Sagrada:Sacred
This is a sort of character history I wrote during the weekend. It stars Arcayn, who is the twin brother of my doll Arcady (known mostly as Kitt). Sorry for the poorly indented paragraphs, though I promise it is a good read. Enjoy :D
“Have you ever wanted death to your own kind? Your entire race: annihilated, destroyed single-handedly by you?” Arcayn asked me calmly, almost matter-of-factly. His movements were languid as he slowly climbed in from the window to my room.
“Well, Mr. Salvatore, will it have anything to do with this interview?” I smiled at him.
“No, I just wanted a nice opening for your English assignment; something for the eye to catch. Nothing more, nothing less.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards slightly. Arcayn isn’t used to smiling much. “And it’s Sky, Marik. You out of everyone should know that.”
“Whatever the case, Sky, we’re here to talk about you: who you are, your hopes and dreams, and maybe even something extra.”
“Crow would have been better for this; Xievel all the more.” Arcayn rolled his eyes.
“Crow is busy tonight and Xievel…well his back story is probably the most over-told tale of all eternity. Doesn’t help either that I’m not on good terms with Mr. Morningstar.”
“I’ve done things, Marik; things I can never be proud of, things I did because I thought it was the right thing to do. Even if I could go back and change everything, none of it would have mattered. I can never take things back now because I know I wanted it. You want to write this?”
“Bring it on, Skyslash. Everyone has a dark side.”
He hesitated to reply, but after some thought complied. I offered him a glass of water.
Arcayn paused and grasped the glass set down before him with his fine-boned fingers. He brought the glass to his lips and drank, his right hand wiping off the excess water that dribbled down to his chin.
“Back then I didn’t carry the name Arcayn Salvatore. Everything started when I lived in the older part of Roma in an orphanage named Little Angels.”
“Well, I don’t think that Little Angels must not have been all that bad. I’m sure you had friends, didn’t you, before Mi-”
“DON’T YOU DARE SAY HIS NAME!”
I cringed at Arcayn’s yelling. His teeth were bared in anger, eyes firing with fury. I decided to let him continue his story. “To answer that question, no: I don’t think I had many friends at Little Angels. No one wanted anything to do with me, even the nuns who ran the place. They had as little as possible to know about me.”
‘His eyes…as if God never had pity on this wretched child!’
‘Go away! We don’t want to play with you, Marco; you’ll give us bad luck!’
“Funny, because everyone thought I was some sort of curse brought to them to atone for the sins of one of the sisters there. Because of the colors you see before you I was usually in my room, reading or longing for the outside; longing for the light.”
The candlelight played upon the blank canvas of Arcayn’s snow-white hair. It made his equally pale skin shimmer with its light. I stole a glance at those eyes, not wavering even when he returned my stare. His eyes have always reminded me of the ocean: silver sea foam dissolving into the clear blue water, the way the silver in his eyes melted towards the pupil into a pale blue. You could say that his eyes did mirror the sea for the farther you looked the deeper you got lost in them. All this, framed by a layer of long pale lashes thin as a pen-stroke. There was something ethereal about the symmetry these colors played for Arcayn: white for his hair and skin, blue for his eyes and clothes. Silver just made him all the more…angelic, so to speak.
“I was reading in the small library the day he came. I overheard the sisters talking about our esteemed guest. As usual, they banished me to the inside. They wouldn’t want me to scare their visitor away. For reasons beyond my own understanding, I still remember the book I was reading when he came into the library. I know because the first words he said to me pertained that book.
‘Ramayana is a much better read than the Mahabharata, you know.’
‘I finished that last week. Rama is a really great archer.’ Marco answered but never looked up from his book. The visitor remained persistent.
‘I’m also an archer too, you know; just like Rama.’ He moved his half-rimmed glasses up his high-bridged nose and smiled softly at him.
‘You don’t look like one.’ Marco finally managed to put his book down at take a good look at this mysterious visitor. This man with his black coat and stark white Roman collar, handling the various library books as if they were made of glass, seemed at that moment to be sent by the Lord Almighty himself.
