So I'm still getting used to how this website works. I don't have Microsoft Word, so the way I've formatted my work doesn't translate over to this website. It sucks, but as long as I can go in and get it edited before anyone actually reads it, it should be fine.
Thanks to those two or three people who reviewed and favourited my last story, that really brought on the motivation. :) As always anything between a critique and a hello is welcome.
I'm not sure how long this fic is going to be, so I guess I'll just end this A/N with 'it's over when it's over.' They're kinda short chapters though. Sorry about that.
The Dark angel looked up at the overcast sky, wondering how and when he had come to this moment of listlessness. He let out a soft breath, unable to muster anything more. the taste of iron mixed with the crunch of topsoil lingered as an unpleasant after taste. He swallowed the dry lump forming in his throat in the hopes that he might also banish the uninvited texture. Yet the action only served to remind the angel that he was parched.
Given the ambiguity of his circumstances, Dark Pit felt that this was the least of his worries.
His chest burned, every breath a strained gurgle, tantamount to a cripple working a hard day of manual labour. The black winged angel had never experienced anything like this, and could only liken it to running a marathon. He was painfully aware of the fact his description didn't do it justice, but at the same time he didn't care. The only thing he did care about, was figuring out how to overcome this, and satisfy the oxygen quota his lungs demanded of him.
Dark Pit forced himself to roll on his side, digging his already grimy finger nails into the slush underneath him and further caking them with muck. He struggled for what he supposed were minutes, trying to at the very least lift himself from the ground. He was determined. But even his determination couldn't see the black winged angel through the agony and exhaustion that currently plagued him, and so the rogue fell back, dizzy from the effort.
After a few moments of laying in agony, his thoughts drifted elsewhere, and the angel stared placidly skyward. He allowed the minutes to pass him by, nearly losing the consciousness he had regained. Thankfully, Dark Pit snapped to his senses before that could happen, berating himself for being so careless. He sucked in a breath through sheer force of will, and with that same strength, pulled himself up from his splayed position on the ground. Dark Pit bit back a scream of unbidden pain, substituting it instead for a hiss intermingled with a ferocious growl. He had decided that he should at the very least sit up. No matter the suffering he had to endure in order to do so.
With this goal at the forefront of his mind, Dark Pit soon realized that for whatever reason, his incredibly injured body was stubborn in listening to his commands. Every muscle, while laced with an acute pain- was incredibly stiff. Each joint cracking audibly as though they hadn't been used in a very long time. One of his elbows even locked into place, and the angel had to use his other arm to crack it. Which was by no means enjoyable. The angelic warrior had to fight to drive home the fact to his body that yes, he was still alive, and no, he didn't want to lie in the mud forever.
After bringing everything that denied him back up to speed, the dark angel set about doing the same service for his wings, but found it was more difficult than he had anticipated. All Dark Pit had managed was a single pathetic flap, which accomplished nothing more than loosening an alarmingly large clump of dried dirt and feathers from the appendages, which relieved the burden on him greatly.
In the end the dark angel considered the endeavor a success, as he had managed to sit himself on his knees.
It was at this point Dark Pit noticed a fresh round of lukewarm iron suffocating his taste buds. He spat with urgency into the ground directly in front of him, realizing he had bitten his tongue during that ordeal.
Now that he had come this far, he could afford to give himself time to think. The bewildered angel stared with burgundy eyes at nothing in particular. Having cast his gaze away from the world above and to the ground he sat upon. A humid breeze picked up, daring to muss the dark angels raven hair, and plucking off loose feathers the celestial being wouldn't miss.
It took an ear of wheat to brush past his cheek for the ebony winged angel to look up and at the surrounding field.
For some reason this surprised him, and he eventually came to the conclusion this field was either very large, desolate, or both.
The angel looked down at himself, taking stock of his immediate appearance. He winced, noting the dried blood soaked through his clothes. No wonder he was in so much pain. Whatever had wounded him this badly was as good as dead. He would make sure of it.
But for now Dark Pit rose to his feet, stumbling and flaring out his wings on instinct to try to catch himself. Though his small wingspan did little to aid him in this, the dark angel still managed to keep his balance. After this accomplishment, the angel began to properly take in his surroundings. He turned himself in a circle, realizing he had been disarmed as his gaze met with his staff a few feet away. This new piece of information caused him to check for his laurel crown, and to his satisfaction, it was still there. Slightly disheveled, but there.
What really caught his attention though, was the path of destruction leading right up to him. Broken sheaths and wheat kernels were thoroughly squashed into the ground. There was no salvaging them. Dark Pit approached the path with caution, unable to recall having crash landed in such a dramatic fashion.
He picked up the divine weapon, Still looking at the carnage before him. The path was wide. On estimate, a staggering ten meters in width. Dark Pit figured he was too small to have caused this much of an impact, even if he had gone down fighting. Blasting his enemy with the weapon he now held in his hands. His thoughts turned to the possibility of the culprit being his mystery assailant. Further investigation required him to kneel down, which annoyed him since he had just gotten to his feet. It wasn't so bad since he had his staff as a support. But still.
Dark Pit was pleased to know that his deductions were correct. Or at least supported. The damaged crops were indeed crushed into the ground and mangled beyond repair, but the fact that they were all facing away from him was comforting to know. Not because he could prove himself innocent, but because whoever or whatever was at the end of this trail, was the one he needed to kill.