Ichor of the Dawn World

  “What's an Angel?” The young child asked curiously.

  The grey-eyed man responded calmly. “...Something that has no place in the human world.”

  Their eyes were both facing the same point – a mangled creature, pitifully crawling on the ground with severe wounds. It looked far less like a living, breathing being and more like a twisted nightmare. The skin and resemblance it possessed was, no doubt, human, but that thing was far less than that.

  A brilliant shade of gold poured from its wounds.

  The man told the boy, now grown up, his thoughts. “This is the result of humanity's sin, Damien.”

  The two were looking at the starry night sky from the balcony of a rustic manor. But they were not observing the constellations nor the stardust above – their interest lay within the bright glowing comets, descending onto the vast expanding city of New Order. Each and every impact of the comets could be heard, even if it landed hundreds of kilometers away. Some crashed into residential buildings, fields, trees, or the towering, fortified walls that surround the city's perimeter.

  The boy's eyes squinted in discomfort at the sight. “...Is there no end to it? The endless onslaught of Angels coming down from the heavens. Can we... cease this massacre?”

  The man looked over to Damien, observing him for any changes he underwent during his growth. Perhaps he grew a little bit taller, or maybe his bright brown hair lost the delicate texture of a child's strands. One thing was apparent; the boy was made resilient to the sight of death, emboldened by those horrors, and made to resent them.

  His grey eyes moved back to the sky above. “One day, we shall purge the golden blood running in our veins and return it to where it belongs. I will make sure of that.”

  That golden blood – Ichor is its name. It is said that it is the blood of the gods, the very essence of divinity. But now, it belongs to humanity, or what is left of it. The capital, New Order, is the last bastion of survival for mankind, and beyond that is no more than a never-ending expanse of smoldering cinders and ash known as the Boundary, where no life can flourish. In this walled city, civilization progressed for centuries despite the endless invasion of Angels. Ichor in the veins of the people was harnessed, allowing them to withdraw the strengths of their inner ego and use it to their will.

  That single discovery assured humanity's survival as a species. The limitless power they obtained gave them the strength and courage to fight against the Angels. Some had the ability to produce fire from themselves, some regrew lost limbs like nothing, some could form deadly weapons, and some even attained divine forms that could rival even the most fearsome enemies. Humanity had the means to fight back, and that fact continued to sound true for over a thousand years.

  Damien woke up in his room.

  His eyes were still half-closed and dreary, but he was awake. His room was part of a large authentic manor, and that fact was made apparent by how lavishly decorated his room was. Carmine wooden walls, expensive-looking and ornate furniture, a three-part bay window offering a view into the cityscape below, and a neatly woven carpet in the middle. The boy was in the middle of examining his surroundings, giving him pleasant scenery to wake up to. With this procedure done, Damien unwrapped himself from the embracing comfort of the bed and stepped out. For a single moment, he stood there almost aimlessly, unknowing what to do first. Contrasting the almost perfect room, the floor was littered with various junk and dirty clothing. Additionally, it was quite cold, because the window was left open overnight. A subsequent shiver upon Damien's bare upper body decided for him, and he shuffled over to the window to close it.

  The sun outside was just done rising, painting the morning sky among the clouds in a golden hue. Below that laid District 16, only a small part of the entirety that is New Order. Its architecture consisted of ordinary-looking concrete structures and hastily put-together dwellings made of metal sheets and fabric. In truth, Damien's residence stuck out like a sore thumb, as there was no building similar in luxury in the entire District.

  Then, Damien walked over to his mirror, which was hung over his personal desk. He wanted to check out his appearance, and how much was needed to fix before starting the day. A reflection stared back at him. He was no longer a lively youth, but a young adult. His form assured him of that – he was not scrawny nor weak, but not too defined either. His face lost the innocence it once had, and a pair of dark brown serene eyes stared back at him.

  Then, a knock on the door was heard.

  Damien responded with a yawn. “Soren, come in.”

  Through the door entered a man named Soren, bearing sharp grey eyes and medium-length brown rugged hair. He was dressed in a red-tinged coat with several black stripes along the design and a tight-fitting set of formal black clothing with a leather belt underneath.

  “Rise and shine, Damien. Are you ready?” He spoke eagerly but with a degree of authority.

  Truthfully, Soren answered his question by himself, as the sight before him showed no signs of readiness; Damien was half-naked, and the room was a mess. It was clear that the boy in front of him was in no way ready, and he decided to wait just behind the door instead, wordlessly letting Damien know what he needed to do to proceed.

  Soren's brief appearance reminded Damien of today's happenings. It was something that he was promised for a long time, something he wished for. Today was the day that he would see the group of heroes that gathered under one objective – the cleansing of Angels from the world. There was very little he knew about them, as Soren rarely spoke about his own life in front of his boy. In short, he did not know what to expect in the slightest. He had not a single clue as to what these so-called Sinners actually do. 'After all, how does one remove Ichor from the world?', Damien thought to himself. He was curious, but to satisfy that curiosity, he would have to clean up his room first.

