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This blog is dedicated to a story I am composing. I hope you enjoy it as much as I am making it. The idea came to me late in the night, and my friend wanted it to be about her.

[KEY]
X(Title) = Under Construction
(Title) = Finished, Ready to be Read

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A Prologue

The sun cast its golden rays out on the open meadow. Here, in the middle of Spring, a boy sat. His eyes, full of happiness and mischief, smiled back at the gleaming sun. His thin lips twisted into a grin. The crop of black hair sitting upon his head started to shine, glimmering with exuberant grace. His head swiveled slightly to the left, examining the girl beside him.

She was shivering. He questioned the action, but he soon found his answer; the sky was growing unkind, settling into a chilly breeze to match its mood. The sun started to be overwhelmed by the myriad of dark clouds forming. With extreme intuition, the boy judged they had a few minutes before they were forced to leave.

In the silence between the two, he turned fully to face his friend. Still shivering and glaring at the sky, the girl's brunette hair spilled over her shoulders, hugging her childish frame. With his innocent benignity, he moved his posterior across the grass between them, closing the distance with an affectionate hug.

The little girl smiled; her dimples flowered before his eyes. He returned the gesture. A stray lock of hair fell over her light blue eyes, a deep contrast against the color. His face soured as he pushed it to the side.

"I want to stay," the girl whispered. The clouds started to breathe heavily; thunder boomed across the meadow. "I want to stay," she repeated.

"Okay," his smile widened. "Daddy doesn't need me yet." The little girl snuggled up to her best friend.

The sky flashed. A bolt of lightning flew across the sky, snapping at the land far from them. The two did not care; as long as the sky did not cry on them, they were content. From their sitting position, they grew tired; the two held each other close as they lay on the dew sprayed grass. Flowers bended beneath their bodies as they struggled to keep warm.

"Do you think we'll be able to stay like this... forever?" the little girl asked solemnly. "I just want to live here... I don't want to go back..."

The boy snickered. He ran a hand through her wavy hair. "Taylor, I pinky-swear that no one will take us away from each other. Never." He stuck a tiny pinky out from his clenched fist, motioning for Taylor to do the same.

She began to giggle. It was contagious, and the boy did the same. The two locked their pinkies together and made their oath. "I promise," Taylor repeated. But, the boy did not speak immediately. His laughter had ceased. Taylor nudged him with her free hand.

"...Michael?" she inquired. "Do you promise?" Taylor's forehead creased into confusion.

Michael returned to reality, no longer transfixed on the empty air beside her head. With a hoarse throat, he choked out the words. "I do." A tear ran down his cheek. The two eight-year-olds' bond was now set in stone.

Taylor giggled again. She poked him profusely. Michael's mood lightened up, his thoughts that had saddened him suddenly banished. He obliged and returned the gesture, poking her in the belly.

He thought as he tried to fend off vicious prods. Maybe, the bad man behind Taylor won't take us away. The figure, standing ominously behind his friend, wore dark garments for his attire. His face was scarred and pale. Taylor was oblivious to the stranger. She didn't have the slightest idea that spirits watched them constantly. Michael did, sadly.

The man stared with unblinking eyes at Michael. Desperately avoiding his gaze, he retaliated with the poke-war. The stranger let loose a deep, guttural laugh, and disappeared as a gust of wind picked up.

Maybe, Michael grimly thought. Just maybe.

Chapter 1: A Childhood

Six years passed.

The summer had finally arrived. The mundane routine of school was now left in the dust as children burst from their classrooms, rushing to play in the sun's sight. Kids everywhere shared a similar expression; happiness crossed their faces as three months of freedom greeted them. It was rare to see a child in a gloomy mindset for summer vacation and all it's glory. Nonetheless, that rare sight was to be seen on this day.

Children ditched their uniforms, on the grass before the school building; ties, sweaters, backpacks and binders lay sprawled before the lawn. Kids danced with no music, sung praise to the vacation, and cried joyous tears. Overlooking this scene of summer merriment, Michael stood at the school's second floor balcony. His eyes, looking lazily over the children, stared off at the joy he cannot possess. He knew why he would never share the same emotions, the same happiness that a normal child could.

The answer was right beside him. The spirit laid a hand on his shoulder, ever so gently. This was a newer ghost than the spirit that had followed him when he was eight. Now, at the age of fourteen, a different specter had graced his presence. The spirit is a woman - or, was. She had midnight black hair crawling up her shoulders and down her upper back. Her eyes were grayed with untold age, yet her face was devoid of wrinkles, casting the image of a young teenager about her. The soft hand resting on Michael's shoulder withdrew itself to cross arms over the spirit's chest.

"Look at those pathetic whelps..." she hissed. "Be glad you are not subject to a life like theirs. Meaningless and short, with little moments of happiness in between." Here, she stretched a hand to point at Michael. "You, Michael, should be grateful for what fate has given you." She laughed quietly.

Michael sulked in silence, watching the children enviously. He craved to experience bliss once more, but the emotion was robbed of him at the meadow. Oh, the meadow... curse the meadow. You were supposed to stay with me forever, Taylor. It was only a little bit of rain. Once you left, well that's a different story. Michael swallowed back tears and tried to banish the memory of the dark figure in the field.

The spirit cast its eyes to the nearby street. Cars were beginning to rush home with children scrambling in the backseats. The school's parking lot bustled with activity: children ran, parents shouted for little ones, and children reached for door handles scalding to the touch. The spirit snickered at each jolt of pain. "Clumsy oafs. Be glad you're not one of them," she inquired.

"You know what you must do, right?" She glanced at the rush of traffic once more. "I believe now is the right time to do so." Michael nodded solemnly.

The spirit let out a wicked laughter. She craned her head back and let the sound echo to the sky. She calmed down as her laughter grew weak. Michael, feeling obliged, laughed weakly as well. He stared with moisture building under his eyes out to the parking lot. A girl with shining brown hair and light blue eyes hustled into a car, slamming the door as she entered. The man in the front seat, her father, chatted idly; somewhere in the conversation, the girl smiled. Her dimples flashed along with her white teeth.

A tear ran down the side of Michael's face. He choked back the tears again. "Yeah. I know what to do." The spirit's eyes flickered from child to child, glimpsing at the bleak futures each had before them.

Chapter 1: A Childhood (Pt.2)

The sun was now declining from its highest point in the sky. Nonetheless, the heat was still staggering. Its blistering rays shone down on the back of Michael's neck. Perspiration began to pool under his jawbone, sliding down the length of his throat. He pulled idly at his uniform shirt's buttoned collar, resisting the urge to pull his tie free and unbutton the front of his shirt.

Michael stood at the corner of his school's parking lot, right at the intersection of two streets, safe on the sidewalk. His black shoes made his feet uncomfortable. His socks did so even worse. With eyes, half closed and straining to see in the dull heat, he stared at passing cars. The red light hit, and a familiar car was first in line to his right.

Catching glimpses, Taylor's shiny hair was dimmed by the car's tinted windows. In the air conditioned car, cool air blew at her, causing her hair to twitch and fly. With sore eyes, caused by the previous crying, Michael turned his full attention to her. He could no longer bear forgetting her face. Soon, he would not remember anything at all.

Time seemed to slow. As Taylor's car began to pull forward at the flash of the green light, Michael strode forward. His legs planted themselves at the very edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the moment when the car would accelerate.

The spirit, watching from the same ledge as before, stared with mischievous eyes. She coiled a hand to rest just under her chin, smiling delightfully as she continued to watch. "We shall achieve such wonders once that boy has joined us: with his devotion to that petty girl, he is bound to be a restless spirit just as I..." A dark laugh resonated from her throat.

His pulse quickened. Its pace grew to the extreme: his chest was pounding. The sound of machine gun fire sounded throughout his body, threatening to shake his very core. Without a second thought, Michael leaped from the curb as the car sped toward him. Thud.

His body ricocheted off the hood of the car, landing on the burning asphalt, rolling sideways. The tumble brought him in the path of another automobile; his body was soon hit a second time. Everything came to a standstill. The cars in the roads killed their engines. Parents and children alike stared in utter confusion. Taylor, who had smiled at Michael as he turned to her, was slamming the door behind her as she ran to his side.

Other parents popped their heads out the of their own cars, cell phones pressed against the side of their face, chatting with the authorities with bewildered expressions. Michael was soon surrounded by a few adults, as well as the weeping Taylor. She held his bruised hand gently, speaking through a hoarse voice.

"Michael!?" she said, unusually loud. "Michael, why... Michael, the pedestrian sign wasn't... Michael..." Her father rushed to her side and held her close. His eyes strayed to the corpse.

Michael's face was untouched. His eyes, wide and lifeless, stared straight into the sky. His arm was bloodied; the bones in his forearm, cracked, jutted out through his dirty skin and through his uniform sweater. One of his legs bent the wrong way. In his unharmed hand, there held a strange object. Taylor examined it as well. She never remembered Michael holding it; all she remembered was a textbook in his hand.

Cradled in bent fingers, there lay a black petaled rose.

Chapter 2: Dawn's Remorse

"I can still see him," she whispered. "He's still there. He keeps telling me he's still there."

The woman sitting across from Taylor wrote notes on a small notepad set in her lap. The girl was apparently suffering from trauma. Thinking on her intuition, the shrink raised her eyes to rest on the teenager, who sat comfortably on the leather chair across from her. "'He?' Who is 'he'?" she prodded.

Taylor closed her eyes. Her throat shivered slightly as she swallowed back tears. "He... I don't remember his name. S-sorry. I know he's there, though!" She sat up in the seat, her back arching as she stiffened. Her eyes were forced wide, staring into an empty space beside the shrink's head. "His... his name starts with..." Her forehead creased in frustration. The name escaped her grasp.

The woman brushed out creases in her formal attire. She smoothed her skirt across her knees, and jotted down a few more sentences on her notepad. "Is there anything more you can remember? Anything bad, anything good?" She raised an eyebrow as she bore her sight on Taylor.

Taylor relaxed, slumping into her chair. She closed her eyes and conformed across the seat. A stray tear escaped her self control and rolled down the side of her cheek. "He was my best friend. I remember sitting in a field of flowers with him, when we were eight..." The letter M found its way into her head.

She slowly opened her puffy, red eyes, streaming with tears now. "That's all I can remember. Th-thank you, Miss Lim." The therapist crossed her legs, finishing a sentence. She rose from her seat and offered Taylor her hand.