“From then we talked for a long time, mostly about books because he loved them too. He didn’t shy away from me like the rest. Instead of mocking me because of how I look, he accepted it like it was the most normal thing in the world. In fact, he looked different himself. His hair was a pale platinum blonde and his eyes were different colors: one was silver and the other was blue. I swear at that moment that I thought God took pity on me and offered me one of his Chosen. I felt safe with him. I even shed tears when he decided that he wanted to adopt me.
“As he carried my small suitcase out the orphanage, I walked right by his side. I turned back slowly, just to see what everyone would think. Some children looked back with contempt; envy that I got to leave with someone who would care for me. The sisters wouldn’t meet my gaze, as if they were ashamed to have even thought I was a curse.
Marco studied Father Madsinth more as he drove down the road, furthering away from the orphanage and making their way to the Castel Sant’Angelo, where Father Madsinth was the caretaker of. Marco could not stop looking at his hands: pale and long-fingered, resting on the steering wheel as if he were holding a bow. His fingernails gleamed in the daylight.
‘What’s on your mind?’ he asked him, eyes focused on the road before him.
‘It’s nothing, Father-” Marco was cut off.
‘Miahhel would be fine.’ Marco repeated the name in his head. Mee-ya-hell.
‘We’ll have to do something about Marco though. Think of it as starting over, new name and new life.’ Miahhel smiled at Marco, who returned the smile with a ‘Yes.’ Marco would be no more.
“He re-christened me Arcayn Salvatore, in lieu of the mysterious ways of our Savior. He told me that everything that is happening around us is part of God’s plan, and we should never question his…mysterious ways. ” he chuckled softly. “But for all it was worth, living in Sant’Angelo was not bad. I learned a lot, and anything was better than the orphanage.”
It was almost time for the Angelus and Miahhel was nowhere to be found. Arcayn decided to look for him behind the church as he knew Miahhel liked the quiet the place provided for him. Instead of the usual silence Arcayn heard fast whizzing sounds from beyond the wall that blocked the outside. He went around it and saw him; sleeves rolled up and pale hair sticking to his sweat-drenched brow, shooting arrows against a wooden target. Miahhel took another arrow from the quiver strapped to his thigh and loaded it unto his pearl white bow. The compound bow’s gears started to turn as he pulled the bowstring back until his hand reached his sharp jawline. He concentrated on hitting the target set before him, visualizing the arrow hitting its mark. He heard the soft ‘tap’ of the clicker signaling that this would be the right time to launch his arrow. He let go of the arrow and watched it arc across him and land squarely on the wooden target. Miahhel turned his back when he heard Arcayn clapping in the background.
“See?” Miahhel began to say, “I didn’t I tell you I was an archer?”
“Every afternoon after my classes, he would have me practice shooting at the back of the church. It didn’t take long for me to pick up the skill. In his words, it’s as if I was born for it. Archery was in my blood, that I’m positive about.
Arcayn woke up to a searing pain in his shoulder blades; the throbbing worsened by the minute and the burning sensation grew physically. The pain in his shoulder blades spread to his back, making him arch and push his chest out to accommodate the feeling. His back grew hotter and the pain prickled deeper. He screamed as the pain swelled higher and higher; as if something was clawing its way out from his back, bursting for release. The sound of flesh ripping made him lose himself. His eyes closed; the world darkened before him.
He slowly came to his senses when he felt the cool sensation of the towel Miahhel put on his shoulders. He was lying on his stomach, and he could feel a heavy load on his back. Surely Miahhel wasn’t sitting there or something…
Feathers: he could see snow-white feathers scattered on the mattress. Immediately he sat up on the bed and began to look around him. He was still in his room. From scanning he noticed that his shirt was badly ripped at the back and fell to the base of his bed. He tilted his head to the side when he heard a soft ruffling from behind him. His mouth fell slack and he readied for another scream when Miahhel finally came in to set him right.
“So you’ve seen them.” He stated coolly.
“There…there are…MIAHHEL, THERE ARE-” Arcayn could not bear to confirm it in words. The very thought horrified him to death.
“You’re an angel, Arcayn. I’ve known ever since I met you. I know because I am exactly like you are.” Miahhel once again smiled that familiar, knowing smile of his.
