The Smiling Man
- Feb 14, 2006
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Kaze, The Ethereal Breeze
"I have been granted the power of the ever-changing wind, and as such, I have given up on my physical life and my physical form. I am the wind.
Just because the blessing of the skies has granted me immortality for my physical form does not mean I did not retain my past memories. In fact, I remember life as a mortal(if you can call it that) like it was yesterday. I remember being the eye-candy of most women my age., even though my real age was much more than my physical appearance hinted towards, I was hit on, and flirted with time after time after time by guys of class, swag, and pig-status. They said my candy-apple, green hair and red eyes was what caught their affection like a fish on a hook.
Oh, wow. Remembering all of that just brought me to how I used to love wearing suggestive outfits just to tease the boys. Considering I was quite curvy, and my figure was quite sexy. Back onto the topic of my outfits, I always dressed in very revealing clothing, but most of the time a midriff,, and short shorts were my chosen attire that came with some elegant, yet comfortable shoes. They were white as a pearl. This always had the boys in a stand-still gaze. This is what prompted them to spread out and hit on me one-on-one.
I’m not even going to lie. I was kind of a slut. I acted as such, as well. I had an attitude, and if I didn’t know any better, my entire young adulthood consisted of bouncing from one bed to another, and this had an effect on how I acted towards men. They were hitting on me so much, I just gave in. Eventually, I got tired of their unoriginal antics that just got real old real fast.
The time for teasing had passed, and I have learned from my mistakes when I look back. I did gain some form of backbone about three decades later, and that’s when the skies came to me with the ultimate proposal. I was going to be condemned to hell. The “savior” or whatever you want to call him, came to me in a dream-like vision. I guess you can call it an enlightenment of salvation. Whatever you want to call it, this vision…well message, is more like it, came to me with a proposal to be saved and granted a permanent spot in the heavens, but the exchange had to be my physical body.
In the end of this all, I became the wind, the ever-changing, always-flowing, guidance for those who lose their ways. In the end of it all, I became the flow of time that continues as each second passes. I am Kaze, the Ethereal Breeze."
“Hey, did it hurt? When you feel from Heaven?”
“Someone call Heaven, because they are missing an angel.”
“I believe I can fly! I believe I can touch the sky! ...”
No, they weren't pick up lines. They were even more asinine in their current context, though –jokes. Or maybe a more appropriate word would be taunts? Would going so far as to call them insults be unfitting? They seemed that way to the girl they were directed at, at least. Especially the entire song about flying. It was made before she even came, but it felt like one big provocation to her.
That girl sat on the cliff overlooking the ocean once again today, hugging her knees and keeping her head upturned to the sky. Somewhere up there was her home, but she cared less about that than how it would feel simply to be able to get close.
Falling angels are not the components of a happy story or a romance, though. Falling from grace- or, maybe not from grace, who's to say, really? Falling from up there, a better world with people like you... It could never be anything less than a tragedy.
But it could be much more. The pain and rehabilitation she had to go through after she fell was pure Hell, and she couldn't recall if she was saying that from Heaven's judgment or some spacecraft. All she knew was that a lot of her bones were broken, and even now that they were fixed, she was missing something vital, something she fully didn't remember having but something she remembered the sensation of using.
She didn't know what she was- an angel or an alien- but whatever it was could fly. With their strong, proud wings, feeling the air thin and the heat rise and the wind blow past and they played in the clouds. Gabriela, for that was the name she was dubbed by those who took her in and adopted her, against the government's wishes of experimentation, could imagine doing that. She closed her eyes as she sat against the ground here, at the highest place she knew, and imagined she was young and flying and free.
The ground only stretched so far, and it pulled her to it, like a prison. Oddly fitting, in her opinion.
The sky, though... the sky was freedom. It was natural; it was wild; it was calming; it was fun.
But as she stood up, ready to jump off the cliff, she remembered what kept her trapped.
The strong wings her species had- the keys to their freedom ad their joy- were no longer with her. Not fully.
So the girl sat down again, spreading her one wing far behind her as the stub of what was left of the other just twitched.
One wing was not her way to the sky. One wing was her curse, to make her remember what she should have had and would never have again. (And it made getting dressed utter torture.)