"Come back tomorrow, sweetie. Maybe we'll find out his name, right?" A smile dawned on her face. Taylor returned it with due respect. She shook her hand gently, then strode across the carpeted floor to meet the door. Her father stood on the other side when it opened.

---

Miss Lim closed the door behind Taylor gently, wishing them a good night before she did so. Her thick-framed glasses slid down the bridge of her nose. Her face started to lose its color and turn pale-white; her hair darkened to a pitch black, and grew to a length that sprawled over her shoulders. The wrinkles in her face disappeared and cast the guise of youth across her figure. "She can barely remember you. I did what you wanted; what more do you ask of me before you comply with our demands?" Her voice fell on empty air.

Michael appeared into her sight. His sweater was black now, devoid of insignia of a school he once attended. The sleeves were pushed to his elbows; his forearm, lean and pale, ended at a gloved hand. The knuckles down to his fingers were shown where the glove cut off. His glasses were gone now; he no longer needed their aid to see in his deathly reign. The mop of hair on his crest had grown in length, brushing the edge of his now-gray eyes. He matched the same skin tone as the woman before her.

"As long as she doesn't remember me, I will do anything you want." His eyes rested on the floor in front of his feet. "It's better for her that way. Without me fogging her mind in that... 'accident,' she won't be held back in life." His gaze flickered to meet the woman's. "What did you want me to do?"

A smirk formed from her lips. "Why don't you spend a few days with your Taylor? I want you to enjoy her presence before you're sent away." Michael's stare hardened. Realizing he was granted a bit of freedom, he took a few steps towards the door. He stopped, closing his eyes.

He doubled over. He muffled a scream in his hands as bulging contours formed on his back. He stood, releasing an agonizing cry; wings, with feathers black as the night, sprouted out of his back. His breathing became heavy. Michael's eyes shifted to the woman, sending a look full of hate. He strolled through the doorway, his ghostly form phasing through it.

Chapter 2: Dawn's Remorse (Pt.2)

The afternoon sun was bright. Taylor's hair shone in the light; moreover, it was beautiful to him. Michael walked beside her with his hands buried deep into his pockets. Taylor and her father strolled in the parking lot in front of the building they had just exited.

"How are you doing, Taylor?" he asked in a hoarse voice. "How's life for you? Have you forgotten me entirely yet?" His words echoed with the response of silence. He smiled, knowing full well she could not see or hear him. It was better this way. How many times can I tell myself that and actually believe it? Michael let out a laugh, targeted at himself.

His eyebrows arched upward as Taylor's lips moved. Let me hear your magnificent voice again, Taylor... please... She let out a cough, bringing a hand to cover her mouth. Michael's eyebrows drooped. They reached their car. Michael scratched idly at his hair, wishing he could open the door for her, or buckle her in. Just to hold her hand would be nice as well. The wings on his back, about the span of four feet, fell to the ground with his emotions.

"Sometimes I think I'm still alive," he said. His voice started to thicken. "Do you think I'm still alive?" he asked. Michael shut his eyes, turning away from her.

"Yes," Taylor echoed.

---

"So you still want to go to that party?" her father asked gently. "Will you be okay?" His parental instinct to protect his daughter was kicking in.

"Yes," Taylor echoed. "I'll be fine. Can we go home so I can change, first?"

Her father pushed the car key into the slot. The engine revved up, and they pulled out of the parking lot. Taylor slumped in the back seat. She lay her arm across the ledge under the window. With a weary sigh, she draped her head onto her arm. The car's constant motion, running across streets and small bumps, affected her gently as dull thumps echoed in her ears and small bumps jostled her body. Awakening from her mourning stupor, she looked out the window with brighter eyes.

Somehow, she felt a presence. A distinct feeling of comfort crawled up her spine. It was probably the air conditioned kicking in as her father flipped a switch on the car's dashboard. Still, she continued to stare out behind the transparent glass. She saw flashing restaurant signs and convenient store advertisements fly by. And yet, the feeling still remained. It felt as if an old friend was nearby.

"Honey," her father's voice broke her trance. "Is it too cold?" His voice was no longer filled with worry.

"No, it's fine," she confirmed. A thought nagged at her mind. "How long can I stay at the party?" she asked, her voice putting emphasis on party. Her father chuckled. He remained silent, thinking on it. She resumed her previous position, and stared out the window.

The feeling she had before had disappeared. With curious eyes, she shifted her view to the other window. Nothing. Apprehension crept into her stomach. She did a double take, facing the original window. Still nothing. Why should I care anyway? The lack of concern had popped into her mind without warning. Her face twisted into confusion, but she accepted it. It was not like anyone could control my emotions, right?

---

Michael hovered above the busy street, gazing into the distance where Taylor's car had disappeared to. He was in shock when she had answered yes; to only find out it was to her father's question had broken him. Minutes crawled by.

"Haha..." his eyes were still blank and empty. Nonetheless, his voice had returned to normal. "So you didn't answer me. That's fine... I can talk to myself. That will have to do. At least I heard your voice..." His wings were allowing him to float in the air, flapping idly. He pushed onward and the feathers on his wings began to twitch as the breeze blew by. Michael trailed, slowly, after the car.

"Taylor, you don't know how much I'll miss you!" he called to the air. "Will you be a soul like me when you die? No, wait! I don't want you to become one. Being a ghost is... well, not pleasant. I know you don't like unpleasant things, Taylor. Haha, I should listen to how insane I sound..." He smiled.

"Frankly, I am insane, without you at least." His teeth flashed behind his lips.

Chapter 2: Dawn's Remorse (Pt.3)

Clothes were scattered across Taylor's bedroom floor. She tossed more articles of clothing onto the growing piles as she rummaged through her dresser. Her face hardened in concentration. Seriousness took hold of her; she needed the perfect outfit! There were going to be some cute boys there at her friend Sydney's party. A few of her other friends would be there also. Marybeth, Makenna, Jordan, Sydney...

"Oh what to wear, what to wear!" she mumbled to herself, pinching the collar of a cute t-shirt. Taylor examined it with hopeful eyes. Discarding another shirt held in her other hand, she slipped into the chosen top. Her head popped free from the collar, and she stared into the mirror. She turned to each side, analyzing how much the shirt conformed to her body and flaunted her curves. Smiling with glee, she dug into the dresser to find a cute skirt.

A voice echoed into the hallway across her room, then into Taylor's space. "Taylor! You ready yet?" Her dad shouted. A hint of annoyance was noted in his voice.

Hastily, Taylor slipped into a beige and pink short skirt that fell above her knees. She brushed it down, glancing at the mirror, then trotted down the hallway. She reached the bottom of the stairs, quickly lifting her flats to her feet. Her dad waited at the door beside her, tapping an impatient foot. She pulled the shoes over the back of her ankle, and stood readily.

Her dad looked her over. "Are you ready now-" Taylor ran back up the stairs. He closed his eyes in anger, calming himself. In a few more moments she returned, a pink purse hanging from her shoulder and a beige beret hanging loosely from her head.

"I'm ready now," she said sweetly. Taylor grinned, showing off glossy lips.

---

"So tell me," Miss Lim hissed. "What did you find so... interesting about that girl, anyway?" She, now in her spirit form, cast a puzzled look at Michael. He let out a sigh.

The two spirits floated eerily above Taylor's house. Michael watched with inquisitive eyes as her car pulled out from the driveway. The two-story, brown shingled condominium was cozy from the inside and outside. It offered substantial space for Taylor and her father; in fact, they didn't even use some parts of the house. More parts for storage, maybe.

"It all started when I was seven. Father found me to be his one way ticket to wealth. He knew about my intelligence being advanced for my age. He kept me from living a childhood, having friends, being happy..." He drooped his head, shutting his eyes.

A breeze picked up. Even as a spirit, the wind still affected the pair. Their hair and attire ruffled in the wind and followed its direction. "Taylor's father is a police officer. My mother called the authorities when he started beating me for not doing... 'sufficient' work. He confronted my dad with a warning, and let him off the hook. I can only thank Mr. Robins for doing that great deed for me." Michael's eyes opened a crack.

"My father rarely touched me from that day on. My mother took control of the household, and allowed me to be social. That's how I met Taylor, when Mr. Robins visited to check on dad; it was an odd coincidence that it was 'Take Your Daughter to Work Day'..." His lips formed a smile.

Miss Lim contemplated in the silence that followed. So I see why Surno asked for this boy in particular... I wonder where that dirty schemer is right now...

She drifted impeccably closer to Michael. To ensure that the boy felt safe near her, she embraced him in a friendly hug. She pressed her cheek against his. Michael, though startled, was too stunned to move. "...Miss Lim?" he began.

"Shh," she whispered. She closed her eyes, cherishing what bit of warmth and affection she could muster from this one hug, missing what it felt like. "Just call me... Lily. Yes, Lily will do fine..." Lily rubbed her cheek against Michael's again.

Smothered and shocked, Michael tried to wriggle his way out. "I'm not very comfortable, L-lily..." he complained. When she did not take the hint, he pushed her off of him roughly. She floated back a few feet, a look of genuine surprise on her face.

"I just wanted to compensate for Taylor, since you can't hold her-"

"Compensate?" He shouted angrily. " Compensate for my death? The one you forced me to cause, so that I may save her? In fact, I don't even know why I let myself die! You still haven't told me why you needed me here - to save the world, to save a million lives, what!? Tell me, damn you!" Michael propelled forward with his wings - in the rage he was caught up in, he stuck out a fist as he launched himself at her.

Lily took the blow in her left cheek, spinning her in a complete circle. Her wings spread open, steadying herself. She glared at him. "I'm not the one with that knowledge; ask Surno! Don't remember him? He's the one who stripped you of your emotions in the meadow!" She was breathing heavily. Lily touched her cheek gently. Souls that roamed the earth could not be harmed by the living or material objects, but only by other restless souls.

Michael clenched his fists. He lowered his head, straining not to lose control. Surno... an odd name for an odd man. What part could I possibly play? And what does Taylor have to do with all this? Slowly, his temper calmed. He cooled down visibly; his wings beat less. Lily floated closer, a hand reaching out to comfort him.

She drew closer. "Michael..."

His right hand slapped hers away. An ashen look crossed his face, scorning her. He faced the direction Taylor's car went, and flew after it.