“Let me see them.” I ordered.
“Let me finish first.” He countered. I relented and allowed him to continue. “He told me that I looked like how I look because my blood is an angel’s. I matured faster than the other children because I am an angel. I read books meant for people twice my age because it is my nature. And now as an angel I had to do what the Lord commanded.”
“I was sent here by the Lord to do his bidding; to carry out his command that has stood since the dawn of time.” Miahhel exhaled. “After Lucifael’s rebellion, the fallen angels remained on Earth and in time laid with mortals. Their offspring were called the Nephilim, and they were children born in evil and sin; born with the lust for mankind. My job is to obliterate them and cleanse the Lord’s creation of such mistakes. That is why I need you, Arcayn. You will take up this bow and these arrows and with them annihilate those vicious half-breeds, those reminders of the sins of angels! Your sacrifice of your race will be rewarded greatly in Paradise.”
“And I believed him. From then on I vowed to kill all half-breeds and hybrid angels like I. My kind is the stain upon the image of the Lord and I would do anything to repent for my existence. Nephilim like I were not meant to exist and it is the least I could do for what I am. That is why I accepted his bow and became his weapon.”
He did not know why he felt so paranoid all of the sudden. It’s been two hours and he lost count of the times he’s looked over his shoulder, making sure his trail was his own. He stops in front of an alley entrance and bends over to tie a loose shoelace. He is interrupted when a silver arrow lands to the right of his foot. He looks up: it is nothing. Maybe some archer shot an arrow too high. He sighed and continued his shoelace-tying when the next arrow was in front of him, slick red with his blood. His hand clutches his gut where the arrow shot through. Blood was pouring profusely from the wound, staining his white shirt crimson. He looked behind him to see a young boy, about seventeen years of age standing over him with his large white wings folded at his back. He was getting ready to shoot another arrow.
“I will cleanse Creation with your blood.” He heard him say.
He fell on the street as another arrow made its way to his heart.
“I have lost count on the number of people I killed. He always knew where to find the Nephilim. I kept telling myself that with each kill, the closer I was to earning the right to live in Paradise. Maybe if I killed enough of my kind the angels would welcome me to Heaven.
Four years have passed. Since then Arcayn’s infamy grew to escalating heights. They even found a name to call the Nephilim killer: Skyslash, for he always strikes from above first. Arcayn nodded in agreement when Miahhel told him of his next assignment. He was going to kill a hybrid angel; an angel born of two angels, just like him. Miahhel told him that this Nephilim worked in a club in the city. Arcayn took the assignment without batting an eyelash. He grabbed his bow and set out.
The VampFire was located at the heart of Rome’s nightlife district. Arcayn entered the club with the intention of blood spilling tonight. He made his way through the crowd of black leather and oddly-colored hair and entered the crowded spot in front of the stage. Miahhel’s words came back to him:
“You will find your next target on the stage at this place. Kill him swiftly as is your will and remember: you must place your duties above everything. Paradise is at stake for you.”
His eyes move to the stage as the band members go to their instruments on stage. The guitars, bass and drums are in place. The only person missing is the vocalist. He could almost taste the anticipation of the crowd gathered around him, waiting. At last, the vocalist steps on stage and heads of the microphone. Arcayn’s eyes widened in horror to see the familiarity of his target’s face. The slope of his nose, the angles of his jaw and cheekbones, everything similar save for the color of his eyes and the shock of red hair.
His target turned his head to the crowd and returned Arcayn’s shock. Their eyes met. Where Arcayn’s eyes were the sea, his were like fire: black merging into red at the pupil. It was then that Arcayn finally realized tonight’s assignment. Miahhel just ordered him to kill…
“My twin brother.” Arcayn exhaled and rolled his eyes once more. “And that is how Arcangelo starts. Well, that was fun, Marik.” He got up from his chair and made his way to the window, and stopped. “You never answered my question.” He said as he unfurled his wings. They ripped holes in his black t-shirt. Feathers flew all around my room.
“I’d have to say yes to your question. At one time, I did want it. But then I taught myself to find the good in everyone so I stopped wishing for it. Not every bad person wants to be bad.”
