by B.J. Keeton
***
It made sense, when Ceril thought about it later, that the angels would be waiting for them. Just moments after the trio had set out from their hiding spot, four purple-skinned men descended out of nowhere directly in front of Chuckie. The winged men stood stock-still, at perfect attention, shoulder-to-shoulder, and blocked the rocky path Ceril and his companions had been using.
Chuckie reacted first by dropping to one knee and simultaneously grabbing his rifle. He cocked it and yelled, “Saryn, get down! Ceril, cover me!”
Saryn listened immediately. She dropped to a crouch and quickly surveyed her surroundings. She lunged for a rock a bit to her left, did a somersault, and sprang forward to land with her back to the rock, safe from the winged quartet—even for just a moment.
Ceril heard Chuckie call for cover, and he instinctually called for his Flameblade. The problem with that approach, however, was that their assailants were far enough away that there was no way he could do any good with a melee weapon. So, as soon as the sword materialized, he let it dissipate, and instead reached for his sidearm. He started to fire as soon as it was lined up with the attackers. His fire sprayed in a cone in front of him, striking the large, purple men blocking their path.
At least two of his shots struck each of the angels. He doubted any of them would die from his attacks—he had not been able to aim precisely enough for that—but they would suffer enough wounds that they should be slowed. As Ceril fired on the furthest left angel, Chuckie fired on the furthest right. They hadn’t had time to coordinate, but because they had been trained by the same people, their fighting styles meshed well enough that Ceril’s cover fire kept Chuckie from getting killed while he did the real damage.
Or he should have done the real damage.
Ceril and Chuckie both stopped firing when they realized that they were having no effect on the angels in front of them. Stoic as statues, the winged men shimmered slightly as the bolts struck their skin. Even Chuckie’s more powerful rifle shots weren’t affecting them.
“What’s going on, boss?” Chuckie demanded. “These guys should be meat by now, like the others were.”
Instead of responding, Ceril charged at the quartet. He holstered his pistol and summoned his Flameblade, this time letting it fully materialize and flare purple-green. If the creatures were surprised by the appearance of the weapon, there was no indication. They were as stoic as ever. It was as though Ceril and Chuckie’s barrage against them had never happened, nor was there a determined young man running at them with a flaming sword.
Their disinterest almost made Ceril angry. He pushed himself to run as hard and fast as he could, while he hefted the newly materialized sword in both hands. He could feel himself automatically distribute its weight in his hands as he lifted both arms for an overhead attack. Sure, such a move would leave him open to a counterattack, but the four creatures had made no indication they were going to fight back, anyway.
When Ceril was close enough to strike, he brought the weapon down hard on the left creature’s shoulder. Or he should have. Instead of cleaving through sinew and bone, pushing the blade down through whatever resistance the purple man’s torso would have, Ceril found himself rolling forward on the ground, his weight suddenly and awkwardly distributed.
After maybe a second, he noticed that he no longer held his Flameblade. He found his bearings and looked at the four purple people he had been trying to attack. They had moved, but barely. Instead of a disinterested forward stare, all of their heads were cocked downward and they focused on him.
“Boss?” Chuckie’s voice sounded distant. “You okay, boss?”
“I think so,” Ceril mumbled as he stood up. He locked eyes with the angel he had tried to split with his Flameblade. “What did they do to me, Chuckie?” He paused and then said to the angel, “What did you do to me?”
“All I saw was your sword go poof and you rolling on the ground. I couldn’t tell nothin else from back here.”
“Me, either, Ternia,” Saryn called. “You just kind of…fell.”
“What did you do to me?” Ceril asked again. The angels just stared at him, their heads still slightly cocked to the side. If he could just take them by surprise, then maybe they would all get out of this okay. He was scared, mad, and frustrated at the situation, but those feelings wouldn’t do any good unless they were focused. He tried to focus them on the one thing he needed more than anything else: his Flameblade.
He thought about the weapon, saw it in his mind, could almost feel the weight in his hand. He visualized the golden blade appearing out of nowhere in his hand, and he imagined it slicing that smug indifference off those purple faces. Ceril zeroed in on the fear, anger, and frustration and did his best to make his visualization real, to call his Flameblade back from wherever it had disappeared to.
Nothing happened.
He swallowed hard and tried again, but still, his hands remained empty, and those purple faces stared at him. Mocking him.
“You got a plan, Ternia?” Saryn called. “This stand-off is getting kind of tense.”
Ceril ignored her. Of course, he didn’t have a plan. His plan had been simple: kill the big purple things with wings. When that plan failed, he was out of ideas.
“Yeah, a plan would be awfully nice right now, boss. I don’t bet these fellas’ll just stand and wait much longer.” A second later, Chuckie continued, “Want me to shoot em again?”
“No,” Ceril said. “I don’t think they want to fight.”
“What gave you a crazy idea like that?”
“The fact that we’re not dead yet.”
“Point taken, boss. But what do we do?”
Then, Ceril had an idea, and he hoped it wasn’t going to get him killed. He hoped that he wasn’t about to get Saryn and Chuckie killed even more. Without a word to his teammates, Ceril drew his pistol and threw it on the ground in front of the angels.
“Ternia? What are you doing?”
Ceril kicked the pistol to the far right of the group and walked to within a few steps of the angel he had tried to cut in half. He knelt down in front of the creature and looked up. “I surrender,” he said.
