It was a desperate run, a final push for the finish, and it was completely hopeless. The intimidating cloud of dust drew nearer and nearer, never hesitating, always eating the ground with an insatiable hunger. Its belly roared and gnashed its teeth, growled and snarled, imitating an erupting volcano.
They strained for speed, he virtually dragging her through the endless wasteland. Her pure wings were stained with blood, redder than rubies. The anguish it must have been causing her was, to say the least, excruciating. But she was a brave soul, like none the universe had ever seen. She had known saving this world was practically a death sentence, yet she had faced impossible odds to try and save the lives of millions, using her own as a gambling chip. The name of a species had never been more fitting.
The dust-cloud opened its lips. Withdrawing its shield, it revealed the armies of Hell. Mad, human-like figures raced on all fours in the front, their scalps with little hair, their skin like that of stone. Their teeth stuck out of their mouths like tree-roots, crooked like tombstones. Behind then came the Stalkers, venomous, crawling monstrosities with five yellow eyes. Dark red in color, horns and fangs and all sorts of sharp objects protruded from their tough, scaled skin. Then, in the far distance, came the Succubus, honored ladies of Hell, their ugliness unmatched and incomparable. Fat as they were, their speed was surprisingly fast, while their rigid tails whipped back and forth like giant swords. More monsters surrounded these main groups, adding to the horrible truth: There would be no escape.
In the sky were hundreds of winged demons, all flying behind the biggest dragon. It was as black as the darkest hole, adorned with instruments of crude beauty, and painted in a wicked majesty. Despite all this, its rider commanded all attention. He was pure evil, and radiated it like a fire emits heat. His will was relentless and inevitable. Certainly, he was the most brilliant and gifted warrior that would ever be.
Their breathing was as heavy as the ocean crashing into the rocks, their step-falls like the hammers at Mount Tare. She was waning in strength due to her blood loss, but he would not let her slow down. Only fate could stop him. And it did.
With a macabre cry of power, the leader swooped, brandishing his sword with recklessness. His strike would have killed her instantly, had it not been for the boy's desperate shove. The blade sliced his shoulder, leaving a bloody gash. The blow threw him to the ground mercilessly. All sound left the boy's world. He felt the poison almost immediately, as it ran through his veins, getting ready to strike.
The leader swooped again as the boy struggled to get up. With a gloved hand, he grabbed onto the angel's arm, and her mouth formed into what looked like a scream. He pulled her onto his dragon. The boy ran after them, arms outstretched, praying for a miracle. The leader took her into the blood-red clouds, disappearing for a few seconds. Then, without warning, she fell from the sky, her wings useless, and fell to her death. Sound returned to the boy as he heard himself screaming.
As the armies were about to reach the boy, the leader returned from the clouds and yelled in a mighty voice the only words he had ever spoken.
';Let him die.';
* * *
Defeated, the boy crumpled to the ground, utterly robbed of faith and hope, like a sea void of water. He lay there for quite some time, beckoning to Death, asking it to take him away from the shame, the pain of the desolate world. Surely, now, it was over. He had watched her taken to the clouds, much unlike those from which she came. But that was of no consequence anymore. He had given up, in a sense, while the evil won.
* * *
Death was slow to arrive. It teased him with torture. The pain became so unbearable he began to moan, the sorrow of which not even the wind could match. Then it became like the white of the sun, the edge of a new knife, and he began to scream. Gruesome in its entirety, yet utterly amusing to death. And so he was left lying in the once rich forest, now simple ashes, for hours.
Lucky he was (ridiculous as it may seem), that it was the end of the world, and Death had much work to do. Bittersweet was the moment when he felt the fabled tap on his shoulder, and saw the sneer on Death's pale face.
9-13-09
';Fallen Angel';Would you visit a site that had stories like this?
I like your style--compared to other writers on Yahoo! Answers, you seem to take this art for seriously. I would like to give you detailed feedback on your work, but it's a little hard to do it here. There's a new site a friend and I started up where you can post your work and get feedback from other writers.
Compose: http://compose.ipbfree.com/
You can post anything from poetry, to fan fiction, or novels. Any genre, too. It's still very new and small, but accepts all kinds of writers.
Eos.Would you visit a site that had stories like this?
to answer your question, yes, i would go to a website that had similar stories to this. let me congratulate you. for few have the ability to actually write a good story. this story, if care is taken, can be not just good, but great. i would thoroughly enjoy reading more of this story, or stories of similar quality.
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