Wings of Fury

When presented with the task of protecting a world you have to rely on others. When those alliances fall through how can you survive? Are you truly prepared for war?


3. Youth

Heavy boots collided with broken, rain-slick, pavements in the darkness of night. The worn street lamps flickered eerily as the group of figures strode purposefully onwards, blades glinting at the belts, and hoods pulled low over their faces. They were but silhouettes as they approached the derelict house at the very end of the street. The streets had been abandoned come nightfall a few hours earlier and silence rung, broken by only the sound of the group splashing their way down the road. One of the hooded figures at the very front of the group raised a gloved hand upon reaching the weather-worn door of the house and a bright spark of scarlet flashed. Intricate lines began to form on the oak door, pearl white against the dark wood, forming a spiraling pattern of interwoven lines that gradually seemed to burn their way through the door. With a second bright spark of scarlet the lock fell away from the door and the hooded figure carefully pushed their way in, beckoning the gathering behind them to follow. Lights sputtered into life as the group made their way into the main room, discarding swords and gloves as they went. In one movement the figure leading the group reached up and pushed back the heavy hood shielding their features, revealing white hair falling to their shoulders. Twisting to face the group the male smiled softly, electric blue eyes bright in the dim light. “That's one more night down, no incidents I suppose?” he asked in a soft voice as he pulled his jacket from his shoulders and threw it onto one of the sofas at the far edge of the room. “None as far as we could tell tonight, Blaze. All's well for now, I hope.” The girl who answered had startlingly vibrant red hair tumbling well down her back in soft waves. Her voice was gentle as she spoke, a small smile playing on her lips.

“I would hope so too, Idonia!” Theodore grinned from where he had flopped onto the sofa. His voice showed a teasing edge, chocolate brown eyes sparkling as he looked up at his comrade. Theo was always the one who brought a bit of light into the young Protectors' lives with his babbling and atrocious jokes. It was difficult for those with such a highly strung job to remain even moderately child-like despite their own youth, but somehow Theo had kept his childish edge through the atrocities he'd seen and made great use of his sense of humour. It was his attitude that was in stark contrast to the raven haired girl curled up on the sofa opposite him. Sofia Manors was not one to jest, she remained on task and focused at all times. She was possibly the only one who remained tight lipped at Theo's jokes, very rarely joining in with the playful teasing that was the only thing that seemed to keep the Protector's smiling. Three remaining figures were scattered around the dim living room, all completely different from one another. Emerald Iyner perched atop a stained ottoman in the corner of the room, her denim-clad legs outstretched and heavy boots resting on the arm of the chair beside her. She was quite a playful figure, often playing part in the teasing Theo started with a grin, but she was also one of the most vicious people any of the Protectors had ever met. If a person was to get on the wrong side of Emerald they would most probably find themselves skewered to the wall within seconds of saying anything wrong. She was rather intimidating, with blonde hair with thick green streaks to her mid-back, and her tendency to wear leather and wield a longsword left her looking rather violent and criminal, as opposed to her actual status as a High Protector. The second person was sprawled across the high backed arm chair beside Emerald, his caramel eyes watching his friends as they bickered. Stefan Bolet was one of the most kind-hearted people the Protectors had come across, with his jet black hair and soft features he didn't seem the likely Protector, looking as if he was barely able to lift a sword let alone fight confidently with one of the double-tipped blades he carried in his belt. Lastly there was Drew Malior, an elfin man with a mess of caramel hair and warm hazel eyes. He stood as Blaze's right hand man, confident and well trained in his fighting but still loving and gentle despite his ability to wield a longsword with the vicious energy of a pitbull. The Protectors were young, but they were trained to kill.


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