「Dιsςοrd」

「I」

Lucinda
The sky is ashen; a myriad of rolling, monochrome clouds. I stand upon the trodden dirt, surveying the surrounding area with disdain. The clouds hang low, bringing an eerie air to the battlefield already riddled with corpses and an impairment to my impeccable vision. Silence hangs over the plain like a thick blanket, almost suffocating. I adjust the quiver on my shoulder and turn on my heel with the full intent of heading back home. A slight shuffling catches my attention to my left and I reach for my quiver, my fingertips brushing the fletchings of my arrows as I whirl around. A gleaming scythe sails past my face, inches from decapitation. I leap backwards, the soles of my boots skidding across the soiled earth as the angel leaps towards me again. Her white uniform and sun-bathed skin look ethereal against the backdrop of darkness, and I must force my attention to her weapon. Abandoning my desperate grab for my arrows I reach down to my thigh, unsheathing the dagger that rests at my left side. I dodge another wild swipe for my face, dropping low to strike her shins. She bellows in pain, pausing and giving me a chance to leap back once more. Before I have a chance to turn and retreat, a gleaming gold sword bursts through her chest from behind. I freeze in place, eyes wide as the girl's own as she coughs up blood. The sword piercing her heart swiftly retreats and the angel falls to her knees, gasping for air before falling flat. I stare in horror as her chest shudders with a final breath before ceasing movement altogether. My hands tremble as I slowly raise my eyes to the figure that remains standing. In an instant the dazzling white form shoots forward, the sword's tip at my throat before I can blink. I lift my head, a gasp escaping my lips as I clench my dagger. My eyes fall to this second angel's face, confusion distorting my thoughts. His features are sharp, set into a tense expression. My eyes fall from his startling blue gaze to his hands. He holds the beautiful rapier carefully, his long fingers curled elegantly around the slender handle. My eyes follow the sword, sliding over the delicate curl of metal strips that serve as a guard and down the lean blade that drips with deep red blood. Inhaling deeply I swipe his blade away with my palm, wincing as the sharp metal slices into my hand. I jump back, lifting my dagger in a defensive stance. He lowers his blade, simply chuckling as he watches me with a sharp gaze. I eye him uncertainly, my gaze traveling over his showy uniform, a relatively simple white button-up shirt, pants, and waist-length cape trimmed with a shimmering gold. Roses blossom over his left shoulder, delicately embroidered into the fabric with fine gold thread. He wears tan riding boots, also trimmed with gold,that reach his calves, the bottoms caked with brown and deep red. Everything about him points to the obvious fact that he is in angel. From the light olive skin to the uniform and his charming, good-boy appearance. My bewilderment only deepens as I eye the corpse behind him and the wild, amused look in his baby blue eyes.
Why in the world would an angel slay his own kind?

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