Chapter 2

Ash

The light from the neon tubes flooded the bathroom and gave the room a sterile atmosphere. Warm drops of water pelted down on Ash's body. The only opportunity to feel the water in a normal downpour was in the shower. All Ash wanted to do was forget, but his aching back wouldn't allow it. He opened the shower doors, and the hot steam escaped, immediately attaching itself to the bathroom mirror. He wiped the glass surface with his right hand, making his reflection visible again. His face was scarred from the fight. However, the wounds were already beginning to heal. Still, he looked like he had been in a boxing match, and he felt just as miserable. How long had this cat-and-mouse game been going on between him and Derek, the Guard of the opposing Gargoyle clan? He couldn't answer that question because he and Derek had fought each other to death so many times that he had lost count. Ash freed his wings on his back. The bathroom was very spacious otherwise, he would have knocked many things over with his mighty wings. His left wing had a deep injury on the top edge. It would take another day or two for the wound to be fully cured. Ash looked at his wings and himself in the mirror. He stood naked in front of it and looked like an angel sent by God. Except that his wings were not at all like those of a divine being, more like those of a demon. They were leathery, with bent bones protruding from their upper tips like the horns of a devil. Ash could not complain about his appearance, for he was a picture-perfect man. His body had reached perfection, displaying magnificent muscles, crowned by almost flawless skin. The many wounds he had already received, whether in battle or during training, had left no scars. An accelerated and excellent healing power was inherent in the Gargoyles. However, there was no cure for a broken heart or a crushed skull. His appearance would have caused many to lick their fingers. He was admired by many of his people, and the female gender within his ranks adored him and his body. But the wings always ruined the overall image in his eyes. It was as if an artist, who had already succeeded in creating a perfect picture, had destroyed it by a certain color gradient. The curse that had been imposed on the Gargoyle race was to blame. Ash's gaze wandered to the clock. Damn, already so late, he thought. He quickly retracted his wings, slipped into new clothes, and set out to tell the Council about his nocturnal foray.