He rested his head against the rock wall, his eyelids lowered halfway as they stared across the interior of the canyon. The sliver of red light escaped from his nearly closed eyes, giving him the look of a deranged demon. That is until someone looked deeply at his face, finally seeing the lines of sorrow and fatigue of so many years etched across. His ebony fur blended with the darkness that dominated this part of the world. He had grown accustomed to it as one grows use to his new home, even though he still shuddered to think of what lay hidden deep in the shadows when he could not see through the shades.

But right now there was only one thing he feared, and this fear he could see just too clear.

He kept his gaze fixed ahead, staring at the figure sitting not too far across before him, legs crossed, eyes still. He could depict the everlasting blood on the other’s talons, some of it his very own. The yellow glow from the pair of eyes staring at him cut through his own, baring his soul that was drifting through black nothingness. Even after spending the past year in this dismal place, he still found it hard to fully grasp the truth. That this person sitting across from him was once a creature that lived in the light, and whose before gentle eyes showed genuine sincerity.

But the emptiness that had plagued the face during those past years was vanquished, but only to be replaced by flitting shadows that was beyond anything ever known, shadows that only existed in the deep confines of the earth.

Unconsciously, he turned his head away from the features, his eyes leaving the dreadful face, focusing instead on the shattered rocks of the canyon.

The other’s mouth twisted into an amused smile, then his low laugh echoed throughout the void of his ‘home.’

“Am I still far too repulsive to even look at?”

His voice quartered the soul for his own appetite.

The black-furred creature stiffened at the words, slowly bringing back his gaze forward, no longer daunted by the yellow light and the slit pupils staring at him, through him.

“Yes…you are…and I don’t mean just your face…”

Waiting to hear some retort or feel a relentless cuff across the face, he found it curious to see that his companion merely turn his head away, eyes hard as stone. A terrible silence took over, a solitude where anything can break and tear. He was unsure why, but somehow this was much worse than the cutting voice, and his ears yearned to hear any fragile sound. He soon quickly regretted that wish.

“Do you remember the war?”

Red eyes blinking, it took him a moment to fully process the words. His companion locked his gaze unto him.

“Well, do you, Cuervo?”

The addressed figure felt his throat dry up, trying to discover whatever kind of trick the other was doing to him. Playing with minds and past memories, all to achieve his desires.

“Which one? There are so many…”

Including the one you’re causing now, he thought silently. But seeing his companion’s sneering grin he knew his thoughts were heard distinctly.

“The first,” he aided Cuervo in remembrance. “The first time you heard the song…”

Growling, the red-eyed figure clenched his fists, angered that he would bring up such a memory. It was one of the worst things he had had to endure… yet that day was a blessing as well. He always looked upon that time in mixed emotions, the same impression that would come whenever he gazed into his companion’s face.

“So you remember?”

The voice cut through his flesh.

Trying to maintain his self-control, Cuervo was now able to hear them, voices rising in death to enunciate their last syllable of their song. The symphony that haunted him in his dreams.

“Yes, I remember… perfectly.”

