“On your feet, Adam!” Hadriel’s voice cracked like a whip, no mercy or give in it. “Do you think that your foes will grant you a moment of respite? Unless you have the good fortune to face nothing but overconfident fools you will be dead if this ever takes place in a true battle!”
A low groan made its way out of my throat as I lifted my face from the grass and dirt and tried to roll over. Tried and failed. Another groan escaped me as I sagged back down onto the soil beneath me. I wanted to get up, there was no doubt of that, but my limbs simply refused to cooperate. I could feel the dirt rubbing into my still shirtless chest. The only thing I was wearing over some jeans was a small plate of leather and brass that Joan had made, one held over my navel by several lengths of bandages wrapped around my middle to keep it in place.
When I’d told Joan and Hadriel about the weak point in my navel they had been somewhat concerned, but also pleased. That had confused me for a bit, after all, how can a weakness be a good thing? But then they’d explain their reasoning.
An Achilles Heel only existed when there was protection for it to counterbalance, meaning that it was all but certain that I was going to develop some sort of invulnerability. It was likely going to take a while, as my body absorbed and adapted to the mana now coursing through it, but it would come.
Until then my bellybutton was something of a risk, but not terribly so. Yes, I could be killed by being pierced there, but given that I’d be killed by such a blow even if the weakness wasn’t there, that wasn’t too much of an issue.
There had been a couple of very uncomfortable pokes at it while they tried to work out just how sensitive it was. But, after a slight jab with a blunt stick left me on my knees and gasping for breath, they’d shown mercy and decided it should be left alone.
Still, that damned sensitivity needed to be addressed.
That was what had led to the improvised armour I was now wearing. It might not stand up to any sort of serious attack, but it would hopefully be enough to keep me safe in my sparring matches. Of course, it made me think of that delinquent stereotype that appeared in Japanese manga, the ones where the punk was shirtless and had bandages wrapped around their middles. All I needed was a white coat and a wooden sword to complete the look.
I tried to rise again, but my muscles seemed to have all the strength of lengths of cooked spaghetti. If I’d been able to roll over into a better position I might have been able to push myself up, but as things stood that wasn’t really an option.
It was the wings, they were the problem.
When I’d first seen them I’d been . . . elated? Seeing them was kind of a badge of honour, proof I had the blood of an angel. I’d also felt nervous, since they, more than anything else, declared to the world that I was no longer an ordinary person. I’d also felt, if I was being honest, some unease at these new and alien appendages on my back.
I knew that one day they would be powerful assets, extra limbs able to help me in a fight as both shields and swords, but the fact was that at the moment they were getting annoying!
It wasn’t just that they were still throwing my balance off, that I was slowly learning to compensate for. It was how they added a sudden increase to my body area that I kept forgetting about at the instinctual level. Their natural position was half unfolded. And their air resistance whenever I turned only served to slow me down even more. If they were fully extended it was even worse, but even when they were folded it didn’t help much, leaving me feeling as though I had large portable billboards strapped to my back.
On top of all that both Hadriel and Joan regarded my new feathered limbs as completely acceptable targets to go after. That was making my sparing matches much more difficult. I was used to defending my body, or at least the body I was familiar with. That time training with Joan had paid off.
Those sessions had managed to pound in some fighting instincts. But those instincts had not included the wings I now had. I was dodging or blocking attacks, only for my opponent to suddenly shift target and hit one of my wings. Sure, they were tough, but whoever I was sparing with would immediately call it a major hit. At first, I’d protested, asking why a blow on my wings would count as a major wound, if not a finishing one, but it was soon explained to me.
The thing was that my wings contained many of the spiritual structures that were key to me using magic at a higher level. Had I been a ‘regular’ demigod then these structures would have been spread out throughout my body. But because of my angelic heritage, it was almost certain that the majority were housed in my wings. That meant that any magic I was using, be it as simple as flying, or something grander and more complex later, would be disrupted by a sufficiently strong blow to them.
“Do not simply lie there! Regain your feet, and prepare your weapon. Do you think that you shall survive with such pitiful skills? Your foes shall show you no pity, of that you can be certain!”
Hadriel’s words had no compassion in them, only authority, contempt, and a twisted sort of encouragement. It was absurd, her tone was that of a drill sergeant, but it clashed so much with her appearance. I mean, come on! She was supermodel-hot and dressed in what amounted to a bikini. How was I meant to connect that to the person yelling at me from the side of the fight?
My thoughts slid back into some semblance of order as I lifted myself to my hands and knees, and then scrambled up to my feet. I tried to turn in place, but my wings spread once more, catching the air and throwing me off my balance, again!