Chapter 2: Dawn's Remorse (Pt.4)

A six foot grandfather clock chimed a hollow noise. The sound resonated through four corridors that ended in separate rooms, made to fit the directions of a compass. Again, the clock rang. It stood somberly in the center chamber. The pendulum wrought with brass swiveled on its axis, swinging from side to side. One more bell echoed throughout the entire building.

A man stepped lightly from the South corridor, making his way to the clock. He pushed his dangling hair back to flop over his head. His eyes, alight with mischief and wonder, stared transfixed at the clock. Drearily, the pendulum swung on. The figure took his steps slowly, milking his entrance. Lily stepped out from behind the large grandfather clock. Her eyes met the man's. He smiled.

He stopped before the end of the South hallway. Turning his figure to the East slightly, he held Lily's gaze. Her eyes did not stray as another man stepped at her side. The newcomer set a hand on Lily's shoulder. It was a familiar touch; namely, it belonged to Surno.

The unnamed man pushed his hair back again. "Fancy meeting you here, Surno. I do not blame Lily's... astounding love for me, be it that the reason she decided to join me here, but you... Go figure!" Lily snorted. The clock chimed again.

"Love? You pathetic fool..." She closed her eyes and crossed her arms. Surno stepped forward; his cloak surged behind him with the small movement. From within his dark clothing, he unsheathed a large, zigzag steel blade. Its metal glimmered as the clock released another thundering boom.

Surno held it, tip pointed downward, before the man. "Peter." Peter raised an eyebrow, examining the blade. Timidly, he reached for the handle, grasping the small space under Surno's wide grip. The latter released the sword, and Peter took full hold of it and placed it at his side. The clock chimed again.

"Why couldn't I have some half-assed... I mean, awesome name such as yours, Surno?" He smirked. Surno's gaze was still as cold as steel. The clock chimed again.

"Watch your tongue," Lily spat. "You have a definite name, at least. I forget mine every century or so. Now..." She circled the grandfather clock, sliding a hand across its smooth oak surface. The ringing had stopped. "The time is six o'clock. Your little device here takes quite awhile to get to its point. A lag of a minute, I say?"

Peter scowled. "Hey, don't touch or insult Mason. He likes to take his time. Oh, no pun intended." He smiled. "What significance does six in the evening have on this little piece of work?" He raised the blade. Surno turned around, and spread his wings. He phased through the ceiling without another word. Lily laughed.

"Isn't it obvious? Can you honestly tell me you haven't figured out what to do yet?""Surno sure needs to find better lackeys. Let me lay it out for you." Her face turned to stone as she grew serious. "Michael was persuaded to become a Soul Angel, like us. Michael became a Soul Angel through death. He is oblivious to Surno's plans. He was stripped of emotions before he became a Soul Angel. And he loves Taylor, even in death." Lily waited, watching Peter's face.

He stared at the ground. A minute or two passed. Peter cast a glance at Lily. "So, uh... he's in love with a girl...?"

"Idiot!" Lily shouted. Peter's face drained of emotion. Lily brought a hand to her forehead in exasperation. A sigh passed between her lips. She pointed at the blade. "He's not supposed to have any emotion. That's what the blade is for."

Peter blinked a few times. "So I stab him?"

Lily spread her wings and phased through the ceiling.

Peter stood silently. He was bewildered, and it showed on his face. "So I... Oh!" He smiled. Malicious intent filled his mind. "I get to kill a girl! Finally, some action!" He laughed maniacally. Soon, his laughter died out. He stopped, realizing an important detail.

He glanced at the clock. "So, Mason... uh, did you hear Lily say where this 'Taylor' was at all?" He buried his face in his free hand.

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh.

---

Michael rushed through the air. The current beat at his face slightly as his wings pushed him toward Taylor. For some reason, he could always... feel her presence. It was as if he had a Taylor tracking device. If he were his old self, he would have laughed at how stalker-like that would have sounded. So far, the closest thing to an emotion he still had was sorrow. That's what he had doomed himself to for her; he wondered if she would ever realize his sacrifice.

He reminisced over old memories. The meadow, six years ago... after that day, nothing was really ever the same. The man named Surno had done him a great deed. Without his emotions, he would never have agreed to his death to save Taylor. What saving did Taylor need anyway? I'll have to ask about that... Unbeknown to Michael, saving Taylor was what he did not do when he died.

More memories flooded his brain. Watching Taylor slowly fade away from their friendship. Without emotions, he couldn't stay a friend to her. Watching Taylor and her first boyfriend. Watching from a lonely lunch table as Taylor walked by with her group of girls. If Michael still had emotions, he would have been shuddering by now.

How long can one go with the knowledge of his own existence bothering him for all eternity and ever more? Michael's flight began to slow. Taylor's presence was stronger now. He was near; therefore, he landed onto the ground slowly, and began to walk briskly toward the tugging in his heart.

A strange feeling rose in the air. He stopped, tensing his shoulders. His fists clenched as his eyes darted around. A man walked toward him, materializing from the air. At his side was a zigzag blade, gleaming in the evening light. A cool breeze picked up as he made his entrance.

The serious expression the man had while he entered disappeared. He broke out into a smile, eyes lighting with a new fire. "Michael! I finally get to meet the new Soul Angel. So, how's it been roaming the earth, knowing you've lost everything you ever had?" The grin grew wider. Michael tensed even more, spreading his legs wide and tightening his fists.

Peter shook his head. "Tsk tsk. It's not good to be bitter for all eternity! I mean, just look at Surno..." He laughed. Michael still stared with hard eyes.

"Who are you?" he growled.

"Looks like I struck a nerve. Well, my name is Peter. You don't need to know me, since all I'll be doing is killing the love of your life, then moving back into solitude. Bye bye, now!" Peter deteriorated. Realization dawned on Michael's face. He bent his body back, then launched into the air, wings flapping madly. His radar started to grow stronger as he flew to the north, pulling him closer...

Chapter 2: Dawn's Remorse (Pt.5)

Lily sighed. Her eyes traced Peter as he made his entrance to Michael. From the terrace she stood upon, two stories higher and a block away, her vantage point was excellent. Beside her stood Surno, silent as ever. Since the meadow, his appearance had changed slightly, and Lily just now took that into account. She turned to him, examining his new attire.

He kept the same cloak he had always worn. Tattered as it was, only the midsection was still somewhat intact. The years had faded the once black color to a dark gray sheen. This color shared its prospect with the rest of his clothes. His shirt, hidden mostly by the cloak, was solid and showed no design. The long slacks that fell to the bottom of the back of his plain shoes seemed to never be creased or disorganized. These, however, were not what had changed.

Surno had equipped himself with a white theater mask. The eye slits were just wide enough for him to see through with his dark eyes. The nose was slightly pointed and covered most of the mask. A smile was carved into the bottom portion. Eerie as he looked, the silence added to that effect. The long strands of his hair covered most of the mask's forehead, spilling over the crest and casting the illusion that the mask was his real face.

At length, after Michael started to pursue Peter, Surno stirred. "It's rude to stare." Lily turned away, facing the direction Michael went off to. She pushed her hair to the side, clearing her view. Surno returned the stare Lily had given him. Reluctantly, she faced him. "I know."

Lily blinked a few times, racking her brain. "Know what?" she questioned, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Michael's emotions. You want to know what I did with them." For Surno, this was a long conversation already. Lily wondered why he had started to grow more talkative. Patiently, she awaited the next sentence. Surno's sight was beckoned to where the two Soul Angels where headed. Slowly his head swiveled away from Lily to meet the horizon. Lily, growing impatient, tapped her foot.

"Well?"

Surno spread his wings wide. The edge of his right wing almost struck her in the face. She stepped back, arms spread apart. Another few minutes passed.

"Mine." With the single word reiterated, he barreled into the terrace's floor, phasing through the material and disappearing from sight. Lily stood aghast; moreover, she began to quiver. The thought of a Soul Angel, a being meant to be forever silent and unfeeling, possessing emotions? Only great power, such as Surno's, could have stolen that large of a prize. She regained her posture gradually, waiting patiently on her lonely terrace, closing her eyes to see into the events unfolding around Taylor.

---

The bass of the music thundered loudly across the whole house, stretching to the backyard and to the neighbor's. Cheers and laughter seemed to be heard as the pop music rolled on. Splashes from the pool reached up to nearby party-goers, soaking shirts and shoes. A soft sizzling sound was heard as an adult grilled rows upon rows of burgers and hot dogs, flipping them monotonously every once in awhile. Young teenagers danced and chatted or ambled about casually. A large group, of eight or so children, stood out amongst the rest as they moved with the blasting music, cheering all the while. Others nearby clapped their hands to the beat, watching the group enjoy themselves.

In this group, Taylor resided. She swung to and fro, waved her arms about, and grooved to the sounds engulfing her ears. A simper was stamped upon her face that flashed her shiny teeth. Worry escaped her mind and her heart, leaving her free to be controlled by the music.

She slowed to a stand still. A nauseating feeling began to overtake her, and she trudged out from the group, finding a chair to ease into. She began to breathe heavily and sweat profusely. A concerned boy stepped to her side, kneeling down and holding her hand. "You alright?" he prodded. She gave a quick nod, and the boy withdrew to stand by what was obviously his friends. The odd feeling was not exhaustion, and she knew this.

Her eyes darted around the room, looking for a sign. Was the air conditioner turned on? Did the weather start to turn warmer? Her search was fruitless, and she came to the conclusion that she had tired herself past normal exhaustion. The bass still thundered and the music still roared in her ears as she closed her eyes to rest.


Michael landed before a crowded house, folding his wings close to his body. The teenagers reminded him of the life he never had; he blocked out the pity and trudged into the house menacingly. If anyone saw him, they would have probably said he looked bad-ass. Well, no one did, and the oblivious humans partied on. Michael sent furtive glances around the room, searching for that other 'Soul Angel,' or so he had learned what he was called. Peter, that was it, his name.

The boy came to a stop, analyzing a group of rambunctiously dancing teenagers in front of him. He cocked his head to the side, curious. He noticed their familiar faces. Realization struck him upside the head. His eyebrows shot up, trying to reach the top of his head. "These are... Taylor's friends, right? Shit; they are! That means..." How could he forget? The rage that had overtaken him to chase down Peter brainwashed him of the reason he even followed Peter.

Taylor is here.

He had ignored the gnawing feeling at his stomach. Turning to his left as the gnawing told him so, he saw familiar brunette hair. Beside that brunette hair stood a smiling, sword-wielding Soul Angel.

