Wicked Wings [COMPLETE]

INTERLUDE: Arnav's POV

Can the ravine current turn back

The many memories that it witnessed,

The core of all beliefs that existed

The ones which were always tested.

With the dash of darkness that succumbs

To the wicked and gory history

Has there existed ever a dimension

Far away from the deafening mystery?

Do we accept this as reality?

When the dark clouds tell otherwise.

Can we sustain the deadly hailstorm?

When trust dies a slow demise?

.

My beliefs shaped me.

They rendered me to the point of who I am as I stand here today.

Yet I don't know what to believe in anymore.

The dark days were etched since the time I first set my foot in this world, because for people like us, choices never existed. And ruling out the possibility of its existence thoroughly, whatever remained, only a little of that could be conquered by us. Although for the onlookers, out kind was always a gift from the mighty, reality was far different than they could have ever envisioned.

If a child's mind is as dynamic as water that takes the shape of any container, what different was it ever for even someone like me? The one who only craved for love, affection, nothing more, nothing less.

But if any of the word stood true from that sentence, it was only one. Nothing.

But I am glad it doesn't feel daunting anymore.

Having your entire family massacred at the hands of the evil is no new story, but even then, for each of those people who actually faced it, the evil, the battle, the bloodshed, it was always like living the nightmare, over and over again.

There could never be an end to it.

Or so I thought.

When Ralph Sciarrone had found me and taken me into his home, invited me into his life, and made me a new member in his family, I had only too little gratitude to show.

I don't know if I can ever redeem myself for the zilch compassion I ever showed to the man who did so much for me, but how can I ever deny that I have been a man long dead, ever since the moment my family was brutally killed.

All that remained of me though that was passed on to me from one generation to another, as a legacy was only one thing.

Knowledge.

And that was invincible.

And with that knowledge, came power, responsibilities, and along with that, a cauldron of resentment.

For the Avizhas.

.

.

If mercy was a word, the Avizhas didn't have literacy.

If empathy was a feeling, the Avizhas didn't have a heart.

If humanity was a truth, then the Avizhas didn't have a soul.