opposed to just a snippet of a story.
I haven’t seen much of Michael’s guards since the first encounter. They seem to mostly operate from the shadows, lying in wait for intruders to arrive. So it’s something of a surprise when I notice one of them standing on the dock with Michael at our appointed meeting time. Neither of them explains what’s happening. Michael just orders me to follow them, and they take off, flying in the direction of the forest.
I shrug, and run after them, sprinting as fast as I can. Then I take a huge leap, allow my wings to spring free from between my shoulder blades, and give myself a boost with a spell to make sure I’m well above the trees. Flying may not come as naturally to me as walking, but I already prefer it. The only time I’m ever completely at ease is when I take to the skies.
Michael and his guard touch down in a clearing a couple of miles from the house, and I land nearby a few seconds later. As soon as my feet are on the ground, I ask, “What’s going on?”
Michael pulls his wings back into his body, and says, “I’ve taught you everything I can about flight; the rest will come with experience. It’s time to move on to something new.”
“Like what?”
“Physical combat.”
“Well, this will be fun. Why’s your guard here?”
“Tyrael will be your sparring partner. Before I can teach you, I need to see what you already know.”
I glance at the angel, Tyrael, and the two of us lock eyes. He looks familiar, but I can’t figure out why until I remember that he was the one holding my mother hostage the first day we came here. I don’t have a problem sparring with him, not one bit.
Michael leans against a tree bordering the clearing, and orders, “Begin.”
I’m the first of us to move. I sprint across the clearing, leaping over a fallen log as Tyrael removes his suit jacket. He wraps it around my fist as I strike at his face, then twists my arm to the side and tosses me backward with a powerful shove. This won’t be quite as easy as some of the fights in my past; this guy seems to know what he’s doing. I take a few steps away, and we circle each other as I try to assess the best way to come out of this on top.
As we circle, I realize that my blood is boiling, the anger that I’ve been pushing aside for weeks bubbling to the surface. I lunge at Tyrael, who sidesteps the attack. It’s exactly what I hoped he would do. The second my body hits the ground, I scrape up a handful of grass and dirt, and fling it into his face. Tyrael curses, and reaches to rub the debris from his eyes, and that’s all the time I need to get back on my feet. Before he can clear his vision, I punch him a couple of times in the stomach, and am rewarded by the pained gurgle that flies from his lips.
I’d like to finish this quickly, so I take Tyrael’s head in my hands, and go to pull it down into my rising knee. But he takes the opportunity to jab me in the jugular, and push me aside as he steadies himself. I clutch at my throat, gasping for air, hardly even registering when he asks if I’m alright. I decide to ignore the pain, and take a swing at Tyrael when he least expects it. He stumbles backward, and I kick him in the chest so hard that he lands flat on his back.
Before he can stand or roll away, I straddle him, pinning one arm over his head. With my free hand, I grab a nearby rock, and smash it into his cheek. Tyrael spits out a fine red mist, but I’m unfazed by his pain. I raise the rock to strike again, but find that I can’t bring it down. I glare over at Michael, who’s watching me with rapt attention. His hand is
I haven’t seen much of Michael’s guards since the first encounter. They seem to mostly operate from the shadows, lying in wait for intruders to arrive. So it’s something of a surprise when I notice one of them standing on the dock with Michael at our appointed meeting time. Neither of them explains what’s happening. Michael just orders me to follow them, and they take off, flying in the direction of the forest.
I shrug, and run after them, sprinting as fast as I can. Then I take a huge leap, allow my wings to spring free from between my shoulder blades, and give myself a boost with a spell to make sure I’m well above the trees. Flying may not come as naturally to me as walking, but I already prefer it. The only time I’m ever completely at ease is when I take to the skies.
Michael and his guard touch down in a clearing a couple of miles from the house, and I land nearby a few seconds later. As soon as my feet are on the ground, I ask, “What’s going on?”
Michael pulls his wings back into his body, and says, “I’ve taught you everything I can about flight; the rest will come with experience. It’s time to move on to something new.”
“Like what?”
“Physical combat.”
“Well, this will be fun. Why’s your guard here?”
“Tyrael will be your sparring partner. Before I can teach you, I need to see what you already know.”
I glance at the angel, Tyrael, and the two of us lock eyes. He looks familiar, but I can’t figure out why until I remember that he was the one holding my mother hostage the first day we came here. I don’t have a problem sparring with him, not one bit.
Michael leans against a tree bordering the clearing, and orders, “Begin.”
I’m the first of us to move. I sprint across the clearing, leaping over a fallen log as Tyrael removes his suit jacket. He wraps it around my fist as I strike at his face, then twists my arm to the side and tosses me backward with a powerful shove. This won’t be quite as easy as some of the fights in my past; this guy seems to know what he’s doing. I take a few steps away, and we circle each other as I try to assess the best way to come out of this on top.
As we circle, I realize that my blood is boiling, the anger that I’ve been pushing aside for weeks bubbling to the surface. I lunge at Tyrael, who sidesteps the attack. It’s exactly what I hoped he would do. The second my body hits the ground, I scrape up a handful of grass and dirt, and fling it into his face. Tyrael curses, and reaches to rub the debris from his eyes, and that’s all the time I need to get back on my feet. Before he can clear his vision, I punch him a couple of times in the stomach, and am rewarded by the pained gurgle that flies from his lips.
I’d like to finish this quickly, so I take Tyrael’s head in my hands, and go to pull it down into my rising knee. But he takes the opportunity to jab me in the jugular, and push me aside as he steadies himself. I clutch at my throat, gasping for air, hardly even registering when he asks if I’m alright. I decide to ignore the pain, and take a swing at Tyrael when he least expects it. He stumbles backward, and I kick him in the chest so hard that he lands flat on his back.
Before he can stand or roll away, I straddle him, pinning one arm over his head. With my free hand, I grab a nearby rock, and smash it into his cheek. Tyrael spits out a fine red mist, but I’m unfazed by his pain. I raise the rock to strike again, but find that I can’t bring it down. I glare over at Michael, who’s watching me with rapt attention. His hand is
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