It was strange, how people ran from creatures of their own creation and demons created from their own delusions. Those monsters rising from the greed and avarice of mankind were what plagued them, filling the eyes of grown men with stark terror and red poison. It amused the boy, how far men ran from beasts that sprouted from their minds.

The body before him was decorated by the work of one of those demons. The dead woman’s pale arms were splayed out against the dark earth, an open cut encircling the throat like a grotesque necklace, dark bruises and bloodless wounds warring for sovereignty on the flesh of the woman. There was no blood; not on, in, or around the body. No blood at all. The boy crouched down by the body, placing a pale, slender hand on the grainy wall to support the wisp of a body he inhabited. The woman had been dead for some time, slain by the greedy demon named “avaritia.”

Moonlight spilled onto the boy, cascading off the rooftops and into the alley where the two were, one claimed by the Otherworld and the other stuck between the thresholds of life and death. The night air was filled with the yearning of the moon for the sun, the wailing of a wife subject to the brutality of her husband, the cries of an abandoned mutt for shelter, and a hint of sweet, pain-filled blood. The sky was a mismatched quilt of blacks and greys hastily stitched together, with the occasional streak of red that tunneled around pinpoints of quartz and gold that reflected the light and joys of the world that were now too distant to be reached. This woman was probably one of those ones. Those mainstream people who, made desperate over their lust for Hope, were eventually lost in the vortex of temptation and evil. And only they themselves were to blame for their downfall.

It was a beautiful thing, avaritia, the boy thought. Avaritia, was the predecessor of lavish wealth and heaps upon heaps of riches, enough to buy indulgences, men, women, and even history. Avaritia was also the beginning of a pit of despair and little nothings that soon become gaping holes that can not be filled. Avaritia was a world of brilliant golds and poisonous greens. It was avaritia that would lead to invidia, gula, acedia, ira, superbia, and luxuria. And mortals were full of it, to the extent that one brush against the mind of a human would feed a demon for weeks.

The boy ran a ghostly hand across the chalky forehead of the corpse, his appendage coming away with a faint, glowing purple light. It shook and trembled in his grasp, but put up no fight as the boy inhaled it, and then letting out a quiet sigh of pleasure. He watched at the woman’s beady black orbs grew lighter until the black became a pasty white. The boy rose to his feet, pleased with his work, and proceeded to make his way up the sides of the buildings that formed the alley and onto their rooftops, never looking back as he left the body behind.

“You’re the same as usual, Cecil Mateu di Raphael,” came a voice from behind the boy as he leapt to and from dust covered buildings whose successors grew taller and taller in height with each jump, the last one’s tip knifing up to the heavens and shrouded by mist. Cecil did not need to look behind him to recognize Richard Cullen, a man of unsated bloodlust and an endless appetite for death. “Always so gloomy and dark.” His voice send shivers down Cecil’s spine in disgust.

“And you are as repulsive as ever,” Cecil retorted in that soft, lilting voice of his. “Off to scare a poor human now, are you?” Richard grinned, and it was not a pleasant sight; his smile stretched his once delicate, phantom-like features, revealing rows of serrated teeth. His eyes flash gold, brighter under the sickly light of the moon.

“You know me so well, Raphael.”

Cecil winced at the name. Being named after an angel was his mother’s last strike against the child who was born touched by death. It was ironic for someone as dark as him to be named for a divinity millions of humans revered.

The first time he met Richard was several thousand moons ago. They met first on the battlefield, Richard on the side of the Nazis and Cecil a bystander dragged into the battle by a devil worshipper on the Allied side. The two fought, and Cecil ultimately won, though by a stroke of luck. Cullen took it upon himself to stalk the other boy relentlessly, following him across the world like a terrible shadow. One with claws and teeth and darkness. Cecil didn’t hate his company; not as much as before, at least. He found Richard’s presence almost comforting at times, when Cecil’s inner monster got too much for him to handle.

What Richard Cullen’s reason was for shadowing him, he did not know.

