Here is a short story I wrote for the Writers Remix Project. One day I went for a walk and came back with this in my head. Some ideas are just like that.
The
Angel Who Fought For Man
By Nick B Clarke
February 20th of the 4th Empire. I
remember that day like it was yesterday, bright and vividly. Angels fell from
the sky. From that day, one question plagued all of us. Where is our God now?
One such angel fell like a meteor, right in front of me; she
fell through a bridge into a ravine. I was part of the 38 regiment, platoon
nine. Well, what was left of our platoon: in enemy lands lost and wounded, the
eight of us went down to investigate this shard from the heavens. I remember
her glow as the river flowed around her; beneath her, the riverbed was dry. She
was unconscious, she wore white robes, her halo was floating above her head in
an ethereal manner. We set up camp nearby and tended to her. Less than an hour
passed before she awoke to our heated debate about her origins. In our stunned
silence, she asked us where she was. I became the spokesperson “The bottom of
the barrel”.
We hit the road once more; trying to get ourselves home was
proving to be extremely difficult, getting her home would be impossible. She
did fall from heaven, all she would say is that someone had layed siege to it
and that she fell out while protecting it.
That day, we ran into an enemy patrol, that day we showed
her the brutality of man. After the short skirmish, she miraculously healed our
wounds. In return we promised to get her home, we promised the impossible. Soon
she would show us that nothing was.
Midnight we slept. She awoke us to an enemy attack, they
were only scouts, but she got severely wounded as we chased them off. It seemed
she bled like we did. She healed in mere hours and survived as healthy as ever,
but her glow vanished that night. I’m sure god wept.
The next day, we stumbled upon the main legion of the enemy
army. Our angel proved her worth as she stretched her feathered wings and flew
above the enemy, scouting their positions as we tried to come up with a plan of
either escape or attack. Both looked grim.
Like a harbinger, she accidentally led them right to us. We
tried to run, but got surrounded, a circle of pointed halberds and spears
stopped us in our tracks. They grabbed for her wings, we retaliated with
violence. In our defense, our angel picked up a sword and tried to break the
circle: she drew her first blood. I saw her glowing halo solidify into metal. An
enemy solider struck, cleaving her left wing right off, she retaliated and
killed him. Her halo fell, and when it hit the ground, it shattered in two,
exploding in a shockwave of light. In the confusion, we managed to escape into
the forest.
We gave her pieces of our armour to wear and let her keep
the sword. Our One-winged angel became a mascot of sorts for our forces, as
stories seeped their way back home about ‘an angel who fights for man.’ We trained
her to fight like us: she fought better. I had hoped she was better than this,
beyond our petty squabbles, but for better or for worse, we remained with us.
Our protector, saviour and prize. What she became was awe-striking.
We managed to reconvene with three other platoons at Solumn
Village. It soon became apparent that we would have to defend it. Our enemies
covered the hills in the distance. Our angel lead the charge in to what looked
like certain death, still, sixteen of us, including me and my entire platoon,
followed. The rest stayed behind the hastily scrambled fortifications of the
village to watch the impending slaughter. On that grassy battlefield, we hit a
roadblock. Our angel wasn’t the only fallen. We met her sister. Whether she was
a sister in blood or simply divinity remained a mystery. The sister-angel-turned-succubus
had wings of black and eyes of red. My legs shook, but I stood my ground. Our
–One-winged-angel would be the one to save us from the succubus and army, she
saved us all. I remember what she said word for word:
“Sister, I do not fight as a divinity. That is why we fell. Mortals
waged war on the heavens, we despised them and fought back with divine power. Now
I see that mortals fight for different reasons, they are divided and fight not
because they hate what’s in front of them, but because they love what’s behind
them. Today, I stand with them, not as a fallen-angel, but as a mortal. If any
group of people can save heaven from themselves, it is them.”
The succubus simply snarled back. Our angel nodded. And just
like that, they clashed into each other with mortal swords. Fighting like the
animals we were. Divine could describe neither of them. Blood was spilled
between them as the enemy army and the sixteen of us stayed out of the action.
We could feel the scraping of swords resonate though the air, it was a death
zone. In a fit of rage, the succubus tore our angel’s remaining wing out of her
very back. Blood showered out, nerve endings and tendons snapped, the ground
was soaked with red.
