Abas, son of Miru, son of Rakka, hesitated before entering the glade. It was a holy site since ancient times, where,even during times of war, the tribes would not harm each other here. It was a life-giving place, and to shed blood would be to dishonor it. Abas had come here often, to hide from the sun during the day, and swim with . . . no, that memory of her was still too raw.
This night, however, the glade was not just lit by moonlight. A pale glow marked Her presence, a sense of holy peace and awe that even reached into his battered heart.
“Come, Abas, you are welcome here.” Heliel’s voice reminded him of water. Sometimes it roared like a waterfall, thunderous and full of power; now it was soothing, like the murmur of a stream trickling through the rocks.
Abas smiled and walked forward down the dirt path into the center. Heliel herself was . . . indescribable. Wings whispered through the air around her, effortlessly keeping her still, floating in place as she turned to face Abas. She was like a second moon, beautiful but not blinding. Abas fell to his knees before her.
“Oh my dear child,” a tip of a wing reaches out and cups his face. Abas basked in the warm glow of the love that poured into him.
“You do not have to do this, Abas. You could heal, given time. I will not think less of you, love you less, if you turn back.”
The grief rose in him like a storm, scouring his heart with million grains of pain. His tribe, murdered in the night. His family hunted down and slain, his father riddled with arrows, his brothers and sister impaled upon spears. Nabia, his love, she -
He clenched his jaws and shook his head.
“Let it be, my Lady. I have nothing left except for this.”
He hears her sigh, full of sorrow and compassion.
“You are brave, Abas. You are part of a great work this night. I-” her voice fades for a moment, and then returns. “-am sorry, I wish I could dull your pain.”
Abas smiles at the Angel, “It is alright, my Lady, I am ready.”
He thinks he sees a sad smile cross her face, “You are not, but we all must do what we must.”
A cushion of force lifts him from the ground into the air in front of Heliel. A wave of love and peace washes over him, and he weeps tears of joy as it suffuses his very being.
“The oldest theories of magic, the beginnings of every ritual and tradition, is the sacrifice of the potential to bring the actual.” Abas feel an uncomfortable pressure begin to build inside his body.
“The earliest sorcerors would mark their bodies with scars and tattoos, to represent that sacrifice. For every ritual they did, they shaped their innate potential into realized, actual power. But, you always lose something, one always becomes lesser. They put on the altar a million different possibilities, to gain a single advantage. It is a tragedy, but you will be that advantage, Abas. Hold on to that thought.”
White fire erupted from his body, burning him inside and out. He screamed in pain as Heliel’s power poured through him, purified him.
“Your legs will never tire, will take you where you need to go, but you will never know rest. Your feet will crush the skulls of your enemies, but you will never feel the brush of grass or the trickle of water between your toes.” The fire whipped around his legs, carving a spiral down to each of the toes. The pain was unbearable.
“You will never have children. The potential of your lineage will empower you, but you are barren. You would have had two sons, Berial and Mirah, and three daughters, Nabia, Umma, and Laha. A part of them will strengthen you.”
An indescribable pain filled him, grief at the thought of what would never be. He begged her to stop, but she whispered, “I cannot.” Line of fire burned across his chest.
“Your heart will not stop beating, it will regenerative even grevious wounds. You will be fearless in battle, your courage will never falter.”
“You sacrifice the choice to be brave, for you will not care if you live or die. Your emotions will be a muted, dead thing.”
“Your soul, bright and luminous and immortal, will be folded into your mortal body, strengthening beyond mortal ken, but there will be no rest for you in this life or the next.”
Abas thought he knew pain, but he could feel his senses expanding and he could feel each line that the fire carved in his flesh intimately.
“You might savor this pain one day, dear Abas, for you will never feel it again after this night. By experiencing all of your lifespan’s pain, you will never be distracted or overcome by pain in battle” She murmured. He could feel it go into your arms and hands, burning scars and marks in whorls and straight lines.
“Your arms will never falter, and your speed and skill will be unparalleled with any weapon. You will never feel the face of a lover, or the smoothness of a babe’s skin. These hands will only be for war.”
And finally the fire enveloped his head. It burned away his hair, and dug into his scalp. As he cried out, his throat a bloody mess from his raw screams, the flames went into his mouth.
“Your words will inspire fear in your enemies, and valor in your allies, but they will never inspire love.”
“Your eyes will see in the dark as well as the light, but will never marvel at the beauty they see.”
“You will always hear my voice, but your ability to choose your destiny will be taken away.”
“You will never need sleep, but you will never dream or posses desire.”
“Like your soul, your beautiful mind I will also strip away, to focus only on battle, and reflexes and action. You will lose yourself, Abas, the memories that make you, you will be taken and thrown into the fire of war.”
Abas’s scorched throat croaked out, “ Will... I... remember . . . her?”
Heliel shakes her head tenderly, “I will take that too.”
Abas nods his head, and scratches out two final words, “Take it.”
“Remember, all this,” The pain builds in intensity, consuming his whole body. “It will forge you into a weapon that will drive out the darkness. You have been filed into an edge, a blade that only has one purpose.” The fire blazes hotter, and cuts deeper until. . .
The Slayer exhales.
His body is lowered to the ground under Heliel’s watchful gaze. Nearly every inch of his body is covered in raised scars and tattoos.His eyes glow yellow in Heliel’s reflected glare. Gone is the wonder, the marvelous intricacies of the human spirit reflected through their eyes. Instead there is only the blank gaze of a killer, filled with a disregard of the splendor and majesty of life and magic.
A tear rolled down Heliel’s check. A wingtip caught it, and gently, lovingly poured it over the Slayer’s head.
“I anoint thee with my sorrow, Slayer, that I created you and the circumstances which necessitated thus. That too, I sacrifice.”
The water of the tear sparkles and soaks into the Slayer’s skin.
The Slayer stands, and walks away.
The wingtip withdraws from Abas’s face. He blinks at the images, the feelings that ran through his head.
He looks at Heliel. Her voice is full of compassion.
“You know now the cost that you would bear. I would not put this burden on you with you ignorant of the costs. If it is too much for you to sacrifice, you may still refuse it.”
He thought for a moment, thinking of children unborn and paths untaken. “Is this necessary?”
The sorrow in her voice is heavy, “I would not ask it of you if I thought it wasn’t. The demon is terrible foe, one for whom victory would cast the world into darkness. Victory is not assured, no matter the sacrifice.”
Abas’s face hardens, “Then let us make our sorrow his. I am ready, my Angel.”
A cushion of force lifts him from the ground into the air in front of Heliel. A wave of love and peace washes over him, and he weeps tears of joy and sorrow as it suffuses his very being.
“I am sorry, Abas, son of Miru, son of Rakka. I will remember you,” She whispers.
And also, updated the Healing Springs a bit.