"No!" he screamed, loud enough to send the whole house to a stand still - if they could hear him. One leap, then a lunge, and he pushed his hands in front of him. Peter took notice a little too late, barely raising the sword to defend himself. Together, the two Soul Angels collided, bursting through the house out onto the street; the force of Michael's tackle was strong enough to knock the wind out of Peter. The assassin lay panting in the middle of the asphalt, arms spread wide. Michael recovered first, and brought his fists up to bear.

Peter sat up to face him. "Hey, Michael! By killing the love of your life, I meant, uhm..." he fumbled for an explanation. Michael started to walk, flexing his lean arms to the point where the muscle seemed to pop. Peter swallowed down a lump in his throat. "Can't you see that I'm trying to make Taylor a Soul Angel too!?" he blurted. Michael's face calmed down a bit, and he stopped moving.

"Taylor, a... Soul Angel, too?" he whispered, thinking over it.

Peter nodded his head profusely. "Yeah yeah, make her a Soul Angel. All she has to do is die to become one! Oh wait, oops-" Michael rushed forward, lashing out with his gloved fist. It struck the other in the chin, sending him three feet away to the side from its brute force. Michael started to enter a maddened state.

"Taylor should never suffer," he spat. "She will never suffer. Not while I'm around. I want answers." Peter coughed, bringing a hand to his mouth.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss those with yo-" In a flash, Michael was holding Peter up by his throat. He choked, trying to free himself from the iron clad grasp. The anger Michael had, or what was the closest thing to that emotion, gave him strength to seize the bigger man tightly.

"Tell. Me." Peter gurgled, trying to talk.

"Okhay, ohkay!" he moaned. Michael dropped him to the ground. In a weakened state, it seemed, Soul Angels were unable to phase through solid objects and feel them as pain. Michael observed this, and turned to the side. A metal lamp post stood dimly at the end of a curved sidewalk.

"Screw the answers. I need to do a little... testing. I'll figure them out on my own."

"Testing?" Peter groaned. Michael nodded, and lifted the injured figure. "No wait, I'll give you those answe-" Michael threw him with all his force towards the lamp post. Peter hit with a sickening clang that echoed loudly. He fell to the cement sidewalk under it, rolling over in pain. He coughed in agony. "Why don't you let me ever finish my sentences...?" he mumbled.

"Simple answer." Michael flexed, examining the muscle on his forearm. "I just don't like you." The sword had fallen to the ground where he had first tackled Peter. Stooping to pick up the blade, Michael caught a glimpse of Peter flying into the sky shakily. With an inventive mind, Michael ripped a strip of both his rolled up sleeves and tied them together, just long enough to be fashioned at his pants. He looped the thread through two belt loops, pulling until it was taught. A small space, just wide enough for the blade, allowed him to hold the weapon steady. He pushed the edge through, careful not to gash his clothing. Satisfied, the Soul Angel walked, whistling all the while, towards the party.

He entered with a smile. The kids looked so... happy. He scanned his brain for a memory of happiness. "Oh, that's easy," Michael said to himself as he found a place to stand beside the now-at-ease Taylor who sat in the chair she had been in. He looked down at Taylor, saw a wide smile, and mimicked it.

"Every moment I have with you is happiness," he answered himself.

Chapter 3: Monotonous Repetition

Peter, ashamed and beaten, flew unsteadily towards the distant Lily. The female Soul Angel crossed her arms over her chest, wrinkling her face in despair. The mere sight of the eccentric man, coupled with his obvious failure, brought disgust to Lily. Peter drew near, and tried to land onto the terrace beside Lily. He fell right through, releasing a yelp as he phased through the material.

Choppily, he flew back up to face Lily, flapping his wings carefully to steady himself. He inclined his head to the terrace, a bewildered look crossing his face. "How do you stand on a solid surface?" he questioned. In all the years that he had been a Soul Angel, the thought had never occurred to him once. Lily chuckled.

"Focus all of your power onto your feet. Free the rest of your body from feeling. Allow yourself to return back to the time when you were once human, and believe that you still are to support your stand." Peter, still puzzled, shrugged.

"I'm too lazy to figure that out," he groaned.

"Or too stupid."

Peter scowled. "Anyway... may I tell you about my success?" Lily burst out into laughter. Peter pouted his lips. "It's bad enough I had to get beat up by Michael... I really wanted a new friend and all..." Lily's laughter weakened. She stood silent, awaiting Peter's feeble explanation. He cleared his throat. "Well, guess what technique I used on Taylor... oh! And put your perverted mind to rest, Lily. I did not mean it like that, and I know you were thinking it. The technique I was talking about was the same I used on my last target."

Lily thought over it. She rested her chin on her hand, concentrating on the last kill over a hundred years ago. Her eyes brightened as she found her thought. "You seriously used Surno's technique?"

"I made the technique, not big bad Surno! He just... took credit for it, I guess." He sighed heavily. "That doesn't matter anyway. My point is, I got the job done, whether or not it will take a few weeks to be fully accomplished. Her first symptoms were, oddly enough, a bad stomachache. Who would have thought it!" he chuckled loudly.

Lily smiled coyly. "Maybe you're not so useless after all,"

Peter returned the smile. "Maybe you're not so hard-to-get after all,"

Lily slapped him across the face, sending him twirling in the air. She creased her forehead. "Don't push it, Peter. Remember what I did to the last Soul Angel who tried to... 'acquire' me." Peter rubbed his face, drifting slowly back to his spot. He pouted once more.

"How could I forget? Isn't he still recovering, even after these past three hundred some years?" Lily laughed weakly, nodding.

---

Michael tensed as the presence of a Soul Angel crept into his heart. His eyes darted around the room, and he took a defensive stance before the seated Taylor. Her friends had joined her by pulling up chairs and stools to comfort her in that odd burst of sickness. Slowly, the presence grew stronger, and pulled at Michael's right. He turned to face the direction, meeting a white-winged Soul Angel. Something was... different about this one.

The newcomer was, or seemed, younger than Michael. He guessed around the age of eight. The baby face, tan and a bit chubby, surrounded light brown eyes and a small nose. A crop cut hairstyle sat on the boy's head. His attire was on the brighter side. A white t-shirt, decorated by three slash marks that crossed the chest, rested on the thin frame. Ripped white jeans dropped down from his waist to the bottom of his gray rain boots. Covering the t-shirt, a light gray rain coat with the hood pulled back lay.

"Who-" Michael began.

"Shh." The boy brought a tiny finger to his lips. "We aren't meant to be seen together, let alone communicate." Michael shifted nervously, calming down his tensed muscles.

"Well, who are you-"

"I am not a Soul Angel, I can tell you that much," the boy continued. His voice was high in pitch and sweet; however, the words he spoke held an air of authority and wisdom to their tune. "All will explained later. For now, I suggest you listen to what I have to say.""You may call me... Dan. There is a problem with your human over there. It is imperative that you follow my instructions carefully."

Michael nodded, eying Dan suspiciously. "What is wrong? I got rid of that assassin, no doubt." Dan grinned.

"Yes, I saw. We all saw. Nonetheless, the assassin got his job done. He placed what is known as a 'Soul Rip' upon her. The first symptoms vary from person to person, dependent on how pure their heart is and their energy level is. These I will explain later, when time graces us with its presence." The wind began to pick up, and the breeze shook the two violently. The humans did not feel it surprisingly. "There is only one way to cure the Soul Rip spell, Michael. All I can tell you now is-"

The wind started to roar. Dan brought an arm to shield his eyes, stepping closer to Michael. He looked like he was struggling. Michael, affected by this strange power in a more subtle way, walked to Dan. He reached out to grab him, but Dan pulled back, shock crossing his face. "You mustn't lay a hand on me! Explanations, oh how they nag at us! Everything will be explained later. But for now, you need to show Taylor the man who cast the Soul Rip!" Michael grew confused.

"How can I reveal myself, let alone another!?" he yelled against the screeching wind. Dan was struggling to keep his footing.

"Emotions!" he shouted. "Steal back your emotions. The one called Sur-" The wind blocked out the rest. Dan's mouth moved silently, desperately. Michael tried to reach out to him, but the gust picked up and took him away. Dan dissipated from his view. The wind left as he did.

Michael stood, breathing heavily, in the music-filled room. Everything sounded much more quiet than the wind. The cheers and banter surrounding the room was but a whisper to his hearing. With unanswered questions bothering his brain, Michael tried to deduce answers.

Soul Rip... that doesn't sound pleasant at all. 'Nonetheless, the assassin got his job done.' That obviously means that the Soul Rip will... He swallowed down a lump in his throat. Michael turned around to face Taylor and all of her friends. They looked so happy. They deserve life. I, on the other hand, did not. This was my fate; to watch over others, to preserve worthy lives, to save... I will protect them.

He cast a more focused look at Taylor.

"I will suffer for you," he choked out. "Pain shall never enter your life. Misery will never scathe your heart. There is life and boundless hope in you. If I have to break my own sanity to preserve yours..." Michael felt moisture build up under his eyes. Sadness must have been the only emotion left within him.

"...then I will. Happily." At some point in Taylor's conversation with her friends, she smiled. Michael smiled, too.

Chapter 3: Monotonous Repetition (Pt.2)

The party started to reach the end. Many of the attendants had already left; those who still remained were seated and winding down from the hype. Most drank sodas and chewed at platters of assorted chips. Chatter still buzzed incessantly as the adults began to clean up a few appliances and clear out the pool.

"Funny how fast this party dropped," Sydney, a friend of Taylor's, blurted. She took a hasty sip at a bottle of water, screwing the cap back on slowly. The conversation between the group of friends was reclining and had reached a lull. The music had been toned down, but was still audible. Taylor had not moved from her chair; moreover, two of her male friends pushed over a couch for more seating room around her. She appreciated the gesture, thanking them when they did so. The offer was in vain. No one sat on the couch; instead, the chairs they had brought over previously were their comfort.

This, though, was not true. Michael sat in the couch, filling up the space with his wings. The sofa was set opposite from Taylor. The Soul Angel tapped at his leg idly to the rhythm of the music in the background. The conversation started up again, and Taylor asserted herself to converse in this one.

