By Corvus no Genmu the Prince of Slumberland
The earth was dying, its energies fading away into nothing and They, the Fallen Ones, were striving even greater than before The Fall. The skies were darkened by their obsidian wings with their sharpened fangs colored deep from the blood of their victims shining in what little rays of light that dared to shine into such a flock of devils. He was wounded, terribly wounded, and He could not gain the necessary time to strengthen Himself, to enhance his powers to the next level. Was it all fruitless after all? Would He fail another civilization and merely watch as their ashes blew to the four winds and remain dormant until the time came once again?
He had been born a protector of civilization, it was His duty and His destiny since He came into existence. He would give everything He could to protect mankind and those that could carry its torch. Though man was unaware, their greatest strength resided not in their ability to adapt to any given situation but to strive forward against anything that stood in their path. This eagerness, this desire to overcome was strongest in man's children for children were, and are, belittled for their naivety, their innocence in life though it is these traits that make them far stronger than their elders.
He could kill man if it was necessary. What was but a mere handful of lives compared to countless more? Why save five when one could save a million? He killed, excessively one would say, but He could not deny the desire to protect the children of man. He had wounded Himself on purpose many a time, taking wounds that could kill Him if they struck proper to save the children.
Because man's strength lies greatest in man's children.
And He knew this.
That was why His mark, His symbol could strengthen His power through the connection of a child, or those close to still being called as such. He needed their strength, their resolve to enhance His own until He didn't need it anymore. He was and is the phoenix of legends past, dying and reincarnating in a grander form than the previous, leaving the bones of His past buried in the tears of the Earth. It took many of His lives and one ultimately powerful loss for His body to gain the strength needed to call the life's blood.
The life's blood of the very Earth itself, that which kept it alive and safe from the Earth's own children.
And He drank from it, took large gulpfulls of it.
Because, it was necessary.
The Intruder could not be beaten by even His power and He was forced to play a final hand against Her. So He called forth the life's blood and drank from it, absorbing its power and releasing it in a single blast that ended His twelth life much sooner the He had expected.
He had died.
But He was stronger.
Then, the Failure emerged, It that dared to call itself a guardian, a protector of man and its children when It merely desired nothing more than to consume them. The Fallen were at least kind enough to kill their victims swiftly, with mercy, but It… It kept them alive as long as It could so that It could drink from their fear, their terror of facing death and its messenger. It had even managed to gain an ally, a child filled with hatred for Him, matching It in Its rage spawned from dark jealousy. The child loved It and saw It as the polar opposite of Him, covering truth with fiction until It did what It had done to the Father.
It betrayed her.
And He… He saved her and did what the Mother could not.
He killed It.
At the cost of His arm.
And now He was marching forward, past the infernos that were created from His battle with It, the useless stump of His arm still bleeding heavily onto the ground, staining it neon green. The gaping hole in His torso was still exposed and one could see through it quite easily. He was in pain and His body cried for the release of Death and the renewal of Life, but He could not pause.
He had to fight.
It was what He was, a guardian of man and of the Earth. He was the embodiment of life and death, of reincarnation and reclaimation. A protector of innocence and a destroyer of sin and He would do all that He could to guard that which He stood for even at the cost of His life. Though the fires raging around Him and the harsh roars of the oncoming flock of Fallen Ones were steady in their large volume, He could hear a final word from His chosen, His ally of yesterdays' past. It was a word of prayer, of self-assurance, of hope, and, in the end of all things, of victory.