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He was wandering about in the city at night, the cold weather doing nothing to hinder him as his body wasn’t that of a regular human’s, eventually coming across some thugs by an alleyway that didn’t think twice prior to starting shit with him. But of course—they were taken down soon enough, and the sound of small objects dropping deep within the alleyway itself made him turn - eyes ready to blast someone away - before realizing what laid at that dead end wasn’t a threat. It was a trembling, frightened child that dropped her box of matches and was scrambling to pick the spilled matches back up. Something in his gut twisted at the sight. She clearly had too little to eat, too little to wear in a weather so harsh, barely concealed bruises under the thin layers of her cloak.
… He knew what it felt like to endure such pain.
Against his better judgement, the raven-haired male made his way over to the girl. In a very quiet night where the wind was all you hear, she quickly heard his footsteps and looked up, eyes widening in terror as his taller figure came into view. Yet he didn’t stop. On the contrary, he came even closer - ignoring all that was labeled common sense (he wasn’t raised with them).
“I—I’m sorry!”
It was her words that made him pause. Sorry? What for? She didn’t do anything to him, did she? As the questions surfaced - and just as quickly, faded - he continued on his way before crouching down in front of the frightened child. He knew nothing about comfort, nothing that could’ve been helpful in that situation. He didn’t quite understand those who were powerless in the face of their circumstances for he was born chosen. Despite that, however, something in him stirred for the helpless. Perhaps… after all this time, the weight of his past transgressions finally caught up to him.
“… Are you cold?”
Was he stupid?
Stunned, the girl stared at him and only nodded her head once she realized he was safe to talk to. It was one awkward moment, truly.
Glancing down at the matches she was in the middle of picking up, he gathered them quietly and handed them back to her. An idea came to mind then. It would be hard for her to light them now that her hands were practically shaking from the cold and the matches were damp from having laid on the ground for a while, but it shouldn’t be a problem to do the same when it came to him. In any case… he was no normal man, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t aware of that already.
“…… Why are you out here?”
As soon as the question was spoken, her expression twisted. In pain, in fear, in every sad negative emotion he had seen on the faces of those that had to suffer by his hands. It was clear that she didn’t want to talk about it. Somehow, it was a tiny bit familiar. The way he too would’ve opted for silence whenever his old friend asked him what had made him resent his “creator” so. Letting out a puff of fogged breath, he shook his head.
“Nevermind. No need to explain, it’s fine.”
Reaching over to hold her trembling (and much smaller hands) in his own, the young man leaned closer to the matches in her grasp. Without a word, he blew them to life in a manner that felt uncharacteristically gentle. Careful, so that the flames that left his lips were measured, so that he wouldn’t accidentally hurt the frail child with his destructive powers. The girl went quiet in awe, staring at the lit matches in her hands - her eyes sparkling with the warmth they provided. Though she knew it was temporary, as she had tried warming herself with them many times prior to his arrival, it didn’t make what he managed to do any less wondrous in the eyes of someone her age. But more importantly…
“This won’t last, so you should—”
“… You’re warm.”
He blinked, caught off guard by her sudden remark. Not the matches, not the dimly lit space between them, not the fire he breathed. Him. He was warm, and somehow that made him pause for far longer than he should have—knowing that he was.
The girl’s innocent gaze met his own, full of gratitude, of emotions positive. He wasn’t used to seeing them in the eyes that looked at him. Yet… he found that he didn’t hate it. It was strange, he was certain. Although strange didn’t equal bad. It was a curious feeling, something that had him thinking back on when he had saved those kids from his old friend’s creation. Didn’t they express the same? Sentiments truly were hard to understand, even now, but that could’ve merely been due to the way he was brought up. No empathy, no common sense. Simply an endless cycle of violence he had barely escaped.
“You’re warm, mister…”, her smile was bright despite the darkness that was written all over her face less than five minutes ago. It wasn’t something he comprehended right away, and the way she continued made his heart ache with a feeling he couldn’t name. “Thank you… Thank you so much.”
And though stars may disappear before dawn, there was no denying how beautiful they were.