Laughter echoed in Michael's ears. Smiles blinded his vision. He accepted this as a rare pleasure. The nagging feeling he had, gnawing away at his conscience, reminded him of the task set before him. In the next few weeks, Taylor would descend into deeper ailments, one following instantaneously after the other. A short amount of time to get started on the quest, let alone find a way to resolve it, was very challenging. With a deep sigh escaping his lips, Michael shut his eyes and tried to focus on the Soul Rip problem.

Taylor is a strong, healthy girl, he told himself. She could hold out longer than most other recipients of the Soul Rip. And that Dan kid said her heart was pure... and energy, too. I'll have to gather information from Lily about this shit...

He stood to leave. He stopped mid-stride. Forcing himself to look away from Taylor, he trudged wearily on. When he left the doorway, he spread his wings wide and leaped into the sky.

---

"If I had a hammer, I would build a house for two
If I had a sailing ship, I'd take a trip with you.
If I had a poet's hand I'd write a verse for thee!
And if I had a painter's touch, on canvas you would be.

But I don't have a hammer, and I don't have a ship
So I can't build a house, and we can't take a trip!
And I'll never be a poet, and I'll never have a painter's grace,
So I'll never write your verse, nor immortalize your face...

Tell me that you love me, whether or not it's true
Cause wherever I am, I just want to be with you!
Whether I'm stuck in hell, or outside in the rain
Every day without you is a day filled with pain..."

The poem nagged at Michael's mind. He was never good with words nor art. How could you blame him, for one; he had no emotions to inspire him! His heart started to grow heavy. Dark thoughts were not good for his health. His eyes traced around a glitzy building with high patios and terraces. He tried to eye out what he saw; he could have sworn he was staring at Lily. Another figure was with her; Lily made frantic movements, and the other figure disappeared from view. Lily regained her posture and waved as Michael drew closer.

He landed beside her on the terrace, keeping his distance. He looked at her suspiciously. "Who was that just now?" he questioned.

Lily shrugged casually. "What brings you here? Are you ready to realize your full destiny?" Lily drew a smirk on her face. Michael ignored it, fighting past the seductive appearance. He spat on the ground before her. Of course, the spit phased through the floor. Nonetheless, he had made his point. Lily scowled.

"I'm starting to think less of this whole operation. An entire plan that I have a major role in and I'm not even informed; how clever!" He stepped closer, tensing his shoulders and hardened his jaw. Lily backed away slightly, wings starting to reverberate. "Am I just a pawn? A puppet for this bastard Surno to master, a being for him to manipulate? Have you realized he's done the same to you?" Michael said it on impulse. He was on a roll, and he would not stop now. He seemed to have set doubt to Lily's own part in Surno's little game, though. Michael saw it in the way she faced away from him.

"I..." Lily began.

"Don't try to stray away from the topic!" he shouted, cutting the air with his fist. "When will you damned Soul Angels finally answer me directly? I had that assassin Peter the airhead, the indirect bitch who doesn't even like her own existence as a Soul Angel named Lily, and the emotion stealing bastard Surno!" Lily was at the opposite edge of the terrace, gripping onto the fence with strained hands. Michael breathed heavily; the outburst was not normal of him, ever. He calmed down. Lily was the key to answers, and he would have to gain her trust.

Lily brought a hand to rest on her chest. "I... I just want you to know that..." She took a step forward. Michael did not react. "I'm... I'm..." she barreled into him, wrapping the boy in her arms.

"I'm sorry for what I'm about to do," she whispered into his ear.

Michael tried to wriggle out of her grasp. "Wait, wha-"

Lily brought a knee into his groin, forcing him to double over in agony. She brought an elbow down on the back of his head, and he fell unconscious. His limp body phased through the terrace floor, striking the ground with enough force to set a dent in it. Lily began to laugh. "I won't have to worry about him for awhile."

"We." She spun around at the deep voice. A brief surge of panic shot through her before she realized she was staring into a white theater mask. Lily released an explosive sigh.

"Phew. Surno, don't sneak up on me, please." She crossed her arms. "So are you going to elaborate on the new addition to our plan?" Surno nodded. He took a step to the edge of the patio and pointed down over the fence. Lily followed his finger, which ended at the unconscious Michael. She bit her lip.

"When he awakens. Lie to him. Force him. Anything." he turned to face her, reaching out a gloved hand. She looked down at the new piece to his attire. She grasped it timidly. "Promise. Never question me." He leaned close and brushed her face with his free hand. Lily's knees started to shake slightly. Her lips twitched, as if she was about to say something. Surno placed a gloved finger on her mouth. "Shh."

He let loose a deep, guttural laugh. Lily still stood silent. Surno's 'outburst' ended. "I'm sorry."

"What!?" The word passed through her lips and ended up muffled. Surno clamped his hand on her mouth and another on her neck. She clawed at the hands. Her eyes began to glow red; Surno's turned green behind the mask. The battle of their two energies lasted for what seemed like an eternity, when in real time it was only a few seconds. Lily collapsed and found herself crashing down next to Michael's cold body. Surno stared down with an apathetic look. Peter appeared from the blue beside him, smiling down.

"Do I get to play dead, too?" he joked. Surno glared at him.

"Maybe."

Peter shuddered. "I was being sarcastic. So, are those other SA's coming in soon? I hate to wait." Surno nodded gravely. Peter chuckled. "The strong silent type, that's what you are, aren't ya?" Surno fumbled inside his shirt, and pulled out an onyx stone.

"Wish you were too," he replied as he crushed the object with a single fist. Peter inhaled deeply, followed closely by Surno. The ashes of the stone started to circle around the two. They multiplied as the air started to grow thick. Peter smiled.

"We sure haven't changed a bit, have we?" he turned to face his friend, who was made a Soul Angel twenty years after he, all of those centuries ago. Surno returned the stare. He nodded silently. Peter grinned. "Are you sure you're alright playing the role of the 'big bad' leader while I set the scene?" Surno nodded once more. Peter shrugged.

"I guess it's your funeral, then."

For once, Surno laughed genuinely. A smile formed behind his mask. The two were enveloped by the stone's broken shards. The dust settled, and the ashes fell to the floor. They were gone.

Chapter 3: Monotonous Repetition (Pt.3)

Three black-winged men strode casually down an empty street. Abandoned pieces of trash and debris rolled and flew as a current of wind picked up. The center man scratched at a short crop of spiky blond hair, reaching down to massage his strong chin. His nose was thin and rested between two hazelnut eyes. His body was thin; an unbuttoned black long-sleeve shirt rested on his torso, revealing strong abdominal muscles. Every Soul Angel seemed to share the same kind of shoes. Pure black with no design was the style. This man's thighs were disguised by black shorts cut off at the knees.

The angel on the right walked with eyes closed. Behind these eyelids lay peach-white pupils. This meant he was blind in his previous life and had now regained vision in death. Frankly, he hated it. A pessimist at heart, he found no reason to cut his shoulder-length white hair. He wore the same kind of shirt as the former, yet it was buttoned up to his neck. Instead of shorts, he wore loose, wavy slacks.

The last man wore a flamboyantly light green tank top. It was tight and conformed to his chest. No clothing rested between his shoulder down to his elbow. However, a tight armband reached down from the lower half of his shoulder down to his wrist. The same was for the other arm. Unlike the other two, he wore a bright smile that complimented his bright green eyes. Brown hair dropped down the side of his back in long braids. White jeans ended at those same black shoes.

"So we're finally making a move against the Council, aren't we?" The bright angel asked. "Can't believe after all of those years of repressed aggression, we are only starting now. To think that a new Soul Angel, a young one at that, was the last thing we needed before Surno felt safe." The center angel chuckled.

"You'd best keep your mouth shut, Tracy," he said. "Be more like ol' Greg over here." He tapped the silent angel. Brought back from daydreaming, Greg opened his eyes and looked at his companions. The center angel laughed again. "Sleep walking, eh? Dreaming about how life would be like without the blasphemous Council around, right?" He smiled. Greg just nodded and closed his eyes.

Greg spoke in a low voice. "Ryan... do you remember what life was like, way back in the old days, when both Soul Angels and Heart Angels cooperated, sharing the same goal? In essence, we are one in the same. Appearance and methods be damned; that should not separate us from brother and sister in death." Ryan eyed him with a quizzical look, but remained silent. Tracy giggled. Greg took a deep breath."It was only when that one Heart Angel questioned a Soul Angel's work. Our work, to play with fate and keep humanity from falling apart, should never be criticized in such a way. That Soul Angel was Peter, I believe. He influenced a common man to assassinate that one fellow... the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and his wife..."

"Your point?" Ryan prodded.

Greg sighed. "Peter has the ability to see the future. He predicted that the Archduke Franz Ferdinand had become a dictator of his own country and eventually spread out to control the entire world in a sweep of power. The world descended into chaos under Ferdinand's rule, who was cleverly betrayed by his wife. His wife was, obviously, influenced by a Heart Angel to do so. Peter had stopped an entire genocide of people. How can our 'superior' counterparts not realize his great deed?" Greg's eyes flew open, and he stared up into the sky. He stopped his walk, and the others did as well. They stared at him inquisitively. With a sigh, he hung his head and proceeded to trod along the road again.

Tracy giggled again. "Hah, guess what I just figured out. Soul and Heart angels. Like that one song. 'Heart and Soul...' Hehe." He grinned. Ryan smacked him upside the head, and he winced.

"Let him continue." Greg nodded at Ryan.

"My point is," Greg prodded. "The Heart Angels grew too far into their sense of justice. They fail to realize how dangerous the world's order can be without our constant revisions. If we had left humanity to fend for itself, they would not have lasted so far. We work without appreciation. We work by our own will. The Heart Angels created an entire system, an entire council, an entire kingdom in their own conjured world based on a flawed judicious method. Maybe I'm just babbling uncontrollably, but I hope you see my point. The Soul Angels have done well so far in our isolated and respective stations. I guess we can thank Peter and Surno for stopping a war between both of us... We're like family, even."

Tracy hummed aloud. "Hmm. If we are family, then why are we plotting to destroy each and every Heart Angel? Surno told us his plan would work. I still don't believe that Peter isn't playing a major part in all of this... He's the original Soul Angel. A great actor too; he fooled me into thinking he was a bumbling idiot when I first met him. The firstborn of our kind... He stood side by side with that Heart Angel in the beginning, working so intently on keeping a race they held power over alive. If only we could figure everything out!" He scoffed at himself.

"If we could pull that off," Ryan commented, "Then why would other Soul Angels exist? Peter and... oh, what's his name... Daniel... would be the only two existing. We would be off somewhere else, maybe resting our weary souls."

