The Angels from Hell

This won't be a real book, most likely a collection of chapters like Saving Grace.

He opened his eyes, and they were filled with lights and shadow. A sliver of a moon was visible in the sky; all of the stars and planets were shrouded by a thick layer of smog. He looked down at the skyscrapers with their lit windows, but these lights were static, dead. Unlike the moon, they did not waver or change.

"What a disgusting city," he said. He inhaled the smell of trash and gasoline. He exhaled the stench with a philosophical sigh, "What a perfect place for me."

He looked left and right. Creaking swings, rusty teeter-totters, faded plastic climbing towers and sickly trees surrounded. Perhaps once this was a place of joy, but it looked impossible that any child would ever laugh in this park tonight. Cars lay parked across the street. He uncaringly walked over to them; no traffic crossed the still avenue.

The rear-view mirror showed his face. About sixteen years old, lightly tanned skin, Caucasian features, pitch black hair, and maroon eyes. The last three would be a problem. Caucasians wouldn't naturally have hair that color, and the eyes by themselves were quite unusual. He turned his face from side to side to get a better look at it, to memorize it. Even though his appearance was strange, it was still believable. The disguise was clearly working.

His shadow slowly turned about his feet as he walked by each streetlight. It would start behind him, then migrate to his right as he got closer and closer to the light on his left side. Then would come the moment where he passed the streetlight, and his shadow would swing around and walk ahead of him. No matter where it was, the shadow always stayed anchored at his feet. "But doesn't it will all humans?" he muttered and smirked.

A noise caught his attention. It was nothing, merely a shuffle; he couldn't even describe it more than that. But it carried an extrasensory weight to it that turned his body about to walk him down a dark, rubbish-filled alley. If it had weight, its gravity was drawing him in.

He saw what he was looking for. Five people standing in a circle in the alley directly across the street from this one. More accurately, it was three men standing in a semicircle around a teenage boy and girl. They former were confident, threatening, and the couple was scared, panicked. The incoming boy quickened his pace.

"We're only going to be polite one more time, then we'll be forceful. Give us your bag, we'll look through it, then give it back." The voice was a failed attempt at sing-song. It was a fluid American accent despite its owner's clearly Mexican complexion.

"Go to hell!" the defending boy declared.

A fist tattooed with an artful cross swung out from the shadows and struck the boy in the temple, knocking him into unconsciousness. The girl screamed and then squatted down to check his condition.

"Now that wasn't very nice," taunted the new boy as he strode over to the scene.

"Who the hell are you?" the Mexican demanded.

"'Who the Hell' indeed" he teased.

"This' got nothing to do with you boy, clear out!"

"I don't think so." His eyes narrowed. He issued his challenge, "How about you clear out, or else I promise to put up a much better fight than that poor b*****d," ending with a gesture at the boy on the ground. The girl still occupied herself with him; she had not looked his way once.

The Mexican drew and extended a switchblade from his pocket. "Then we'll fight!" he shouted. Charging forward, he led his two comrades into battle.

The boy's eyes widened, but not in fear. A sick, twisted grin spread across his face. His movements required no thought as he ducked and twisted, under, around, and through his enemies, giving a flurry of fists, feet, elbows, and knees to counter theirs. They were slow, he thought as he let a punch glide past his ear. He stepped behind the man, planted a hand on the ground, and spun upon it like a top to deliver both of his feet into another attacker who faced him at the moment. A few seconds later, all three men lay bleeding and unconscious on the brick of the alley.

How good it felt! To feel his muscles turn to steel, to feel a man's flesh give way beneath his own. From within his chest and out his throat came a laugh. It sounded hollow at first, but grew to a proud sound of triumph.

He stopped himself, for behind his back he could hear the deep anxious breathing of the girl. He turned to look at her. She startled back. A moment of confusion passed before the boy put his fingertips to his face. There it was, a line of blood oozing from each tear duct in a streak down his face. He sighed, and the sound came out as a hiss. His teeth were now pointed, and tightly interlocked, the tip of each one fitting perfectly into the space between the bases of the two across from it. He was still wearing his evil grin, he was sure. His disguise had faded. Now it was no surprise what startled her.

What should he say? Any approach would frighten the already traumatized girl. He decided it would be best to leave her alone; the thugs were incapacitated, and her friend was stirring awake. She was safe now.

"Go home," he spoke, attempting to make his voice sound as natural as possible, which is difficult when one's mouth is formed into a permanent grin and its teeth are not shaped for speech.

He turned and quickly strode away, down the street into its alternating patches of shadow and light.

"Damn. How the hell will anything feel normal now?" Raymond said in a voice that Kristen thought was all too whining. The school cafeteria was a mess of noise and clumsy students. Raymond was fruitlessly trying to cut up a tough slice of ham with only his right hand, for the other was gingerly caressing a deep bruise covering his entire left eye.

