An Angel's Wings

Spoiler:

“114, can you hear me in there? Give me a nod if you can!” … As he opened his eyes, the sight of an old, war-roughened man looking through the cocoon window and staring down at his resting body was his welcoming image. Above the man, a few bright lights were placed in circles above him on the polished white ceiling of the station. To the left and right of the window in the cocoon, the insides of some large metal doors could be seen which had protected the saint’s shuttle. In recognition, he nodded once, giving the man something to smile about.
“I’ll repeat your mission one last time: you need to secure the planet and ensure any enemy action is minimized or neutralised, alright? You will be on your own for this but I’ll have this shuttle get you there in no time. We’ve some rumoured reports that there are some Grade B, Grade A and Grade S hostiles and one potential Grade R hostile present on-planet. If our reports are correct, you’ll need to capture the Grade R hostile – dead or alive. It’d be great if you could bring the sorry lowlife back alive but seeing him dead would be just as satisfying, mind you. You’ll be up against similar enemies to what you faced on your last mission… we saw you make a mess of them so if they do show up they’ll have to think thrice. Just do what you do best.
And if you do ever have to make that final decision, just remember… you either live forever, or die immortal. You’re a Chailist.” He patted the glass twice. “Now you close those eyes and put your systems on standby.”





Nobody knows how the Chailists came to be. Nobody knows whether they’re superhumans in armour or fallen angels. A few say that in the darkest hour of the Inferno War 10’000 years ago, on the last line of humanity, one holy spirit stepped up against the dark forces and carved through their entirety with nothing but a sword embedded with the power of the stars. Some say that they’re angels or saints, sent down from the gods to watch over and maintain order and peace, removing those who may disturb or challenge that. But there’s always been one thing that’s remained certain - as a Chailist, you were adored by your allies, and abhorred by your enemies.
Legends says that wherever they walked, the air they breathed would be purified. When they arrive on the battlefield, time would freeze for a moment and every enemy would run in fear just from their presence alone. Every shot they take, every word they speak, every decision they make, they have more of an impact on the world than any emperor could ever dream to imagine. Every life they took, every life they saved and every life they spared would be forever redeemed and grateful to their name. But they had no room for weakness. No room for emotion. They did what they had to do. And they would do it no matter what the costs. Even if it meant their own life.
Just as they all say… as a Chailist, you either live forever, or die immortal.

This is really cool!

There was a brief flash of light as the shuttle speared into the ground. But there was no breakneck shunt on impact. Only a void of silence to take place of an empty feeling… It was like experiencing a blackout. And then, slowly and surely, some very quiet ambient noise began to return to his senses. It grew louder and loud, almost becoming deafening as it assaulted his senses all over his body.

Silence.

Savon warped out of the vision before him, bolting awake in his seat. He wasn’t in his shuttle any longer. He was in a small, damp room with one single light present to illuminate his gritted and tested pearl white armour against the oppressively grimy walls surrounding him. His breathing underneath his helmet remained short and sharp from his shock, struggling to get back to grips with the reality he was now facing once again. He struggled to gulp down the lump in his throat, looking around slowly at the room he was in, trying to remember where this place was…
“Not again…” He grunted to himself, slouching in his seat as his elbows rested on his knees, burying his hands in his face. It wasn’t normal for him to forget things like this, especially where he was. There must have been some form of a malfunction somewhere either in his brain, or in the cybernetics and augmentations planted into his flesh. No. It wasn’t going to keep bringing him down like this. He had to pull out some time. Out of these hallucinations he kept getting… luckily for him, this time it wasn’t anything drastic, unlike last time… He raised his head, turning his attention to the mirror on the left below the broken strip light. He stood himself up, walking over to reflect upon himself. Literally.

He saw the armour and helmet of an ancient, battered Chailist in the reflection. Not a man. Nor a person he recognised.
His helmet, originally the face of a saviour, remained to be a hollow grimy mask, with the once highly illuminate sea blue lights under the vents on his helmet struggling to maintain their glow. One of the sections even flickered, dimming a little. The mechanical wings on his back, which had originally brought an angelic and holy aura around him, was no longer irradiating an aura of a saint around him. They were chipped, eroded and scratched. A couple of the flat metal spikes which served as the feathers were broken at the tip, and he noticed one feather piece had a split going from the tip all the way to the root. Reminiscent of his own stability. He realised now that he no longer was the image of hope and justice… it depressed him. He stood away from the mirror, and turned his attention to the door.

