Disclaimer: I seem to own very little in this story. Certainly not Ragnarok online and probably not the majority of the characters.

Dark angel

She didn't know who he was, but he had always been there


They were the palest of green, like newly sprouted stems in the fields of Hugel. A constant reminder of those small fragments of his past, lost amongst masses and masses of red and black that embodied the present

And perhaps it was because of she had eyes of the same colour, that he hadn't killed her. Sometimes he wondered if he had made the right decision. Sometimes he would watch her stare saddened into the distant, knowing it would be merciful if he stopped her endless waiting with a sharpened blade.

The sanctuary of Prontera stood silent, silhouetted in the orange-red blaze of the setting sun. His foot steps soundless, barely marking the brittle, yellowing lawn. The grave stones watched his approaching form lazily, a shadow stretching longer and longer as the sun made its way toward the horizon.

The scent of blood lingered, the same way as he remembered it, the crimson liquid that had once spattered against the grave stones, against the cloths of his assassin's garb and dripping slowly off the katars strapped firmly to his arms.

He wondered often why it was, that he was always reminded of that blood first instead of the better days he spent with the man that had lain silent by his feet on a summer's night fourteen years ago. It was some god's punishment, so he was once told, something he laughed at back then. He didn't believe in gods, he wasn't created by one.

As long as he walked the world, he would always be a reminder what mankind was capable of making. He was born to depth of the Somatology laboratory, awaken to the world in a pod of transparent glass, bathed by the same colorless liquid.

Eremes Guile. It said so on the little yellow tag sticky taped to the vessel that held him. That became his name, something that was shunned, but feared all the same by the city of Lighthalzen.

He was born a killer, a fate bestowed upon him by his creator, who had often tapped carelessly against the glass with a blue tipped pen. Thin man, thick glasses, white flowing coat.

He didn't know what annoyed him more, the tapping, or his tasteless destiny. The same destiny that he now bore in the blood stains on his katars.

He had fought that fate back then, walls torn down, lives destroyed in the mist of his wrath. But in the end, there was little he could do but to back down. It was not for him to choose the reason of his existence.

"Then why do you fight it?"

Darius had asked him that, an assassin like him, who had walked into the Eremes' chamber that day, watching passively by the doorway as Eremes vented the climax of his frustration against white washed walls.

"Who the fuck are you?" He had spat back.

The ivory haired man had said nothing to that, yet merely looked back with those soft green eyes.

It was much later that he was told more of Darius' past, of a creation that was not dissimilar to his own. By then, they had become partners.

Time and time they would sit in silence under the star studded sky in each other's company, after a day of hard sparring, or hunting, or training. Time and time again he would watch his partner with curiosity, pondering the reason behind Darius' acceptance, why he had lived a chosen destiny without complaint. Perhaps it was the same curiosity that strapped Ereme's usual temper in place. And with time, he realized he no longer had the desire to fight his fixed destiny.

Then one day, something out of ordinary entered their world. That something came in the form of a woman, clothed in tattered, dirty rags and smelling faintly of dampened earth and grass.

She came into their chamber in the center of the laboratory one day from a concealed portal that connected the room to the outside through a series of pipes. The slums of Lighthalzen, her attire told of them of it, but not her demeanor. She held the look of someone who had accepted life and what ever it threw at her silently, and bore it with out complaint. It showed, in the sparks of her eyes and the brilliance of her smile.

She often came to stay in their quarters at night, and went home at dawn, when the both of them left for the day's tasks. With time, she and Darius grew close. It showed, the way they gazed at each other, often lost in each other's eyes.

Eremes had to admit he was jealous of the pair. At first it was during the night, when faint whispers from the two would wake him. Then, little by little, Darius began to diverge away, becoming more and more obsessed with her. His eyes would stare vacantly into space during a sparring session, or when the two of them were out gathering items that ticked their creator's fancy.

It saddened Eremes. Like a key, it unlocked the aged fury that had lain dormant for the past years. Arguments were initiated with the tiniest of stimuli, katars drawn against one another with increased frequency. Day after day, it fueled the frustration and resentment, not simply against his partner, but also the wench who had initiated it all.

Darius knew of this, and led the woman away, hoping to shield her from the worst of Eremes' fury. Yet it was not to be, for she soon became pregnant with a child. Eremes was told of this as his partner approached him one day, clutching the hand of the woman whose belly swelled enormously. The requested had been simple. She needed a place to stay.

He was not left without choice, either to refused or sliced her throat with the blades of is own katar, the choice was his. Yet he merely looked into the pale green eyes of his partner, and nodded.

Life revered back to the norm. Gone were the nights when Eremes would lay awake, waiting for that faint creak from the hidden portal that alerted him of his partner's return when Darius went to visit his wench. Of course, Eremes would never admit to this.

By night, they went back to her, bringing her stories of their day adventures. By day, they would leave her on her own, with the door of the chamber firmly locked.

They didn't know how it had happened, but it did. Upon returning to their chambers one night, the woman was gone. Other signs where there, signs that told of struggles. Tables and chairs upturned, sheets ripped and dents marked against the white walls.

It was the first time he saw Darius truly enraged, the way his eyes had flickered ruby, then green, and red again. On the same day, the Somatology lab truly experienced the wrath of a demon.

They found the woman inside one of the discarded rooms, chained to the wall. She was no longer conscious when they approached her, no longer responding as Darius cried out her name.