The road came to an end. They stood in a desolate area, devoid of civilization. Nothing but mountains could be seen in the horizon. Ryan laughed weakly. "Let's fly, boys." The three spread their wings and disappeared into the sky.

Chapter 3: Monotonous Repetition (Pt.4)

Lily shifted on the ground. She brought herself up to a sitting position shakily. Her hands brushed against the ground as she supported herself. The day had ended already. Night had taken its reign in the sky; stars glimmered in the distance and the moon cast its eerie light out onto the world. In all of the years she had wandered restlessly under Surno's command, she never realized the truth.

Michael had brought it to her. In her peripheral vision lay the unconscious Michael. Muttering silent thanks, she brooded over the past century. She had been introduced to the eccentric Peter by Surno. Peter always gave an uneasy feeling to her. She felt that Surno's friend was not who he really was. This was also the time when Surno had brought the plan to full light to other Soul Angels living in town. Roles had been distributed equally to match each individual's expertise. Lily, left alone in the drawing, was taken in by Surno as a personal assistant.

Lily laughed weakly. "Personal assistant? Just a puppet..." She closed her eyes to the moonlight. Who else was being manipulated? Who else would be cast aside when the plan was done? When the Council was destroyed, who would take reign?

A revelation started in Lily. She stood up carefully, regaining her strength. She puffed out her chest and raised her head high. A silent oath was whispered between her lips. No longer would she be a pawn. No longer would she be used for the gain of someone else. She bent down next to Michael, wiping the hair out of his forehead. She kissed him gently. He stirred slightly; in the next instant, Lily was gone. Words drifted through the air where she had last been.

"Thank you."

---

Michael sprang to his feet, fists up near his face. His legs were spread apart, and he hopped on the balls of his feet. With panic gripping him, he examined his surroundings. Realizing that he was alone, his hands slowly took a space at his side. His right hand brushed the sword hanging from his waist. Taking in its detail for the first time, he brought it up to the dim light. The zigzag blade was not made of simple steel. An odd purple hue surrounded the blade itself. It was as dim as the moonlight. It was glowing.

He gripped the handle tightly. Michael swung it to the side, getting a feel for it. He thrust forward and sliced through the air which made the blade whistle. A cynical smile twisted his lips. "This will force Peter to show his face to Taylor." His eyes darted up to the sky. The moon was high up in the center. The time was around midnight. He was losing time. Every hour counted.

He flourished his wings, ready to depart. Instead, his ears caught something. He stood still, listening all the while. The distant noises of cars passing down streets was heard. Slowly, Michael reeled back to launch himself into the air. Three figures dropped out of the sky, surrounding him. Michael dropped to his knees and folded his wings to conform around his body as he raised his blade. One of the newcomers, adorned in a green shirt, chuckled.

"He's a hasty one, Ryan," he continued. "So young, too!"

"Looks like Lily persuaded him with that same shtick she used on us," Ryan replied. "Haha! I can hear her now. 'Sacrifice yourself to save your brother! Sacrifice yourself to save your mother!' I wonder what she used for this kid. Sister? Dog? Well, which was it, kid?" He stepped forward, ignoring the sword that pointed at him.

Michael stood up slowly. "She told me that I could save a friend. Turns out, a day later, some man named Peter put a Soul Rip spell on her." He drew closer to Ryan. The older Soul Angel wore a smug smile.

"Well," Ryan responded. "I can't do anything about that. So you must be Michael, eh?" Michael nodded. "Good. Greg, tell him why we're here." Michael's eyes flitted to the side, staring at the dark clothed man.

He cleared his throat. "We have come to find Surno. He told us of Lily's recent betrayal. We have come to the conclusion that she accuses Surno of using her as a puppet in the upcoming plan to overthrow the Council. Do you know of this plan, or of Lily's whereabouts?" Michael eased up, realizing these were friendlies.

"Lily knocked me out and left me here a few hours ago. I'm not sure of where she went. I was asking her about the plan, so that means I really don't know about it..."

Greg nodded. "The objective is to oust a group of Heart Angels, our counterpart that is often distinguished by white wings, who lead a whole society of other Heart Angels by a flawed judicial system. They believe that no lives should be taken for the greater good, that war should be ended to preserve life, and that political leaders should be untouched, whether or not they are corrupt, for they were elected by their own people. Do you see how contradictory those beliefs are? Those were only some of the major points out of many more. I would love to ramble on, but I must digress." He cleared his throat again. "These Heart Angels used to cooperate with us in the beginning. Now, they hunt for us, thinning out our numbers so that the fate of humanity may rest on only their shoulders. Surno rallied up the remaining Soul Angels, preaching to them of rebellion. We have to defeat the Council so that the naive Heart Angels being foolishly led will have a chance to actually affect the future of mankind in a positive way. We, the Soul Angels, have been the only guardians of fate. If all of us had been killed off, humanity would probably have descended into a state of chaos and brought about Armageddon in our absence.
"The point I present to you is simple. You, Michael, are a fabled hybrid Soul Angel. You, who were stripped of emotions by Surno, still held the roots of them in your heart. All Heart Angels still contain these roots as well. When a person is able to do such in their normal life, they become a Heart Angel. You, however, did not when your time came. Your soul was as justified as ours and even more so, allowing you to have the power and appearance of a Soul Angel. Point being made, you are neither Soul nor Heart Angel. You are the one the first Soul and Heart Angels spoke of, the one who would come in a time of corruption. You, Michael, are the Peacemaker."

Greg shuffled close to him. He pulled up his right arm's sleeve to the elbow and placed hand on his head. Michael did not stir. "I, Greg, the key of soul and heart, the lock of mind and body, unlock thy soul and lock thy heart to release the power within you. Awaken, oh fabled Peacemaker, and let destiny take you!" Smoke rose up from the spot Greg held his hand. Michael, unable to withstand the surge of power brimming within him, passed out.

Interlude: Peacemaker

Michael awoke. He found himself lying down in the center of a circular platform. Gold rails surrounded the edge of the platform. Silver plating burnished with bronze made its floor. The Peacemaker stood up, examining his surroundings. Nothing could be seen, covered in darkness, except where he stood.

A flash of light blinded Michael. Frightened, he fell to his knees and covered his face with his arms. Footsteps echoed throughout the area and grew in noise as they came closer to him. He withdrew his arms shakily, still a bit scared. Dan stared at him with his hands buried in his pockets.

"Hello, Michael. I have received news that you have been told about the Peacemaker." Dan smiled at him. "Well, you're not the Peacemaker. I am." Michael rose to a stand, eyes filled with questions. "There will be time for answers later, Michael. For now, I am here to dismiss you of the rumor that you are the Peacemaker. Do you believe me?" Dan smiled once more. It was so alluring and infectious that Michael smiled too. Dan nodded his head at him, and turned to leave.

"Daniel. The firstborn Heart Angel. The one who started the Council of Hearts. The being to create a kingdom on a fallacy of lies." Dan swiveled around, an expression of both hate and bewilderment crossing his face.

"How did yo-" Michael brought his sword to his neck.

"Greg instilled the knowledge within me. I have witnessed the entire history of both Soul and Heart Angel thanks to him. I am the Peacemaker, and this shall be the first peace made." Michael slashed with his blade. Daniel disappeared. Michael laughed. "Coward! You hide behind lies. There is no 'Soul Rip' on Taylor, is there? You just brought me away from her side so that you may take her away from me!" Daniel reappeared before him.

"This is true," he said slyly. He waved his hand to the side, and the air began to waver. A small window, looking over Taylor's home, appeared. Michael stared on curiously. In a few seconds, he understood the image. He dropped the blade to the ground as he fell to his knees. Daniel laughed. "You're too late, Michael. Wake up and see the truth. Wake up, Michael. Wake up..."

Michael awoke, screaming. Greg was bent over him, poking him in the stomach. Ryan stared down with a look of wonder at the scream. Tracy giggled. "I think you overworked him, Greg," he said, smiling. "Showing him thousands of years worth of history must have given him a nightmare."

Greg nodded, and helped Michael to his feet. He breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath.

Chapter 4: Revelations

"So," Greg began. "What did you see in your nightmare?" Together, the four walked side by side down busy streets through the lively city. The time was around noon. Clouds were scarce on this day, and the sun shone brightly over the town.

"I met Daniel when Peter went after Taylor... he told me that Peter used a 'Soul Rip' spell on her. I believed him like the fool I am..." Michael laughed weakly. "When you showed me everything, I think Daniel appeared to me in my mind to stray me away from this whole destiny thing." Tracy's occasional giggle was not brought up this time. The other three were silent, watching Michael intently. He stared back with curious eyes.

Ryan hummed. "Hmm. What did Daniel do?"

"Well," Michael fumbled with his hands, searching for the right words. "He told me that he was the Peacemaker... when I threatened him with my sword, he showed me an image of..." Michael's eyes widened. Greg tensed, wings already starting to spread. He turned to Ryan; his look said Get ready. Tracy ran a hand through his long hair in the pause that followed. Michael turned to face Greg. "Daniel's powers were what, again?" he asked in a meek voice.

"He can create visions, reach out to long distances, teleport, and step into dreams." Greg coughed to clear his throat. Michael stiffened, and widened his wings. He flew up; the others followed closely. He set the pace, flying to where the faint presence he felt in his heart brought him to.

---

Peter sat in front of a two story house on the doorstep with his posterior resting on the welcome mat. He tugged idly at his loose pants, straightening them out here and there. He took a deep breath, then exhaled. His eyes perked up when he saw four specks flying towards his direction. Peter stood, eyes locked and fists clenched. When the figures drew near, he eased up. Michael landed first with a frantic look in his eye. The other three Soul Angels landed easily, smiling and greeting Peter. He waved at them with a raise of his hand, then turned to Michael.

"What is it?" he asked casually. Since Greg had already arrived, he had figured Michael knew everything already. By the look in his eye - one with curiosity and not anger - Michael seemed to know.

He tried to walk past Peter, but was blocked. "Let me pass. Let me pass!" he yelled at him. Peter smiled.

