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Brian woke up in a daze. What happened last night? He wondered silently. He looked at his hands –they were covered in blood, and had been badly beaten, as with the rest of his body.


Brian was 17, a junior in high school, and a dedicated student. But putting on a show for his parents –who routinely expected too much out of him –got to be too much for him to take. There was a note on his desk, next to a noose, telling them he was sorry for what he had to do, but there was too much pressure for him to take anymore of his parents constant downplaying of Brian’s already immense academic talent.


Then he remembered –he tried to kill himself last night! His knees buckled and tears streamed down his face. Why wasn’t he gone? He should be looking at nothingness, at void, at a blank space. There was another side to his existence. Was he dead? Was he alive? Where could he find the answers to all of this? He had to find them, and soon –he didn’t know what was in store for him now.


Brian picked himself up and walked from his room, downstairs and to the den. What he saw nest made him know he was alive –he vomited and vomited again until he was dry heaving. Everything was covered in blood –walls, ceiling, furniture –everything. A crimson hue was laid over all in the room.


His parents were an even more ghastly sight –cut to pieces, organs splattered everywhere, their heads sitting on the couch, with eyes gouged and tongues ripped out and nailed to their foreheads.


On the wall there were letters sliced in the wall, barely legible, reading, “My brother, you will fall soon enough.”


Brian had to find out who did this and why –and he had to find out fast. But first, he had to call the police and tell them what happened here.


He called 911 and told the dispatcher that his parents had been mutilated and that he needed police here as fast as possible. And then he said he needed a priest, which caught the woman off guard but said she would try to get one down there.


Brian waited for a moment and a police car was in front of the house. He opened the front door and the officer gasped at the sight. “Son, we’re gonna need some more units out here.”


In a matter of minutes, there was a crime scene unit and a homicide unit out there to investigate. One of the detectives approached Brian and said, “We’re gonna need to take you downtown and ask a few questions. What’s your name?”


“Brian Rietta. You don’t recognize me? You’re speaking to me like I’ve been dead for a month. Detective Shores? It’s me, Brian.”
Shores’ face turned pale white as he looked into Brian’s eyes. “You HAVE been dead for a month, Brian. You killed yourself one month ago. You hanged yourself in your room. We do need to take you in. I got plenty of questions for you.”

*

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The police interrogation room was small and poorly lit with a single light over the drab white table Brian was sitting in front of. Detective Shores was standing in a corner facing him, face showing no emotion as he started in on Brian.


The questions were so stupid, dealing solely with what happened before he died, and then Shores even had the audacity to blame this on Brian. After that, Shores repeated this one question over and over


“Now explain this to me again. You kill yourself –you’re sure of that –but you wake up one month later on our calendars and have no memory of what might have happened during that time?”


“For the eighth time, Detective Shores, yes, that’s my story. What else do I need to tell you, that I know the story doesn’t add up? But that’s all I can tell you. Now, until you get me my parents’ lawyer, I’m not saying a damn thing.” Brian’s tone was angry; this whole thing was giving him a headache


“No, Brian, you can leave now. Your grandparents are outside. We’ll keep you posted for any new happenings on this case.” Shores was rather cold. Brian had known the detective to be a friendly man, never one to get angry or frustrated –two things that Brian saw when he explained what occurred.


As Brian walked out to his grandparent’s car, neither of them would even spare a glance at him. He guessed that dead grandsons shouldn’t come back from the grave, and there was lots of resentment and anger directed towards him.


The car started as rain started to pour down on the car. “Brian, don’t get the wrong idea. We still love you. It’s just kinda weird when my most cherished grandson dies and then goes riding back home in my car alive.”


Brian felt relieved. “It’s nice to know you feel that way, grandpa.”


Suddenly, there was a loud crash and white balls of energy flying haphazardly through the crowded downtown streets, tearing through the concrete and demolishing cars in its wake. His grandparents got out of the car and ran into the police station. “Brian! Son! Get in here now!!!”


Something within him said he needed to face whatever was doing this. “No, grandpa. I have to do this. If I die, then you can forget about this whole thing and mourn the deaths of Mom and Dad. Good bye.” Brian ran into the din and readied himself to fight.







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Brian ran as fast as he could down the street, full of scared people and rubble left in this thing’s wake. And he didn’t even know why he ran in. “Do I have a death wish?” Brian thought out loud. This was his choice to go through with this, and he wasn’t gonna back out now.
A single voice from an alley caught Brian’s attention. “Take this. You’ll need it to defeat Whitewing, or at least stand against him. Go! You must fight!” Brian took the sword without second thought for some reason, but is still thankful for doing it when he did.
As he held the rather plain looking broadsword up to the sky, an angel fell from the clouds and met blades with Brian. “We meet again, brother! Now you fall!” Brian was knocked into a stopped car.
He got up, a little dazed at the blow, and started a charge, sword pointed at its chest. The angel wasn’t amused at this attack, and promptly slashed at Brian’s head, almost lopping it off.
That split second that could have killed him slowed down to a span of seconds. Everything went black and white, but Brian stayed the same. The angel’s sword was moving very slowly as Brian moved out of the way and slashed at its back, making a long red wound.
Brian stood behind the angel, with an emotionless look on his face. “I guess I have something on you, don’t I?”
“You win this round, but I will destroy you soon enough!” The angel flew off in a flurry of dust and rubble. “You just remember the name Whitewing, brother!”
Brian collapsed, tired from the short battle, even more tired from slowing down time. “Who the hell was that guy? And did he just call me brother?” Then it hit him –he was his parent’s murderer! The anger and sadness inside Brian welled up and exploded into a pair of black angel wings coming out of Brian’s back. “You’re gonna pay for what you did!!” He shouted as he took to the air, sword poised for a kill.
Whitewing was prepared for this attack, and promptly knocked Brian into the top floor of a building. Brian wasn’t fazed at this though; he got up and shot back at Whitewing, meeting swords with the fiend. The two flew into the air, parrying and striking, lightning shooting from their swords, Brian having nothing but righteous fury to keep him fighting.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to beat Whitewing. One break in Brian’s attack left Whitewing with an option to attack, repeatedly slashing at Brian as he fell to the ground in a flurry of sword clashes, blood and feathers.
Brian knew he had to get out of this somehow. Then he got a bright idea –if Whitewing could shoot those balls of energy, maybe Brian could do it too! But how? He didn’t know how he got these wings, so how was he gonna shoot energy?
Then all that anger and rage welled up inside him as he focused it into a single point as he dodged sword strikes and parried with his own, all while trying to discover his own power.
When Brian had focused, he let go of it. A black ball of glowing energy formed in one of Brian’s hands as he held the sword. He landed a kick to Whitewing’s chest as he held his right arm out and shot the ball into the same spot.
There was a crimson haze of feathers and dust as Brian stumbled to the alley where the old man was, tired and confused. He grabbed the man by the shirt collar and demanded, “I want answers!! NOW!!”
“Relax young man. All the answers will be revealed to you. Come. You are in no condition to be out in the streets.” Brian’s wings were still there, and he was carrying a sword.
“I guess I don’t have much of a choice. Gimme your trench coat.” The old man handed it to Brian and he put the dirty thing on quickly so as not to attract attention. The two walked off in the narrow alley under an overcast sky.


------
I think sigs are dumb.


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