~~Young~~

Chapter One

   “I already told you, that doesn’t matter,” Gage answered unperturbed.

   Vaughn nodded to the men behind Gage and they began searching through his pockets. And though Gage usually kept a few bills on him for the usual, he knew when he set out for the night that where he was going wouldn’t require any money. So the money clip stayed at home and they would come up empty handed. He didn’t have any ID or credit cards, those along with the wallet that held them were all the possessions of a human, of a mortal.

   And Gage was neither.

   “Nothing boss,” one of the men shook his head.

   Vaughn narrowed his eyes and pulled the safety back on the gun, pressing it deeper into Gage’s jaw, “who do you work for?”

   “I was hoping you would ask me that.” Gage grinned.

   “So then why don’t you just make both our days and tell us all who we need to fuck up for sending you out here.”

   “I’d love too,” Gage said sincerely, “but showing you would be so much better.”

   Before Vaughn’s ignorant mind could process the answer Gage called on his strength, rearing back and throwing the men behind him to the floor, scattering them like bowling pins. He smiled, lifting an eyebrow at Vaughn before reaching up and pulling a sword from the air, from a flash of brilliant blue flame called by Gage himself into life. Truly, it was much more effective then pockets.

   Vaughn stumbled backwards and fell to the floor as Gage gripped the hilt of his most prized possession, a sword forged from hellfire itself. He inspected the blade, its tip pointed behind him, its length running along his forearm.

   His lips curled as he looked beyond it to Vaughn, “she’s a beauty isn’t she?”

   The man met his eyes for just a brief moment before the landed back on the sword.

   “Oh, and that’s not even the best part,” Gage smiled.

   He closed his eyes and pulled a deep breath through his nose, throwing his arms out to either side of him, clenching his teeth as his felt the muscles in his back pull. With a roar that rivaled the bass of the music with its depth his body began transforming, bones protruding where there were none before, forcing his skin to stretch out from behind him to cover them and the new muscle forming beneath the thin layer. It was as if his flesh were unfolding, becoming almost transparent before tiny black specks began appearing over the empty space. But it wasn’t hair that grew to coat his new skin, but feathers.

   As Vaughn could only stare in awe, or maybe horror, they grew like a time lapsed movie until there was no flesh to be seen. From his shoulder blades to the tips of his wings the deep ebony plumes grew and covered his skin, feathers that represented the sins of Gage’s immortal life.

   Only the tips of his wings still held the chocolate colored feathers he had been created with. But like his blood, it was only a matter of time before they too turned black, before he became wholly evil.

   Gage reveled in them, loved the way their weight felt on his back, needing the barest of seconds to alter his balance for them. Now this was as he was truly meant to be.

   Some of the guards scrambled away as Gage stretched out his extra appendages like a man would his arms after a long slumber. With a few typical pops he extended them out to their nearly twenty foot span. It was impressive even to other immortals so he wasn’t surprised as the other men stared in disbelief, but one looked in awe, dropping to his knees beside Gage and offering his weapon to him in his palms over his head.

   “My lord,” the man addressed the floor, “I meant no offense.”

   There’s always one, Gage thought, always one who had heard the rumors and had the sense to believe them.

   He nodded to the man appreciatively, “rise mortal and leave this place, you I will spare.”

   “Spare?” Vaughn asked in disbelief from the floor, looking between Gage and the man as he scurried away, Gage’s wings, back to Gage, the sword that was glowing blue in the dim light, back to Gage, “and who aren’t you going to spare,” he sneered.

   “Really,” Gage asked in mock disbelief, “you haven’t figured out you’re the one getting called back?”

   “Back?”

   He shook his head, pulling his wings in closer to his body as he stepped over to the man cowering on the floor, “the boss has had enough Vaughn. You can kill any of the SOB’s you want and he couldn’t give a shit. But when you sent your good old boys out to the ‘burbs, started peddling your shit to those yuppie kids, that’s when you fucked up.”

   Realization dawned on Vaughn’s face and he paled, but it was only momentary. Resolve transformed his features as if he thought words would actually get him out of this, “They knew what they were getting, and paid damn good money for it,” Vaughn shot back in his defense.

   “No,” Gage growled and pressed a foot into the man’s chest, “They didn’t know what they were getting. Your thugs told them it was the same high as the shit they raided their parent’s medicine cabinets for, but it wasn’t. It was higher, it was harder, and you know what happened to them when they came down? They died Vaughn, or don’t you read the papers? They crashed so hard their white bread bodies couldn’t handle the stress and they died, seventeen, sixteen, fourteen year old kids dying from heart attacks, all because of your greed.”

   Not that greed was bad under the right circumstances. In fact Gage and Greed were good buddies, and their boss encouraged him on most days. But even sins have their place and time, and ones that involved the useless souls of otherwise innocent mortals were not it. They weren’t worth the effort; they took far too long to break.

   Vaughn’s gasp suggested that the man had finally caught up with the situation, “God doesn’t kill, and He doesn’t send His angels to kill.”

   One corner of Gage’s mouth turned up and he pushed off of Vaughn, taking a step back so he wasn’t in splatter range, “who says I’m an angel?”

   “Bu-but, your wings…” Vaughn’s eyes shot behind Gage.

    He tossed his sword up in the air causally and readjusted his grip on it, holding it upright, the tip now pressing into the flesh at Vaughn’s throat, “Ah, but God isn’t the only one who can grant wings.”