The Reluctant Prophet

...

The night was the kind of dark that was so black that even shadows were consumed by it. It would conceal just about anything that wasn't directly underneath the dim lights of the street lamps. This is where she would make her stand, the center of the road beneath the hum of street lights. She stood her ground, heart racing, watching the patrol men turn their attention squarely on this violator. The unholy army had orders to take in anyone that was out after curfew and kill anyone that resisted. She hesitated, hoping she was making the right choice as she tried to remember the details that needed to be absolutely perfect. Wincing she sliced her palm with the dagger drawing an archaic symbol on the pavement in blood. Words not muttered on Earth since the time of Christ rolled from her lips like a storm raging over the ocean. The light of the lord surrounded her as the wind kicked up in a sudden gust, and thunder clapped against the cloudless night. The patrol quickened their pace, focused intently on her. This new generation of soldiers was the partial payment demanded by Destroyer. Cultivated mostly from prisoners, the well sculpted patrol had no idea what they were running towards. It was this ignorance that gave her confidence. Her eyes rose slowly to meet the darkness, her fingertips tingling with the feeling of electricity. It took great effort for her not to resist, it was like holding onto a live electric wire that coursed from her fingers racing up through her arms into every part of her body until it simply could not be contained any longer. A bright light forced its way to the surface, projecting the image of glowing wings with a span of more than twelve feet rising outstretched toward the heavens from behind her. This was a silhouette not of who she was but of the backing of the angels that had always been beside her. They would make sure that she knew exactly where they stood.

She stepped her right leg forward placing an arrow on the bows rest, waiting. "You want me, come get me." She let the arrow fly into the approaching patrol watching the center front soldier fall to the ground.

"Guardian!" The word rang out with such intense hate and disdain that the reverberation created ripples in the stillness of the air shattering the lights in the street lamps.

"Boy!" She spoke with the authority of God himself behind her, taking a calculated risk that the ancient evil that had unleashed its blight upon the world wouldn't end her in a single blow. "Here to watch the world suffer or are you really looking for me." She taunted the beast from its shadows knowing he would be watching.

"I want it dead!" The command sounded with unmistakably anger. The patrol's front line abruptly stopped, dropping to their knees in firing position. The row behind them taking aim over the shoulders before them. This created a staggered stance that allowed every soldier to fire without worrying about the person in front of them. Each man knew his place, knew his order to fire preventing any gap in shooting time. First row, second row, third row, fourth. It was a continuous fire strategy that allowed the front to reload as the others were still shooting, never giving opposition the opportunity to move from cover, or in her case take cover. She herself had taught the dark army this so very long ago. She had learned it from an old marks man in her father's army. It was something that remained through time in the fighting styles of many armies, thanks to the refugees her dragons had schooled. Aurora focused on the moment, on the feeling that engulfed her; crossing her arms over her chest the wings of light wrapped around her in a protective shield. There was no time to hesitate, no time to question rather or not she was still capable of using the full extension of the armor of God. It would either work or it wouldn't matter. She pushed forward toward the patrol through the heavy fire. The bullets falling to the ground around her like water from a heavy rain.

"Today I will not die." She slices the throat of a panicked patrolmen with the silver dagger. Another trips over the man behind him trying to back away from her, only managing to be shot by his comrade. She drops a knee to the ground forcing the dagger up into the armpit of a third severing his artery. Pulling it free she quickly slices the throat of the man next to him. Panic begins to dissolve the ranks, the men falling back only to regroup a few feet away. A retreat without an order meant death either way for them. It was better to die at her hands than that of Destroyer's. She wondered for a brief moment if they even knew that.