Guardian: Chapter 3

Sephine stiffened. He whirled after a few tense seconds, dark eyes fixated icily onto Matthias's smug expression. Ovid's face was screwed up in confusion and fear, an ivory brow furrowing deeply.

"I expect the reward I was promised!" Matthias called out again, his voice louder than before.

         Sephine let out a shriek, eyes widening with the realization of what was going on. There was a period of grace then, like a fall after jumping off a building; the part right before the ground is hit. Then, there were shadows. Hundreds of them appeared out of thin air, curious as to what was being screamed out of the war's open cemetery.

"Look at their markings," they whispered, silken voices of Shamira rough and worn with exhaustion.

         Ovid looked around in bewilderment, lips faltering from surprise to complete innocence. There were Shamira everywhere, eyes malevolent and almost hungry looking. Their skin was colored like dawn, cheeks golden and eyes clouded over. They were gangly creatures with white bodies and long, dragging arms. They were disproportioned, but irresistibly graceful in their strong limbed movements.  The few brave ones came up closer, examining the tattoos across all their lips with expressions that seemed to mirror Ovid's. The skinny boy backed up before spinning a look towards Matthias, who was grinning wildly.

"YOU FILTHY TRAITOR!" Sephine screamed hoarsely, looking from side to side frantically.

"THESE WERE THE MEN WHO WERE SWORN TO KILLING OUR HOLY RULER, AMALRIC!" Matthias boomed, ignoring Sephine's helpless cries.

         Sephine suddenly had Ovid rough around the shoulders, long fingers grappling over the sides and squeezing with bone breaking pressure. His eyes met the youngest for only a brief moment, an understanding washing over his weary face.
"I will not have you suffer this fate," he murmured quietly, and before he could say any more he was ripped harshly back from Ovid, into the arms of wild, shrieking Shamira.
         His eyes never left Ovid's, and right as a dangerous hand of a Shamira slid around his gullet, a word passed his lips.

"Caedo."

         His speech was slurred by the lack of breath, and the end of the word was warped. But it had done its job, and Ovid's form was quickly disintegrating. The ancient power of banishing an angel to Earth was used for punishments only. Making the angel be reborn on the unworthy soil was cruel humiliation and the only way to insure that the convicted could grow up with humans and learn something meaningful. The purpose was to have them come back up as an angel and be restored, holy and clean.
         But in this case, the ancient power had been used to spare someone. There were certain rituals, practices and precautions when using Caedo, but there had not been time to perform them. Pain shot through Ovid as he saw the last image of his friend plummeting to the ground under a swarm of Shamira, Matthias standing over the scene with an uncouth grin. Ovid's descent was painful and unsteady.
         He was too early, sickly, underweight and his left leg was not aligned correctly.
At three o'clock in the afternoon, Shawn Roberts was born.