All His Angels Are Starving

She wanted to eat the dead Imperfect Angel's flesh. Wanted to chew through the black covering of its skull and taste its brain matter. Her stomach twisted with a gaping violent hunger; her mouth watered as she stared into its lifeless white eyes. The sounds of the babies tearing and chewing and swallowing only drove her ravenous insanity further.

Swallowing the excess spittle, she knelt slowly, her lips nearing the angel's ruined face. Its black covering had lost its shine. It seemed dull and lifeless now, covered in dust, but still delectable. She remembered how it turned gelatinous when it chewed on its own covering. Without its bottom jaw, she could see right into the pink darkness of its throat.

Blood ran down the side of its nose from the terrible wound on its forehead. A terrible wound that would give her access to a succulent meal.

Jenny stopped, her mouth hovering over its split-open forehead. Drool slid over her gums and out, a glistening drop that splashed on the dead creature's cheek. She was sitting on its chest, right in front of the spike. Her knees on either side of its neck. One of the babies crawled over to see what she was doing. It cocked its oversized head. Its bright green eyes shining. Then it pointed at the Imperfect Angel's bleeding head as if to ask, for me?

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, the edge of her hatchet caught her eye. She realized it had changed. Its appearance. Its weight. Everything about it was different.

The metal part was now dark and smoky, glasslike with a textured pattern across its face that reminded her of molten rock. It was obsidian. She remembered that from Earth Science, freshman year. The handle was a rich brown wood with shiny flowery etchings that climbed from bottom to top. As though someone had carved the intricate pattern into the wood and filled it with gold. Her hatchet seemed more like an artifact from some ancient civilization now. Something that might've been used ceremoniously rather than as a crude weapon or tool. It must be Tier 3.

She wished she could invoke the Guidance System. To ask Eve for more information. What sort of abilities did it have now?

Not that knowing would help. She couldn't use her skills or abilities. Her hand shook, but she was grateful for the distraction; she'd almost given in and tasted angel flesh. Her fingers curled tightly around the handle, and she climbed off the dead angel. She ignored the baby. Half walking, half dragging, Jenny returned to Oliver's side where she dropped to her knees.

Dulé and the girl were gone. She could hear their fighting: the hissing, screeching, scuffling, and occasional slam that sounded like a thunderclap. They must have led the angels away from Oliver. Since they were in a secluded corner near the front of the room, it was an easy place to protect.

Smart, she thought, inspecting the pile of rubble again. It reached all the way up to the large crater in the ceiling, blocking off the front door. They would have to fight to the other side and escape through the second exit. Dust and little bits escaped every so often whenever the floor shook. What if the whole thing collapsed? One of the tables creaked precariously, and Jenny winced.

Something must have shifted because Oliver woke with a gasp. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and he stared at the rubble crushing his legs, eyes wide and frantic.

Jenny wanted to bite her lip, but that was impossible without teeth. She squeezed her hatchet; it seemed to glow now, a faint emanating golden aura, and Oliver struggled to look at it.

"Is that your weapon?" he asked weakly. He tried adjusting his glasses, but the lenses were long gone. They were just empty frames. "What you made? It's beautiful."

She nodded, almost wanting to laugh at the urge to say no duh. That was how she'd usually respond to anything he'd say, with biting sarcasm.

"Mine was a knife," he said. He raised an arm as if it was in his hands. "Got it to Tier 2 and I feel like I got close to Tier 3 like yours. What does your hatchet do?" His voice was strained, but she got the sense he was talking to distract himself from the pain and to distract her from the situation.

Jenny turned the hatchet over. The obsidian glimmered like metal from another world. The sound of Dulé's shouts filled the air. The babies were still busy eating the delicious meal she'd left behind. "I can summon it back to me," she said finally, speaking slowly and hoping he understood her despite the lack of teeth distorting her words.

"Oh," whispered Oliver. He shut his eyes for a moment. "Just like Mackenzie. She copied my knife, but I got something else." He coughed violently and then groaned, as the motion of coughing jarred his legs, and Jenny dropped her hatchet to hold his hand.

The deaf girl's name must be Mackenzie, thought Jenny. She wondered what ability Oliver's knife got at Tier 2.

"Is she alive?" he asked softly, as though he'd already accepted her fate if she were dead. The last he'd seen of her, she'd been dragged away by the striped angel. The mark on his face was covered in dust, but Jenny could still see the red swollenness.

"Yeah," said Jenny, nodding and trying to smile, but then realizing that wouldn't help much without teeth. "Still alive. And kicking ass."

