Guardian Angel

Angels exist. There, I said it. I know that saying that sort of thing can draw all sorts of negative attention to someone. There was a time when most people believed in them, but all at once it seemed to be considered irrational. Foolish. Ridiculous. I always believed. Of course, my beliefs have been changed and shaped over time and my angels are something different than what you might be thinking of. They aren't beatific winged figures playing harps on clouds. Nor are they the fearsome, multi-winged, multi-faced creatures of Revelation that could make a man fear for his soul by gazing on them. No, my angels are something quite different indeed.

You see, I can reach out and touch my angels. They are flesh and bone. Gears and plating. Standing above us and protecting us from the Darkness without, clad in plasteel and sapphire wire. My angels are the Guardians, or Risen as we once knew them.

Hmm. It seems that was somewhat anticlimactic. I can see it in your eyes. Never the less, there it is. Think about it for a moment, though, and it will ring with a deeper truth than you may see at the surface.

Is a Guardian simply a person? It hardly seems so at times. I presume you've seen what it is that they can do. What kind of man or woman can do such things? Jump into the air and then jump again with no ground to stand upon? Conjure an impenetrable shell from nothingness? Glide along the ground with lightning crackling through their finger tips?

Beyond that, there is the simple fact that to become a Guardian, you have to have died. Many of them were supposedly people who lived long ago, but not all. Some of them were people that we knew. They died and they came back as something other than what they were, often times not even recognizing close friends and family. Who is to say what is there now is the same person that left? Maybe something else is looking out through those eyes now, something supernatural.

I can still vividly recall the first time I encountered one of them. It isn't something one easily forgets, you know. I was still young; young enough not yet to have hit physical maturity and had the effects of what the Traveler did to us take effect. I was still growing, changing. This was when the City was just beginning, still a rumor among those of us struggling to eek out a living in the remains of what once was.

My parents had heard the stories. Pilgrims in a caravan, marching to the resting place of the Traveler where there was safety and shelter. Our little village had been relatively safe, but rumors of Fallen raiders kept drawing closer to us. It seemed it was only a matter of time before they discovered us and it would not have gone well for those living there. So my parents decided to leave. We packed up everything we owned and joined a passing train of people.

The journey would have been hard even without having to worry about the Fallen, who were not even the only raiders we had to worry about. Anyone who approached had to be met with skepticism at least, if not outright hostility. It is not like we were moving quickly and could get away from someone who wanted to start trouble. Most everyone was on foot, and we were short of supplies.

We had been on the move for several days when the Fallen found us. Shrill cries and whoops rang out from the surrounding countryside. Another sound became audible too, and we quickly realized that it was an approaching Skiff. The ship flew overhead and stopped just out of range of any weapons we might have had. Once stopped, it began unloading troops, who rushed forward.

Many of those traveling with us panicked and ran. The long line of people snaking through the open territory shook and splintered as people tried to find anywhere to get away. Blasts from wire rifles and shrapnel launchers tore through those closest to the aliens, who had cut the line in front of my family, cutting us off from the direction we had been going.

Three ships screamed overhead then. Not Fallen this time, but human. However, they seemed to fly right past, not even slowing. Many raised their hands toward the ships, crying for aid from the pilots, but it looked to be in vain. That seemed to break many of the people around us, as a desire to flee seemed to give way to weeping and wailing.

Suddenly, two people who were near me dropped, the Fallen having turned their attention our way. A splash of blood hit my sleeve and I can remember just staring at it, uncomprehending. My mother wrapped her arms around me, trying to turn my head from the bodies. She held me so close that I could not breathe. I managed to turn my head back around, away from the corpses, and gulped in air that now carried unfamiliar smells.

The Fallen were striding toward us, speaking to each other in that strange language of theirs. One with four arms, that I now know to be a Vandal, raised a shrapnel launcher and pointed it at me. I knew that I was moments from death, when the angel came.

I learned later that the Guardians had been in those ships that had flown overhead. They had passed because they were doing a quick sweep for any other large groups of Fallen before choosing to engage. They had transmatted down somewhere behind me and charged forward. At the time, though, they seemed to appear from nowhere just at my time of need.

The Vandal raised the shrapnel launcher and aimed at me, then suddenly let out a squawk and its aim shifted. The other aliens behind it reacted as well. I turned my gaze upward and saw the figure fall from the sky. He was big, a good head taller than my dad who was no runt. Thick armor plating covered his entire body. A fabric flag flapped at his waist and he had a crest on top of his helmet.

He dropped right in front of me and just paused in midair for the briefest of moments. His hands shot out to the sides, and we were surrounded by a faint purple glow. He glanced back at me and I could see a similar purple glow bisecting the mask of his helm. Most of the Fallen were outside of the shell he had created, but one was trapped inside and it howled in unexpected pain. The shrapnel launcher fell from its grip as it raised all four hands to cover its eyes.

A rifle was suddenly in my savior's hands and the blinded Fallen was down. The other aliens attempted to fire, but the bubble that had been erected around us stopped every shot.

My angel stepped from inside the shield, opening fire at the other aliens, dropping a couple. Shots rang out from the right and left, taking out more. Another Fallen, larger than the others suddenly appeared, blinking into existence near my Guardian and attacking with swords. The Guardian deflected the attack from the Captain, as I was to again learn later it was called, and struck the alien with the butt of his rifle. The Captain tried to retaliate, swinging his blades again. This time the Guardian released his gun and caught one of the arms and struck, breaking bone. The alien roared in pain and fury, and the Guardian reared back his head then snapped it forward, slamming his head into that of his enemy. That drove the Captain to the ground, and the Guardian was able to regain his weapon and fired at his opponent, finishing it off.

Now it was the Fallen's turn to panic and run. As they attempted to flee, more shots rang out from out sides, picking them off. My Guardian turned from the dead Fallen and looked back at us. With a powerful grace, he stepped back to where we were, then knelt in front of me. I stared back at that faceplate, eyes drawn to the purple glow running down the center. He reached out and patted my shoulder, then turned and addressed the crowd.

"My name," he began, "is Saint-14. More Fallen patrol these lands, but fear not. We will see you through to the Last City."

At his words, two other figures emerged, the source of the shots echoing from each side of us. One was dressed similarly to Saint-14, the other wore a hood and a long cape flapped behind. A cheer erupted from the weary travelers, and hope was born anew.

All I could do was stare at the man called Saint. A fitting name for a Guardian angel, one whose Light could burn the eyes of the evil ones that had come for us. I would have many encounters with Guardians after that, but the first none like that first, and none of them were like him. They say he is dead now, lost somewhere on Mercury. But I do not believe it.

Who could kill an angel?

…

AN

Thanks to BlueFlannelGirl and Lady Starscream for the story favorite, and This Is Sarcasm for the story and author favorites!

It may be a little while before I update here again. I really want to try to focus on some original work for a little bit. The only problem with that is not being able to post each chapter as it is written and get feedback/see if people are actually interested. Then again, I may only find inspiration for Destiny and be posting here like I have been for the last year-ish.

Daydreamer BA – Maybe Destiny 2 will force them to work together again and rebuild the bridge a little bit.

Order and Chaos – Thanks for catching that. It was... uhm... an alternate universe take on the situation... Yeah, that's it.

FusRoDerp – I only had him win because I had to.

Jayfeattheris Awesome – Thanks.

This is Sarcasm – Thanks!

Eli8300 – I'm not a fan of the match type either, but the Grimoire Card had Cayde telling Shaxx he shouldn't have tried to outrun his Golden Guns. It seemed the most likely match type to have brought up that line of dialogue to me.