Birth of Chaos 4

Title

         His dreams are filled once again by the silence and emptiness of the abyss as he awaits the light of life to come and reclaim him once again. As the shining white light appears, he feels the light dusting of a feathery touch upon his back, and he turns to see a great, white-feathered wing slip away, and then a face, so like his own...
         He awoke.
         He looked upon the dull, dreary ceiling of his cell. The dark cinder blocks gave him little comfort upon awakening. Dust slowly drifted down towards him as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, slowly sitting up and swinging his legs over the single wooden bed that was his only furniture in the small cell.
         He lifted up his arms and arched his back, hearing his vertebrae pop and his shoulder blades roll against one another while he stretched. He popped his neck and rubbed his sore back, looking at his guards, who were playing some kind of card game at a table outside of his cell, though they looked over at him when he sat up.
         He paid them little attention though, trying to recall what the end of his dream had been. Already it was fading though, as dreams usually did. Yet he felt it had some importance...shaking his head, he cursed it all to the Abyss and dismissed it, focusing now on his current predicament.
         No sooner had he begun to think then the door from the constable's office opened and the constable himself strode in, his gaze fixed on the prisoner as the two guards snapped to attention, cards fluttering about and to the floor. His disapproving gaze fell on the two and he shook his head, motioning them out of his way as he took up a seat in one of the two chairs, facing the occupied cell.
         "It seems another village was destroyed. This time there were no survivors."
         Michael nodded, though he couldn't help but hide a bit of a smirk. "And you suspect this 'angel' to be the cause of it?"
         The constable stared back at him, emotionless. "That is what popular rumor, and common sense, would detail, yes..."
         Michael smiled. "Then you know that I am not he."
         The constable nodded. "Yes, and thus we cannot hold you any longer." He stood, and took a ring of keys, flipping to the right one and unlocking the cell door, letting it swing open. "You are free." He gestured to the door. "You shall find all of your items and armaments in the main room."
         Michael stood and nodded, the smile having disappeared from his face. As he went into the jail's main office, followed by the others, he thought to himself, "Another village. No survivors, no mercy or quarter shown." He began donning his armor and weapons, and pondered on what to do next. Just leave town, and go onto the next? Search for something? ...Search for...him? He felt he had something to do with this being, who had his face, who was so like he himself.
         He turned to face the constable and his guards, tugging down on his right hand chain-mail glove. He stared at the constable, looking into the eyes of the older man. "I tell you this. I shall seek out this man, this...'demon'...and deal with him. I swear it upon my honor."
         He remained staring at the constable for a moment longer before turning and exiting onto the busy street. It did not seem that his words, or his pledge, had done much for the man...yet had his eyes softened some? Had he looked more relieved? Perhaps. But now all he wanted was a drink, a drink to calm his nerves and loosen his stiff body. Besides, he was in no rush.
         People avoided him on the streets, and with good reason, if he looked exactly like this demon they all feared. He thought that this could prove an inconvenience, at least in this town. Stepping into the nearest pub, he looked about and took up an empty stool at the bar. He dug into his money pouch and laid down a couple of gold pieces, looking to the barkeep. "Give me whatever this will buy, and if it's more than one, keep them coming."
         When the money was taken and replaced with a frothy mug of ale, he smiled and took up the drink, downing it as fast as he could, letting the rich, sticky, amber liquid slide down his throat to fill his belly, letting the warmth it created soothe him and carry him away from his troubles. He set the empty mug down, and it was replaced with another. He took his time on this one, savoring the rich flavor of the ale.
         It turned out his money bought him three beers, and when he had set down the last mug, his vision was blurring at the edges, and his head had begun to ache terribly. Holding his head with a hand, he motioned the barkeep to him and asked of him how much a room cost. When he got an answer, he paid, and was given the key to his room.
         Blearily, swaying a bit, he made his way to the steps, and ascended to the second floor of the building. By the time he made it to his room, his vision was swirling crazily, and he had trouble finding the lock that the key would open. When he finally did get the door unlocked, he let it swing open into the room.
         He was out before he hit the floor.