Discordant of Impossible Feats (Moved to another account)
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- Parts 4
I wonder if you've heard of a god. Surely you being maybe twelve through fifteen you have. But now a days we sit on our butts and stare at a tv screen until we fry out our brains. As a matter of fact this is the exact reason this story is here, because without all of these brain-fried imbeciles we wouldn't be having such a story. Perhaps this would be nothing but rainbows and Cheerios.
This all started with two women. They were complete opposites, but if you weren't careful they could easily fool you into believing they were the other. I know, I know this is all cliche, but maybe cliches are what makes the best stories. One was named Day, the other Night. Night loathed her sister, and -though she wouldn't openly admit it- her sister despised her back just as much.
So naturally you do what you should do, Night tricked Day's lover into believing she was her. Together they had kids, along with Day having her children. Day's lover, Father Earth, learned of the trickery and wanted nothing to do with either of them. As you can imagine Day wanted revenge on her sister ever since.
Their children didn't get along so well either. Each side of offspring had their own beliefs. Mes chers, this is how they dealt with those beliefs.
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She was not born an angel. She was made into one. The church called it salvation, though she and the others knew better. They were experiments-children forced to carry the blood of something greater, something divine or perhaps monstrous. The priests never revealed whose blood it was, only that it belonged to a "god." She never saw that god, never even knew its name. But she felt it in her veins every day-burning, reshaping, devouring what was once human inside her. From the ritual came her wings: vast and terrible, twelve feet of shadowed feathers stretching behind her, with smaller, flame-lined wings sprouting at her feet. With them, she flew faster than arrows and struck harder than any sword. Fire itself bent to her will, rising and falling with her breath, a weapon she alone commanded. For years she fought in the war of men. Cities burned, armies fell, and still the blood in her veins demanded more. But no power, not even hers, could shield her from loss. Three of her companions-those who had shared the same cursed experiment-were gone, their bodies left behind on the battlefield. She buried them in ash and flame, and with that, she could fight no longer. She turned her back on the church, on the endless slaughter, and wandered into lands untouched by war. For a brief moment, she believed she could escape the cycle. Yet fate was not so kind. The world around her shifted-time, space, reality itself bending. In an instant, the smoke and ruins of men's wars were gone, replaced by a land of jagged mountains, black forests, and skies haunted by creatures she had never seen. Here, the battles were not waged between kings and soldiers, but against things far more primal. Monsters. And though she had left the battlefield behind, destiny had not left her.
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