She remembered when she first arrived here and realized how much she had lost. She remembered how, then, she tore everything that could have such freedom to pieces. The dragonflies, the birds, the bees, the wasps –everything that had the freedom she was now denied. They didn't take it idly, of course. Who would want to lose their passport to the sky, after all? But even after all the bruises and scrapes she got, the girl was lead only by her jealousy. It was amazing how much strength one could muster from simple hatred.
But eventually she grew up. She decided it wasn't fair to take their only happiness from them as it had been taken from her.
Which is why, now, she comes here to the cliff, everyday, to look up at the sky, and long for what she could never have again and for what all those birds and bugs have for their short but happy lives. She sky that seemed to stretch on endlessly, yet had no more space for a broken girl life herself.
And there, everyday, at the beauty of it all, or maybe just from her grief, she wept, with the vast sky, her true home, as her only witness.
The following is an excerpt from the 167th Cronicle of the Gods' War, housed and maintained in Venelatria's Hall of Records and Artifacts:
~Year 227 of the Second Age~
The first pinpricks of light peaked over the vast horizon, setting the sky ablaze in shades of yellow and orange, as the heavy clouds grew a deep red in sight of Holy Laetria's light. The shadows of Hasim grew large beneath the rising light; an omen of what would come, as I shall transcribe below.
A strong wind blew in from the east, bending the grass of the plain to its rhythmic flow. A soft rumble carried in upon its breath; a constant roar that seemed to shake the earth with its roll. I knew instantly what it was, news--as well as myself--arriving well in advance on the wings of a Seraph.
In the far distance--but a tiny speck at the edge of the radiant horizon, a small figure passed into view. First one, then another, then five more. Like ants from a hill, small figures flooded the horizon's edge. But much unlike ants, what marched in with Laetria's warm light at their back were not mere insects to crush under heel; no, these would not fall as easily. For as Laetria's light rose behind the gathering veil of clouds, the Dark God's forces marched toward the Jinan capital, Afzala.
Word had arrived of the Dark God's forces crossing in from the mainland, but their unexpected swiftness left the port city of Muhsin quite undefended and it quickly fell to the army's strength. Armed with powerful war machines, Verdemal's forces cut through the small unit stationed at the port city with ease. Their reaching Hasim meant the other two cities between it and Muhsin had met a similar fate.
The Vampires led the march, their magic parting the grass before the army. Behind them rolled in their war machines: massive tanks, which bore their highly-boasted Linear Plasma Cannons; unstoppable Juggernauts, designed to tear through and divide enemy ranks; and the pride of Vamperic engineering, the deadly Reavers. The Djinn followed the machines, using their magic to remain aloft. The rear of the unit was composed of Trolls, who pushed their simplistic, yet still quite effective, catapults and rams.
And as Verdemal's forces rode in from the east, the Jinan army flew in from the west. Like a rolling thunder, the flapping of the Seraph's wings rumbled in the western sky, the very cadence of wing beats shaking the very air around me like a drum. At their lead, a flaming sword held high overhead, was General Ramiel, mounted proudly atop his wyvern mount. He released a powerful cry--one that pierced the very wind like an arrow--and the Battle of Hasim began...
...and as the Juggernauts broke through the forward unit of the grounded Seraphs and the Trolls charged the divided units, Ramiel met them in the fray, flaming sword drawn. His sword met with the belly of the closest Troll, spilling green innards to the ground. The sword cut clean, slipping through one stomach and into another as the Seraph general maneuvered through the battlefield like an artistic dancer. His rhythmic movements--fluid and bending, like the water passing gently along a stream--wad truly a sight for my eyes that written words cannot do honor. It was simply awe-inspiring.
Ramiel broke through the line of Trolls, felling any that stepped to oppose him, and came to face three Djinn. They launched their magicks at the general, but Ramiel was too swift. His graceful dodge--much akin to a leaf fluttering carelessly in a soft updraft--danced around the powerful arcane and placed himself into an advantageous position. His flaming sword pierced the heart of one of the Djinn, which shuttered once then fell dead. The general raised his hand and from it blew a great gale, launching the two remaining Djinn--along with a few Trolls and Vampires--airborne and deep back into the Dark God's forces...