Erina Sorin, the woman with long blond hair, and eyes of darkest chocolate.

They left the lab with her, sharing her weight between them, and leaving behind a trail of blood and decapitated bodies.

She gave birth to a female child that night, in a tiny mud hut in the slums of Lighthalzen. He didn't know how it was possible, for a woman who was barely alive as herself to successfully complete the parturition. He supposed it was written too, somewhere in the fate that eventually affected them all.

She ceased breathing soon after the delivery. The inhuman howls of anguish echoed inside the small mud, and soar toward the blacked Lighthalzen sky.

The next morning, Darius left, a pale blue bundle strapped to his back, a hut set ablaze, the woman's remains with it.

"Where do you think you're going?"

It was with a tone of accusation that Eremes asked the question behind his partner's turned back, something that was mixed with a hint of desperation, a hint of pain. Darius did not reply, when he gazed back, there were only sorrow in those eyes, no longer a soft green, but hardened with anguish.

That question was never answered.

Eremes had stood rooted to the spot, watching his friend disappear into the dewy Lighthalzen morning and knowing fully that the next time they met; they could very well be at each other's throats.

It was five years later that reports of his partner's location finally came to him. No one could hide forever, no matter how well learnt in the ways of hiding they were. It was inevitable, Eremes supposed, like the way he had returned to the lab soon after his partner's departure.

He hadn't argued when a troop of assassins were dispatched to bring back Darius. None of them returned, however. So it came as no surprise that day, when the task of eliminating the lab's traitor was set stiffly on his shoulders. Eremes said nothing to that, either, yet simply gathered his weapons and set off.

He found his partner, posed as a merchant on the busier parts of Prontera several days later. A young girl with light, blond hair that challenged the brightest of sun's rays sat quietly at his side.

Their eyes met, and resolve dawned upon both of them. Darius smiled then, a sad, accepting smile. Eremes merely stared back, his face an expressionless mask.

It was the night that Eremes would always remember. The way Darius brought his daughter to the gates of the Prontera church, and told her to wait for him. That tender, fatherly look in his eyes spoke louder than any word.

It disgusted Eremes, the same way that the single sentence that Darius had directed at him did, too.

"Promise me something," The Ivory haired assassin had said quietly, as the two stood with katared arms outstretched, damp green grass beneath their feet in the Prontera Sanctuary. "Watch over Margaretha."

Eremes had stiffened at those words, of all the things his partner could have said- begged for mercy, asked for his life. Nothing, Darius accepted the possible outcomes of the duel, and asked for the life and safety of his daughter instead.

It was repulsive, yet Eremes couldn't deny the bitterness he felt hearing those words. His eyes narrowed then and the two sets of katars smashed together, the hollow clash of sparks and steel echoed in the Sanctuary.

They were of equal strength. The days as a merchant on the Prontera streets did nothing to deteriorate Darius' skills as an assassin. But what really boosted his ability was the knowledge that someone was waiting for him to return home to. It was a battle he could not loose.

They fought for hours, neither had an advantage, weapons hissed as it cut through air. The two assassins vanishing and reappearing as their blades danced.

He would have never imagined fate to be so cruel as to dropping something out of ordinary on him at that critical moment. If Eremes knew what was going on back then he wouldn't have lashed out that killing blow. If only he wasn't so absorbed in the battle he would have heard the whistle of the arrow, and the dull thud as it embedded into his partner's back, so deeply that only the blackened shaft showed.

But it wasn't to be. His katar flashed blindingly in the moonlight, the sound of ripping was deafening to his ears as the blades tore through cloths and vital organs. A spurt of crimson liquid splashed onto his face, his garb, dripped off the blades of his katar, his world turned a dark crimson.

His partner stumbled. Before he knew what he was doing, Eremes found himself reaching out, catching Darius as he fell. The both of them tumbled into a heap on dewy grass.

It was a warm summer's evening, the night winds toyed against his mane of dark blue hair, cicadas cried hoarsely in the near by trees. It mattered little to him then, his world spun and the scent of blood assaulted his senses. Amongst it all, his partner's breath came out in small gasps as Eremes looked on, helpless.

"I'm…sorry…" those were the words, from the lips of the dying.

Then, as light faded slowly from those pair of emerald eyes, Darius' body fell limp.

There was that taste of blood in his mouth, Eremes realised. That coppery, salty taste, yet his eyes remained painfully dry. Demons did not cry. Slowly setting down his partner's body, Eremes stood up. His blood red eyes held a murderous shine.

Standing in the shadows, was the form of the hunter, on his forearm, strapped a blue and grey armband, decorated by the fire shaped emblem of Lighthalzen.

What had happened next always laid hazy in Eremes' mind. The summery sounds and whispering winds lingered, but deaf to his ears. His body moved, vanishing into the night air. Seconds later, he reappeared at the side of the hunter, the blades of his katars glowing demonic purple. Soundlessly, he struck the stunned man, blades cutting with no resistant into his body.

That had all happened fourteen years ago.

He watched her often now, Margaretha Sorin, the girl Darius left behind as she lingering by the gates of Prontera church in a garb of pallid crimson, staring into the distant horizon.

She had been left there, beside the gates fourteen years ago.

Fourteen years later, she was still there, waiting.

For that promise that would never be fulfilled, for that person who would never again appear in the horizon.

End of prologue

AN: Prologue revised. Turned out to be longer than the first attempt. There is still a general lack of dialogue and a lack of talent in writing fight scenes. --"