Catching myself and taking a deep breath, I did my best to calm down. I wasn’t going to let this get to me, I repeated it again and again in my head. A month ago I was just another guy being swept along by the changes washing over the world. A week ago I didn’t even know if I’d get any powers. A couple of days ago it looked like I might not even be able to get my magic to work. Now, here I was, with both my divine blood Awakened and my magic sparked into life. I wasn’t going to lose my temper because things were hard! I was not a child, I was a bloody adult, damn it!
“I think that is enough for now, honoured Hadriel. I believe we have a better understanding of how we should progress in the training of Adam.”
Ah, at that moment I really would have thought that it was Joan who was the angel, given how much her simple words meant salvation for me. Never mind that she’d been the one to knock me down in the first place, that had already been forgotten and forgiven, if it meant I finally got a break
“We do?”
I asked the question as I tried to pat some of the dirt off my clothes. Joan took the question in her stride, smiling back at me as she nodded.
“Indeed,” She replied. “There are several aspects that we need to work upon, but it is clear that the most urgent one is to aid you in mastering your ability to fly and levitate.”
“Really?”
That was unexpected. I’d expected to be working on using my magic as a weapon, or getting accustomed to fighting with my new wings. Just flying though? I supposed it worked if I wanted to get away from a threat, so it was important, but it wasn’t the first thing I would have expected them to focus on.
And, once again, Joan must have read my expression. I think that by this point it should be clear that I was never going to be a particularly good poker player.
“I know it might not be immediately apparent, but to beings of a certain level of power, especially those with wings, or other body parts that increase their size, the power to control their movements by means more potent than simple muscle strength grows more important.”
She paused for a moment, then turned to Hadriel.
“Perhaps a demonstration would be more instructive than simple words. Honoured Hadriel, would you consent to a short sparing match, simply to show Adam how the mastery of flight will be intrinsic to his future growth?”
The angel paused for a moment.
“Very well, Lady Joan. I shall be pleased to see how your skills fare upon the mortal plane.”
There was a flash of light, and then she was holding two huge swords, and when I call them ‘huge’ I mean it. Seriously, in the hands of any sort of mortal weapon user, even one of those things would be utterly impractical unless their wielder was something like seven feet tall and muscled like the Incredible Hulk. They simply were too big and heavy to be used by normal people.
Hadriel was currently wielding them as though they were made of Styrofoam rather than metal, though. So it was clear that her hands were anything but normal!
There was a burst of feathers to my side, followed by a flash of yellow, and I turned to see that Joan had assumed her angelic form. Her armour had shifted slightly on her back to accommodate her new wings, and I felt a small pang of jealousy. A shirt that did the same for me would have been nice.
“Very well, are you watching, Adam?”
Joan now stood with her sword drawn and held in a two-handed grip. Like Hadriel, she was floating a few inches off the ground as she faced her opponent. The differences between the two of them was striking as they faced each other. Both of them were extraordinary, but it was like comparing a gemstone to a rose, totally different.
Joan was clad in her white armour with her blue-dyed leathers underneath. I knew that she wasn’t trying to be alluring or even attractive, but somehow she managed it even with her completely serious posture and expression. The wings and halo she now possessed gave her a more . . . divine aspect to her appearance, beautiful but also somehow out of reach.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
By contrast, Hadriel gave a completely different sort of vibe. Her minimalist clothing, jewellery, metal halo and coppery hair gave her a wilder appearance, one accentuated by her crimson wing and the huge sword held in each of her hands. The combination had me thinking about the classic ‘chainmail bikini warrior woman’ in fantasy comics.
Perhaps comparing them to gemstones and roses wasn’t the most accurate metaphor. Calling them a steel-edged dove and a bloodstained hawk might be a bit closer to the truth if I was feeling poetic. Surprisingly, Joan looked the more traditionally angelic of the two of them, Hadriel seeming more like some sort of fantasy of one.
Then they moved, and I no longer had time to think such inane thoughts.
It was the red-winged angel that took the initiative. Her form darted forward and her right sword cut out, swiftly followed by her left one. Joan had no trouble meeting the first blade with her own sword, but as the second one came in she had to shift her grip to catch it on her sword as well. It was clear that blocking both swords was too much for her though, so she disengaged by retreating, opening enough space so that the blades could no longer reach her.
Hadriel wasn’t taking this passively though, and she pursued her foe, her weapons moving in a blur that I could barely follow. In response the French saint suddenly changed the angle of her movement, instead of retreating she shot to the side, coming around at the angel from her left. Hadriel tried to spin to face her, but Joan was matching her movements, keeping her enemy from being able to face her. However, she wasn’t simply dodging, rather she was thrusting out with her sword, forcing the angel to defend. Even though her smaller blade seemed like a rapier in comparison to the huge angelic blades.