Cecil ignored the man behind him and sped up, ignoring Richard’s cry to wait, heading for the great tower whose topmost floor could not be seen no matter how high one went. They called it the Tower of God, a structure of black obsidian that spiraled upward, piercing through clouds and the sky. Those who left the planet have said it could be seen shooting up from Earth, heading towards a direction no one could fathom.

But the most impressive thing about the Tower was not its sheer size, but the person it hosted.

Surrounded by the teeth and eyes of those he’s slain, Cecil’s brother regulated the human and not-so-human inhabitants of his territory. Zero Raskera di Uriel was said to not be  a solid man. Some say he was just an idea, a phantom lord for the higher ups to wield to keep the territory reined in. Perhaps he was just a figurehead, something that belongs to the world of dreams, not one of logic and realism.

But Zero was real, and Cecil was going to reduce him to nothing.

The inside of the tower was nothing but darkness and a thousands of stairs that twisted up and down through the shadows like strange fish in black water. A look cast around him showed that he was alone, but Cecil felt like something was still watching him. And he was willing to bet that the something was his brother.

“Zero!” he called, the sound immediately swallowed up by the darkness. “Zero, I know you’re there!” At first, all that met his cry was silence. Then, a roar of whispers of death and thunderous screeches of fury and agony, with the underlying sorrow. And soon after appeared a man clad in writhing shadows, as if he was made of the shadows.

The last Cecil saw his brother, he was lying upon a white table staring up into a blinding light as his brother carved into him, stealing the single organ that made him human.

And Cecil wanted it back.

“Zero,” he said again. “Zero.”

There was a low whisper, filled with a million voices that spoke at once. “Cecil.” Then came a low chuckle, or was it high? “You have been absent for some while, brother mine. Have you been busy?”

“Damn right I have,” Cecil growled, his hands sharpening into claws and curling into a fist. “Trying to obtain a thousand mortal souls to patch up the hole you left in me, brother.” His nails pressed into the palm of his hand, hard enough to dig gorges in the flesh. He could not feel the pain, however, when the object of his fury was close enough to touch, or even strike down. “But that’s not enough, Zero!” With that said, he let loose the coiling energy that built up in his legs and sprang forward, his fists unfurling and claws extended. The world dimmed around him, until all that Cecil could see was the bobbing ball of light in his brother’s chest; Zero’s lifeline.

His brother let Cecil come dangerously close to his heart before disappearing in a swirl of shadows, and then reappearing behind him and sending a large blade scissoring down. “You are weak, Cecil!” The words went through Cecil like an arrow. He felt the impact, felt his body move, and the ice came over him, the cold ice of battle. He ducked under the heavy blade and lunged for Zero, bringing his own down in a vicious overhand slash. “Slow,” Zero sighed as he moved faster than Cecil could follow, evading his attack. Cecil’s blades whistled through the air and found no mark to collide with. “Ignorant.” His brother slammed a knee into Cecil’s abdomen, stealing his breath as well as his power. The boy felt his ribs shatter and bone give away. “Foolish. You can not hope to defeat me with childish tactics as those.”

“It is of no matter,” Cecil growled, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. He held an arm protectively in front of his injured chest. He rose back to his feet and slashed at his brother, who disappeared in a cloud of smoke. The two fought like this for a while, with Cecil on the offense and tiring out, and his brother mockingly evading his blows. “You slashed at me with betrayal,” Cecil hissed, pausing in his onslaught. “And I will parry with vengeance!” He began to move in a silent dance, focusing on the shadows around him, honing it, calling it, beckoning for it. And it came in a terrible wave of phantoms and menace and storms.  “Richard!”

Like a meteor rocketing down to the ground, Richard sprang out of the shadows, unleashing his reign of terror upon Zero, a terrible darkness that rocketed forward to devour the other man. Cecil could almost see it now, the other man’s  golden blade that Cecil gifted him punching through Zero’s gut and his brother’s blood, red as rubies, staining the white of his clothes red. He joined the fight, and he was a blur of ever-changing claws and fangs and steel and muscle, shifting and whirling within a dark cloud that struck and smothered. Blood sprayed wherever he plunged into his brother and the monsters Zero created.