Don’t thank me, he had wanted to say. Don’t thank a man whose hands were stained with countless others’ blood.
The words didn’t come. The sincerity in her voice prevented all means of refusal, so in the end, he could only nod as he finally managed to utter his suggestion. She was to be taken somewhere safer, and only then would he leave. What was he—playing hero? Not that it mattered. Regardless of what may come, he’d rather do something instead of nothing.
Because remaining passive… had already cost you everything.
A voice at the back of his mind sneered, and he promptly ignored it in favor of lifting the girl up in his arms. She was light, terribly light, clinging onto him like he was the sole pillar of support she had (because he was - ironically so). To her, he was as warm as the fireplace she dreamed of having. To him, she was as fragile as a flower you may crush with one misstep. Like numerous individuals he had wronged in his reign of terror alongside a certain someone.
Once the matches he helped her light ran out, he allowed her to curl up against him as he disposed of them, regrettably not having much in terms of clothing aside from his jacket to offer her (which he had done the moment he scooped her up into his arms). It didn’t take long for him to find out why she didn’t want to talk about her circumstances, why she was shrinking back in an alleyway so late into the night along with box matches as her company. Because just as things seemed to have smoothed over and all that was left to do was finding her a shelter, an unfamiliar man called out as he approached them.
“There you are, you little rascal—where do you think you’re going?!”
The girl flinched as soon as the man’s voice reached her ears, hands shaking uncontrollably where they gripped his shirt - grasp tightening the same way his hold on her did. He may not have a lot of social experiences, but he wasn’t stupid, and her reaction to the other told him all that he needed to know. If it wasn’t obvious through the words that came out of his mouth.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I’ll do better next time…!”
“Next time this, next time that. Have you actually done any better, huh?? Have you?! You can’t even get one thing right—”
“… Not another step.”
He spoke finally. Scanning the man quickly, he was coming to a conclusion he knew he wouldn’t like hearing and added.
“Do not blame me for what happens if you do.”
Gritting his teeth, the older male raised his voice, not caring whether or not it may cause a scene where they stood. The city was largely asleep, but there were ears everywhere the eyes could see. Such was the truth of the place they lived.
“And why should I listen to you? I’m her father, I get to decide what to do about her!”
The statement felt like a cold bucket of water doused over him. A father. Someone who brought the girl into the world, someone like the man who had “made” him, someone deeming himself more important than the other person’s agency.
“You’re just some brat that wants to play the good guy!”
Oh, how he loathed the words. “Good guy”… was it? There was no way someone like him could ever be one, not after everything that he had done, so he didn’t even blink and caught the fist thrown at him when his silence was taken as an invitation for a beating. Glaring at the man without budging, he spoke again.
“You don’t know me.”
One push was all it took for the man to fall back, the child he held whimpering in fear of the transpiring violence and he barely managed another word of caution. It was sickening. The girl didn’t want to go back, that he knew, yet he was aware of the fact that the man in front of them wouldn’t agree with her.
“You have been warned.”
“Children need discipline—not coddling. Now hand her over!”
Discipline? Was that using fear to make her submit? Was that using violence to make her listen? Memories of being in chains, of being beaten until he was black and blue, of being forced to endure more than he was ever allowed to have resurfaced in his mind. That wasn’t discipline, that was captivity. Abuse. And the shaking girl in his arms was proof, proof that it was unfortunately indeed the case.
“No.”
That single word did something. Lit a fuse, pulled a trigger, you name it. The man didn’t like the answer, his face twisting in anger and his blood seemed to boil under his skin. It didn’t scare the raven-haired male at all. In fact, not a lot of things had that effect on him. When you knew you were clearly capable of handling it, there was no reason to be afraid. But what came next was something he didn’t expect in the slightest.
“Come now, you know you can’t live without me. I’m your father.”
The girl sniffled. He lowered his eyes to study her face, her tear-stained cheeks and her downcast gaze.
“I’m the reason you’re here, and people will only ever listen to me when it’s about you. You can’t rely on a stranger. Look at him—does he look like he could even be your guardian?”