“Give Arcady my regards. He hates that.” He saluted me and flew off into the night.
“Have you ever wanted death to your own kind? Your entire race: annihilated, destroyed single-handedly by you?” Arcayn asked me calmly, almost matter-of-factly. His movements were languid as he slowly climbed in from the window to my room.
“Well, Mr. Salvatore, will it have anything to do with this interview?” I smiled at him.
“No, I just wanted a nice opening for your English assignment; something for the eye to catch. Nothing more, nothing less.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards slightly. Arcayn isn’t used to smiling much. “And it’s Sky, Marik. You out of everyone should know that.”
“Whatever the case, Sky, we’re here to talk about you: who you are, your hopes and dreams, and maybe even something extra.”
“Crow would have been better for this; Xievel all the more.” Arcayn rolled his eyes.
“Crow is busy tonight and Xievel…well his back story is probably the most over-told tale of all eternity. Doesn’t help either that I’m not on good terms with Mr. Morningstar.”
“I’ve done things, Marik; things I can never be proud of, things I did because I thought it was the right thing to do. Even if I could go back and change everything, none of it would have mattered. I can never take things back now because I know I wanted it. You want to write this?”
“Bring it on, Skyslash. Everyone has a dark side.”
He hesitated to reply, but after some thought complied. I offered him a glass of water.
Arcayn paused and grasped the glass set down before him with his fine-boned fingers. He brought the glass to his lips and drank, his right hand wiping off the excess water that dribbled down to his chin.
“Back then I didn’t carry the name Arcayn Salvatore. Everything started when I lived in the older part of Roma in an orphanage named Little Angels.”
“Well, I don’t think that Little Angels must not have been all that bad. I’m sure you had friends, didn’t you, before Mi-”
“DON’T YOU DARE SAY HIS NAME!”
I cringed at Arcayn’s yelling. His teeth were bared in anger, eyes firing with fury. I decided to let him continue his story. “To answer that question, no: I don’t think I had many friends at Little Angels. No one wanted anything to do with me, even the nuns who ran the place. They had as little as possible to know about me.”
‘His eyes…as if God never had pity on this wretched child!’
‘Go away! We don’t want to play with you, Marco; you’ll give us bad luck!’
“Funny, because everyone thought I was some sort of curse brought to them to atone for the sins of one of the sisters there. Because of the colors you see before you I was usually in my room, reading or longing for the outside; longing for the light.”
The candlelight played upon the blank canvas of Arcayn’s snow-white hair. It made his equally pale skin shimmer with its light. I stole a glance at those eyes, not wavering even when he returned my stare. His eyes have always reminded me of the ocean: silver sea foam dissolving into the clear blue water, the way the silver in his eyes melted towards the pupil into a pale blue. You could say that his eyes did mirror the sea for the farther you looked the deeper you got lost in them. All this, framed by a layer of long pale lashes thin as a pen-stroke. There was something ethereal about the symmetry these colors played for Arcayn: white for his hair and skin, blue for his eyes and clothes. Silver just made him all the more…angelic, so to speak.
“I was reading in the small library the day he came. I overheard the sisters talking about our esteemed guest. As usual, they banished me to the inside. They wouldn’t want me to scare their visitor away. For reasons beyond my own understanding, I still remember the book I was reading when he came into the library. I know because the first words he said to me pertained that book.
‘Ramayana is a much better read than the Mahabharata, you know.’
‘I finished that last week. Rama is a really great archer.’ Marco answered but never looked up from his book. The visitor remained persistent.
‘I’m also an archer too, you know; just like Rama.’ He moved his half-rimmed glasses up his high-bridged nose and smiled softly at him.
‘You don’t look like one.’ Marco finally managed to put his book down at take a good look at this mysterious visitor. This man with his black coat and stark white Roman collar, handling the various library books as if they were made of glass, seemed at that moment to be sent by the Lord Almighty himself.
