The tiny figure lay curled up in the center of the darkness. As far away from the accusing looks as was possible. The little body shook with fear, sad anger, denial, far too many emotions. A deep, terrifyingly beautiful voice spoke from beyond the circle of black, outside where the light was.
“Failure of duty is to be treated accordingly. This unworthy one must be punished.”
Another voice was there, this one gentle, almost soothing, bringing to mind an image of happier days and a young man with a stern but kind face.
“Surely you can not mean that. The little one is not at fault. The results of this event are not from failure.”
The little person curled tighter as though to shut out what was happening around them. The first voice spoke again, sending waves of terror through that fragile body.
“Silence, Sesshoumaru!! It has been decided. Justice must be dealt out. A life has been taken before it’s time and so payment is required!”
At these words a large figure entered the circle of darkness, slowly approaching the small being in the middle. There was the ringing of steel being drawn from a scabbard and then the figure stopped. Slowly the little one’s head raised and then the petite body uncurled. Gasps were torn from the light ringing the darkness at the sight. Blood streaked silver hair lay in disarray, once glorious robes were torn and sullied. What had at one point been a vast expanse of proud feathered wings, white as snow, were now haggard and black as night, drooping from between shoulders slumped in defeat as the person climbed to their feet. But what shocked those present most of all were the empty eyes. Once shining with light, a bright emerald green and now dull and lifeless, seeing nothing, a sickly color. The sword bearer turned away, tears clouding his eyes.
“I can not. I can not do this.” He chocked out. Looking up, out of the darkness he called, “Has this one not suffered enough? Would you make me do this as well?” The sword was returned to its scabbard.
A second figure appeared in the black, storming forward. The sword was snatched up quickly as this new man stalked towards the black winged one, his robes flowing out behind him, gold wings folded over his back. He spoke, his voice being the one that had first been heard.
“Punishment must be dealt!” the liquid tones rang forth, the power in them making even the air tremble.
Then those lifeless eyes looked up. And a new voice was heard. One like broken music, so desolate it created sorrow in all.
“Do it, Soreleth. Draw the sword and condemn me to Hell. End my existence.”
The one called Sesshomaru closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face. Gods, what had happened to this angel child? Once happy, full of light, a creature of passion and mischief, now twisted and perverted into a being of darkness so deep there was nothing left. That voice alone was enough to make him wish for the end of his own life. But surely something could be done to save this pitiful being. Again that voice rang out.
“Do it!” a scream of rage, of hatred. “Perform the deed that I can not.”
At Soreleth’s confused hesitation at this outburst, the black wings flared out and the tormented one rushed forward, hands wrapping around the blade and pulling it forward, unheeding of the blood that ran down the sharpened edges from hands now sliced open. The green eyes were now wild with mad passion.
“DO IT, DAMN YOU!!”
Soreleth’s face became as hard as the steel he bore in his hands. The sword was wrenched free of the blackened one’s grip and he took his stance. The silver head dropped, the rage gone, leaving behind the empty shell once more. Steel whistled through the air. And at this moment Sesshomaru began to focus all power that was his to command.
His amber eyes opened to see the broken figure collapse around the blade now buried in that small body. Soreleth turned and strode away, leaving the mass of black feathers and pale skin behind him. Any others that were present filed away slowly until only Sesshomaru remained in silence, looking down at what had once been a beloved comrade. After ensuring he was alone, he moved into the circle of black. He knelt, scooping the body up, cradling it close. A flash of light enveloped him and he was no longer in the place of execution but somewhere else, somewhere with a far more mortal feel to it. Folding sky blue wings over his back he reverently lay the body of the fallen angel child down on the ground. The power he had been hording now flowed forth, bathing the little figure in a hazy mist.
“I give thee a new purpose, lost one. Use this darkness inside.” He whispered the words in the ancient tongue. “Right the wrongs that have been dealt to thee.”
The figure began to reform, wings melting away, body slowly growing smaller. Standing, he looked over what had once been an angelic warrior and was now something entirely new. His voice louder and steady he proclaimed.
“I name thee Emrys Morte. Start this life new; remember not the pain until thee has the strength with which to weather the storm of memory.”
His wings unfurled and the angel known as Sesshomaru disappeared, leaving behind the petite young woman lying asleep on the grassy ground.