked itself. He turned and grabbed the princess and swung her into the air, just as a bottle smashed into the ground beneath her feet. He placed her on the ground and pushed her forwards, saying, “stick close.” He walked off, with the princess following him.

The woman that had been with the princess stumbled out of the building, and froze. Something in her brain, the same something that had made her follow the princess and obey her without question suddenly started to move. She coughed violently, blood and phlegm peppering the ground. She stared at the blood, and saw more drops landing. She touched her nose, and smeared blood along her fingers. She scrabbled for a tissue, and pressed it against her face. When it came away, there were three pots of blood, from her nose and her eyes. The woman scrabbled for the pager that she carried in her pocket. The one the princess didn’t know about it. She pressed the call button, and managed to choke out “Zeane...Ultionis....bodyguard...just hired.”She screamed as a searing fire scorched through her brain, frying all her neurons. She collapsed on the ground. As she died, one thought flashed through her mind. ‘They’re going to kill each other.’