Free Web NovelChapter 11: Chapter 11: It’s your Fault
I feared him. I hated him. I loved him. I thought of him as my own. Such words were spoken, exchanged between them. The sons of the creator. The two sons who made the world through his command. Bitter brotherhood, sliced and diced by their fate.
But here they were again, both looking down on earth, both looking at the creation of their father.
"Thus is his fate then, he still lives." The light bringer voiced. His devilish form long gone, his eyes and hair glistening fair, like he was no longer the fallen one.
"Indeed, I had hoped he could finally rest and come to me, but..." said the creator’s champion. His eyes watching Amon’s back, bathing in gold and red.
"He will be angry."
"He will..."
Lucifer stood up, his body clouding with darkness. "I held my part of the deal, Michael. The rest is on you." He said, his body gradually morphing demonic.
Bang!
"No." He said, as he slammed on his chair. "You knew this would happen..."
"Oh, brother." Lucifer replied. "You also knew this would happen. You knew better than me what Amon was. What he had become. But you accepted my deal anyway..."
Michael gradually stood up, his eyes shining golden, piercing the darkness of Lucifer. "You are right, I knew. We both knew what would happen in the end."
The darkness evaporated ever so gradually, but he stood tall, with pride, with arrogance, stepping toward his brother who had once cast him down. His crimson eyes glowing brighter.
"Yes, yes we did." He said, his dark feathers puffing out. "So, your move."
Michael heaved, breathing in and out. His golden gaze reflecting his brother’s crimson glow, then it stopped glowing altogether. "It’s been a while since you called me... brother." He said, easing his aura.
"Felt like it was time." Lucifer replied, his aura too calming down. "For eons we have been fighting, for eons we have suffered."
Michael nodded and sat back in his seat, his hand waving toward Lucifer’s seat. "True, so sit with me... brother." Michael said, inviting him back.
And he sat. Uncomfortable as it may have been, he sat. But who would know, for those few clear seconds, both heaven and hell had held their breath as both of them gazed at the mortal realm, at the immortal man. Amon.
***
Step!
In the muddy, bloody snow, he walked forward, golden blood dripping from his torn clothes, not his own, but from those who had been standing between him and his wife.
And finally, he had reached the top of the mortal realm, Mount Everest. And he saw her. Cold and frozen. Her dark hair so still, even against the storming wind.
He walked further, his eyes not accepting what was in front of him.
He buckled toward her, his legs turning weak.
"Nyima..." he called.
There should have been a fast reply after his call, a reply that was endearing, heartwarming. But there was none. His lips quivered, seeing the frozen blood below her, not having the strength to call her a second time.
He just gripped her cold, frozen hand, his aura spreading around her cold flesh, melting the layer of ice covering her. He knew such efforts were useless, but he still hoped. Maybe, just maybe, some miracle would happen.
He placed his hand on her stomach, split apart by claws.
"Why..." he asked, his voice weak, pulling her body to him, taking her in his arms, holding her tight. "Why did it come to this? Why did you leave me?" He asked her.
But there was no warmth left in the body for a reply. He hugged her tight. No love left, only coldness. That was it.
He didn’t want to, he fought it desperately, but his eyes turned moist. Was it because of him, he thought. Was it because he had come into her life. He didn’t know. He stood up gradually, still carrying her.
"Cheering... Pasang, how will I tell them?" He asked himself. He looked up. "Tell me?" He asked the sky.
"Tell me!?" He shouted, to his former mentor.
"Tell me..." he whispered, to him, to Michael, as his tears dropped from his face, turning to ice before they even touched the snowy ground.
And just like that he vanished in the wind, and in seconds he was before the village, walking weakly, still carrying her. And the moment he entered, the attention of the village was on him, as always.
Before the fire, Cheering was still there, looking at the sky. For some reason his eyes were cold, but some form of light came when he saw the golden hair.
"Amon!" he called as he ran toward him. Even though it was snowing hard, he was still there waiting. "Where did you go? Did you..."
His pace gradually slowed. The joy that had been there when he saw his sister in Amon’s arms, thinking she was safe all along, crashed down into a million pieces.
"Sis...?" He called, but there was no answer. He saw her open stomach and her face cold, her eyes closed, once and for all. And Amon couldn’t even look him in the eye.
"Wh... what happened?" he asked. But Amon didn’t answer, still looking to the side.
Cheering definitely knew what had happened. His instincts, which had been churning since the moment he let his sister go, flashed back to him clearly. That moment, that one clear moment.
"It’s... my fault." He said.
Amon saw him, the ever so confident Cheering, losing that spark of his. "Cheering..." he called.
But no, he stepped back. "It’s... it’s my fault." He said again, turning away and running.
"Cheering!" Amon called again, but he ran, he ran further. While the whole village started to come out of their houses, gathering around Amon. Pasang too walked toward him, holding his cane. He had seen everything and knew everything the moment Amon came to the village.
Amon walked to him, to Pasang. "Pasang... I’m... I’m sorry, it’s my..."
Tuk!
Pasang slammed Amon with his cane. "Yes, everything is your fault, Amon." He said.
Tuk! Tuk! Tuk!
"Everything..."
Tuk!
"Is..."
Tuk!
"Your..."
Tuk!
Someone came in between, holding the old man, stopping him, as Amon had started to bleed from his head where the cane had slammed again and again. It was the first time, the first time for everyone, even Pasang, the oldest among them, to see the golden hair turn red.
"I’m sorry..." Amon said, placing Nyima down, and just vanishing from where he stood.
