Broken Halo
Screams echo from every passage around them; some are of pain and others of sorrow. The ground feels cold to the touch but radiates warmth with every scream as if feeding from every sound. The large doors stand as if made to contest every thing born of the light and to mock with a thousand laughing souls those standing before it.
The dull sound of a fearful army fills the room before the gate. The Evil light of the cavern made their glamorous gold and white armor seem worn by many ages and their weapons of war look as though it was tainted by the very air around them. The very sight of this army is affront to the visions we have of angels, they stand fearful when they are supposed to be a pillar of strength in time of darkness and their appearance is tainted by darkness when it is them who is supposed to purify those who are evil. Nonetheless on command they begin to sing in a sweet tune and as the whole army starts in, the scream were drown out and the giggling faces twist in pain. The door began to slide ajar ,as if trying to flee the angels melody, and a walkway over a lake of molten rock was revealed. The angels melody faded away but was replaced by the sounds of an army marching into the silent cavern without opposition. As the last angel entered the cavern a solitary giggle faintly range out and the gate snapped shut causing a gust of wind to push over those who were close. The room stayed silent for a few minutes but grew very cold as the very air on the ground began to frost everything it touches. As the molten rock in the cavern cooled from the chilled air the light faded till everything look as if it were a shadow. Now trapped and confused the army took The defensive role of the coming battle. Howling rang from all the corridors around them and slight flashes came from above as those they came to kill swept upon them from all directions. Shadows danced together swiftly as sparks marked weapon contact. Screams of the furious combat began to feed the room once again causing the rock above the lava to break and light the room; revealing a most sadistic sight. Feathers rain down as the combat takes to all areas of the cave.
Amidst the fury of battle one angel stands on the ground looking up at the raining feathers. "Brother... so this is battle this is the big test" the angel said softly. A twisted demon swoops down to take advantage of the still pray, but is instead rewarded with a sharp pain running though the chest. The demon paralyzed in shock is cast aside with a flick of the angels sword. The angel cries softly watching the feathers slowly fall and land among the mangled bodies and injured creatures.
Some angels go mad right in the very heat of combat and come screaming to the ground landing hard as they fade away tears pouring from their eyes and their Halo fracturing. One of those fallen souls lands in front of the standing angel and amidst his cries he reaches out pleading "CYRILL...Captain Cyrill please save me...I don't want...to....die" then he vanishes leaving but a mark of blood and feathers. All Cyrill could do is watch as his men are cut down or corrupted.
A dark figure dances with in the fervor of combat striking down angels with each sweep of his blade; a sadistic smile plastered upon his corrupted face as he kills effortlessly. The twisted creature's blows get more and more skilled as he carries on when he stops suddenly; blood dripping from his swords and many wounds. His eyes now locked upon a target he will never forget, he jets towards the ground at Cyrill but stops just in front of him laughing "little brother how you have grown!". Cyrill's eyes Widen in fear and shock as he looks upon the body of his now corrupted brother! "but.... Zief....I was told you died" whispered Cyrill in a sad voice. "I DID! Oh but you have no idea the wonders of the world of man...the greed the corruption the power one can obtain just with a sweep of a blade at the right time. The taste of power is sweet and Revenge double so!". Cyrill's face now contorted and his shock melted to fear as Zief described the story of how being in a battle for an angel is like taking a drug; they feed upon the emotion ,without knowing it, and leaves its mark upon their soul dooming them to an exiled life in the world of man... to take the test to cleanse or destroy ones soul.
Zief raises his sword and points it at Cyrill "It's your turn little brother...to learn the workings of your own heart!". Before Cyrill could ready himself Zief attacked him leaving a deep gash in his armor but little else. The battle went on for a what seemed years for Cyrill and with every swing he took he was hindered by the vision of his brothers face. Abruptly Cyrill's body feels a sharp pain as his bothers claws sink into his armor and feathered wing," You still are under me Cyrill..... I will always know when to strike... and you will fall just like father did the last battle you angels waged upon us". Cyrill dropped to his knees the world spinning around him the sadness of the news and vision of his corrupted brother floods his mind.
An old mans voice spoke to another.
"he has been consumed"
"This angel has fallen"
"He will take the test"
"His power stripped"
"in the world of man"
The old man continued to speak quickly, but the voice slowly began to fade until Cyrill could no longer hear it. A cold sensation came upon him as his power was sealed away and his wings faded in to his back in the form of a tattoo.
Cyrill awoke in a field the grass swaying to a chilling breeze. With no memory of his past , aside from his name, he sat up wondering where he was. The field around him seem to be only edged by sky but only extended in a small circle around him. The gray clouds in the sky slowly moving and a small group of birds happily singing in the among the grass gave a pleasant feeling to his surroundings. “I feel as if my body is missing something” he said softly as he rose to his feet. as he stood the edge of the field have way to a much larger one below with rolling hills edged by a thin strip of trees in the distance. Upon the hill Cyrill stood calmly scanning the field for any sign of life; when he turned around he caught sight of a small plume of smoke rising from a small town in the distance. With out a single thought he began to walk causing the birds to frantically flee from the grass an take to the air.
