Battle Angel
29 December 2008 10:59![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skonen_bladesThe metal angel was hard at work sharpening his tools. The war was coming. The angels of love and inspiration were huddled in heaven, listening to the sounds of war outside. The floor of heaven vibrated with the concussive bass of battle.
Wings made of long saw blades, fingernails of scalpel tips, and eyes aflame with the brilliant blue of a welding torch. The angel perched near the sharpening stone, if something that weighed eight tons could be said to perch, and leaned the blade against the spinning rock. A fantail of sparks showered up and out into the holy foundry.
He was the last battle angel to head out. The newer angels had the ‘radar’ and the ‘infra-red’ and the ‘heat-seekers’. Their weapons merely needed to be turned on before they jumped out of heaven’s bomb-bay doors without so much as a battle cry. Kids. All about stealth and being cool under fire.
Give me a good war scream any day, thought the lone battle angel. Let the enemy know you’re coming. Scare the crap out of those red-skinned, black-leather bastards. Go in with the sword a-swingin’ and lay waste like the reaper himself.
He leaned forward with a creak of hydraulics and the scrape of massive hinges. The sparks roostered up higher with the finishing touch. The sword was now sharp enough to slice a soul’s tether. It could split a demon in half with hope. It forgave with each mighty swing.
Big as a building with a chest plate the size of a Cadillac, the angel stood, knees and shoulders screeching. He had no long-range weapons. He was the biggest fighter and he brought up the rear.
A quick, body-wide shudder was the only weapons check he needed. Like a dog shaking itself dry, the battle angel felt his internals speed up. Steam bays emptied in a shroud around him as his engines kicked up to a higher pitch. He was a living golem made from chainsaws and righteous anger.
He twisted his enormous mitt and the sword caught fire with a thunderous rush of light.
The bomb-bay doors lay open and the battle raged below. The last battle angel stood at the lip, looking down into the volcano theater of war.
With an amplified scream that made the entire battle pause and look up, he spread a thousand scissoring feathers and dropped like a stone towards the fray.
tags
Wings made of long saw blades, fingernails of scalpel tips, and eyes aflame with the brilliant blue of a welding torch. The angel perched near the sharpening stone, if something that weighed eight tons could be said to perch, and leaned the blade against the spinning rock. A fantail of sparks showered up and out into the holy foundry.
He was the last battle angel to head out. The newer angels had the ‘radar’ and the ‘infra-red’ and the ‘heat-seekers’. Their weapons merely needed to be turned on before they jumped out of heaven’s bomb-bay doors without so much as a battle cry. Kids. All about stealth and being cool under fire.
Give me a good war scream any day, thought the lone battle angel. Let the enemy know you’re coming. Scare the crap out of those red-skinned, black-leather bastards. Go in with the sword a-swingin’ and lay waste like the reaper himself.
He leaned forward with a creak of hydraulics and the scrape of massive hinges. The sparks roostered up higher with the finishing touch. The sword was now sharp enough to slice a soul’s tether. It could split a demon in half with hope. It forgave with each mighty swing.
Big as a building with a chest plate the size of a Cadillac, the angel stood, knees and shoulders screeching. He had no long-range weapons. He was the biggest fighter and he brought up the rear.
A quick, body-wide shudder was the only weapons check he needed. Like a dog shaking itself dry, the battle angel felt his internals speed up. Steam bays emptied in a shroud around him as his engines kicked up to a higher pitch. He was a living golem made from chainsaws and righteous anger.
He twisted his enormous mitt and the sword caught fire with a thunderous rush of light.
The bomb-bay doors lay open and the battle raged below. The last battle angel stood at the lip, looking down into the volcano theater of war.
With an amplified scream that made the entire battle pause and look up, he spread a thousand scissoring feathers and dropped like a stone towards the fray.
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Date: 29 Dec 2008 20:34 (UTC)no subject
Date: 30 Dec 2008 02:57 (UTC)