Walking out of his chamber of oppression, he came to a dreary, bleak and isolated alleyway. There wasn’t anything to light up the walkway, only the artificial outside light, which barely peeped underneath the overshadowing bridge. He started walking on down the alleyway, his broken aura struggling to illuminate the area like it used to. He was met by the rain once he came out from under the bridge, the hundreds of heavy droplets pattering against his armour like liquidized needles onto a metal sheet. It soaked his armour rather quickly, returning the gloss which used to reflect as much light as the sun itself could. Turning the corner, he came up to a thick metal railing in a small puddle, overlooking the sight of a quiet, disturbed and discorded technological city. Red beacon lights were sorely dotted around the roofs and towers across the skyline, with a couple of spotlights here and there struggling against the dense rain to light up the dismal midnight sky. A single, lone cargo ship could be seen trekking the skyline, although it was rare to see a ship around here…

“I had a feeling you’d be up here at this time.” A hoarse tongue spoke from the right. Although Savon didn’t turn his head in the slightest, a man suited up in a dark blue and grey camouflaged officer uniform stepped out, donning a black beret. His advanced technological Kevlar vest and the side of his beret both had the insignia of a red dragon against a white shield was sewn in. Above the insignia, the words “Sgt. Aeson” were printed on an embroidered metal strip, indicating his name. On his left shoulder was the mark of the red dragon. On the right, a ring of 8 small gold stars with a pair of platinum wings and a platinum sword filling the centre. The man was surprisingly young for someone of his stature, with a stubby beard across his jaw and some dark hazel eyes to match his dark brown hair. He appeared to be awaiting a response from the cyborg angel, but he quickly got the idea that he wouldn’t be getting any response. He could tell something was bothering him, and he could tell that it wasn’t going to be something he’d be open to talk about. What was worse, the sergeant only had bad news for him. He looked out at the city, a relinquished expression on his face.

“We’ve got a massive problem.” The Sergeant spoke up, already regretting having to inform him. Savon didn’t seem to react. He didn’t flinch, nor did his head move. He just kept watch over the city, like a gargoyle. “The two task forces we sent to halt the rebels in their tracks ended up uncovering some things we wish we didn’t uncover. They found out the rebels had been making a shipment of weapons, whose manufacturer we can’t identify at the moment. We tested one of them out and, well, they all outdo the weapons we have right now.” He explained. “They also managed to pinpoint the locations of all of our outposts which had sent units to attack some of their own numbers, which is about two fifths of them. We’re predicting they’ll launch an attack by tomorrow night.” … There was still an unsettling lack of response from Savon. Whether he was thinking about the information he was being told or whether he was too caught up with his own thoughts remained completely unknown. After all, he only had his body expressions to read and, if he was lucky, the words he spoke. Savon finally stood upright again, his hands returning by his waist. He turned his head to the Sergeant, who had his hands behind his back, and then… a response.

“Tell me about these weapons.” His voice was very demanding, intimidating and even a little bit frightening to those who weren’t used to it. The young man swallowed, unnerved despite being familiar with this tone.
“They’re big, lightweight for their size and heavy duty. They had rifles, grenade launchers, cannons… all sorts. They all used some form of technology we’re unfamiliar with. One shot was enough to tear through one of the shields we tested.” He scratched the surface with the details. It was all starting to sound familiar to Savon, who was slowly turning his body round to face him the more he talked. “And then wee found these small markings of a black ring with thorns etched into each model. We have no idea who the manufacturer is.” … This definitely sparked something in the Chailist’s head. Something which certainly installed some panic into him.
“Destroy those weapons. Get them to track down every single rebel cargo, find the weapons and destroy those, too!” He pointed at him whilst he roared his orders out. The sergeant saluted, but his act of recognition was discounted by Savon. He jumped over the railing, disappearing over the edge. Once the sergeant had looked over, he saw him shooting off as fast as a jet fighter into the hostile rain, which wasn’t showing any signs of letting up. The sergeant was worried… what was it that got him so riled up like that?