Chapter 4
Angels screamed
and called out, pointing and yelling at the unknown terrors that surrounded
them in the darkness. Around him, Greagian saw an ever-growing cloud of ash
that seemed to suck the life out of the grass, leaving only withered, brown
husks in its wake. Within that cloud, Greagian could see bodies circling the
angelic crowd as the angels jostled and shoved each other into a tight circle.
The starlight failed to illuminate these creatures, but Greagian found he could
see far into the darkness and make out their shape. Long bodies, two sets of
powerful legs, sharp claws, and an aura of shadowy fire that, rather than
giving off light, seemed only to absorb it and create more darkness. They ran
quickly around the angelic tribe, circling, coming closer, and letting off that
foul smoke that began to hide even the stars from sight and increase the
angels’ sense of blindness.
Before he knew what was happening,
Greagian heard a roar come out of the darkness and felt himself being jostled
once again by those around him. An angel cried out, his voice garbled as if his
throat were filled with liquid. The sound was quickly drowned out by the cries
of the others.
Another angel fell. Then another.
Greagian was knocked to the ground by a powerful blow and saw blood on the
ground. But not his own. The dark-skinned angel who had walked alongside him
for many hours lay dead at his side. In this moment, he could not remember the
man’s name. Looking up, he saw one of the shadows eyeing him through the
darkness. Only its eyes were visible, the rest of its form now completely
enveloped in the black smoke that seemed to stream from every pore of its dark
skin. The eyes spoke to Greagian. Told him that he was nothing to them. Nothing
at all but another meal, another game.
Then Greagian and the surrounding
angels grew strangely quiet. It seemed to them that suddenly the clouds seemed
less black, the sky less dark. Greagian could see the creature plainly. Like a
lion it was, but hairless and covered in scales. Pacing and snarling among the
remains of the once-hearty field of grass. Sharp fangs, sharp claws, sharp
eyes. But Greagian’s eyes were sharper.
The creature hesitated for a moment
as the angel stared it down.
It waited.
The other angels stopped moving and
set their eyes into the darkness as well, as if all were filled with sudden
resolve.
Then the moment passed. The
creatures pounced. Greagian pivoted to the side, redistributing his weight by
instinct in preparation for the blow. He then stretched out his hand just as
the creature came at him and caught the monster by its scaly throat. Claws fell
onto his shoulders, digging in and tearing into his flesh, yet still Greagian
held. Held and squeezed. Strength was in his fingers, and the creature gagged.
Spittle flew into Greagian’s face, stinging him but leaving him undeterred. He
would not let go until the creature breathed its last breath. All the while,
the shadow’s powerful forelegs kicked and scratched and tore into the angel’s
shoulders.
Then the kicking slowed. The
creature’s body convulsed. It moaned and finally it lay still, collapsing into
a heap by Greagian’s side.
Greagian had only enough time to
take a breath before another shadow fell upon him. He felt himself flung onto
his back, gripping the creature’s forelegs as its jaws snapped in his face. For
a brief moment, he thought this would be his death, an unsatisfying end to such
a short existence. But then a few of his fellow angels grabbed the creature
from both sides and flung it back and away into the surrounding clouds of
smoke. One of his companions offered Greagian a hand, but he could only wave
his rescuer off. He was already feeling light-headed from loss of blood.
Greagian lifted himself to his
knees, unable to do much more. Blood continued to drip from his mangled
shoulders, pooling on the ground beneath him. For several moments, he simply
watched the battle unfold.
Ahead of him, the bright-eyed angel
who had started the march came charging into the battle, another angel not far
behind. The shadows had little chance to react to this new foe as the
bright-eyed one caught two of the creatures by their forelegs and sent them
tumbling to the ground in a mess of feathers and scales and darkness and light.
Greagian tried to move, tried to aid in the battle, but his wounds were too
severe. He could only watch as the bright-eyed angel grappled with the
creatures, fiery eyes blazing as he punched, kicked, held, and threw each in
turn. Always scrambling, always moving, always predicting where the next strike
would come. A master of battle at less than a day old. An archangel.
Soon the trio of wrestling figures
became a fuzzy mess in Greagian’s eyes. He could no longer hear the snarls of
the creatures, could hardly smell the foulness of their smoke. His vision was
fading as the blood loss finally stripped him of consciousness. The last thing
he felt before passing out was the soft, loamy soil cradling him as his body
dropped to the ground.
You can see more of the book here: Pilgrimage of Angels
Oooh, I loved this chapter!
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