Still, the disparity in the size of their weapons didn’t seem to daunt her, rather she was using it to her advantage. Hadriel might have been ambidextrous, but by Joan constantly being on her side Hadriel could only bring one weapon to bear. The two of them spun in place, the resurrected saint wheeling around the angel, forcing her to constantly spin in place to keep her in their field of vision. But even as they did so the space between them was a haze as their swords wove and swept through the air, a rapid staccato of metal on metal ringing through the area as they met and parted with enough force that I could feel the displacement of air.
And then I lost them.
Up until that point I’d been surprised that was I able to keep up, given that they’d been moving so fast, but I guessed that whatever enhancements my body had undergone had served to boost my vision because I was able to make them out even as they became blurs. It was amazing, something that had to be seen to be believed.
Then there was a sudden shower of sparks as Hadriel’s sword managed to slip past Joan’s defences and score a hit on her armour. The blow was a glancing one and was unable to penetrate the armour, but the flash of the sparks was enough to make me blink.
And that was all it took.
I lost them, and all that was left was a pair of blurs of different colours spinning around each other so fast I could no longer hope to keep up. Still, even the short exchange that I’d seen let me get an idea of what Joan had wanted me to understand.
As I’ve said, I was a huge fanboy of stuff like superhero films and the like. I’d always taken great pleasure in watching the fight scenes, the more ridiculously embellished with special effects the better, but now I was starting to see that for all the work of their creators, the depictions they’d made were inaccurate.
Simulating something like flight took skill, effort, and money. Reality wasn’t limited by a special effects budget though, and I was starting to get why Joan thought flight was a key foundation skill. In the air it was easier to move, you didn’t have to brace against the ground or push off it to accelerate, nor rely on gravity to aid in your fall or to move against. On top of that, both of them were moving in ways that ignored how I thought air resistance should have worked on things like wings.
And that wasn’t even taking into account the crazy manoeuvres that they’re pulling off. I think at one point Joan was briefly fighting upside down to avoid a horizontal slash from Hadriel. This was stuff that you saw in anime! I swore that if either of them started shouting out the names of their attacks then I was going to decide that the last few months were all nothing but some sort of fever dream that I was experiencing in the last moments of my life.
The end of their sparring came with such a shocking suddenness that it took me a moment to fully understand what was happening. One instant the two of them had been blurs of motion, their swords flashing through the air so fast that they looked more like the blades of a blender than they did the weapons of warriors. The next, the two of them were still as statues. The shift in motion was so jarring that my eyes kept on moving, trying to track forms that were no longer in motion until what had happened caught up with me.
Joan had used one of her wings to block off Hadriel’s movement in one arm, the large white-feathered limb pressing the arm against her side, the sword in her hand at just the wrong angle to muster any leverage. The angel’s other sword had not been so impeded though, and now rested with its flat against Joan’s shoulder, the edge of the blade just touching the skin of her neck. The message was clear, that could have been a killing blow. However, it was undermined by the fact that the French saint’s own slimmer sword was just pricking the underside of the angel’s chin. All she had to do was thrust and the tip would go straight up and impale her brain through the roof of her mouth.
It was the classic mutual kill standoff, neither of them able to dispatch the other fast enough to avoid the fatal retaliatory strike. To view it like this, in real life, words couldn’t do their elegant and savage grace justice!
The scene held frozen for a moment before my wide-open eyes, and then both the combatants relaxed and slowly drew their weapons away from each other’s critical spots.
“A fine bout, Lady Joan,” Hadriel commented as her swords faded into her bracelets, her tone more respectful than I’d ever heard it before. “I confess to being surprised by the sheer . . . refinement of your fighting style. It is unusual for mortal souls to be able to adapt so well.”
Her final words could have sounded lofty and condescending. Indeed, had they been written upon a page and read without tone or inflection they could not have been taken in any other way. However, coming from the angel herself there was no taint of disdain or malice. She was simply speaking as she always did, from the lofty heights of a being that had existed for longer than my species. For her, this was an honest and respectful compliment, and Joan smiled and took it in the spirit it was intended.
“My thanks, honoured Hadriel. I had fine teachers, much time, and much motivation. Still, were this a true battle where you were unencumbered by the need to hold back I feel things would have gone far differently.”
