I wanted to fuck him. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to tear out his heart and feel his blood rain down on my skin.

Where the hell was that coming from? I hated these guys, but this was a whole new level.

Lorenzo’s voice came over the mike, but it was drawn out and distorted, as though someone had slowed him down, “Oooooppppppeeeennnn ffffffiiiiiirrrrreeeee.”

Weapons belched fire and metal in streaming arcs towards the angel. I watched the tracers as they flew towards the target. Everything was so slow; I could count the bullets and the shells as they raced towards the angel.

Fire and lightning erupted where the weapons struck him. The glowing characters brightened as the attacks landed. He did not move, nor try to avoid us; he was too preoccupied looking around the stadium. Was he confused at the absence of his targets? Did it disturb him at all to find things not as he expected?

“Claaaaaaymoooooooooores!” Lorenzo yelled, the word flowing like syrup down my ear.

I put a round dead center in the angel’s face. The shell exploded an inch before striking him, and a ball of burning material erupted around his upper body. Flames licked across his shield like roses pressed against glass.

Claymores exploded around him, showering him with deadly ball bearings and more fire. The patterns of the balls sparking against him was a lovely if frustrating sight. Obscured now by smoke, I could still feel him, still center shell after shell on his location.

And then he tired of us, of the insects trying to harm him. Leaping into the air, a single beat of his massive wings carried him corkscrewing out of the smoke cloud and straight onto the balcony. The soldiers could not follow his movements, they were so fast, but three streams of shells continued to explode around him. Landing on the balcony, he swept one of his great wings around him, through the seats and the support of the balcony itself. Someone screamed in my mike. That section of seating was sheared nearly in half. Blood sprayed up and around the angel, a scarlet fountain of aching beauty. Even the blood-splattered uselessly against his field, drops rolling off the energy without dirtying the majesty of the angel.

Dust and debris clouded the air. People were screaming, confused shouts and orders back and forth on the comlink. Soldiers were spraying the section he landed in with bullets, but most were going wide. No longer in our Killzone, he was a much harder target now.

Roaring in frustration, I ripped the empty clip out of my weapon and tossed it aside before slamming another into the gun so hard I felt metal give. I did not care, as long as it fired. I was pulling the trigger faster than the mechanism could respond.

It moved and I saw a soldier go flying into the air in a lazy arc before he crumpled across a set of chairs thirty feet away. More people were now tracking him. In all the excitement, I lost track of Claire and Kemi. I just knew they were moving around me, little blurred lights in my mind compared to the angel’s sun.

Now, I could see that the angel’s field appeared damaged. It still sparked and lit up the more it was struck, but there were cracks forming. The writhing characters were looking corrupt and less well-formed. Were we winning?

Then some jackass panicked and threw a grenade at him.

Unfortunately, he was nearing me at this point. I was too intent on the glowing ball of death heading my way to notice until the little black object flew behind him.

Oh, that’s a grenade, my brain said casually.

Then the world went white.

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