A small boy sat, wrapped in his mothers' arms, listening to her voice as she told him a story that had been passed down for generations.
"...So off the fleet went to wage war and destroy the last of the dying Commonwealth. Through the slipstream they went, thousands and thousands of warriors in thousands of ships to defeat their enemies with their Nietzchean strength. When they got there they waited for their enemies to arrive, a victory to be sure.
But when the most critical hour arrived from the blackness of hell the Angel of Death appeared. Rising up he summoned forth the fires of hell against the warriors. Instantly the fleet of warriors was struck down. The glorious victory they had been assured was turned to ashes with one blow. The Angel of Death left the warriors to fight their battle knowing they would not win easily. From that day on... the Nietzcheans have never fully recovered all that they lost at the hand of the Angel of Death."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sitting amidst the quite of the garden Tyr stared at the stars through the window. Despite his fight against it, he could feel the guilt rampaging through him. He had weighed his own survival against that of his people. His need to survive allowed him to sacrifice one hundred thousand of his own ancestors to the Angel of Death.
Footsteps sounded as Dylan entered the room. Sitting next to Tyr they talked for a small time. "Guilt is a wasted emotion," Tyr told him even a he fought with his own.
A single tear rolled down his cheek, in full view of Dylan, before he turned his head back to the stars. Only when Dylan had left the room did Tyr turn his attention back inward to himself.
"I've never seen an Angel before."
'Of all the people... he was not the one I had thought to expect,' Tyr thought. 'The man who destroyed my people is the man I side with... for now.'
Shaking his head Tyr stood and moved to the window. 'I have seen the Angel of Death... and I agreed with him.'
To Lady S's Fan Fiction
Home