Fair? (Cobalt)

Cobalt stood in the centre of the catholic church with his wand held tightly in one hand and a hand-axe in the other. His breathing was ragged, sharp and deep. The church around him was already in disarray. The pews had gouges in them from where he'd taken his frustration out with the axe. All of the people who had been in the church when he'd arrived had quickly left and he'd barricades the doors with magic so that he would not be interrupted by the police.

So he was alone.

And he stood in the centre of the church, between the two rows of pews, tears streaming down his face. He wasn't here because he was angry, he was here because he was so unbearably sad. The crushing weight of his daughter's fate weighed heavily on him and, as he stared up into the eyes of christ on the cross, Cobalt felt empty for the first time in decades.

He'd always had something to live for. It was what drove him to be the best, what drove him to never give up and to always come out on top. He had the will to live, even though he was empty. Cobalt had always had the will to live, even when others had lost theirs. The problem was that without Charlotte in his life, without the love he shared with his daughter, the world was cold to him. There would be no reason to live if Charlotte was gone. As he pondered that, he stared on a christ on the cross.

Other people in times like this would turn to God and prey that their loved ones would be delivered from this terrible disaster. They would prey that Charlotte's heart would suddenly become all better.

But Cobalt knew better.

He knew that no matter how hard he preyed, no matter how much he appealled to the mercy of God... Charlotte would die. She would die of that damned heart condition and she would go to heaven. And for the next decade or so people would give him the 'she's in a better place' speach. Until, one day, they would just stop caring.

What kind of a God allowed that to happen to an innocent little girl?

What kind of a God allowed that to happen to anyone!

And just like that, Cobalt's barely restrained sorrow burst forth as a new medium; anger. Roaring like some kind of wild animal, Cobalt lashed out with the axe, tearing up huge chunks of the surrounding pews, each hit sending tremours up his arm. Howling, he beat his chest as the tears fell. He clawed at his own hair in his grief, his mourning of someone who was not yet lost but would be if God had his way. With a final, heart-wrenching, sob he threw the axe through the air as hard as he could.

The wooden head of Jesus Christ hit the ground a moment later with a clatter.

His anger spent, Cobalt dropped to his knees as he cried. Throwing the axe and his wand away, Cobalt tilted his head back and screamed at the dome'd ceiling wordlessly. He sobbed and beat the floor with his fist. He glared up at the cross,

"WHY?!" He demanded with a howl, "Haven't you taken enough from me?! Why do you have to take her as well?!"

The tears were flowing freely now as Cobalt fell forwards, resting his head against the ground as he sobbed weakly,

"Why...?" he whispered, his throat tightening, "Why take my reason for living...?"

"Don't take my Charlotte..."