One Candle is Lit...

"Merry Christmas" a joyous women waved with a smile walking her to sons down the rapidly disappearing sidewalk. It was coming down hard, especially for LA, but the two boys walking by would be getting their first white Christmas. Awkwardly, Scott would raise his left hand, pulling the clear oxygen mask from his mouth and nose. "You too..." he gritted out, the cold stinging at his ravaged throat even after just a few moments of exposure. She would nod politely but the boys would stare, somewhat in shock. They clearly had not expected the harsh gravelly voice to come from what they considered an old man. It was fine, he'd scared enough people in his lifetime, but most of them intentional and for very different reasons than his voice.

Merry Christmas. The words hung in his head as the apparatus holding up his oxygen tank made two uneven lines as he walked across the fallen snow. It was not the joyous holiday to him that it was for so many others. When he thought hard on it, the fact was clear that he, Scott Silver had never truly had a Christmas. Well, he had but at that time it meant nothing to him and he never appreciated it. How many times had he gone back in his mind? Hugged his parents and showered them with praise for the love they poured out on him instead of his greedy and unappreciative attitude. He had been an imp in his young days, a scheming brat and a troublemaker. From there he was on the streets and the birth of his Lord meant nothing more to him than any other birth that happened on any given day. Christmas then was just another day, another opportunity and perhaps a time to score a little extra from the houses stocked with expensive gifts. Jail would come soon after that. In prison, days blurred into weeks, into years. But it was in that cell, no bigger than a cubicle, that the Silverfish learned of Christmas, real Christmas. It was those white walls that Scott Silver was brought to salvation, taught the Good News and redeemed. Well, redeemed was too harsh of a word too complete and noble. He was damaged goods, through and through and that carried in his head forever, even after serving his sentence. And even then he had no real Christmas. There were no friends to comfort the slowly dying gangbanger, no family to return to. The holiday season is a time to reconnect and be merry, joyous in the comfort of your loved ones. When you have none, when the world is a void and you are all alone, there is no joy. There is no hope, no loved ones to gather around the fire with, to laugh and cry and be human with. But there is God, the one ray, the one purpose left in a season so fully engorged and tainted in commercialism. God, the true reason, was the one thing Scott could hold onto in the Christmas season. This was the bittersweet, the one time of year he would indulge himself, the one time of year he would ask for one single gift. The asking was his purpose on this snowy Christmas Eve as he made his tracks through the snow towards an old church in a bad part of town. It stood odd, the church, its pointed exterior rising to the heavens over a flat sea of concrete. The stained windows adorning its glorious face gave an immaculate glow against the grey and white around it. Scott stood in awe for a moment as he reached its massive doors. Taking a deep breath of fresh dry oxygen he would push with one hand against the oak door and slowly move inside.

The night's church service had yet to begin but the decorations hung modestly around the interior. A wreath was hung on the pulpit before rows of pews. Large chandeliers emitted their fake candlelight flickers above, faintly illuminating the tall room. And at the front, opposite the large gateway where Scott had entered hung a large crucifix, simply carved but powerful inside a room with so much rich detail. Slowly the man aged beyond his years took a seat somewhere in the middle of the left row of pews. From somewhere in the church he could hear the choir practicing. "One Candle is Lit" hauntingly echoed throughout the halls as they sang they're droning song. Though no one was there in the sanctuary with him he dared not move closer to the depiction of the Lord. He had no fear of bursting into flames or the like in his presence but he could feel the weight of his sin as he stared at the sculpture. But there alone in the dimly lit church the damaged Scott would fold his hands, bow his head and do the one thing he permitted himself to do only once, on this day every year. He would pray for his own forgiveness. Dear Heavenly Father he would begin silently.

The pale white flakes fell from the sky in a flurry, a few of them sticking to Hyperion’s cheek as he let out an annoyed grumble. Despite his current physical being, it seemed that the sensitivity towards cold was something that remained no matter what. This was the reason behind him wearing a rather thick, and furry coat, pulling one portion against his neck to keep it from feeling extensive amounts of the cold. Normally he would have expected Sheiara to have tagged along, slinking like a silent black cat behind him as if she would find some great and dark secret about him. Not that he really cared what the bitch found out, considering there was not much interesting about him for people to now.

Dancing along the exposed pale flesh was what looked like vine like runic markings, pulsing with a faint purple light, standing in stark contrast with the flesh it had been pressed upon. Hovering a few inches above his palms was a smooth mirror like orb, images seemingly reflected upon the smooth surface, along with a few muffled sound moving through the air. A sort of observation device, though what he planned to do with it was unknown beyond just watching. The expression playing across his face was almost unreadable, glowing silver eyes reflecting the light of the sphere, as they turned upon the street below.