  Damien sorted his various apparel, knick-knacks, and whatever else that plagued the floor. The job was done so hastily that it could barely even qualify as sorting, but at least these objects were no longer on the floor.

  With his simple chore done, he put on a basic outfit consisting of a single-colored white shirt, a brown jumper, and some trousers. It was not the fanciest set of clothing in his wardrobe, but he still decided on this specific look.

  Damien stepped out of his room into the hall, where Soren patiently watched out of a large radius window that allowed a view into the inner garden. The man seemed contented – he looked forward to today just as much as Damien.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Good to go?”

  “Yes, the room is all clean.”

  And they set off, navigating through the spectacular interiors of the manor. Just as Damien's room was fitted, the halls had the same style and amount of decoration. Soren led the way, and Damien closely followed – they were going to a place on the other side of the District. If measured, it was a distance of about twenty kilometers.

  The two men stepped out of the front door, and a beautiful view of District 16 presented itself. The manor was placed on an elevated hill, allowing them to have a better and higher angle over the city.

  “Damien, could you tell me what the time is?” Soren solemnly asked.

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  The boy took out a golden pocket watch and read the time. “Seventh hour, twenty-second minute.”

  “Well then, that gives us eight minutes to get there on time.”

  Damien looked at Soren in disbelief. How were they supposed to cross this massive cityscape in less than eight minutes? 'This man must be insane', he thought to himself. His mind could not comprehend a solution to such a problem.

  Soren patted him on the shoulder. “I would like for you to hold onto my shoulders for this.”

  Damien gave him a confused look – was there a feasible solution in Soren's mind? He had his doubts, but that contact, his hand touching his shoulder, felt somewhat reassuring. And so, with no further questions, Damien hopped on Soren's back.

  “Unless you can fly, I don't think that we'll make it in the next two hours,” The boy exclaimed, now hoisted on him.

  Soren offered no reply, as he was fully confident in whatever action he was about to take. Damien watched in anticipation as Soren assumed a ready stance as if he was about to launch any second now. Then, gazing at Soren's feet, a faint auric glow emanated from where his feet made contact with the ground, and before he knew it, he was moving at lightning speed, jumping on the rooftops. He very quickly understood why holding on was necessary.

  Damien was amazed. He did not know what was going on, or how Soren achieved such a rapid and agile stride, but either way, he was fascinated.

  Soren, in the middle of hopping rooftop over rooftop, exclaimed. “Don't fall off now.”

  What followed next was a brief landing in the middle of a tiled street. Soren landed straight into a running start position, and the moment he stood still lasted only for a small breath's time. The pair was once again in swift motion, this time running at top speed through the narrow streets of District 16. Damien struggled to hold on at almost every turn, requiring Soren to slow down at a few points.

  Even though much of the surroundings seemed like a blur at such speed, this was the first time Damien had seen much of the outside world. The large amount of people wandering in the streets and the large scope of it all surprised him the most. He spent most of his time in the manor not by his choice, but by Soren's. It was relieving to finally experience something different after so much solitude. 'I went through so much homeschooling', he told to himself. That education mostly consisted of Soren telling Damien about his unwavering ideals, and how he will one day have to uphold them for the sake of humanity.

  That day was today.

  Soren came to a halt at a rundown bar's entrance, marking the end of the fleeting charge. Damien was quite nauseated after enduring several left and right turns in quick succession, and he quickly got off to take a breather. Soren himself looked quite unaffected, making it look like easy work to cover twenty kilometers in such a short span of time.

  Damien pulled out the pocket watch, still short of breath. “Seventh hour, twenty-ninth minute.”

  Soren put on a proud face – he arrived even earlier than anticipated. After Damien recovered, both of them headed inside this unassuming building.

  Inside, it could be described as a loud buzz of lowlifes, as there is nothing more feckless than drinking away right in the morning. Luckily, Soren headed straight past the crowds of drunkards, making Damien assured that their destination was not anything on this floor. Only one thing was interesting to Damien, and that was a sign saying, 'No Manifest of Ichor inside!' He had not a single clue as to what it could mean.

  After ascending to a second floor by a staircase, the loud buzzing of the below stopped almost instantly, as if there was some kind of noise-canceling effect as soon as they stepped in. Before he could think about the cause of this, something else took his attention. The supposed base of operations of the Sinners, and every single member of it right in front of him.

  Damien became the center of attention before he could even count the number of people present – each and every single person was looking at him in various expressions.

  The lady that was the closest to them, pouring a cup of tea, looked at him as if she was examining some kind of specimen. She had black tied-back hair with a few blue stripes mixed in – that was what Damien noticed first.

  The brutish man with scruffy brown hair that was mid-swing against a training bag using a large bat gave him a surprised look that quickly turned into disinterest.

