The man who used his wings for others.
He had a wing once.
Heavenly beings always sought him and questioned his kindness while he felt his wings was always for others who only desire to feel but not to achieve one's freedom to be being part of the rest of the world.
But there were always have that spark of a little envy of this particular man in society. The envy man sought the devil, in his thoughts were like this: "If I cut the wings of that man; what can I do to achieved it?"
The devil whispered through from a silent room of that envy man. "Don't do it then."
The envy man replied, "Why should I not?"
The devil whispered again but with a soft voice of his like a wind breeze through from The Envy man's left ear. "Why do it? Cutting his wings would be too simple. To make him fall, you must never touch his wings. Let him collapse beneath the weight of his own gift."
The Envy Man felt curiosity coursing through his veins, interested by the devil's thoughts of this 'by not cutting the man's wings but he will fall' that is.
The Envy man leaned closer to the Devil.
The Envy man smiled. A chuckle from his very mouth. An idea formed in his thoughts.
It was like any other day for this man with wings, helping others, make people's day with a smile although he not known the people were. He always looked into their eyes.
The Envy man looked from a far smiling to the man with wings. They finally confronted face to face. As usual, like some innocent child, the man with wings smiled. The Envy man called himself, "I'm Hasad. What do you call yourself, wing man?".
The man with wings hesitated, a name, such a profound thing he thought. "I preferred to be called 'Alturos'. That was the name they gave me. But long ago they called me 'Teras'. I've had many names before which was impossible for me to remember each name and its meaning. Names are chains they put on me, yet I wear them kindly. What matters are the deeds, not the syllables they place upon me." He smiled once more to 'Hasad'.
'Hasad' drew closer, walking with his hand in his pockets, hiding his trickery in his sleeve.
Hasad circling him around, checking every detail of Alturos's body and his wings. His physiology mostly human but the wings were too abnormal. In this world, there are beings called Veyriths but this species is 10% that is still alive and live in a closed country. Although, veyriths is 10% of population like near humans. Alturos is much more different, his wings's end felt off. It was much different than Veyriths than the size is a bit smaller compare to Alturos almost as big as a glider.
"Well, 'Alturos'. How noble of you. Helping people. Every day. Have you ever thought of there are people who are watching you curious of your wings. Is it even a true wings or should I say flesh wings!" Hasad torn the cover of 'Alturos's' wings that now we clearly see: description of Alturos's wings are as if a genetic that was being altered and its hideous that you can grew nauseous.
People around the streets shocked and afraid of Alturos's wings. The wings were neither feather nor pure flesh, but a cruel marriage of both. The skin stretched like a beast's hide, threaded with pulsing veins. At their ends, twisted shapes curled like hands denied fingers, reaching but never grasping.
People stepped back. Mothers pulled their children close. Some spat on the ground, others whispered, "Monster." Faces turned pale, fear in their eyes.
Some froze, torn between fear and memory. "Is that not the one who saved us?" a voice murmured, yet was drowned beneath harsher cries—"Monster!" Gratitude scattered like dust in the wind.
Hasad smiled.
'Alturos' looked around and his smile falter. The people who always admire him and gave him hope to live. He felt betrayed being called a monster. 'I have saved you all and this is what I get?' He thought. Then, his inner voice contradict his thoughts with this statement: 'I have saved them. That is true, but people like me can change. Although different but I am still among men.'
'They knew it now, I'll be treated differently.'
'There are people that still gave their hope upon you, as their saviour.'
A clash of monologue happened between his thoughts and inner voice. He felt something was off and his heart beating like it's got to explode any second and his eyes were in a daze state. Mind was still in conflict with the heart.
Then a woman stepped up. The people turned their gaze to the woman. The woman steps forth, her voice calm, soothing the mob. For a heartbeat, 'Alturos' believes she carries mercy in her hands. But as she turns her face to him, he sees her smile—familiar, cruel. It is the same smile Hasad wore when the Devil whispered to him. His heart drops. He knows her now. She has always been there.
'Alturos' was still in state of shocked and he wanted to open his mouth but he looked around him with a disgusted face etched on their faces. Many gasped and back away from him. There were people threw some stuff to him to go away and fly away. Some people mocked him of his wings and even they called him a wolf in a sheep's clothing.
'Alturos' mind always questioned of his life. He always felt grateful but at the same time he felt it like a curse. That was why he covered the real look of his wings with a feather-like for his wings.
Hasad noticed a child barely an 8 year old confront the people and protect 'Alturos' and said, "He helped me once. He helped me by driving away the bullies from my school!" The crowd was silent. "He will never do such thing! Ever!"
Then Hasad, with a smile on his face, his smile nothing but mischief, said,
"Oh… the child speaks. And yet—tell me, people—do not monsters often wear the mask of angels? Would he not help a child only to win your pity? Would he not drive away bullies, so that you would one day kneel before him as your savior?"
The crowd murmured, doubt rising once more.
The woman—the Devil—laughed softly, her laughter like a hymn but hollow, brittle as broken glass. She whispered to the people as though she were their mother, "Love blinds you. Do you not see what stands before you? That thing is no man, no savior. He is a curse upon your streets. He flies above you, yes—but to what end? So that he may look down on you all."
And the people, swayed between memory and fear, cried out again:
"Monster!"
"Abomination!"
"Deceiver!"
'Alturos' stood trembling, wings stretched behind him like torn banners of war. His eyes searched the crowd, found the child still standing there, tears welling but unshaken.
'Alturos' wanted to speak—to tell them that his wings had never been his own, that they were a burden he carried only so others might smile—but the words collapsed within him.
And in the silence that followed, Hasad leaned near and whispered, so that only Alturos could hear:
"See? I did not cut your wings. I only showed them to the world. And the world has done the rest."
The Devil, wearing her borrowed face, faded back into the crowd. None noticed her departure, for their eyes were fixed only on the trembling figure with monstrous wings.
The child cried out again, but no one answered him. Mothers pulled their children away. Fathers turned their backs. Voices fell into uneasy silence, but their silence carried more venom than any word.
The abomination stood alone. Wings heavy, heart heavier.
And so it ended—not with fire, nor with blood, nor with the clash of heaven and earth.
But by something colder.
By doing nothing, we destroyed it in silence.
The flawed one who used his wings for others, to let them feel what it was like to dwell in the skies.
Now he lies upon the ground, where the soil is damp and barren—
for the rain that once poured pure bliss has turned to acid,
and in its ignorance, it destroys rather than gives life.