The song rose in pitch, reaching out towards him from time’s overflowing river.

~~~~~

“Hey! Watch out!”

Hearing the proffered warning from one of his allies, he moved to the right, dodging the sharp blade of the ax that would have felled his head had he been a moment too late. The burly soldier carrying the weapon grunted in annoyance and made another lunge at his prey.

Cuervo, his sword poised for a counter, parried the strike deftly, moving the arc of his swing to stab the soldier’s neck. Blood spurted in a ran shower and, with a final gurgling cry, he fell to the dead-littered ground, joining the rest of his comrades. Cuervo only got to catch his breath for less than a second before another enemy made his way toward to attack. Growling, the animal soldier made ready for another grueling fight.

He was barely of eighteen years, already beyond weariness but immensely horrified at the sights he was witnessing and the acts he committed. His muscles felt they would go slack at any moment and it was only through iron-willed determination that he was still standing. His white fur was matted with dry clots of blood, already obtaining several gashes dangerously close to his blue eyes. His pointed ears drooped from the exertion as he slain another foe, his heart beating at an alarming rate.

A sharp arrow bounced off his dented steel armor and he rolled forward to avoid another onslaught of the deadly accurate weapons. He usually detested the heavy metal covering, for it restricted his movement drastically. But now he gratefully thanked the one who ever thought of the ingenious defensive plating.

Blinking the blood away that flowed into his eyes from numerous wounds, young Cuervo searched for his allies. He spotted several of the sought out fighters battling for their very lives, shouting war cries as they plunged into the fray only to be lost among the filthy mass of blades and armor.

His eyes roamed through the battlefield, seeing countless deaths of a startling number. Now, he could barely even remember what he was fighting for. The cause had lost all meaning for him. What idiotic thought had ever possessed him to join something such as this? He kept going over that thought, reprimanding his youth and pride who had thought only of life and of exciting ventures. But the war had eradicated all of those hopeful dreams.

Whether it was one hour or one minute he spent in this hell, he knew that this fight he was not likely to forget. Not even his most extreme imaginings could ever meet up to the horrifying reality of war, of his very first fight. And he was still standing.

More lives were butchered by the blade, fighting for whatever countries, fighting for their leaders that were far into safety, fighting for nations that argued over a petty dispute, fighting for monarchs that were pissed at one another and who sacrificed their plentiful citizens to win at a game that had demeaned everyone’s value. Fighting on and on and on…

He could not remember his cause. He tried desperately to summon that memory, to restore his confidence and see the enemies as faceless entities and not live men, young and old, dying on the blood-soaked ground. But nothing came except the screams.

Cuervo was sick of this. He felt his mind start to shatter, losing his mentality as more and more men fell to the ground, unmoving. No, he wanted to leave. Just to drop his sword and gather the remaining strength he had left and flee from the battlefield. He wanted to return home and get away from this hell where hope was non-existent and the only way to survive was at the cost of another’s life. He wanted to go home to his love, Eve, and forget everything he saw.

But the cries of the living mixed with the dead ruined it all for him. Their screams were horribly symphonic, a ghastly song of wars that never end, of life cut short without a second thought. Destruction was about and soon it became the only sound resounding in his ears.

People’s severed heads rolled on the ground in his vision, but it no longer disgusted him. In fact, he felt nothing anymore. It was all too normal now. He felt his heart grow cold, and now the men were faceless corpses. But the screams were still there, and the song was still playing.

Every passing moment got more terrifying, but he was given no time to think. His enemies came at him again and, roaring with a vicious cry, he raised his sword in the grisly scene that continued to play. More screams rang into the field like a clanging knoll and he envisioned them as marionettes, moving to the will of their master, dying for their master.

Pulling his red-stained sword toward him from a chest cavity, he stepped back as more bodies kept falling. Moving his left arm only a fraction, he gasped out in sudden pain, dropping his blade, a flash of blinding white taking over his vision. He glanced over to his shoulder, seeing an open, deep, blood flowing wound, exposing the tendons of the muscles. He had never felt any blade puncture the shoulder, too lost in the blood lust of war. But now it was apparent, and he was having difficulty remaining awake…

No! He had to stay conscious. To sleep would mean death. Even though it would be so much easier, so peaceful to drift off into blissful slumber.

Clutching his injured shoulder with his right hand, he staggered onto his feet, determined to fight until the end. He needed to survive, so he could go home, go back home and rest. But each passing moment proved more and more difficult; the harsh sounds of war were replaced by the soothing promises of death, his vision became more obscure, the world darkening a black smothering shroud. There was only a symphony.

Cuervo knew he could not live through this, the knowledge was startlingly clear. His mind and body were weakening rapidly, and soon it became apparent to him that there was no use in fighting the inevitable any longer. But he wanted to go home, he wanted to see Eve…

With a final sigh, he let his body drop forward, sinking into the warm ocean of endless sleep, the song of the dying still playing. He was ready to feel the impact of the fast approaching earth.

But Cuervo never did feel that, sensing only a pair of strong arms catching his frame and a harsh but comforting voice that dragged him out from the pulling waters. “--got to snap out of it! Come on! Wake up! Don’t listen to it! Not the song… the symphony…”

Slowly raising heavy eyelids, he tried to find the voice that had pulled him from the shores of death. The ghastly symphony still played on, but now it was so far into the background that he could hardly hear it. That was when he first saw the face.

“Wh- what is-?”

“Good! Stay awake! Just ignore the song!” The arms brought him up, carrying him far from the battle, a shining sword slaying those who crossed their path of escape. Cuervo could barely move, but the pain numbed away, and the song died down.

But there stayed the face, the face whom he would call his best friend from then on.

~~~~

He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling so tired. He had recounted the time, and those cries forever remained with him. Cuervo would have surely joined them had that voice never came.

He smiled faintly. It’s almost ironic, he thought, to thank my life to a voice that I now detest above all else. A hollow chuckle escaped from his lips as he brought his line of sight back to his companion. The face was still there. Just barely, but there. You had to look hard to find it, to see the heart that still lived on through the darkness. Or maybe it was just his imagination, and perhaps he had never seen anything there at all.

The blessing of that time was meeting a devoted friend, one who had helped him overcome his fears of the war. A friendship had been established and it overcame anything that threatened to shatter it.

Almost anything… until the fires came.

His companion remained sitting during the recounting of the past. No emotion passed his face in any instance. But his mouth had twitched at the mention of the song, his eyes glaring with an inner fire. At these moments, Cuervo realized just how much had changed through all these years. Things that were severed and broken, trusts betrayed. Both their appearances had drastically altered. Cuervo, once his white fur now a burnt black. And he knew that if he looked into a mirror, a red-eyed gaze would stare back, traces of blue entirely vanquished.

His lost friend continued staring at him in a studying manner, keeping close watch on each and every characteristic. He had changed also…beyond recognition. Because of the sacrifice to the earth, his surrender…

Suddenly, the other twisted to his feet and walked off, leaving a surprised Cuervo on the floor who then asked on impulse, “Wait, where are you-?”

The lost one turned, stopping Cuervo’s words with a glare. But there was no actual anger in it, almost a relief and understanding.

“Cuervo, remember that song,” he merely said.

The black-furred creature looked at him. “The song…why?”

“If you listen hard enough, you’ll know… it holds much more than you realize. You heard it, such as I. There’s something about that… that symphony… that cannot be denied.”

Then abruptly, he stormed out, his gruesome form lost among the shadows of the chasm, silence pervading once again.

Cuervo dwelled on the words, finding their meaning, his eyes fixed on the fading figure of the other. The song… the symphony… Voices rising and falling, life and death, past and present. The music was worse than the silence for it sang the fears of all. There was a secret behind it, many of them, but already he had discovered one. Cuervo searched through the shadows, trying to find the memory of a friend now corrupted beyond deliverance.

The symphony; some called it of death, some of life, of love, of infinity, of nothingness. But it was all encompassing, granting a power to forge bonds of friendship beyond the grip of death.

And that may be the most terrifying power of all.