Vanguard
His cold eyes narrowed. In the end, his faith and struggles amounted to nothing. Impaled and hung towards the heavens, the puppet of God shone with otherworldly radiance under the sun. Even in death, he was showered with the light of the gods. But they would grant him no salvation, the dead had no need for such a thing in the first place.
And then, a miracle happened. As if brought back to life, the phantom gripped his blade and roared a declaration that shook Vanguard. His eyes widened, and without even realizing it he took a step back.
What!?
Could it be that that man had made him feel fear!? No, impossible! Absurd!! This notion was nothing more than rubbish, but for a second he felt that if he did not deal with that man adequately he would be the one to perish. Despite having no life, his metallic body instinctively chose the path of self preservation and dispelled his weapon. That was all.
With a swift motion, he grabbed the holy man's face and ruthlessly charged without a shred of hesitation, as if he was possessed by the devil himself. He ran with the wounded man's face in his hand and slammed him straight into a pillar, causing fire to erupt from the holy man's back as his limbs burned away into ash. There was no escape, no mercy in his grip, nothing but wrath and desperation.
But at the last second, he let go. In that moment, a second miracle occurred. The servant had been ravaged, his body close to complete destruction.
His grip was enough to crush metal like a vice, and with no pity he threw the body out of his way. Despite the moment being short, it seemed to stretch forever as if time was frozen. Or perhaps Vanguard himself was frozen.
His face was hidden from that man, all the holy man could see was his back. The only thing that could be heard were his solemn words.
"Your faith was superb. If your strength was able to match it, you would have been able to best me."
Leo ISo thats it? I don't understand. Why did I lose? I am the pope, god's translator....
A torrent of rain covered the landscape. A rich city once filled with life cowered inside the sanctity of their own homes, all because of simple raindrops. It was a silly thought, the idea that people hid in their homes because they were afraid of rain. Then again, one wouldn't expect the pope of rome to be sitting outside a small church pondering such a absurd notion.
Among the sound of a million droplets of rain striking the ground, footsteps rushing through the streets could be heard. As it came closer, the pope could hear panting overpowering the loud roar of the rain shower. The boy, soaked head to toe had rushed to the church with a bible in hand. A frown of bewilderment overcame the preist's face, but nonetheless, he guided the boy inside.
There was a moment of silence, a moment where all that could be heard was the sound of drops striking the window's of the church. The boy glanced up at the pope and held out the bible. "I don't understand this book,"
"Excuse me child? What do you mean you don't understand?"
"This book doesn't make sense. Why would Adam and Eve consume the apple when tempted by the devil, some guy they don't know?"
"Words are far more powerful then you may think," the priest said after some thought. "They hold the power to change hearts and minds, even with resistance."
The boy glared at him. He was clearly displeased with this answer. "But if some guy I didn't know told me to eat an apple, I wouldn't do it! Thats silly! Did god make us stupid?"
The priest laughed. Such genuine criticism could only come from the mind of a child. Men grow old and feeble, curropted by their experince. As they grow smarter, they sometimes fail to ask such simple questions. A simple question required a simple answer.
"God made us strong. God made us smart. God made us resourceful. But God did not keep us from being foolish. Tell me, don't you think its silly to run in a rainstorm like this just to satisfy your curiosity."
The boy smiled. "But it makes me happy!"
The priest's flew silently into the pillar, a cold stare accompanying his flight. There was so much to say to the man. As much he hated to admit it, he felt as though the two had something in common. It was something so simple, yet so central to their very soul. But maybe it didn't matter. In the heat of the moment, when their fists clash, the extraneous nature of human communication becomes moot and a strange intimacy is created. That is why he probably would never need to tell him a word.
The priest's body finally struck the pillar, his body being engulfed by flames. However, there was something almost ethereal about the way in which he was burned. The fire was not orange, but a rainbow of color and heat. The energy generated from the flames was as varied as the human heart that it burned. The pope rose to his feet with a fluidity that was just plain unnatural for a man dying. Indeed, it was far more like his body and soul had merged, becoming a true ghost.
"I disagree," the priest said. "It was not strength that won you this fight."
A slow step marked his approach and the priest gave the demon a somber smile. "The difference between you and I is that you were not bound by the foolish whims of obligation, but as such you will never enjoy its shelter. For the first time in his entire life, the priest turned away from someone he was talking too. His eyes lingered on the dawn. The faced that returned was screwed up in pain. "You... you once gave your heart to faith too didn't you?"