“Yes, Richard!” Cecil urged, relaxing his stance. “Strike from behind!” That one instant he let down his guard was enough for Cecil to regret it.

He felt the knife before he saw it. The golden blade that should’ve rested in Zero’s gut was instead speared through Cecil’s own, sending spasms of energy through his body and frying it from within. And the hand that wielded that golden sword belonged to Richard. Those eyes that had once held purpose and a sort of respect now held a mild amusement and triumph, Cecil’s old friend now a mere shell encasing a bitter, angry soul.

The feeling once an ally turned to an enemy overwhelmed the boy, filling him with countless feelings as blood marched through his head, the words why why why why repeating itself over and over again. As his words became slurred and his limbs began to weaken, flashbacks of all those times he had poured out his anger to the other demon flashed before his eyes. From the time Cecil first met Richard to the times he fought with him after Cecil lost his heart. He looked up, meeting the red-haired demon’s eyes, half-expecting to see sorrow there but instead two flat, glittering, dark orbs.

“C-cullen?” Cecil gasped, golden ichor spilling from his lips and all the souls and breaths he’s stolen escaping his body. His sight began to dim and fade away starting from the corners of his vision, the world he’s known his entire life shattering before his pale eyes. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground, his blood filling the veins of the cobblestone staircase with gold. It was a shameful sight, him bowing his head before his killer, hands on his knees in a defeated state. “Y-you--”

Richard angled his head, and his expression seemed almost regretful. “Sorry, mate. The time I spent was you was admittedly far from unpleasant, but I did what I had to do.” Had Cecil not known better, he’d think Richard almost sounded remorseful. “My first loyalty lies with your brother, Raphael, and you were being a threat to his power. I’m being paid to get rid of nuisances, not befriend them.  It was nice meeting you though--” Cecil didn’t let Richard finish, and instead fished the sword out from his body and drove it in Richard’s. What hid behind Richard’s lies were the truths that failed to be brought to light. What hid behind his betrayal was honesty at first glance. But what hid behind those eyes of his, Cecil did not know.

“Likewise,” Cecil grinned, his teeth stained with blood. “See you...on the other side.” He wasn’t sure if Richard heard him, for he collapsed to the ground dead before Cecil fell, his eyes rage-filled. Betrayal was a merciless thing, the pale boy mused. It wasn’t something as exciting as a blank page or a new start, but something more akin to being stranded alone in a desert. It is a burning of the soul, like a burning black road where the mind and body lose all sense of being, when you bleed and no one gives you aide. Cecil raised his eyes to his brother, who regarded him with an unblinking stare. “I’ll see you later...Zero.” And with that, the light in his eyes blanked out, and he joined the million other souls he’s damned.

Wordlessly, Zero bent down to fish an eye from Cecil’s skull and a claw from his hands. He rested a ghostly hand on his younger brother’s eyes and closed them. There was no affection in his touch, and only a regard an owner gives to an annoying pet. It was almost amusing how his younger brother fell to a blade that he entrusted to his friend turned killer. “Goodbye brother,” his many voices whispered, the sound unpleasant to his own ears. “Goodbye, Cecil.”

Far away, in the multicolored sky, two stars blinked out; one that was shining gold with greed and the other red with wrath. The remaining five clustered closer together to fill up the gap in their circle around a single, white orb. The humans below felt the stars die. They felt the tremor that shuddered through their bodies and the ground, and paused in their slaving away in their life to look up and reminisce how their lives used to be, full of light and joy and hope. Hope that Zero, the man who held Despair in his hands, tried to take away from them, but failed to do so.

A single whisper ran through each of their heads, the last breaths uttered from a dead boy. Fight. Fight for others, and for yourself.

The voice raised them up, as if on a podium. They felt almost overpowered, as they saw the chains that once bound them begin to loosen. Their eyes that were once plagued with emptiness and hunger began to fill up with something new, something terrible and beautiful all at once.

Hoc est bellum.

This is war.