  The silver-haired lady with eyeliner who was smoking a cigarette gave him a condescending look that hinted at a slight murderous intent.

  The person fully clad in a dark composite battle armor and a single red light in the middle of his helmet showed no facial expressions, yet their presence did not seem welcoming.

  The youngest one there was the red-haired girl with a ponytail. Out of all of them, only she gave him even a hint of welcome with a smile.

  Soren's presence automatically gathered them all to the center. Some sat down on the sofa, some were already there, and the rest remained standing around.

  Soren spoke out to Damien. “These are the Sinners I've been telling you about,” then, turning to rest, he continued, “I trust that you will handle him accordingly.”

  The brute-looking man posed a question to Soren. “Oi, what do you want us to do with him?”

  It was clear that Soren never explained himself to even the Sinners he worked with – a common trait between them and Damien. However, it seemed that they were practically used to it by now.

  “Take him on your next mission,” Soren responded, handing over a certain letter to the black-haired woman.

  “And here I was hoping that the next member would be someone competent,” the silver-haired woman added, following up with a sigh.

  One thing was clear to Damien – no one was particularly excited about his arrival. However, he did not take that as an offense, in fact, he somewhat understood it, even if it bothered him. He always saw the Sinners as a competent group of fighters, it would be unthinkable to assume that they would accept him without showing any skill of his.

  “I will return in one week – in that time, turn him into a Sinner quite like you are,” stated Soren, leaving the room right after.

  Everyone present was left in a state of uncertainty. It seemed that this was a frequent occurrence, as none of them were questioning their predicament.

  Damien himself was overwhelmed, surrounded by so many new faces.

  The first one to speak up was the redhead girl. “Hey, the name's Rita, and you are...?”

  She spoke with a zealous voice, and it was apparent that she was the youngest of the group just from her appearance. She wore a dark purple jacket, and under that, her whole upper body was bandaged.

  Damien felt a bit nervous for a moment but managed to compose himself just in time for the introductions.

  “My n-name is Damien. I've heard about you, the Sinners, from Soren.”

  The next one to speak was the woman who poured him a cup of tea as he entered the room. “That is accordant, I was informed by Soren of your arrival.”

  She sounded very intelligent, her eyes being sky blue and unassuming. Her manner of speech and the way she expressed herself both vocally and physically suggested that she was a natural-born genius. She confirmed that status with her attire, resembling a scientist's outfit in pure white.

  “Hey, smartass! When you introduce yourself, you're supposed to say your name. And besides, Avidia, how come you get to learn everything before any of us do? Oh – the name's Elmer, by the way,” the hotheaded one spoke.

  The smart woman gestured towards Elmer, wordlessly confirming that her name was indeed Avidia. The former resembled a typical backstreet dweller and ruffian, while also being somewhat outgoing. He donned a white tank top that defined his muscular frame and some dark brown ripped jeans.

  “Hey, now it's your turn!” Rita nudged the silver-haired smoker, who still had not put down the cigarette.

  “Sumi.”

  She was not up for conversation as it appeared. Sumi looked quite dignified, wearing a whole black and white suit with a black tie.

  “Oh! And that one in the back – he doesn't speak much, and he never told us his name, so we call him Null.”

  Rita pointed towards the menacing and cold identity in the back. They only return a 'hmph' in response.

  At that moment, Damien noticed one thing they all shared. It was an emblem of some sort, depicting a blood-red pentagram on a black pedestal. Each one of the Sinners wore one in various places. Rita had hers on the jacket. Sumi wore one on her left shoe's side. Elmer's was attached to his belt. Avidia's was placed on her left shoulder. Null had his attached to his chest as a part of his suit. Damien understood it as the mark of the Sinners.

  Elmer assumed a thoughtful pose. “So, how much do you know – about our blood and all?”

  The boy thought for a few seconds, but that effort amassed to only scratching on the back of his head. In truth, Damien knew very little about Ichor or the art of using the power it brings.

  “Useless,” Sumi exclaimed.

  “Don't just say that! You were probably once like him, too!” Rita defended him.

  The two of them exchanged clashing looks, but let it go shortly after. Damien thought of them as enemies but quickly understood that these people know each other for long enough to not be shaken by petty arguments.

  Avidia took the role of explanation. "Damien, you will be shown the modus operandi of the Sinners – that is, the way we function and complete the missions that Soren gives us. It also appears that you are in dire need of education about Ichor. I will personally take care of that matter.”

  It was a lot for Damien to take in. There were many new faces for him to meet – not only that, but these were also the Sinners, people he deeply respected. If there was one thing he hoped for, it was to live up to their expectations. 'I won't let them down!', he told himself, full of confidence. A lot of work was ahead of Damien, and he knew that very well.

  For a whole week, he now had to be one of them.

  Damien had to become a Sinner.