Angels and Demons - The First Arc
The distribution station

Ahead in the dark tunnel, the line of people stretched well beyond the glass door of the stairwell. The stone-lined corridor reeked of sweat with the undertone of sewage. Before, passages had been the sewers. On the stone steps, barely visible from where Ange stood, a baby cried on their mother’s lap.

“Hey, to your place kid!” The man at what could be called the end of the line shoved Ange aside with a single tattooed arm.

They crashed onto a tired-looking couple, breaking the two’s embrace. When they looked up, the stranger clutched his hand to his chest.

“You burned me, prick. I’ll show you…”

As he charged, a figure stepped out of shadows which might not have been there before. Which, in fact, moved when they did, followed wherever they went. They were them.

The man’s shaggy face paled. That was perhaps due to the phantom’s guard uniform. His eyes never left the silver pin on their breast.

“Any complaints, citizen?” Said a voice like steel that seemed to echo from the walls themselves.

The man stepped back, raising a hand. “No, hm… sir?...”

Without a single word more, he turned around to the back of the line.

The first thing that struck Ange about the phantom was that they had no face. Where it should have been, a blank shape like a black hole in the fabric of the world started back. They were only as tall as they needed to be - that meant, impossibly so before, and not remarkably now -, bald unless one counted the reddish sparks that sometimes dripped from underneath their hat.

“I’ve waited a long time to talk to you,” the stranger, the thing that was darkness itself, said. They - it? - smiled. It had no mouth or lips. Still, it did.

“Who…′ Ange clenched their fist. It would be unwise to call on their powers in such a packed corner. It would be less so to let everyone be slaughtered by this… this demon? “Who are you?”

The Darkness pulsed. It lulled the needle-like pull in Ange’s chest. Like two instruments playing the same note. “I think you already know it.”

Ange shook their head, even though it was right.

“I’m you creator, child, and I came to you because I’ve been unwillingly convinced that I owe you a few answers.”

As it held out a hand with an indeterminate number of fingers, someone mocked a cough behind Ange. “Excuse my friend. It forgets itself.”

The second phantom was barely there. It was a trick of the light, a reflection that, looked at from the right angle, might reveal itself. It was an illusion.

But it could blind. Something inside Ange told them that, like it told them the Light would have done even more to them, had it wanted.

“What… Am I the only one who can see you?” Ange asked, because the couple from before now glared at them with suspicion.

“Yes.” The two confirmed in unison, though only the Darkness continued. “It’s a matter of not letting oneself be seen. You could do it, you know?”

“Turn invisible.”

“If that’s what you prefer to call it.”

Ange peered into the black void that had been the Darkness’s face. Now it had lost its human shape, though some of its tendrils still puppeteered its uniform. “What else can I do?”

“That is part of the information we have come to impart.” The Light said.

“You should have control of the earth as well, teleport to anywhere in sight, lift objects at a distance, purge minor beings of light, manipulate minds.” The Darkness ignored the other, and gestured to the line of people. “Let me show you.”

Something hot coiled around their wrist, their own power surging in response, and guided them through the packed crowd. The trick was the shadows: they let them stand where others already stood. With enough practice, maybe even walls wouldn’t stop Ange.

Once they reached the bottom of the stairwell, the Darkness shot Ange a wolfish grin. Again: somehow.

“As my avatar, you’ll acclimate to my powers over time. I have the impression you’d taken a liking to fire, which, to be fair, took me by some surprise.”

“Why?”

“Elemental manipulation constitutes a rather obscure branch of our influences, as we do not often exist in a material plane per se,” the Light explained, appearing over a pair of children currently immersed in a game of cards. One of them reached across it to pick one from the deck.

“Why not?” Ange asked while they climbed. After the fourth landing, they saw the counter of the distribution center at the end of a long hall.

“On one hand, this state of being lends itself poorly to those without a form to anchor themselves to. Over time, our consciousness would dissipate, and we would be too thinly spread over the entirety of the universe to be of use. And should we then want to become whole once again…”

“It would take time,” the Darkness said. “Plus, we simply don’t appreciate the same kind of experiences mortals get up to.”

Despite making their way through the stream of too-close bodies like moving through fog, the rust-coloured floor tiles still creaked under Ange’s feet. A loose one even made them trip.

“If this weren’t so entertaining, I would tell you that you can levitate.” The Darkness crossed its tendril-arms.

Ange shot it a withering look. They leaned on the counter, and waited for a sign of recognition from the mustached clerk behind it.

“Sir?” They called, and the man startled at the sound of their voice.

Ange had forgotten to turn visible. Belatedly correcting that, they collected a cardboard package from the startled clerk, and retreated. The weekly rations rattled inside.

Only then, still cringing from the encounter, did Ange realize that being with these two entities somehow was suspiciously natural to them in a way that being with humans couldn’t hope to be. Ange had, momentarily, perhaps because they themself wanted it, ignored what the two were. Almost as if this so-called Darkness and this so-called Light had intended it, even if Ange couldn’t feel any outside influence from them.

“I need you to tell me something.” Ange said, stealing themself.

“Do we?” the Darkness asked. “Go ahead, then.”

“What did you hope to achieve in creating me? Aren’t your angels and demons enough? Isn’t all the death and destruction enough for you?”

“We wish to stop it, evidently,” the Light muttered while the other replied with:

“I’d say I did it for fun.” Its laughter rang like a series of bells. “No, we want justice, even if we disagree on the details.”

“Because our followers betrayed us, and because this war is not the natural state of the world.”

“Vengeance. I want vengeance.”

Ange shook their head. Distracted, they knocked into a youth in dark leather clothes. They apologized profusely and hurried towards the stairs.

“Why should I believe you? My friend was hurt yesterday, by one of your creatures.” Their voice trembled. “If you are on my side, prove it: don’t let her die. I won’t serve you blindly, and I won’t let myself become a monster.”

“It’s touching that you think you have a choice.” The Darkness smiled before it vanished.

“Good luck,” the Light said, and left them alone in the packed stairwell.

Ange sighed. They should head home. Even if it meant bringing something much worse than a demon - themself - close to everyone they loved. They inspected their surroundings, and discovered they were at ground level.

Fresh air, their Gran’ma had said.