Snow was beginning to pile upon the streets, forming a thick layer that made any sort of stepping in it uncomfortable. It was around that time of year that humans so lovely called Christmas, a day celebrating the birth of some inane savior. True Hyperion had not actually looked into what this holiday was about, but from what Sheiara had explained, it was not something that any self-respecting Titan would be interested in. With a motion of a hand, the sphere of glass would shrink into a more mobile size and sink into the left pocket of his black jeans, leaning forward he would land in the snow that covered the alleyway below, brushing off a few flakes from his sleeves.

”I don’t like this holiday already.” There was also the whole spending this holiday with those you love, but he did not quite have the best relationship with his family. They had what they wanted, anymore would have likely only caused undue problems. It was upon stepping out of the alleyway that his eyes fell upon an interesting sight, one of those houses of worship that humans so loved to flock around, a Church if his mind served him correctly. His body had gone on autopilot at this point, and within a matter of moments he was feeling the warm air brush across his face. The markings had faded away, leaving him looking almost humans save for eyes which were semi-luminous, and with flecks of a neon green, as well as a few out of place streaks of grey hair in an otherwise dark brown mess.

A few would turn towards him, the incarnation of darkness and death itself, a look of unease on their faces. Hyperion surveyed the congregation, a slightly bemused expression playing along his face, as he silently wondered why he was even here. If this were supposed to be a holiday where families were to be together, then he hated it already. Another cold reminder perhaps that he was slowly dying, and there would be no comfort, no hand to be paced upon his shoulder and say it would be alright. A small chuckle rolled from between his lips as he gazed up to an image of a man, or whatever he was to the people. ”I guess I’m not the only one aren't I?” He muttered with an almost bitter tone.

Darrick walked in the cold streets of Los Angeles. "Merry Christmas!" he would say to any passerby, man, woman, child, half-dragon people, dragon people, and elves. No not the Santa Clause elves,  real elves. Anyways, on this particular Christmas night, Darrick was heading to the church. Why? For those who didn't know, the good doctor was an atheist. It was quite ironic in the eyes of the devout, with his cheery demeanor, he seemed like an almost fervent believer. And he was. Just not in God. He believed in other things, such as the universal ideals of forgiveness, mercy, and of course, science.

Okay, that didn't really answer the question of why he would want to go to a church on Christmas.  It was mainly because he wanted to think about such ideals like religion from time to time. Could there be a God? The answer was usually no for him. He worked in a hospital. Too many good people he had tried to save, even with his expertise, had died on his watch. He couldn't believe that it would work  for him, having a God that would let good people die for stupid reasons. However, he appreciated the faithful. Their faith in something that was intangible to him was deserving of the highest respect. They, still believed in the good. Or, at least, not the crazy radical ones. Also, churches helped keep Dr. Dark away. There was just something about them that soothed that part of his heart.

Anyways, Darrick walks down the sidewalk and sees the church. It's a dark looking church. Very gothic-looking. Yet, the religious aura that seemed to emanate from it was unbelievable.

Darrick sighed.

"If the world was not in this way, I could get into believing a forgiving, kind God."

Darrick walked into the church.

Inside, he saw a lone man with an oxygen tank praying in one of the pews, by himself.

Darrick did not, and probably will never, know why, but he was drawn to the man. He sat down next to him.

As the man was praying, not as oblivious to his presence it seemed, Darrick could tell, just in the middle of his prayers, Darrick sensed a sadness within the man. His trained doctor's eye immediately noticed that although the man looked old, he was only in his forties.

Must have a rough life....

Darrick waited for the man to finish praying. He didn't know, and likely will never know, what compelled him to talk to the man, whose name Darrick will find out in a few moments, that day.

An outpouring of misdeeds and atrocities would flow forth from Scott's mind as he repented for his sins. Tears would drip down form him eyes as he continued, admitting the horrendous acts committed in the name of God. It was his duty he believed, to attack the evil and be the sin eater that he was, but at the same time he knew that with every kill and attack he too defiled his own soul. It was a catch twenty two with end in site. But he had to press on with his fight against the wickedness of the world, even if it cost him his very soul.

Finishing his prayers Scott would give thanks and wipe his eyes, clearing them of the shame that had poured from them. As he looked up he expected to be alone but instead was met with the face of another. To say that he was startled was an understatement. He nearly jumped from his pew and reached into his bag to produce the Redline outfit. But that would have drawn more attention to himself and judging from the mans sitting posture he had been sitting for quite a while, probably long enough to get a look at his face and the dark hound tattoo running from temple to temple on the back of his head. No, this was something best to deal with as Scott.

Regaining his nerves Scott would settle back down and offer a hand to the man next to him. "Merry Christmas" he would rasp out, his voice breaking and grinding as he spoke. "You know the service...doesn't start for...another hour or so" every few words he would be forced to take a sharp, wheezy breath as his lungs struggled to sustain even a small amount of speech. At the end of his small sentence a gritty cough would escape his throat, doubling Scott over as it tore through him. But as though it was all too familiar of a thing he would recover and once again look at the man next to him with his faded pale blue eyes. "So what brings...you here so early?"