Every word drilled something into the child’s mind, something dreadful and terrible. Something she couldn’t refute. It was true, he met her less than an hour ago, there was no way anyone would’ve taken him seriously. However, he was there to prove a point. He wasn’t there to play around with some guy who thought he had the right to dictate a child’s life despite her being his own. So when she spoke in response to her father, he felt his throat tighten.
“I… but he helped…”
“There are bad people who only help to take advantage of you, it’s scary out here.”
His brows furrowed. He didn’t have the patience for this, frankly. Those were the words he would’ve heard his old friend say once upon a time, except the redhead wouldn’t bother sugarcoating it and plainly state that there was no use being cautious when everyone had their agendas in life.
“I’m your father, shouldn’t I be the one you trust most?”
“Um… I…”
The glint in the man’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed, that cunning and cruel gleam of a manipulator’s gaze. It was horrible to stomach the knowledge if he wasn’t going to do anything about it.
“She doesn’t want to go back with you, and that’s final.”
Any thread of restraint left in the man snapped at the statement.
“You don’t get to speak in her place, you little—”
One hand was all he needed to catch the other’s fist again, then letting go and effortlessly dodging any following attempts at violence. The average person was far too slow for him. Whatever they did wouldn’t be able to land, so he was pretty much not trying. Though, as soon as the father’s target shifted to snatching his daughter away, he reacted immediately. Turning his body in order to put distance between them, he grabbed the man’s wrist and held him in place—a grip so tight he couldn’t pull away no matter how hard he tried. Not that he knew who he was crossing.
“I’m not speaking in her place. I’m saying the things she doesn’t dare say because she’s afraid of you, it’s that simple.”
“You—”
“I do not care about what you have to say.”
His grip tightened and the man grunted at the force, suddenly realizing the gravity of the situation. The moment their eyes met, the older male froze in place. There was no room for argument in that gaze, no mercy for the man who thought he could get away with the cruelty he was showing his daughter, no warmth for a stranger he could absolutely obliterate. His red orbs seemed to have brightened (or was that due to the streetlight?).
“Leave her alone, and I will consider sparing you.”
“Tch…! Why should I listen to you?! You’re nothing more than some random guy who thinks he’s better than everyone!”
The girl was still shaking. Crying, her tears slowly drenching his shirt - making him feel the cold air through the damp fabric. She was muttering something in regards to stopping the fight, to being scared, to hoping no one gets hurt. Because she was just a child that didn’t want any harm to befall others. He understood that now, at least partially, thanks to the kids that risked their lives to defend him and their friends.
“Papa… please stop…”
“Then come back here—Gah!”
Without a single word of caution, the man was ruthlessly thrown to the ground. He opened his mouth, yet the retort died in his throat as he looked up to see the young man’s obviously glowing red orbs. And that was when it struck him. A figure symbolizing destruction and carnage, a wanted fugitive with powers beyond comprehension. His eyes widened in horror, scrambling backwards as he stuttered.
“Ah… A—Angel…”
Flaming fists, flight, everything the regular person would deem to have been straight out of a movie.
“Angel—of Death…”
The name didn’t strike a chord, not quite. He knew that if there was anything he was known as, it would’ve been a terrorist, so the title seemed almost poetic in comparison. He didn’t dislike it of course. Not that he ever had opinions about the public’s perception of him, anyway. What use was there?
“Huh…? Papa?”
Hearing the fear in her father’s voice, the girl finally allowed herself to turn and look at him. The man was on the ground, terrified, rooted in place as though moving an inch then would cost him his life. But before she spoke of her confusion, the young man holding her did instead.
“Let me get this straight: Until you calm down and find a way to behave properly, do not show your face to her. Is that clear?”
A frantic nod was what they got in response. Good enough, so he returned the gesture and watched as the other nearly tripped over himself in an attempt to take his leave. Once the man’s figure faded into the distance, the child shifted her gaze towards his face. There was a pause as she studied his features, and she timidly pointed out.
“Mister… your eyes…”
He blinked, looking back at her as he realized what was happening and the bright red orbs darkened in color. It was a close call. Had he been unable to hold his emotions back, he would’ve lasered a hole (or two) through her father’s head. She didn’t need to know that though.
