Broken Arrows

Their assault was never-ending. From the moment the angels arrived on the battlefield, they were attached to Aesandoral. At first, she had been in awe of their beauty. Their flawless, bronze skin was covered in gleaming silver armour. Atop their shoulders was hair as golden as wheat and eyes as blue as the purest stream. But when they attacked, their white wings flaring open as the purple flames of their blades split the air, all awe vanished.

The angels swung her way wildly. Their attacks were not beautiful, but dangerous, as they relentlessly slashed at Aesandoral as though they were cornered animals. But they were far from that. This divine vanguard was on the attack, and the elf was the one struggling to keep herself alive. Fighting with all her might to ensure that she didn't end up the one cornered.

“Shit!” Aesandoral gasped as she raced over her magical steps, creating her own staircase to the top of the stables. "No-no-no!"

Twitching ears caught the silent flutter of angelic wings and the crackling of holy flames. As Aesandoral glanced over her shoulder, she saw them both as they began their next strike. With a sharp inhale, she took a quick double-step forward, losing her footing but avoiding the worst of another swipe of the angelic blade. The holy blade, burning hot and impossibly sharp, cut across her back, the longsword slicing through her clothing and splitting her flesh.

"GYAAAHHH!" The elf cried out, tumbling over the peak of the stable's roof and sliding down its tilted slope. "No. Crap! Fug!"

As Aesandoral rolled down the tiled roof, she swung her hips around and threw herself into a kneeling position, adjusting her body so that she could shoot. Now facing backwards, she released a trio of arrows in rapid succession towards the nearest angel.

The first was quickly deflected with a parry of the flaming blade. But she had not fired a mundane arrow, and as the magic erupted in an explosive flash, the remaining two shots slipped past the divine defence. The second and third arrows met their mark, sinking in where a heart should have been before erupting in brambles that tethered the assailant to the roof.

Bound by the thorns, the angel's wings locked up, and, as it tumbled to the tiles, this gave room for the second pursuer to continue their race forward. The hunter's once-quiet wings whistled as the rushing air vibrated at the speed of the coming attack. Immediately, Aesandoral knew there would be no more opportunity to return fire. More than that, if she didn't deflect the coming assault, there would be no more her. So, with a swing of her magical bow, she pulled the weapon before her chest and braced with two hands as the flaming sword clanked against the grip.

Sparks and embers danced in the air around Aesandoral as she deflected the strike. But the force was too much. Already at a strange angle, she was knocked from the roof. Catching the eaves at the last moment, she kicked off, flipping through the air and gracefully dodging a second swipe of the angelic blade.

Somersaulting as she connected with the ground, the elf nocked another trio of arrows and readied herself for the next strike. What she saw before her made her heart drop. Again, two winged forms approached at high speed. The first angel was no longer bound. Having burst through the vines as though they were nothing more than brittle leaves, they came up from behind the second. With swords lifted high, both were ready to cleave through her. At least, until she released her arrows.

Aesandoral watched as the angels flared their wings, stopping their assault long enough to parry each arrow. But this wouldn't deter the archer. All she needed was one well-placed shot. One perfect arrow and she could bring down the mightiest beast. So, with every second their hesitation bought her, she kept nocking and releasing shot after shot.

But regardless of how much magic she put behind her strikes, they blocked each one. No matter how hard she tried, she came up short. It didn't matter if she added vines or explosives or tweaked the speed. Nothing mattered. Their swings were calculated. It was as though they knew where she was going to shoot before she did. And as the angels continued to deflect her arrows, they slowly moved forward, pushing her back toward the lake.

Suddenly, an explosion towards the front of the manor caught Aesandoral's attention. Distracted for mere seconds, it was long enough for the angels to land three well-placed slashes across her legs, trunk and back. Blood sprayed out from her, turning into a pink steam as the fiery blades aerosolized her life force. She cried out in agony, fighting against the urge to collapse under the weight of her severed hamstring. But she remained upright, swinging her bow around frantically in response to the assault. Eventually she connected with one of the angels, pushing it against the other and giving her the window she needed to break free.

Another slash caught her back as she slipped from the angels' reach. Coughing out a scream of torment, she continued to run. Continued to move even though she wanted to collapse. Wanted to cry out for Ishara to save her. The slash had been well placed, grazing her enough to flay the flesh from her back. Shear away less than an inch of skin and muscle from her shoulder to her hip, cauterizing the wound as it tore past. 

Aesandoral hobbled away as fast as she could, allowing the adrenaline of the moment to fuel her. It pushed her to flee. To survive. To get enough space between her and the angels to use her bow. As she ran, she reached into her bag and withdrew a healing potion, but as she lifted it to her lips, the bottle disappeared. A slash of flames cut through the air, and before she knew it, half of her hand and the elixir were gone. 

She screamed out in agony as she pulled the cauterized remnants of her limb to her chest. But she wouldn't stop. She couldn't. And so Aesandoral continued her race forward as her breathing grew more frantic.

With a glance down at her undamaged hand still gripping the bow tightly, Aesandoral eyed the magical storage ring her sister had insisted she pick up at one point over the last semester. Focusing on the object, she watched it glow a faint green before the arcane energy flowed into her. 

Aesandoral winced as she withdrew another trio of arrows with her maimed hand. She could barely hold them with what fingers remained, but she was out of options. A single arrow would never be enough. She would need something grander. More powerful. So she would focus and use everything she had learned over the last year to take down at least one of the angels. 

Jumping into the air, the elf began racing up her magical stairs once more. She could hear the angels approaching, gaining with every weakened step she took. But she couldn't slow down. There was no time for hesitation. She’d only get one shot once she activated her trap and would need to do so flawlessly. She would need to be better than ever before. Would need to be as good as Ishara thought her to be.

It was now or never.