This fiction is inspired by and based on another fiction called Burning Feathers by BlushingNInja. I do not own that story or the book that Fiction is based on. I also do not own the characters.

Prologue

Angels are among us.

I don't mean heavenly beings that appear in a flash of light and dish out prophesies left, right and centre. I also don't mean that pretty girl whose singing belongs in an outer worldly choir or that person who is always kind and caring to the point of being selfishly selfless.

I am talking about actual, flesh and blood, beings with wing spans that could reach up to ten metres. I'm talking about a very small part of the human population who were granted with the genetic material to grow wings from between their shoulder blades and live for hundreds of years.

Are they immortal?

No.

Are they very difficult to kill?

Yes. So difficult in fact that it was easier for our ancestors to accept them as part of reality than face the genocide of the human race in an attempt to kill them off.

Nowadays the angels are even seen as celebrities.

But not everything is sunshine and rainbows among the winged people, in fact there are grudges that have not been forgotten over the ages. So much so that the winged beings are split into two very distinctive groups.

The good(ish?) angels, also known as "Protectors", work to maintain peace between the human and the angel communities. They are usually peacekeepers and are able to convince us mere mortals that war is waste of resources and valuable human life. They are usually pretty good at preserving the peace, though wars do occur sometimes when human greed wins out against reason.

On the other hand we have the bad(ish?) angels, also known as the "Creators", whose main goal is to exterminate the human race as though we were some sort of pest and to recreate our little blue planet into a playground for the winged only. Their casualty rate is so high that they keep the earths' population from booming out of control. Though they never openly declare war against us or the Protectors (because we out number them even divided), they like to leave hints of involvement.

And who am I?

I'm that idiot who is about to fall face first into the middle of a centuries old war between the two groups. My name is Eren Jeager and my life is about to become the stuff of legends, though I have to go to hell and back to get it there.