The sixteen of us tried to fight back; three of us died
instantly, nine were disarmed in seconds. I could barely hold on to my own
sword as my hands were coaxed with sweat. A sword penetrated the succubus’
torso. It was a gift from our newly-risen angel, one born of blood. The
succubus escaped into the air, the enemy army took one glance at our
blood-soaked angel of death, saw the first few fighters die by her hand and
ran. We were all beyond redemption now, for we had helped defile and angel.
That angel fought as a creature of death from that day
onward. Carving a path of blood and tears to victory. The war faded from action
after eight more weeks, as did the Angel. But there was a far more sinister
battle approaching.
A year passed, I travelled the world as a missionary,
recruiting not warriors, but people who believed in my cause. I fought for the
fallen, I helped train these men into hulking knights. To fulfill the promise I
made. Now I climb the stairway to man’s ultimate fate. The fate of three
worlds.
I looked around me. Ninety-three knights stood at the
gateway to heaven. As paragons of good intention, retreading steps taken by
their future.
The gate was slightly ajar. Heaven was exactly as described,
statues of gold, fluffy clouds and all; minus one detail: the blood. We could
only assume that this was the heaven of multiple worlds, a hub connecting us
all, because it soon became apparent that the weapons, technology and ungodly
machines that had previously invaded heaven, did not belong to ours. We were
already too late.
We fought through heaven, seeing the dead in a place that
should have no such death. We fought golems of metal with our swords, bashing
our way closer to the centre. Weapons of impossible nature took our lives, we
were indeed fighting men of the future, men who were just like us, we must have
seemed like insects to them, but we swarmed them with brute force. We made it
to the tower fortress of golden light; twelve of us did, anyway. Twelve of
ninety-three.
We made it into a throne room just in time to see God die at
the hands of man. Something not meant for the eyes of a petty mortal like
myself. We also saw our no-winged-angel who had scouted ahead days in advance:
tied down like a dog, bruised and beaten. At our entrance, she found the
strength break free, killing the god-killer without mercy.
Although as fragile as a ceramic urn on the edge of a table,
the future-soldiers were too surprise-stricken to make a move. The thirteen of
us chased them out and barred the doors.
Our no-winged-angel looked into the empty throne and tears
rolled down her cheeks. She explained that she was the only one who could get
to the throne, but she was not divine enough to sit on it.
The end of days were coming, I could feel it. I could only
imagine what sort of plan the other men had to allow the throne to do their
bidding. I placed my hand, in what I hoped was a supportive manner, on her
shoulder. She knew what she had to do. The fallen angel sat on the throne and
smiled. It rejected her, her mortal life drained from her eyes. God was dead
and their domain was now forfeit. Everything was an uncertainly. I dread to
think that many worlds suffered an existential crisis.
I held my gauntlet to my heart, the eleven others stood by
me. The entire fortress shook. For a brief moment, I could see the many worlds
flicker below me. Everything was connected. I could see every earth, each one a
universe in itself. I was awe-struck at its beauty. Heaven began to flicker
between this view and its white walls, before everything disappeared in a
blinding light. I saw her smile with tears. We had done the impossible. We had
done all we could.
The next moment, we were falling through the sky. The
protectors of our world. I mustn’t have been the only one who had my life flash
through my mind, all the good moments and bad. Our armour shone as it caught
the sunlight as we rained down from a height we had not known existed.
We must have looked like angels falling from the sky. Except
this time, it wasn’t angels falling from heaven, it was men. Now as I fall, I
feel a perfect serenity towards my world. Who knows what will happen without
heaven. I wonder if there will still be a life beyond this one. I can hear a
voice speaking to me like an echo, in fact, it probably is an echo of a memory,
and something she once told me.
Anything can happen. Nothing is set in stone. So whatever
does happen… I’ll see you in the next world.
That was the first Angel who fought for man. Did we make her
a monster? No. We made her a mortal. Nothing lasts forever, not even heaven.
A strange thing happens as I carve a path downwards through
the sky. I see a glimpse of a falling angel catch one of the surviving knights.
Someone to tell the story. The story of angels falling from the sky, falling
from divinity and allowing mortal men to save themselves. All because one Angel
survived an impossible fall and picked up a sword. The Angel who fought for
man.
I hit the ground at terminal velocity.