“From then we talked for a long time, mostly about books because he loved them too. He didn’t shy away from me like the rest. Instead of mocking me because of how I look, he accepted it like it was the most normal thing in the world. In fact, he looked different himself. His hair was a pale platinum blonde and his eyes were different colors: one was silver and the other was blue. I swear at that moment that I thought God took pity on me and offered me one of his Chosen. I felt safe with him. I even shed tears when he decided that he wanted to adopt me.
“As he carried my small suitcase out the orphanage, I walked right by his side. I turned back slowly, just to see what everyone would think. Some children looked back with contempt; envy that I got to leave with someone who would care for me. The sisters wouldn’t meet my gaze, as if they were ashamed to have even thought I was a curse.
Marco studied Father Madsinth more as he drove down the road, furthering away from the orphanage and making their way to the Castel Sant’Angelo, where Father Madsinth was the caretaker of. Marco could not stop looking at his hands: pale and long-fingered, resting on the steering wheel as if he were holding a bow. His fingernails gleamed in the daylight.
‘What’s on your mind?’ he asked him, eyes focused on the road before him.
‘It’s nothing, Father-” Marco was cut off.
‘Miahhel would be fine.’ Marco repeated the name in his head. Mee-ya-hell.
‘We’ll have to do something about Marco though. Think of it as starting over, new name and new life.’ Miahhel smiled at Marco, who returned the smile with a ‘Yes.’ Marco would be no more.
“He re-christened me Arcayn Salvatore, in lieu of the mysterious ways of our Savior. He told me that everything that is happening around us is part of God’s plan, and we should never question his…mysterious ways. ” he chuckled softly. “But for all it was worth, living in Sant’Angelo was not bad. I learned a lot, and anything was better than the orphanage.”
It was almost time for the Angelus and Miahhel was nowhere to be found. Arcayn decided to look for him behind the church as he knew Miahhel liked the quiet the place provided for him. Instead of the usual silence Arcayn heard fast whizzing sounds from beyond the wall that blocked the outside. He went around it and saw him; sleeves rolled up and pale hair sticking to his sweat-drenched brow, shooting arrows against a wooden target. Miahhel took another arrow from the quiver strapped to his thigh and loaded it unto his pearl white bow. The compound bow’s gears started to turn as he pulled the bowstring back until his hand reached his sharp jawline. He concentrated on hitting the target set before him, visualizing the arrow hitting its mark. He heard the soft ‘tap’ of the clicker signaling that this would be the right time to launch his arrow. He let go of the arrow and watched it arc across him and land squarely on the wooden target. Miahhel turned his back when he heard Arcayn clapping in the background.
“See?” Miahhel began to say, “I didn’t I tell you I was an archer?”
“Every afternoon after my classes, he would have me practice shooting at the back of the church. It didn’t take long for me to pick up the skill. In his words, it’s as if I was born for it. Archery was in my blood, that I’m positive about.
Arcayn woke up to a searing pain in his shoulder blades; the throbbing worsened by the minute and the burning sensation grew physically. The pain in his shoulder blades spread to his back, making him arch and push his chest out to accommodate the feeling. His back grew hotter and the pain prickled deeper. He screamed as the pain swelled higher and higher; as if something was clawing its way out from his back, bursting for release. The sound of flesh ripping made him lose himself. His eyes closed; the world darkened before him.
He slowly came to his senses when he felt the cool sensation of the towel Miahhel put on his shoulders. He was lying on his stomach, and he could feel a heavy load on his back. Surely Miahhel wasn’t sitting there or something…
Feathers: he could see snow-white feathers scattered on the mattress. Immediately he sat up on the bed and began to look around him. He was still in his room. From scanning he noticed that his shirt was badly ripped at the back and fell to the base of his bed. He tilted his head to the side when he heard a soft ruffling from behind him. His mouth fell slack and he readied for another scream when Miahhel finally came in to set him right.
“So you’ve seen them.” He stated coolly.
“There…there are…MIAHHEL, THERE ARE-” Arcayn could not bear to confirm it in words. The very thought horrified him to death.
“You’re an angel, Arcayn. I’ve known ever since I met you. I know because I am exactly like you are.” Miahhel once again smiled that familiar, knowing smile of his.
“Let me see them.” I ordered.