"Get over it," She scolded. "You're supposed to be the man here."

He sighed. "I already failed that yesterday. There I was, trying to be tough, standing up for you, and I get KO'd with one hit.

A boy that neither of them knew sat down across from the two of them. "You guys look nice enough, mind if I join you?"

"Go ahead," Raymond and Kristen said simultaneously. It was only then that they realized how strange he looked. Black hair and maroon eyes. It was not anything one would question if they saw him at a distance, but for the short space across the lunch table, his appearance immediately caught their attention. Kristen was certain she had not ever seen him before; she would have remembered a face like that.

"I don't recognize you," she said. "Are you new here?"

"Just started today," he answered. His voice was low, but cool and smooth, like there was nothing in the world to fear. "It's my first time experiencing a big city too."

"Well, welcome," offered Raymond with a forced smile. "Are your eyes naturally that color?"

"Raymond!" exclaimed Kristen.

"Well, sor-ry, but I had to ask. It was bothering me."

The boy in question snorted a sort of laugh. "If you must know, yes they are."

"What were your parents then, to give eyes that color?" Raymond no longer cared about being rude; his curiosity had taken over.

"My parents?" He seemed shocked at the direction this had turned. He hesitated, as if thinking about his next line, "I never knew my parents."

"Don't you have a photograph, or anything?"

"Yeah...one."

"Well, show it to me sometime, I want to see what genes give a kid red eyes."

"They're not red," he said defensively.

"Well, could I see it?" Raymond repeated, unashamed.

Kristen could almost visible see wheels and gears turning inside his head. "No," he said finally.

Raymond spat out a long, purposefully annoying sigh. "About time you shut up," sneered Kristen, "before he asks you what happened to your own, sorry eye."

She now turned her attention onto the new boy. "Forgive my rude friend, we never asked you name."

"Rath." he said, provoking confused but all-too interested glances from the other two. "Rath Mordecai."

"What the hell kind of a name is Rath Mordecai?" spat out Raymond.

Rath smiled smugly. "'What the Hell', indeed."

What's that supposed to mean?!"

The smug smile broke. "Oh. Nothing."

"God damn it!" Kristen said, directed mostly as a soliloquy, but intentionally loud enough for the four, cornering men to hear, "This is the second time I've been robbed it two weeks."

"Then you know the drill," the most muscular of them said, smiling. "Pay up!"

Kristen looked around at each of them, hoping to get clear enough views of faces to identify to the police. All except the tall, burly one wore large hoods, adding further shadow to features darkened by the unlit alley. Kristen thought she would be safer here, far away from the neighborhood where her and Raymond were assaulted two weeks ago. But, as she now learned, gangs of more than just Mexicans patrolled the streets late at night, for all four men had white skin.

A car drove past, unaware of the encounter in the alley less than ten meters away. In the fleeting light it cast, each face was partially revealed, and Kristen gasped once it past the shortest gangster.

Maroon.

She daringly stepped forward and tore the hood back away from his face. "Rath." she whispered.

The other three looked on intently. "Do you know her?" the muscular leader demanded.

Rath looked her straight in the eye. "No," he glared, and he stepped back farther into the shadows.

"Well, pretty lady, looks like you-" A pair of open palms arced from behind, connecting simultaneously on the sides of the giant man's head. His eyes flew upwards as he fell forward onto the ground, forcing Kristen to jump evasively, giving a short shriek as she did so.

Men wheeled about, performing a quick search for their assailant. It was undoubtedly Rath; he stood in position directly behind the titan as he fell. One rushed Rath, and the boy delivered five short, quick, but no less powerful punches to various points on the torso and face. He turned on his heel just in time to grab and stop a hook from the other man. Frustrated at his failure, he howled and swung his other fist, which was also caught. Rath now held both of his attacker's hands, albeit with his own arms crossed. The gangster grinned as he saw this advantage, but before he could overpower the boy in his weakened state Rath spun backwards once again, uncrossing his arms as he did so. Continuing from this he pulled the man over his head in an amazing feat of strength and swung him crashing down onto the concrete in front. Without missing a beat, Rath hopped onto the chest of the still-conscious man and gripped one of his hands around his throat. This was not meant to strangle, but to choke blood supply to the brain. The futile movements of the restrained man quickly ceased. Kristen knew enough about anatomy to realize that he was not dead, but if Rath chose to continue, he would be soon.

An overwhelm of shock caught Kristen's gasp in her throat. Eyes glowed bright blood red as Rath watched his dying victim. A fluid, too dark to be tears, ran down his face at his merciless slaughter. And a mouth of pointed, interlocking teeth grinned with delight at the power beneath his sharpened fingertips.

