The bright sun of the alien world shined onto his face with at least double the intensity he was used to—or, at least, that was what it felt like.
However hot it actually was, it was still a hellish experience, especially as he lay in the remains of his transport helicopter, the bodies of his comrades cooling—or rather, steaming,
he supposed—around him.
He didn’t bother to stem the flow of blood sluggishly trickling from the multiple shrapnel wounds across his body. If the blood loss didn’t kill him, the Nephilim definitely would.
Honestly, he was kind of hoping that he’d bleed out before one of them came around to finish him off.
And of course, the moment he thought that one of the winged bastards—excuse him, bitches—swung her gaze in his direction and started flying over.
He fumbled for the release on his seatbelt, but it only took a few seconds for her to glide over to him, and then she was reaching out with an armored gauntlet,
her impassive face nearly hidden in the depths of her hood.
He flinched instinctively. As much as he had basically accepted his death, he still would have preferred not to have his skull crushed by some giant angel.
Admittedly, she looked like a dream, and he was sure that some sick bastard out there wouldn’t have any issues going out in that fashion, but it still wasn’t his cup of tea.
There was a few awkward seconds where he just stared at her, frozen with shock, as she unbuckled restraint system.
He didn’t resist as the woman in plate armor gathered him up in her own bloody arms that were oozing golden ichor,
cradling him not unlike a newborn child as she carefully flew away from the wreckage.
“You die again,” she whispered in his ear, her voice stilted, her tongue fumbling to form the English words.
He tried to respond, but the blood loss was getting to him.
It was a monumental effort for him to even lift his head as she sat him down near the edge of a tree line, where the coolness of the shade provided a release from the burning sun.
A few long minutes passed as they stared each other in the eye, his expression covered in confusion and her expression wrought in some form of pain.
“I am…” She seemed to search for a word, her brows momentarily furrowing in frustration. “…Sorry.”
He watched as she flew away, her armor and seemingly delicate white wings gleaming in the sun.
And then he waited to die as he leaned against the massive tree, the lids of his eyes growing heavier as the sun slowly set.
But as night came around and the air cooled, the pain gradually began to fade. And with the alleviation of his suffering came memories—memories of another, more peaceful life…