“Let me finish first.” He countered. I relented and allowed him to continue. “He told me that I looked like how I look because my blood is an angel’s. I matured faster than the other children because I am an angel. I read books meant for people twice my age because it is my nature. And now as an angel I had to do what the Lord commanded.”
“I was sent here by the Lord to do his bidding; to carry out his command that has stood since the dawn of time.” Miahhel exhaled. “After Lucifael’s rebellion, the fallen angels remained on Earth and in time laid with mortals. Their offspring were called the Nephilim, and they were children born in evil and sin; born with the lust for mankind. My job is to obliterate them and cleanse the Lord’s creation of such mistakes. That is why I need you, Arcayn. You will take up this bow and these arrows and with them annihilate those vicious half-breeds, those reminders of the sins of angels! Your sacrifice of your race will be rewarded greatly in Paradise.”
“And I believed him. From then on I vowed to kill all half-breeds and hybrid angels like I. My kind is the stain upon the image of the Lord and I would do anything to repent for my existence. Nephilim like I were not meant to exist and it is the least I could do for what I am. That is why I accepted his bow and became his weapon.”
He did not know why he felt so paranoid all of the sudden. It’s been two hours and he lost count of the times he’s looked over his shoulder, making sure his trail was his own. He stops in front of an alley entrance and bends over to tie a loose shoelace. He is interrupted when a silver arrow lands to the right of his foot. He looks up: it is nothing. Maybe some archer shot an arrow too high. He sighed and continued his shoelace-tying when the next arrow was in front of him, slick red with his blood. His hand clutches his gut where the arrow shot through. Blood was pouring profusely from the wound, staining his white shirt crimson. He looked behind him to see a young boy, about seventeen years of age standing over him with his large white wings folded at his back. He was getting ready to shoot another arrow.
“I will cleanse Creation with your blood.” He heard him say.
He fell on the street as another arrow made its way to his heart.
“I have lost count on the number of people I killed. He always knew where to find the Nephilim. I kept telling myself that with each kill, the closer I was to earning the right to live in Paradise. Maybe if I killed enough of my kind the angels would welcome me to Heaven.
Four years have passed. Since then Arcayn’s infamy grew to escalating heights. They even found a name to call the Nephilim killer: Skyslash, for he always strikes from above first. Arcayn nodded in agreement when Miahhel told him of his next assignment. He was going to kill a hybrid angel; an angel born of two angels, just like him. Miahhel told him that this Nephilim worked in a club in the city. Arcayn took the assignment without batting an eyelash. He grabbed his bow and set out.
The VampFire was located at the heart of Rome’s nightlife district. Arcayn entered the club with the intention of blood spilling tonight. He made his way through the crowd of black leather and oddly-colored hair and entered the crowded spot in front of the stage. Miahhel’s words came back to him:
“You will find your next target on the stage at this place. Kill him swiftly as is your will and remember: you must place your duties above everything. Paradise is at stake for you.”
His eyes move to the stage as the band members go to their instruments on stage. The guitars, bass and drums are in place. The only person missing is the vocalist. He could almost taste the anticipation of the crowd gathered around him, waiting. At last, the vocalist steps on stage and heads of the microphone. Arcayn’s eyes widened in horror to see the familiarity of his target’s face. The slope of his nose, the angles of his jaw and cheekbones, everything similar save for the color of his eyes and the shock of red hair.
His target turned his head to the crowd and returned Arcayn’s shock. Their eyes met. Where Arcayn’s eyes were the sea, his were like fire: black merging into red at the pupil. It was then that Arcayn finally realized tonight’s assignment. Miahhel just ordered him to kill…
“My twin brother.” Arcayn exhaled and rolled his eyes once more. “And that is how Arcangelo starts. Well, that was fun, Marik.” He got up from his chair and made his way to the window, and stopped. “You never answered my question.” He said as he unfurled his wings. They ripped holes in his black t-shirt. Feathers flew all around my room.
“I’d have to say yes to your question. At one time, I did want it. But then I taught myself to find the good in everyone so I stopped wishing for it. Not every bad person wants to be bad.”
“Give Arcady my regards. He hates that.” He saluted me and flew off into the night.