"She's safe, Michael," Peter replied, bending down to look him in the eye. He set a hand on his shoulder. "I have been here and always will be to protect her for you. Do you remember when Dan - err, Daniel, told you about the Soul Rip?" Michael nodded. "The gust of wind that took him was by my own power. I did not place one of those dreaded Soul Rips on her; those kind of spells are targeted at Soul Angels. They are devastating and ultimately destroy an angel in a matter of minutes. No, I did not do that - in the years that I have wandered the earth, I had grown immune to all forms of pain from a Heart Angel. Both Daniel and I, in the beginning, trained each other to withstand our different powers, so that we may never hurt one another accidentally." Peter's eyes stared off into space. "I gave away that immunity and set it upon Taylor so that she may survive. I know how much she means to you. And another thing about the words Daniel said to you," Peter sat back down onto the doorstep. Michael followed suit, and the three Soul Angels gathered around them, intent on listening.

"I... I thank you for doing that, Peter," Michael said gratefully. "I can't imagine an eternity with the thought of her being hurt." Peter nodded.

"Daniel told you about Surno. He stripped you of your emotions for a reason; to protect you. A Heart Angel can manipulate those emotions, if they were strong enough, to the extent of death. Your love for Taylor is too intense for any Heart Angel, even Daniel, to control; if it lasted through and until your death, then that proves it. If Surno had not taken those emotions from you when you were young, when Daniel had learned of your existence, then there would be no hope. Surno holds them instead, placing himself at risk for you. The mask he wears was fashioned by Tracy; Tracy here has the power to imbue clothing with great power. When we begin our assault, he will have the armor ready." Tracy nodded, a great smile flashing across his face. "Do you understand, now? Michael, everything rests on you. The future of humanity, the longevity of the Soul Angels, and the sanity that is left of the Heart Angels... you will bring peace to all three. In the end, when all is said and done, I will grant you a great choice." Peter inhaled deeply.

With an explosive exhale, he began again. "The choice I will present to you, when the Heart Angels and the Soul Angels are united once more, will be simple. Return to the human world at the point in time at the meadow, or continue on as a wandering soul. It will be your choice when we have finished here. Think over it; however, I know what you will choose anyway." He winked at Michael.

"Go on and see her," Peter commanded. Michael nodded and grinned, phasing through the door to Taylor's home.

Chapter 4: Revelations (Pt.2)

"Do you remember," Michael said, laughing softly as he took a spot by Taylor, who lay on her bed texting. An untouched history textbook sat next to her. Michael reached for it, trying to flip the page, interested in the Great Depression era. "Do you remember when you met your first... boyfriend?" His voice cracked at the end.

Taylor absentmindedly flipped her hair to the side, rolling over in bed to examine her phone closely. A smile formed on her face, apparently caused by the recent conversation advancement. Michael placed himself closer on the bed, focusing on every fiber of his body to stay on the object. He turned to face her; his eyes only met the side of her cheek. "He told you he loved you. He said he loved you until the end, and everything afterward." Michael stared up at the ceiling. Taylor shifted into a more comfortable position.

"His name was... damn, I can't remember. Do you remember?" Michael chuckled. "Of course you do. How could you forget? I know how much pain you went through. I hate myself for being unable to comfort you through it. I'm... I'm being pitiful again." Michael kicked his feet off of the edge of the bed and placed them onto the carpeted floor. He stood fully, crossing his arms as he turned to Taylor. She was furiously texting.

"Do you remember, Taylor? I really hope you do. I hope for a lot of things." Michael tried to part the window curtains, trying nonchalantly to do so. To no avail, he just stared out through the small parting between the curtains. "Since I died, I hoped I could stay with you forever. That's probably true... Well, I also hoped that you would live a happy life." He cast a quick glance at her and noticed a bright smile as her fingers moved rapidly across the phone. "That's probably true, too." Michael hung his head low.

"I'm still getting off track. You know? I suddenly realized that I'm indecisive. I can't seem to decide on what to say, on what to do. I hope all of that changes, considering the circumstances." He sighed. "Anyway. Do you remember when you met your first boyfriend? He told you he loved you. He said he loved you until the end, and everything afterward." Taylor rolled back to lay on her stomach and kicked her feet into the air. Michael drew near. He placed his hand on her shoulder; he knew that she did not recognize the touch, nor ever will. Nonetheless, he smiled.

"I share the same phrase. I'll love you until the end, and everything afterward." With a sweep of his hands, he proceeded to leave the room. "I already loved you until the end. This, though, is everything afterward." Michael turned to see her one more time with a smile. He waited patiently for five minutes; in some point in the texting conversation, a sentence or two made her grin and giggle. Michael smiled. He turned to leave, closing his eyes and feeling deep regret. Absentmindedly, he reached to close the door behind him. The thought of him, still dead and now a restless soul, escaped his mind. He felt the chill of the brass door handle, and brought it slowly to a close.

Taylor jumped, bringing a pillow close to her at the eerie movement. "Dad? Was that you?" No response. "Hello?" Curiosity gripped her, and she stepped to the door, flinging it open. A pang of anguish shot through her stomach; the spasms had been recurrent since a few days ago, at the party. Her dad had said it was a volatile stomach flu. Another stab at her stomach made her eyes shut. Her vision grew blurry, and she blinked furiously. She doubled over, and her hearing grew deaf for a few seconds.

A muffled voice whispered in her ear. She opened her eyes with a pained look crossing her face. A dark, translucent figure flashed across her eyes before she closed them again. She formed into a fetal position on the floor, heaving dryly. She tried to choke out "Dad!" but no words came. Instead, the voice began to grow louder. It screamed at her, telling her she would be okay. Rushes of wind ensued, and more figures crowded her vision. They circled her with frantic movements.

"Taylor! Taylor, are you okay!? Taylor?" The voice was familiar. Taylor tried to trace who said it; the clouds hovered over her vision began to dissipate. She found herself staring at a face that resembled an old friend. "Peter! Is she fine?" A man on the edge of her vision nodded.

"She'll be fine. The protection I gave her is kicking in to its full extent now. She will no longer feel these symptoms so long as she lives. No need to worry," Peter echoed. He punched him playfully on the arm. Taylor's pain began to fade. She gazed at Peter. Suddenly, he gripped at where his heart was. A man with long white hair and odd eyes stretched a hand out to him. Peter slapped the hand down, mumbling that he was fine.

He bent over and dropped to one knee. A cough parted his lips. More followed suit, growing vicious. Peter shut his eyes, trying to restrain a scream. "I'm... I thought... I knew it. I just... knew..." Peter lifted his chin, facing Michael, who drew near. He grabbed his shoulder with a tight hand as Michael knelt beside him. "I... I hope that she'll be okay... no, I know she will... be..." A violent wave of coughs overtook him. His face grew pale. "This was worth it, Michael. Every last bit of it. Don't let... me die..." he smiled, dark blood dripping down his chin. Everyone watched in horror, including Taylor. His eyes started to darken. The clothes he wore started to disintegrate along with his fading body. He laughed dryly. "Don't let me die in vain, okay? Taylor, I know you can hear and see us now..." Half of his face began to deteriorate. He faced her with pitch black, bleeding eyes. "You'll be okay. We'll all be okay." Peter was born as a Soul Angel laughing. When the dust of his body drifted away, his hardy laughter echoed throughout the household. Peter was gone.

The three bigger angels faced each other. The one with braided hair burst out crying. The blond with spiky hair gripped him in a comforting hug. The blind one buried half of his face in one hand, stepping down the stairs to escape the brutal scene. The last two walked together, following the former. Michael remained, choking as tears tried to escape. Taylor, relieved of her pain, crawled towards him. She hesitated, then set her hand on his back. Michael twitched at the touch, but continued to stay still.

"Hey, it will be okay," she said, understanding nothing about what just happened. "I'm sure he loved you enough... no wait, I mean... he meant well, right?" Michael relaxed his tensed shoulders. He dropped to a sitting stance, and turned to her with puffy eyes. He smiled.

"He didn't die in vain, I know that much," he kept grinning like an idiot. The sheepish smile was contagious, and Taylor smiled back. "There is so much I want to tell you, Taylor." Her eyes perked up at her name.

"It's a bit rude that you know my name and I don't!" Her eyes flickered to the wings that sprouted from his back. She tried to say something; her mouth moved, but no words came. She cleared her throat. "And you are...?" Her voice was a bit shaky.

Michael stared at the ground. "My name is... Michael. Please believe me, but I was..."

"My best friend," Taylor whispered. Michael slid closer to her, gently grabbing her hand. "I... I remember, now... I..."

Michael smiled and brushed the hair out of her face. The image could be humorous, depending on how you looked at it. Michael had not grown from his short stature where Taylor had; she was a tall sub-6-footer. Michael's gloved hand reaching up high to clear her face looked odd. Taylor closed her eyes; her back straightened at the touch. It was cold, yet familiar. "I don't want you to think about it. Please don't. I'm... we should talk about something else." His wings flapped slowly. Cool air emanated from them as they worked slowly back and forth. Taylor relaxed even further. The temperature was to her liking. "How are you, Taylor? How's school? How's your... boyfriend?"

Taylor giggled. "How did you know I have a boyfriend?" she questioned. A slight inflection in her voice gave away that she was humoring him. "Do you watch me all the time?"

Michael laughed uneasily. Pain shot up through him, and his voice betrayed the feeling. "Just a... lucky guess..." He cleared his throat, nervous to pursue the conversation. "So... please go on! How's life?" He forced a smile. Taylor returned it.

"Well, we had this dance at school..."

And there the two sat, chatting for hours. Taylor ignored the fact that she was talking to a dead friend, and Michael ignored the fact that he was dead, just for a little while. It brought ease to his tortured mind. Taylor drew on. Michael, eager to listen, sat attentively. He occasionally reached out to brush hair out of her face. The strands strayed often. Michael felt happiness, or what seemed like it, for the first time in years. He hoped Taylor felt it, too. It would make him even happier.

Chapter 4: Revelations (Pt.3)

"Greg," Ryan said gently. He set Tracy down on the sidewalk, where he tried to stop the waterworks. Ryan took a seat next to him, patting his friend on the back softly. "You know that you're the oldest besides Peter out of the Soul Angels, right?" Greg turned to face him, a curious look burning in his eyes.

"I was born four hundred years ago. That is relatively young, Ryan. Was there an education system in your day?" Ryan snorted. Tracy chuckled through a sniffle. Greg closed his eyes and looked away. Silence crept up between the three close friends. This, however, was a secret that should never have been shared. "Ryan..."

He bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Greg. But, with Peter gone and all... we need a new leader, at least for the time being. I know you only told Peter about when you were born, but-"

"What else did you siphon from his memory?" Greg snapped. "What else did you overhear, hmm? Did you burrow deep into his mind, reading all of those juicy details, Ryan? Answer me!" Greg clenched his fists and took a step forward. "It's no excuse that you 'acted on impulse' like you always do. Just tell me - why did you reveal the secret? Are there more you know about?" Greg gritted his teeth against each other. Ryan had a genuine look of shock across his face.

"I just wanted to know, Greg. I just wanted to know!" He stood up slowly with a hardened gaze. "Soul Angels like Tracy and I need to have the same knowledge as the older ones. Otherwise, how could we help with our talents?" He pushed a pointed finger into Greg's chest. "Just because you, Greg, were a Heart Angel once! You get to know everything, don'tcha? Now, you answer me!" He forced even more pressure onto his finger. Tracy, bewildered by all honesty, just watched the exchange silently.

"You tell me why you had the power to stay a Heart Angel and instead became one of us. You're... you're not truly one of us! How can all of the older SA's still entrust in you every detail? How can pure SA's, like Tracy and I, humbly stand to the side and let beings like you steal our rightful spot in the hierarchy?" Silence echoed between the three.

"Ryan," Tracy said. "Let us honor Peter's memory and not bicker over who takes his place. Surno will figure it out; he is... or, was... his best friend after all, right?" Ryan breathed heavily, calming down. He sat next to Tracy.

"Those are memories I'm repressing, Ryan. I do not appreciate that you just reminded me of them." He faced away and ran his hand through his white hair. "Peter always told me that I was welcome. He believed that I was a true Heart Angel with the appearance of a Soul Angel. A true Heartie, his nickname for them, would never let differences separate beings forced to live side by side for all eternity. And so, when I asked him if he could keep my secret, he accepted for my sake. The unease between Heartie's and SA's began to grow during this time." Greg took a seat next to Ryan and grasped his hand. Ryan looked into his eyes, seeing tears beginning their descent. "Now that Peter's gone, no one is left to hold my secret. Except you two,"

"I'm so glad that I have you two," Greg said with a sheepish grin. "If there is one thing I have learned in death, well..."

"What is it?" Tracy prodded. "Tell us!" Ryan laughed along with Tracy's chuckle. Greg let the tears run freely down the side of his face.

"Tears always remain, and emotions never stray. Believe in the soul, and you find the heart. Steal the heart, and nothing is left but tears. Maybe, just maybe... I may be able to see the day when Soul and Heart Angels walk hand in hand to sustain the human race together. Maybe," Greg choked up. "Maybe, I will finally feel welcome. A being of both worlds is what I am; may fate let me see the day we live peacefully." Ryan pulled Greg closer. Tracy bear hugged him, and Ryan followed suit.

"Don't worry," Ryan whispered. "If you don't make it, I won't either. We'll always be with you, Greg. Right, Tracy?" Tracy chuckled, nodding his head.

Greg's smile faded. "I have the strange feeling that this could prove to be some serious foreshadowing..." The trio laughed in harmony this time. Michael and Taylor, who had migrated to her bedroom to talk in private without her Dad hearing, caught the soft noise of laughter. Taylor had put down her phone to exclusively listen to Michael when the conversation had started. The gesture in itself brought joy to Michael. She would never leave her text conversations, not even for her father. Michael smiled, stopping mid-sentence.

"What is it?" Taylor inquired. Michael kept grinning, and Taylor did the same. "Why are we smiling?"

Michael laughed. "It's all I have left. A smile from you puts me at ease, even for what I have to do soon." His eyes strayed to the window. Taylor giggled.

"What do you have to do?" Michael faced her with a serious face now.

He hung his head low. "Forget it. For now, I just want to be with you for as long as this lasts." He looked up to see a smile. He returned it.

Maybe, Michael grimly thought as the conversation started up again. Maybe she'll forget about me when all of this is done. I want her to, even if it hurts. He commented on Taylor's question about his wings. The two laughed in unison.

Yeah, he thought. Taylor patted him on the hand, complaining that she had to use the bathroom. She stepped over him into the restroom, closing the door shut behind her. Michael stood to stare out of the bedroom window.

Yeah, it'd be best for her to forget me as soon as possible. He cast a glance at the closed door. I only wish I could do the same. Michael spread his wings and phased through the window, dropping down to the trio, who were ready to leave.

Chapter 4: Revelations (Pt.4)

Ryan led the group, barreling at full speed. The others struggled to keep up with him except Tracy, who looked like he was holding back. There was barely a comment between the four. The events had left the majority of them in deep stress. Michael, though he honored Peter's sacrifice, had not known him long enough to feel a strong connection to his recent passing. Tracy hid his emotions well and Ryan tried his best. Greg, however, still remained impassive, even with the burning wind drying out their faces.

"Slow," Ryan yelled over the roar of the wind. The group began to ease up on their speed, and they came to a stop over a musky building. The structure was set in a plus sign shape. Broken windows and dirty curtains hung loosely from squares bored into the walls. The door was rotted from the core out; as Michael stooped low to examine it, bugs sprouted from makeshift burrows inside the old wood. He yelped. Ryan hit him playfully then walked through the door. Michael followed hesitantly, and the other two brought up the rear.

Michael dropped his mouth in awe. Inside this building lay another one. It had the same design and was a bit smaller to fit between the space. Instead of a broken down appearance, this one had an almost well-polished sheen to it. The walls of the plus-sign were made of some metal unknown to Michael. He followed Ryan as he phased through the southern end of the structure.

A grandfather clock met his gaze. It stood in the center with an ever-wandering pendulum that swung back and forth, back and forth. He could not decipher the time. Ryan turned to face Michael, a smug look on his face. "This is our home-base. Peter found it one day, and out of the blue, decided to name it our home. The four directions this structure points to represents one thing each." He pointed to where East should be facing. "Greg has taken his spot there. To the east is where the sun rises each morning, bringing hope for all who can see its glorious rays. Greg was categorized there by Peter, wishing that Greg's own hopes would be realized. All Soul Angels were given a direction; for what reason we do not know. And we might not soon, now that Peter..." He coughed. Ryan turned around to point where the West room was.

"There stands Tracy. The sun sets in the West, representing an end to all good things with the silent promise of a new beginning. Tracy has a past he has not shared with anyone except Peter - he still has not revealed it, even to me. I made a mistake using my powers to delve into Peter's mind to gain Greg's secret, so I dare not steal another." Ryan faced North.

"The North and the South directions were always the most controversial. He told us the story of how he spent his days before anyone else had been created like himself to explain them. It goes as such, though I may miss some parts."

'On the coldest mountain I would find myself. Often did I hide here when my mind wandered. The chill was bitter and the temperature was freezing. I always wondered about the strange metallic attraction here. It seems that magnetism, as the humans have so recently discovered the term, affects both humans and us beings. Those who master the North and the South in knowledge not power, differentiating sides but one in the same, will fully understand the trouble I predict for my kind.'

Ryan cleared his throat. "It made no sense to me. Perhaps you can figure it out. Magnets? I didn't know Peter liked playing with petty toys. Peter left me with great knowledge, about 400 years ago, about who was classified in the North and South. This place wasn't always just for the Soul Angels, ya know. Hearties spent their time here with us. Peter cast the Hearties into the North and the SA's into the South. Maybe that story has something to do with our problem now," He laughed. "Nonetheless, since you are the Peacemaker, stay in the North for me. I belong here in this section. Surno will be here shortly; if I am not mistaken, he may have more SA's for you to meet." Michael brooded over the story, feebly trying to decipher it. He walked past the grandfather clock, brushing a hand by it before leaving the center. He stood eagerly in the north section, staring across the hallway at Ryan.

The clock chimed loudly. Once, twice, three times. Michael took in a deep breath. Once, twice, three times again. He exhaled explosively.

The clock let out its seventh chime. Surno dropped down from the ceiling, scanning the filled four directions. Ryan opened his mouth to speak. "Surno, have you heard-"

"Not the time." Ryan scratched at his head, feeling foolish. He did not twitch as another Soul Angel walked casually through the wall and stood beside him. Two others followed; four SA's awaited patiently in the South. Five joined the East. One joined the West. Michael, feeling a bit out-of-place, shifted uneasily. Surno looked at the people present, nodding his head in satisfaction.

"Two days left." His voice echoed to all four sections. Michael detected a hint of... was that unease in his voice? Surno couldn't be showing emotion, could he? He watched intently as Surno brought a hand to his throat, coughing violently. "Greg. Peter would have wanted it." He motioned for him to come closer. Greg, confused, reluctantly drew near to Surno. The masked man gestured for him to hold out his palm. Greg did so, and Surno slapped something into his hand. Greg slyly looked down, mumbling something in return. Surno shook his head. "You have to be," he said loudly. "Souls present today. Spread the news when we have the time. Greg, by order of Peter, is the new Lead Soul. He wanted it this way." Surno bowed his head. He then brought his head closer to Greg's, softly whispering. The other being nodded.

Surno phased through the ceiling. Greg turned to see a smiling Ryan. The grin brought him ease, and he breathed deeply. "Everything we have worked for is about to be set off in two days, people. I know the weaker Soul Angels are in the havens we have prepared. We, the elite, the last hope of an era of peace between our brethren, are all that we have. This is our one shot. If we fail, then humanity will fall with us when they are left in the worthless hands of the Heart Angels. Michael, who stands alone in the North direction, belongs there. He is both a Heart and Soul - Tracy, please don't start singing - both a Heart and Soul Angel. The Peacemaker is his true title. Since Peter has... passed, and I have been designated to be in his place, you all deserve to hear this."

Greg bowed his head low. "Michael, the Peacemaker, must be taken care of. Peter sacrificed his own life to set a protection around his beloved human. I am not saying this to express anger, Michael," He lifted his chin to stare at him. "I do not mean ill intent. Allow me one more statement before you are all dismissed. I am a Heart Angel. Peter held the secret safe for me. A leader should have no secrets of his own, but only hold others' most personal thoughts. I share mine with you today. Entrust in me the same way you trusted Peter, if not better. We honor his memory everyday. Let us fulfill this plan and say it all in his name." A chorus of wings flapping and idle chatter buzzed for a few moments, and soon everyone was gone. Ryan and Tracy had left as well. Michael stood alone in the North end. His gaze rested on Greg's head buried in his hand. The soft sound of sobbing whispered in the echoing room.