Rebirth.

Now this is the rebirth of Obsidian, I am working on this Manus where the Nine are brought to our world, in the future, to destroy and recreate. Anywho, yea, I hope you enjoy. I won't say much more about it, but, it might be a bit cruel.

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A christmas Carol

Christmas night, every child sleeping peacefully in their beds; and every parent still up, preparing for the big day tomorrow morning. The slow falling of snow from the sky, Christmas has come, and so will the joy. But for one creature on this god forsaken earth, the joy was a dream, and Santa didn’t come. He was but fourteen years old, but already cursed by a terrible fate. His shelter, sanctuary, was a church that had long been closed down, replaced by a newer, smarter model. But the building still stood, in this forsaken neighborhood, where the people now had to walk for ten minutes to get to a church. There once had been light inside the building, but darkness had fallen inside of it. Everyone had said their goodbyes to the sad angel statues, the figurines that cried when no one looked, they were as lonely as this child, who was lost, and could never go home. He had been told terrible things, and in the end driven to say goodbye to all the shelter that family provided. Like the angels, he had been alone when he said goodbyes to his friends, to security, to love and happiness. He was sitting between them now, and they looked at him, oh if they were alive, they would provide him with new shelter, save this poor child, but they were statues, only able to cry when they were alone.

His name was Junior, Arthur Junior. His father had been a wealthy and powerful man, and proud of his wife to carry a son as their firstborn. He was a child with the best beginning in life, and what drove him to run away was a faith no one would expect to happen to him. His family had given up searching for him, it had been two years now, and no word, still no word from their son, their light. His mother had been touched by grief, utter despair and driven mad. His father buried himself in work, fighting for his sanity to stay put. Booze soothed the father’s mind, where drugs soothed the mothers. But there was nothing to soothe this child’s mind, here at Christmas Night. His green eyes stared at the figure hanging on the cross. Jesus Christ didn’t look back, for he was but a statue himself, and the thought of salvation from this man carved in wood, did not cross the boys mind no more. He had given up hope, he had decided to give into faith.

His eyes were a poisonous green color, they had not always been like that, he was born with blue eyes, and blonde hair. He had been a pretty child, now he was a horror to look upon. The hair was silvery white, aged before time, and his eyes had changed to that dreadful color. An alien creation attempted to crawl free on his back, and it hurt him every second, as the skin broke a little, hour for hour it stretched and itched on his back, the pain was sometimes too much for him to handle and he would pass out for a day. But the alien had yet to crawl out of him, whatever it was.

No loyal friend had been there for him, they had all forgotten him, or abandoned him, he was no longer a missing child, he had been stored away somewhere. He cried as he leaned his head upon the bench he was sitting up against. His feet touched the opposite bench but he was yet not tall enough to kick upon the bench in front of him, or maybe the walk to the alter was just too wide. He could hear the silent whisper of the wind, pitying him for his terrible faith, but he forgave it not, it had no reason to show him pity, it did not know what it meant to suffer, not when it was caught in a tree did it suffer, it was unable to.

And that was when he heard the footsteps. A figure of some importance for this poor boy, and the child turned his head but slightly, to study the person.
“You are causing a spectacle” the male voice spoke, broke the silence so brutally it would hardly ever forgive him. The child studied him still, without a word. “I can feel the sadness you create child, make it stop, before it destroys us both.” The man walked towards him. He was not tall, yet not small neither. His hair was envied its color by the shadows, and his face was plain and ordinary, not to recognize from a crowd. He carried his dark color of dressing with respect and pride, and he was a person of respect and authority, yet what did he do in a church at this hour. The child wondered the same, and arose to his feet with some complications. He had been sitting there too long, it was almost as if he had forgotten how to stand again, as if his body had decided to give up, and die on that depressing spot. “… W…w…who are you?” he stuttered a bit, his body had forgotten the ability to speech as well and he had to force words upon his lips. “I am far from your salvation, yet I am here to bring you from this place. To warm your body and feed your hunger.” The child did not understand and question was painted upon his face. “I have seen you before.” “Indeed you have, last time I was in your dreams. Tell me child, do you fear to dream now?” The child nodded slowly. “Will you take me there?” “I will; it is time.” The child nodded again. “And I will no longer be this, sad creation?” “No…” The child nodded his third time. “Then take me now, Death.” The Death smirked lightly and extended a hand. “Then follow me.” And the child took his hand, he left the body that had been his prison for so long, and followed Death, leaving the shell behind to make room for its new host. And the Nine was again complete, with the birth of Obsidian, the controller of Sin. The boy was no more, Death feasted on his soul. Finally the Alien growth could be let loose, and Obsidian stretched his white wings as far as they could be stretched, as he arose and watched the angels look away, not to see the creation of this destruction. The master of Sin, a creation that should never have been allowed access to this world, but could not be kept back by its keepers. And Sin joined the master, as it was requested of him. The angels came alive to cry, before they were burned alive, inside the child’s last resting place.