“Let’s get you to a safer place.”
She nodded, not pressing the matter any further. Her curiosity had been evident nonetheless. To children, magic was fascinating - and powers like his was the closest thing they may witness that was akin to what they heard of in fairy tales or fictional works. The cost of having them was not cheap, of course. Letting out another foggy breath as he scanned the area, he noted how the city was never truly asleep: Lights stayed on in various parts, people still went in and out, the streets were not fully empty, etc.
How was he to find a place that could…
“Oh dear—Is that you, starlight?”
At the sound of yet another unfamiliar voice, he directed his attention over to the source of it and found an old lady staring at them both. Upon spotting her, however, the girl in his arms perked up.
“Granny! Yes, it’s me!”
The relief on her face was immeasurable. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.
“And this young man right here…?”
He felt himself stiffen slightly, not knowing how to respond to the question. He was never as good as his old friend when it came to talking to people. Granted, it wasn’t as if the redhead was particularly “good”… he did know how to handle the flow of conversations better regardless.
“He’s my guardian angel!”
What.
“Huh?”
That was the last thing—
“Aww… that’s lovely.”, the old lady giggled as she approached them. Reaching out to give the girl a pat to the head, she hummed and added. “Say, why are you out so late? Is that why your guardian angel came to pick you up?”
A moment of silence, an exchange of information without words. And the child nodded. The old lady didn’t pry, she didn’t push for details - as if she already knew the answer. None of his business, anyhow, he wasn’t about to dwell on it.
“… She needs somewhere to stay tonight.”, he spoke when the silence stretched. It was his priority at the time, and it was something the girl needed more than simple chit-chats with an acquaintance. “Would you mind?”
The old lady, bless her soul, smiled with a gentleness that made him question his experiences for a second. Had there always been people capable of such kindness? His world was so violent that he didn’t think twice about throwing hands, and now—
“Of course I wouldn’t, she’s practically family.”
Family.
A concept as foreign to him as was morality, once upon a time. He hardly understood a lot of things that were supposed to be common sense - raised a fighter and continued being one even after he had escaped that life. Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he moved to hand the girl over. She was taken into the old woman’s arms with a bright expression adorning her face. The complete opposite of the look on it when her father demanded she return to him, if he had to compare. And just as he turned to leave, she called out.
“Thank you, Mister Guardian Angel!”
He paused. Why was it what she called him?
“…… Mhm. Good night.”
With one last look at the beaming child and the serene old lady, he departed. He was never going to linger for long. Being a wanted fugitive aside, in some part of his hardened heart, he didn’t wish to drag innocent civilians into the mess. They didn’t deserve to get caught in the crossfire between him and the person who was out for him. Yet… he couldn’t seem to forget the sight of the girl’s shining eyes, a pleasant warmth blossoming in his chest at the thought. Who said someone like him could ever play hero? He had walked a path of sin, leaving only debris and death in his wake—someone like that had lost every chance to be a “good guy”.
Did it matter, though?
Shaking his head as he let out a puff of foggy breath, he mused, already aware of the answer he had for himself. In the end, the past could not be changed and only the future could be rewritten by the present. Getting called both the Angel of Death as well as a Guardian Angel in the same night wasn’t on his metaphorical bingo list, but it was a welcome surprise. Something suspiciously close to a small smile played on his lips as he lifted his gaze upwards. He could feel the lingering warmth from the child’s use of his jacket, a tiny anchor to the world he was walking.
Did it mean anything? An ant could not change the world.
The mocking voice in his head returned, sounding awfully familiar.
“Together, we’re unstoppable!”
And unstoppable they were. They instilled fear into a massive amount of people, destroyed many homes, took away countless lives. He had realized far too late what they became, friendship clouding his judgement until he finally understood the weight of their actions. Now that the other’s fate was unknown… he wondered if they would ever cross paths again.
The night breeze played with his dark locks and he breathed a streak of amber, flames dissolving as soon as they came. Embers becoming fleeting stars.
… One day, I’ll know what freedom truly means.