:2 months later:
The snow whipped against his face as he hit the ground; the door slammed shut behind him and a small click of the lock sounded right after. The window emanated a pail orange glow from a fire inside. Cyrill slowly picked himself up off the ground and stood watching the snow flakes swirl and dance to the ground in the light wind. A figure appeared in the window and drew the curtains shut. The cold air chilled he exposed arms and face as he searched around for his jacket “I hate this town!” he mumbled as he picked his jacket from the snow and put it on quickly. His thought began to wonder as he imagined the warm place he had just been; “I was hiding safely in the storage room of the tavern until that dam drunkard demanded more beer when the keg was out.... I should have hidden further back...but he found me.” Cyrill spoke to himself as he walked down the street aimlessly.
(#2) Indications
The snow fell now much calmer as the nigh dragged on. Everything stood as if frozen in time no lights and no moonlight to cast a shadow upon the snow covered street. Cyrill wandered aimlessly trying to remember his past to find out why he was in that field. Shapes emerged from the street intersection ahead, five figure could be mad out, they stopped and began to talk in low voices "Doral for king!" said one but was quickly silenced by the lead figure "fool the kings rats live within these streets!". Cyrill dashed against the side of a near by house listening to the conversation, but a couple minutes later he heard the snow compress next to him as a firm arm wrapped around him baring a sword to his throat "what do we have here? a dirty little spy?" Cyrill Thrashed and twisted but could not escape as he was dragged towards the Five men in the street.
Cyrill could see the men clearly now but only for a split second while he was slammed onto the Street and a heavy foot on his back keeping him in place. The dirt below the snow covered Cyrill's face as he weakly struggled to get his face out of the snow when the voice of the man Doral said bluntly "Hold him better I want to cut down his spine!" The weight on Cyrill’s back shifted and held him firmly by the shoulders and another man grabbed his legs. The sound of a Knife being drawn and a blade touching his back made him scream, but all he heard was the tearing of his shirt , no pain,.
Doral spoke to Cyrill directly "What is his name spy! Why do his royal guard hold such godly blade skills". Cyrill answered with a shacking cautious voice "who's name!?.. who's guards". The men laughed around him and Doral turned to them "Fools! silence...we can't stay...these rats rarely travel completely alone!"
The weight in Cyrill's back let off and he lifted himself slightly when he was struck hard in the head with what seemed like the side of a sword. "Night, Night Rat! don't worry we'll take good care of you!" Cyrill blanked out...His last sight was the muddy snow around him being blanked out by the increasing snow fall.
What felt like only an second later Cyrill became aware of his surroundings, but his head felt like its was spinning and he felt sick and dizzy. He could feel the warmth of a close by fireplace on the bare skin of his back and the faint talk of a few men in a room near by. Cyrill opened his eyes only to realize that they were covered with a piece of his own shirt so he went to reach up to remove it, but to his dismay he was also tied to the chair which he sat upon. The door creaked open and a man dressed in a ripped green robe walked silently and slowly towards Cyrill. The man carried a cup containing the leftovers of his own soup which he could not finish. "here drink this... I am going to remove your blindfold and ask you a couple questions, but this time you will not be harmed." the man spoke softly as if to easy Cyrill’s fear.
The blindfold slipped away shortly after and the dim lit room came to focus. The man before Cyrill stood within the light and the first thing he noticed is the glimmer of mettle through the rips of the mans robe. "I am Driden... I know as a pawn of the king you know of me" spoke the man softly but with a harsh note. Cyrill could not understand what the man was talking about and said "pawn?..Of the king...what king...I don't even know who I am...were I'm from...or who you are for that matter!". At that moment 2 more men walked in the door both holding a large mug of ale and lightly clad in armor. Driden Hung his head in frustration "That is bull s**t my dear friend... I know what you are! why do you bother to LIE" Driden stood up quickly " you elite terrorize us. You come with your fancy armor looking for sport and preach as if you are gods among MEN! Flaunting your skills you kill all those who know how to fight and you make us know and fear...THAT MARK...." Driden voice now boomed as he ranted on until he drew his sword and pointed it to Cyrill’s throat and spoke in a low tone " now scum you will speak or die..you will know the fear which my brother knew when he would not answer those questions that one night. I swear if you lie to me I will paint that chair, my blade and this floor around you the color of DEATH"
( OK Since you may read this before I Finish that thought)[ they cut his shirt off because the elite soldiers of the king bare a marking or 2 wings on there back...they all hold an personalized sword and seem to have insane abilities.......-Hint- they asked him "what’s his name" because Cyrill has that marking and they want to know information about the king-hint-...... The marking is really an indication that that person is a fallen angel...and the king (very important character) Knows how to restore the fallen angels memory and twist them to falling further)
This Books title has allot to do with the thought that an angel and a demon are the same...the angel is like a blank sheet of paper in a journal....depending on what you write on it; it become good or bad...as an angel falls its halo fractures and is then cast out to live a mortal life...what he does in that life dictates if he will end up restored or finishes the "fall"
cyrill the fallen angel Community Member 
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