Rath had become a monster, but possibly what affected Kristen the most was that it was one she recognized. These were the same features she saw on the face of the brutal fighter weeks ago. He had saved her then, and had saved her again now, but at the moment he was going to...

"Stop it!" Kristen shouted, a sound that echoed down the narrow alley and back.

Rath looked up, unhastened by the volume and force in her voice. He released his grip and rose to his feet. He stepped toward her, and she stepped back. Soon, she felt bricks at he back, and could retreat no further. He closed the distance and trapped her between his arms as he planted his palms on the wall behind.

"The world is a disgusting, cruel place, filled with disgusting, cruel people." The cool, confident voice had been completely replaced by a menacing whisper. His sharp teeth and stiff, grimaced lips dominated Kristen's vision. "Do you think he would have showed you the same kindness? He killed a woman before, in the same way I almost killed him. And I guarantee you that he would not hesitate. I see the evil inside all minds. I might as well be the Devil himself."

He leaned impossibly closer to the girl's face. He opened his teeth to speak but she interrupted him. "Not all people are disgusting and cruel, only a few are." The demon Rath cocked his head slightly to the side, but his face did not change. Sensing she had found an opening, Kristen continued, "There's Raymond, who's rude, but he risked everything and tried to save me, even though he's useless. And, and, there's my other friends too, who would never betray each other or break a promise, and," she paused. "And then there's you."

Whatever slight motion existed in Rath's face vanished completely. "You're like a hero rising from the shadows to save people in danger the only way you know how. You see the evil in men's hearts and do everything you can to stop it. That man you tried to kill, you tried to because..." She gulped. She was about to enter shaky ground, having little proof that what she would say would be true, or even if it was, how the violent demon before her would react. "Because...you worried about me."

Rath's locked face suddenly loosened and softened, as did the rest of his body. He stepped away, giving her some space. His arms hung, though not limply, at his sides. To Kristen's repressed relief, his eyes ceased their glow and dulled to their normal maroon. His teeth flattened and the blood from his tear ducts soaked into his skin and disappeared. Bone-hard, sharpened fingertips returned to their blunt human form. Now he was the Rath she remembered, the one she had met only two weeks before. She found her face slipping into a smile, and could not figure out why.

Rath looked at her, his expression numb and untraceable. He spoke in yet another voice, this one low-toned but natural. "Let's go. I'll walk you home."

"Sure," she said, and the two of them walked side-by-side out of the shadowed alley into the relatively illuminated sidewalk.

He opened his eyes, and they were filled with the soft morning light flooding through the window. This would be another beautiful day in a calm, small town. Here, violence stayed a good distance away. "What a wonderful town," he whispered, reminding himself of the pleasant life he now lived. "What a perfect place for me."

He rose from his bed and put on his tee-shirt, jeans and socks which lay folded in a neat pile on the carpeted floor. Next to be given attention to was his hair. He wet a comb with the bathroom sink and ran it through his medium-length black waves, aligning them to a decent order. After finishing knotting his shoelaces, he was ready to leave. Breakfast was unnecessary, for as long as he had sleep, his body demanded less food, and vice-versa.

The whole morning ritual took less than five minutes. Bright and confident, the teenage boy stepped out the door of his apartment and headed for school.

Autumn had only begun, observed by the fact that no leaves had fallen, but on every block, at least one tree bore yellow colors.

Many such trees were passed on the trip through the town. Twenty minutes and two kilometers brought him from his home to his school. "My real home," he spoke to himself.

"Hey there, Ethan," came a cheery voice from behind, just as he was about to open the windowed doors to enter the tan-bricked building. It was Bruce, the only one on the football team with a faster sprinting time than him. This feat contributed most to his rank as the star running-back. Looking at Bruce, it wasn't surprising. He was slightly less than average height, had a narrow chest, and no fat, only a moderate layer of muscle covered his arms and legs. A permanent smirk was adhered to his face; the only change in expression came through his eyes. "Ready for practice tonight, Bro?"

Ethan looked slightly down and smirked as well. "Sure am."

"Ready to show off your muscles, Superman?" Bruce continued.

He looked down at himself, examining and flexing his arms and chest with exaggerated pride. One hundred-eighty centimeters tall, his broad chest and mildly bulky arms completed an impressive figure. His appearance, however, was not what Bruce was primarily referring to. Anybody that knew, or at least knew of Ethan, knew that he was even stronger than he looked. Even with his figure, he could outrun every student in the school except for Bruce at short distances. At long, endurance-based exercises, Ethan was unmatched, never slowing a bit as he drew on his bottomless stamina. This barely-believable ability earned him nicknames such as "Superman", "Turbine", and even "Demon".

Reviews

[AHeartOnMyWrist -Kriste..]

I really love this one so far, I'm looking forward to reading what you come up with next! ^-^