Violence seemed to be an essential trait in humanity, as hereditary as the legs they walked upon. The lust for bloodshed drove all reason from them, and their petty squabbles over land, religion, and rulers were as inconsistent as the clouds above. They would march into battle and die willingly if they thought they were in the right, foolishly so. To end a life, to snuff it, and all that it could become and contribute to the Earth felt like heresy to Angela. Lives were precious. They were the only substance of the world, as tangible as the dirt underneath her feet. To cast one aside, as if it were a piece of garbage, as though the world would be better off without it, Angela had no words for the wrongness of it. It was difficult to watch the cycle of life and the taking of, the eyes draining of life, and the death rattle rocking the body for the last time. Angela may be a goddess, but some powers were still out of her grasps. The healing of wounds was doable, even by human standards, but the outright defiance of mortality was something no one could grasp. Death had a tight hold on lives, and cared not for Angela's objections and meddling. But to be the goddess of health, to magically raise warriors from the battlefield and send them home to family and friends, to live another day and see another morning, was the most important aspect. For all the suffering of others, she could at least save one person, and to save one was to save all of humankind. She could not stop humans or their foolish ways and wars, but she could send home the brave souls who were roped into it.
To watch a battle play out was the worst part. In the back of her mind, she knew if only she was fast enough, she might be able to save everyone before the final blow was struck or a major artery severed. But that was not the reality. Though a goddess, and though blessed with healing powers, she could not be in fifty places at once to assist everyone. She zapped through the carnage, as fast as she could muster, and healed as quickly as possible, but always would there be bodies left behind for the birds. Rationally, she knew it was not reasonable to be able to save every person in a battle, but her heart wept for those life had left behind. She prayed and prayed for the fallen, hoping that it may gain them some ground into heaven, but her forces were strictly limited to the human world. She had no control of the souls that departed, only of the bodies they hosted.
She was not the only goddess assigned to the human realm, at least. Many lesser gods also reigned, but her work left her little time to associate with them. Gods of the ocean, trees, harvest, and multiple other aspects of human life worked just as hard as she did, but there were always forces to counteract their good. Demons, evil spirits, and hateful men who cared not for their fellow man wrought just as much destruction as the gods who reaped life, keeping the world in a precarious balance. The world was cruel, but it was the duty of the good people to see the beauty through it.
But Angela could see nothing beautiful about a battlefield. Hovering now above the warring human forces, her eyes could only see pain and destruction, mutilation and death. She dove frequently to heal, touching her scepter to the worst of it and muttering her individual blessings, but the swords and arrows of either side did much more damage than she could keep up with. As of now, she could see other gods and goddesses fluttering about the battle, those of cunning intellect, bloodlust, and righteousness. She never attempted to intermingle with them; they only made her job harder by goading on those who did the most harm, a bloody wake she would have to clean up after. Her wings pumped furiously through the air, trying to reach as many victims as possible before they could die. Though she never could be fatigued as a goddess, the weariness of it all, the cycle repeating over and over again sometimes caught up to her, and she wondered why she even bothered at all. But in the peace times, when she could float through the air of cities and homes and witness the love and happiness humans gave to each other, reminded her of what she was fighting for.
Over and over, she dashed through the battlefield, lifting body after body back onto their feet to hopefully live another day. The life returning to their eyes, the surprise of being torn from that black nothingness, and the joy lit over their faces urged Angela on. She was disappointed to see that some of them only picked back up the weapons they had dropped and charged back into the fray, only to harm themselves again or someone else she would have to heal, but she knew a great many of her patients would be able to return home to their lives off the battleground.
Angela arrived at another victim, a dark-skinned woman with a gaping wound in her side, gasping for air. Though tossed to the ground, her hand still clutched at the sword lying close to her, ready to fight to her last breath. The woman could be saved. Angela lowered her scepter to the wound, and inhaled to begin chanting, but the breath was knocked loose when her scepter collided with something, leaving a sharp ring of metal striking metal. A shield, emblazoned with a rising sun and plated in gold, had crossed paths with her scepter. Quickly, she glanced up to the owner. Regular mortals could not interfere with godly items and possessions, but her mind was still slow to process the other goddess looking just as surprised at her.
Angela's first though was of how beautiful she was. Gold ornaments adorned the lush, dark hair she boasted, and her tanned skin nearly glowed as Angela looked upon her. Intelligent, dark eyes, outlined in black eyeliner, made her heart flip over, and the full lips and sharp nose only worsened it. She was outfitted in a flowing white dress, similar to Angela's own, buckled by a turquoise band around her waist. Golden bands decorated her wrists and ankles, and her giant, golden wings flapped slowly, keeping her hovering in a very goddess like way. The full portrait of her was almost too much to bear, she was one of the most beautiful women Angela had ever laid eyes upon. She would have tried to choke out a 'hello', but her scepter nearly slipped from her lax hands before she realized a woman's life hung in the balance. Squeaking, Angela dove for the rod before it could hit the ground, and lined it back up with the wound. Exhaling, and trying not to think of the gorgeous woman watching her right now, she let her energy flow down the scepter and into the woman.
She slowly begun a chant, for it was different for each person she healed. No two people were alike, so neither were their needs or blessings. "I grant you full recovery, a long, happy life, and the courage to continue living." She opened her eyes to watch the torn side stitch itself back together, and watch the woman's breathing calm and slow. Quickly, the blood stopped seeping and her flesh became whole, and almost as soon as her magic wore off, the other goddess touched her shield gently to the woman's stomach. Fareeha watched as she inhaled and closed her eyes, summoning her strength to bless the woman. Only then did Angela wonder what she was the goddess of.