and in a burst of light that blinded every angel-
In spite of all his faith in the strange and fantastic, Fletcher Hadley never thought that wishing he could be somewhere else would actually work.
Not twenty seconds ago, he was charging into a mess of bodies-most alive, some already dead; most demon, some human-Claymore raised high above his head, ready to to swing and spill blood in the name of defense. A cacophony of screaming and chanting beat against his eardrums like giant mallets; metal crashed all around him in the form of armor and weapons, and in the distance, a siren wailed. War had finally broken out on the grounds of Stirling Castle, and the ancient fortress shadowed the soldiers as they fought, and fell, and died.
Now, the demon whose head Fletcher had been aiming for those twenty seconds ago is a tree, standing proudly in the middle of a park.
The castle is also gone.
Everything is gone.
Fletcher's mind registers the change quickly enough, but his reflexes don't. The sword that he buries in the trunk of the elm in front of him is completely unfamiliar to the angel, which, he supposes, goes well enough with the surroundings-it's huge, glowing an ethereal, iridescent white, and is far less heavy than it should be-and once it penetrates the bark, something even stranger happens.
The bark slowly begins to crack, light shining through from the inside of the tree. Fletcher blinks as the fissures spiderweb their way up and down the trunk and the branches, and that-
That's when he relinquishes his grip on the weapon, turns on his right heel, and takes off in the other direction.
The blast throws him off of his feet and onto a cement pathway nearby. Splinters and leaves rain down from impressively high up, landing on him and just about everything in about a 20-meter radius. And he has no idea what the fuck just happened.
Once he's certain there isn't any more shit falling from the sky, he sits up, wings covered in bits of wood and face bloodied from the fall. He brushes a few leaves off of his uniform and looks around, brows furrowed in what can only be described as "epic confusion."
He opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it was promptly dies on his lips.
Where the hell am I?
Not twenty seconds ago, he was charging into a mess of bodies-most alive, some already dead; most demon, some human-Claymore raised high above his head, ready to to swing and spill blood in the name of defense. A cacophony of screaming and chanting beat against his eardrums like giant mallets; metal crashed all around him in the form of armor and weapons, and in the distance, a siren wailed. War had finally broken out on the grounds of Stirling Castle, and the ancient fortress shadowed the soldiers as they fought, and fell, and died.
Now, the demon whose head Fletcher had been aiming for those twenty seconds ago is a tree, standing proudly in the middle of a park.
The castle is also gone.
Everything is gone.
Fletcher's mind registers the change quickly enough, but his reflexes don't. The sword that he buries in the trunk of the elm in front of him is completely unfamiliar to the angel, which, he supposes, goes well enough with the surroundings-it's huge, glowing an ethereal, iridescent white, and is far less heavy than it should be-and once it penetrates the bark, something even stranger happens.
The bark slowly begins to crack, light shining through from the inside of the tree. Fletcher blinks as the fissures spiderweb their way up and down the trunk and the branches, and that-
That's when he relinquishes his grip on the weapon, turns on his right heel, and takes off in the other direction.
The blast throws him off of his feet and onto a cement pathway nearby. Splinters and leaves rain down from impressively high up, landing on him and just about everything in about a 20-meter radius. And he has no idea what the fuck just happened.
Once he's certain there isn't any more shit falling from the sky, he sits up, wings covered in bits of wood and face bloodied from the fall. He brushes a few leaves off of his uniform and looks around, brows furrowed in what can only be described as "epic confusion."
He opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it was promptly dies on his lips.
Where the hell am I?