Angel of the Damned

AotD - 1

       Pain shot up Drake’s back when he slammed into the trunk of the gnarled oak tree before sliding to the ground, the nanosuit locking up to absorb most of the impact.  The pain continued to throb in his back as he stood and picked up the pistol from the ground, rolling his neck gently, wincing in pain once the bones settled back into place with an audible ‘pop’. A click and hiss popped in his ear accompanying each breath from the air filtration system purifying the toxin-filled air.  

      With a quick glance at the time readout on his HUD, he turned to face the Lycan that crouched on the other side of the clearing. The beast, easily thrice the size of a normal wolf, ran its tongue over its teeth stained with silver blood that belonged to an angel who lay amongst the broken branches on the ground just across the clearing.  The dull sunlight that dappled through the leaves overhead just barely illuminated her unmoving form.  Large, feathery wings extended behind her, several large chunks of flesh ripped out of them.  Her white dress was stained with silver and lay in tatters, exposing several deep lacerations around her arms and stomach.

      Drake could hear her strained breathing faintly from where he stood, and his eyes flickered over to her, trying to reassure himself that she would be fine.  The slide of the pistol was locked back, mud coating the inside of the chamber.

“You mother fucker,” he hissed.  Thumbing first the slide release then the the safety, he returned the pistol to the holster on his thigh, then moved his hand to his belt.  His hand slipped inside the pouch and he felt the grip of a sword, the blade collapsed inside the handle.  He pressed a small button near the top of the hilt and flicked the weapon down.  A series of clacks later, a short blade extended from the hilt.  Drake could still hear the guards at the city taunting him about his outdated weaponry, until he saved their lives with it.  Outdated, yes.  Reliable, yes.  Worth updating, never.  

      Oh you pathetic Hunter, you had a better chance killing me with that gun of yours. The Lycan snarled.  It’s voice gravely with a hint of pride as it floated through Drake’s mind.

      “Feeling cocky are we?” Drake responded.  The growl in the Lycan language sliding between his teeth with ease.

      The Lycan blinked rapidly.  A Decator?  Your abomination of a race was exterminated at the end of the war! Filthy cross between my race and the Vampires.  It seems we missed one.

“Do you really think you could eradicate an entire race from the face of Silean simply by sending them to the bogs?  We were trained soldiers, every single one of us!  You must have expected that some of us survived!” Drake snarled.  The syllables felt foreign on his lips as he spoke. The blade held at the ready, he waited for the Lycan to pouch.

The Lycan clacked its claws together in anticipation, baring it’s teeth in a low growl.  No matter, you will join your brothers and sisters in hell soon enough.

      Drake narrowed his eyes as he tightened his grip on the sword.  He watched as the  muscles in the Lycan’s hind legs tensed up, and it dropped into a crouch.  They slowly circled each other for a tense few moments before the Lycan launched across the clearing towards him, bloodstained claws extended.

      Drake dropped to his knees and bent backwards, the Lycan’s razor sharp claws slashing within inches of his face.  He drove the sword into the Lycan’s stomach as it passed over him, ripping it open with a splash of blood.  The Lycan skidded to a halt and stumbled, blood gushing from the wound, though Drake knew it wasn’t enough.  The Lycan let out a hiss of satisfaction as the flow of blood slowed, the wound closing.  Drake flicked the sword and blood flew from the blade, splattering on the grass.