...As Verdemal's forces advanced and the Jinan army were pushed further back, Ramiel held strong, deep within enemy lines, his two flaming swords drawing Vamperic blood. One after another, the Vampires fell to his blades, and as the general fought on bravely--and truly he did, for in all my years of chronicling this war, I have never seen a more valiant or courageous fighter--the growing ring of Vampires around him cast a gloomy shade upon his fortune.
From among the gathered Vampires stepped one unlike the others. He was far larger than the rest and held about him an air of command and power--not much unlike Ramiel. A large greatsword hung from his hip, its blade ending in a wide arch. The Vampire cracked his knuckles and smiled widely--and while my spell's view was still too far out, I suspect his fangs shown like daggers.
The Vampire charged Ramiel with a speed that belied his size and caught the Seraph off guard. His large fist connected with Ramiel's chin and knocked him from his feet. The Vampire followed with a drop kick, bringing the general down hard. The force left a small crater beneath the Seraph...
...Ramiel's blade dug deep into the Vampire's shoulder, drawing a loud cry of pain from him. The Vampire general threw the Seraph from his back. With a muffled hiss, the Vampire dislodged the blade, its flame leaving a harsh burn along the wound, and threw it aside. As the Vampire general charged him, Ramiel raised his second blade to piece the Vampire's heart. The Vampire, however, was gone, empty air now filling the space he had once occupied. But as quickly as he had disappeared, the Vampire reappeared behind Ramiel and wrapped his massive arms around him, locking his arms and wings securely. Then I watched, in horror, as the Vampire's fangs pierced Ramiel's neck...
...But something was different. This wasn't like the norm and the Vampire noticed it as well, as he withdrew his teeth from the Seraph's neck and released him from his grip. He staggered back, wide-eyed, as Ramiel let loose a ear-piercing cry.
The Seraph's body twisted and contorted and the cracking of bones filled the air. His body swelled, expanding like a zephyr blimp. Ramiel's skin darkened to a thick grey as the integrity of his physical body degraded. Hair, skin, and bone gave form to aerosol as his body became as a cloud. His body expanded with little effort as the once-Seraph grew into a massive monster.
Ramiel let loose a ferocious cry, which sounded like a clap of thunder, and laid its eyes--little more than empty sockets that shined white--upon the Vampires that now stood as ants before him. It was a horrible sight, to see a Seraph of Ramiel's quality twisted into such a horrid creature. It would have brought tears to my eyes, had my entire body not been petrified in fear. Ramiel threw his massive fist at the Vampires and crushed them beneath, washing the ground in their blood. Lightning flew from his fingers and charred the Dark God's forces...
...He took to the sky and melded with the clouds. From them rained cyclones, raining ruin and destruction indiscriminately upon both armies. The war machines were lifted from the ground and tossed across the battlefield, crushing many soldiers beneath them. Both armies fled for their lives, but as the cyclones advanced upon the retreating armies, all hope seemed lost.
But like a sudden gale, the god Shifah descended onto the battlefield. A wondrous sight that words simply cannot describe, the god of wind stood a truly imposing figure amidst the chaos. With a wave of his hand, Shifah dispelled the cyclones and effectively spared both armies.
The thunderous cry of Ramiel--or what was left of him--clapped sharply. The creature's arms dropped from the thick cloud line and his white eyes leered angrily. Ramiel's hand closed shut around the wind god, but as we all well know, such an act was pointless. Ramiel's hand was blown apart by a fierce gust, uncovering Shifah, unscathed.
"Ramiel, my poor general." Shifah spoke with a piercing tone of confidence, though in it could be heard emotions rarely known with the god. His words sent chills up my spine. "I know not what has caused this, but it is most unfortunate. Because of what you have done and what you've become, I must banish you. The clouds shall become your prison and you will overlook these lands forever. And, if you are at all still there, know that I am sorry."
Ramiel let loose another cry as he reached toward the wind god, but as his fingers reached out toward him, his aerosol body began to dissipate. Like dust taken by the wind, Ramiel's figure was blown out with the passing breeze. His cry echoed faintly and the dark clouds overhead parted, Laetria's light shining warmly onto the bloodstained battlefield...
-- Stephen McCoy, 167th Chronicler of the Gods' War