The angel nodded once, not saying anything, just letting the movement answer for her. I supposed it made sense, Joan might be able to become an angel and use the power of one, but Hadriel had been created one, and had been using that power for literally millions of years. That had to give her a serious edge.
My head tilted as I examined that thought. Was Hadriel that old? When you thought about it, it made sense that God could have created successive generations when He needed to refill the ranks of His servants.
“Now, Adam. Do you understand?”
My musings upon the ages of various angelic generations were put to the side as Joan turned to look at me. Her transformation had dropped, and she had returned to her mortal form, but even so, there was no mistaking her for just a normal young woman. There was something that shone through, something of both her vitality and her sheer . . . personality that let you know that there was more to her than just what you were seeing.
“Yep,” I nodded my head sharply in agreement. “I completely get where you’re coming from, sorry I didn’t understand before. When I think about it, it’s really obvious, just moving around is the absolute basics, right?”
“Indeed,” Hadriel agreed, speaking with the sort of solemnity that you’d expect from a priest delivering a sermon. “Without a firm footing, a man cannot strike a strong blow. Without sure balance, a warrior cannot confidently swing a weapon. Without flight an angel cannot fight, it is that simple.”
“But I’m not an angel.”
I felt it needed to be said, even if I didn’t yet fully grasp the subtleties of the distinctions. I knew there were differences between angels and gods, but had only the most general idea of what those differences might be. I knew I had the basic form of an angel, but is still felt too much like myself to believe I was one.
“No, but you have the wings, the halo, the flight and the strength,” She replied. “You are close enough that I can teach you what I know best, and it shall serve as a foundation from which to build once you become more familiar with your powers. It may be that direct combat shall be unsuitable for you, that you can use your Crown to wield an element against your foes, rather than your fists or weapons. However, even if that is the case, then at least the skills you shall learn in flight shall be useful for both pursuit and evasion.”
I felt a wry smile touch my lips as I nodded again. I had to agree, being able to run away from a bad situation might not be the best or most heroic option to take, but it was smart to at least have it as a final fall-back.
“Afterwards, we shall see to what other talents you may have gained, but for now flight shall be our main focus.”
I nodded again and focused on my internal energies again. This time it came easier, the spreading of the magic through me, the anchoring of it to a single spot, all of it seemed to click into place at nothing but a minor mental command from me. Was my body already getting used to it in some way? It felt almost as though I didn’t have to do anything, as though my body rose into the air in response to my wishes even before I went through the steps. Well, I wasn’t going to complain, I had other concerns.
“Right! So, what’s first?”
Here came the meat of the training, and I had to admit, I was kind of looking forward to it. I mean, sure, Joan had been trying to beat some basic combat acumen into me, but now it was different. Now I was a demigod. That had to count for something, right? Sure, I’d had to go through a bit more of the old ‘hit the ground’ deal a bit earlier, but now things were going to change. I wasn’t sure how things were going to go, but if we were going to be training my flying, then there probably wouldn’t be much more sparring involved.
That thought lasted until I saw Joan picking up three long wooden poles from the grass.
“Good,” the French saint declared as she passed two of the wooden lengths to Hadriel before grasping the last as though it were a sword. “Then I shall begin your training. We shall keep you close to the ground first, then move onto taking the skies when you are more comfortable using your flight for movements.”
I blinked at her, then looked to the crimson-winged angel as she experimentally swung the two poles about. In length, they were similar to the swords that she had stored away, though they were probably lighter, similar enough that she’d quickly get comfortable with them.
Oh.
Oh dear.
“You’re going to try and hit me with that stick, aren’t you?” I blurted out as I watched the wooden pole as though it were a cobra in disguise. “That’s how we’re training, isn’t it? You attack, and I try to dodge or block, and if I get it wrong then I get hit like a human pinata.”
Joan smiled brightly at me and nodded her agreement, her face a clear display of enthusiasm and encouragement.
“Excellent, you grasp my plan swiftly. Yes, it shall be hard for you, but it shall yield the swiftest returns upon both our time and our effort. The Heavens have provided us with a precious period of safety by granting us this Sanctuary, but it will not last indefinitely, and we must make the best of the time it allows us! Fear not, Adam! I shall do my utmost to ensure that the skills and knowledge you need are engraved into your very flesh before the Sanctuary falls! I swear it upon my Faith!”
You know, it might have been better if I’d known that her smile concealed a personality that took some pleasure in my upcoming suffering. It didn’t have to be any sort of sadistic joy, just that touch of schadenfreude that you see in people like personal trainers or drill sergeants. Instead, all I could see was an earnest desire to help me, and how the hell was I supposed to resent that?
“So . . . what should I try first?”
Great, here we go again.