”Mellodrama on Christmas? Sounds about right for you.” The oh so familiar voice chimed in, drawing an irritated growl from Hyperion as he turned to see Jordan standing beside him, hands locked behind his back and casually looking upwards. When he had gotten there could only be guessed at but one did have to give the kid credit for being able to appear when least expected.

”Well now, wasn’t expecting to see you here?”

”Could say the same of you. Didn’t take the Abyssal Incarnate for the religious type, unless of course he was the one getting the worship.” He shot back, though the retort lost some sting coming from such a good natured tone.

”Interesting coming from the little angel.” Hyperion snorted, rolling his eyes rather dramatically.

”It’s a little crowded here though, I feel like having a change of scene?” Not really feeling like arguing, Hyperion simply followed the short male back into the snow. A gust of wind reminding him why he hated snow and anything to do with it, including the damn cold that brought it.

”Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like a family to celebrate this holiday thing with, as well as that dragon of yours?”

”I have a little time. Thought I might spend a little time with myself before then.” Jordan noted with a shrug as the two simply seemed to walk through the snow for a small while, Hyperion wondering to himself where he was being lead much like a lamb.

”You know what they say about playing with yourself in public.” Hyperion stated without a hint of irony, thought that only seemed to cause Jordan to fall into a fit of childish chuckling before reigning himself in.

”It’s always funner?” This however was only met with an unamused sigh as the two stepped into another large building, perhaps another church as shown by the pews. It was mostly empty, save for perhaps two people and that was something Hyperion was fine with, save for the unmistakable stench of death that hung over the place. Not that he was surprised, considering the bases of the religion that this institution was built upon. Another figure of their dying savior, macabre almost if Hyperion were not some sort of death incarnate. Yet he found himself drawn to it anyway, staring at it for a long second before sighing and shaking his head.

Yet he found himself wondering, would they feel the dark presence that constantly hovered around him, or perhaps that sickeningly pleasant aura around Jordan. ”I wonder if they have one of these in every building.”

Darrick looked at the man, visibly startled by his presence, in the almost empty church. Truth be told, the man looked like an old gangster, even with his visible condition, with a tattoo running from temple to temple. But the air given off by him was not of violence, but of...sadness and grief. Feelings that the doctor himself could relate to. He decided to respond to the man in kind.

"Merry Christmas to you, too. And yes, I am aware that the service starts in an hour. In fact, I am not even her for the service. Just here to settle some personal demons."

Darrick turned his head towards the image of Jesus. Shit, and I think I have it bad. He must have gotten it one hundred times worse than I have. But then again, Jesus never had a Satan within his own heart.

"Just here to figure myself out..." Darrick muttered under his breath.

Darrick turned back to the man. He felt that the man would be interesting, if not pleasant, company for the night.

"Pardon me, my name is Darrick. Spelled with an A, two R's, an I, a C, and a K. What's your's?"

As Darrick asked his question, he could feel the presence of two other men walking into the church. He decided that they felt odd as well.

Personal demons, figuring himself out. These were topics Scott was all too familiar with. Normally on these nights he would prefer to be left alone to his selfishness and grief but perhaps this was what he needed, a person to confide in. Maybe this man was the answer to his prayers. But his eyes worried the aging speedster, moving across his body in observance. Was he judging him? Determining just what to think of Scott? He wasn't sure, and a life of sabotage and mayhem had made him paranoid. Being asked his name didn't help. If Scott was one thing now, it was private. If this man was from in LA there would be a chance that he'd recognize the name Scott Silver. The "Silverfish" had made an infamous name for himself through the Hellhounds, his violent crime gang and the acts he committed with them. Trust, trust, try to trust he reminded himself, taking minutes in his head thinking over his next move but only a few seconds in real time.

Extending a scarred hand from beneath his worn and dirty suit he would attempt to shake the man's hand. "My name's Scott. he croaked out as he felt a strange chill fall on the church. His attention would be diverted to the two mean entering the church, his eyes scanning over everything on them. Something was off about them, something very wrong. But at the current moment Scott couldn't determine what. Of all things tonight all he hoped was that Redline would not be necessary.

Darrick stared at the two men walking down the center aisle. One seemed to be fine, but the other....the other felt more evil than even Dark Faust. Then again, Dark Faust wasn't even evil, he was just a very violent anti-hero. This one even smelled of pure evil. Or that could just be the church.

Darrick looked back at the man named Scott. He too was aware of the other man's.....raw feeling of power. His muscles began tensing.

Darrick decided that they couldn't be that bad if they came to a church on Christmas.

He decided to break the barrier.

Darrick cleared his throat and said two words.

"Merry Christmas."

The barrier was broken.