Guardian
The bomb falls at terminal velocity toward the village, each second bringing it 1,500 feet closer to the lives it will destroy.
I accelerate downward to catch up with it, using my authority in the air to move through the air without resistance.
Clouds flash by in the darkness, wispy wetness that should sting like piercing needles at that speed. In my current form, I don't feel it. I focus on the trajectory of the 500-lb explosive next to me.
Going to hit the Inn.
The impending result is clear to me, as is my knowledge of the 34 souls currently packed into the structure. Most of them are refugees fleeing the Nazi advance, the lucky few who have money or portable wealth left to trade for accommodation.
Their luck has run out now, and death is seconds away.
I slow time, boosting my thought cycles and perception to give me enough time to make the necessary calculations. Even with that advantage, it's still an educated guess.
I place my hand on the side of the steel cylinder. My timing must be perfect.
Lend me your perfection. The prayer sails upward even as my volatile companion and I plummet toward the earth.
Peace fills me. Clarity of thought crystallizes into action, and I blink into physical form.
WHAM.
The sudden air resistance hits me like a wall, and I almost pass out from the pain. The unfamiliar fragility of this form screams at me in protest as I slow violently to 150mph. The dark mass of hard earth below is approaching at terrifying speed, and I nearly panic.
With a supreme effort of will and concentration, I allow the physical form to dissolve.
Bliss.
The sudden removal of all pain and fear is an intoxicating elixir. I spread my wings and effortlessly stop in midair. The sudden rush of connection to power, of Renewal, brings me intense joy.
A massive explosion shatters the night, its shock wave buffeting the atmosphere and obliterating every nearby window. Chunks of stone and earth and bits of tree branches erupt violently, the shrapnel pelting the stone wall of the inn below.
Now just 50 feet up, I am close enough to hear screams and cries of panic floating up from the inn. I smile.
Screams mean they are alive.
A presence speaks in my mind, "Well done, Melphus."
I accelerate downward to catch up with it, using my authority in the air to move through the air without resistance.
Clouds flash by in the darkness, wispy wetness that should sting like piercing needles at that speed. In my current form, I don't feel it. I focus on the trajectory of the 500-lb explosive next to me.
Going to hit the Inn.
The impending result is clear to me, as is my knowledge of the 34 souls currently packed into the structure. Most of them are refugees fleeing the Nazi advance, the lucky few who have money or portable wealth left to trade for accommodation.
Their luck has run out now, and death is seconds away.
I slow time, boosting my thought cycles and perception to give me enough time to make the necessary calculations. Even with that advantage, it's still an educated guess.
I place my hand on the side of the steel cylinder. My timing must be perfect.
Lend me your perfection. The prayer sails upward even as my volatile companion and I plummet toward the earth.
Peace fills me. Clarity of thought crystallizes into action, and I blink into physical form.
WHAM.
The sudden air resistance hits me like a wall, and I almost pass out from the pain. The unfamiliar fragility of this form screams at me in protest as I slow violently to 150mph. The dark mass of hard earth below is approaching at terrifying speed, and I nearly panic.
With a supreme effort of will and concentration, I allow the physical form to dissolve.
Bliss.
The sudden removal of all pain and fear is an intoxicating elixir. I spread my wings and effortlessly stop in midair. The sudden rush of connection to power, of Renewal, brings me intense joy.
A massive explosion shatters the night, its shock wave buffeting the atmosphere and obliterating every nearby window. Chunks of stone and earth and bits of tree branches erupt violently, the shrapnel pelting the stone wall of the inn below.
Now just 50 feet up, I am close enough to hear screams and cries of panic floating up from the inn. I smile.
Screams mean they are alive.
A presence speaks in my mind, "Well done, Melphus."
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