Random Short Stories/Written Ideas

The Aftermath (W.i.P P.4)

In the aftermath of the destructive explosion that resulted in a shockwave that rocked the whole of Terres Saintes, which sent the kingdom of angels into a panic to figure out what could have possibly caused it, chaos ensued. Anyone that hadn't been caught in the explosion, or the raining of debris, was trying to get help, or find any survivors that had been caught in it.

And there were plenty of survivors, fortunately enough. Including a four-winged angel that lacked a halo, long, gray hair trailing along the ground behind them. They were stumbling down the street, having made their way out just moments after they'd incinerated any that stood in the throne room with them. Not a single eye was trained on them, the foolish angels scrambling towards the mess of a palace behind them. Their wings were drooped, stained an even darker gray from the soot they'd had to stumble through in order to get out. They didn't want to think about where that soot had come from, but they took feral satisfaction in knowing that they'd accomplished their goal.

The rest of their body wasn't much cleaner, coated in a mixture of red, brown, and the remnants of their victims. Their clothing was torn, and one of their arms hung limply at their side. They limped along the cobble road, ever-changing eyes pinned on the path before them. Exhaustion nipped at them, but they couldn't rest here. Not among all these... Pathetic creatures. The moment someone realized that Accord wasn't one of them, that they'd been the reason behind their precious little lordling's death, they'd be executed.

Honestly, they thought. They should thank me for ridding them of his tyrannical rule.

Perhaps a few angels would be grateful, but they didn't want to stick around long enough to find out.

A familiar ring of light curled around them as they continued moving. They'd managed to dredge up enough willpower to open the gateway home.

The last thought they spared this world, or any angel, wasn't just a thought. It was a prayer for the little doe-eyed angel's safety. They didn't want their efforts to protect her to go to waste.

The world around Accord melted into blackness, replaced by the glittering night sky of a familiar world they'd spent much time in before. They dragged themself towards a nearby tree, settling down against it without hesitation, but with a little struggle. They were achy, and the cold, clammy feeling of overusing their magic wasn't helping in the least. They were already beginning to feel ill. Accord cursed this body for being unable to handle such a burst of magic.

Their lips parted, a woosh of air escaping from between them. Their eyes slipped shut, and slowly, ever so slowly, color began to return to them. The gray melted away, as did their consciousness. Accord's mind was scattered to the wind as the scuffling of feet reached their ears.

She hoped her balance-keeping friend would understand why she'd blown up the way she had. Maybe she'll summon it and explain later. Or maybe it'll find her before then. But right now, she just wanted to rest.

Tendrils of night coiled around her, protecting her while she slept.

She'd have to thank Void for that when she woke.