Oliver started shivering like mad. His teeth were chattering. "Good," he said, his voice fading to whisper quiet.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Jenny squeezed his hand. "Can't you hear her? She's right around this pile of shit."

He didn't seem to hear anything now. The shivering grew worse. He stared at the gaping hole in the ceiling, his eyes watering. Tears ran down the sides of his face, clearing the dust. "It hurts," he said quietly, his voice layered with a moan of anguish. He squeezed her fingers so hard, his nails cut into her hand.

He looked like he was trying very hard not to cry and failing. He bit his bottom lip and turned his head slightly to look into Jenny's eyes. As though he were begging her to fix this. Pleading silently.

Her heart broke. He'd never once looked at her like that before. Always it was curiosity or kindness or suppressed laughter, just whatever it was that little siblings did. She wanted to hug him. She'd never hugged him before. She wanted to console him and promise him everything would be alright. After all, that was her job as his big sister, wasn't it?

Shouldn't she know how to fix this? She was supposed to take care of him, wasn't she? A responsibility that had fallen on her as soon as their parents married. An obligation she'd resented and ignored, and now...

It was stupid. This was all so stupid. Struggling inside her was a disgusting hunger, a terrible heartbreak, and an aching that she wished would just stop. She forced herself to look at his legs again. If she could just get him out from under the rubble... they were on the first floor. She could carry him to the library where he’d be safe.

But judging by the shouting and fighting, there were plenty of angels in the way. And somewhere, still in its cocoon maybe, was that Desecrated Angel, lying in wait.

She licked her lips, feeling the dust and dried blood stuck to her skin. His hand felt so warm in hers, and she listened to him praying softly, repeating the words her mother had taught him.

Jenny squeezed his hand back. "I'm going to get you out," she whispered. It was a promise. The first promise she made as his big sister. She'll figure something out.

His teeth chattered as he tried to speak. He was sobbing now. "Wait," he said, choking on the word. "Don't leave me here. I can't... I don't want to be alone."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said gently, repeating it as she let go of his hand. She was trembling now too, trying to think. What could she use? The others had skills she didn’t know about. She had this ruined body... there had to be something.

The hiss of an approaching angel cut through her thoughts. It must've slipped past the others. She turned to see a Tarnished Angel crawling toward them. Emaciated with long dark hair. An ugly gash went down the side of its face, blood dripping like wet paint, probably a result of Mackenzie's knife.

Oliver stared at it, his lips curling downward, his fingers balling into fists.

"It's okay," she said through the corner of her mouth, grabbing her hatchet's handle.

The angel moved slowly. It was injured in several places, and as soon as it got close enough, Jenny's arms snapped upward. The hatchet caught the angel's neck, streaks of golden light tracing the movement, shimmering.

The new edge cut through the creature so easily, Jenny almost released the hatchet in surprise. The angel's head landed several feet away, rolling. Its body seemed to hesitate, blood gushing out of the stump of its neck. Then it landed with a thud, bleeding profusely.

With a chorus of excited babbling, the babies crawled over as a group. They seemed even bigger than before, and she noticed several of them waddling on two chubby legs. Their eyes wide with excitement, arms held out for balance, they rushed to the Tarnished Angel's body. A few of the babies stumbled and fell, but then picked themselves up to hurry after the others.

"What are they?" whispered Oliver. "It says... it says, Angel... But yours. Why are you a Tarnished Human?" Fear shuddered through his question. His face was strained, turning pasty even with the healthy coating of dust. He looked like he was about to be sick.

"Don't think about that right now," she said quickly. Stress would only tax his body more. "Let's get you out first. Then I'll explain."

"But..." His voice faded. He sniffled, turning to watch the babies eat their next meal. They chewed through the Tarnished Angel's flesh, slurping and pausing to burp and spit up every once in a while.

Dulé stumbled near them, breathing hard, drenched in sweat. Jenny could still hear Mackenzie screaming and fighting, but there were other voices too. That gave her more hope. The more people they had, the better chance of getting out of there alive.

Wiping his brow, Dulé motioned toward the Tarnished Angel. The babies crawled all over it, chewing on fingers and elbows and shoulders. He made a face like he might throw up. "Sorry," he said. "That one got through."

"How many are there?" asked Jenny. She almost asked if they'd seen the Desecrated Angel, but knew that if they had, they'd all be dead. She didn't want to frighten Oliver by mentioning it.

"They keep coming," he said, shaking his head and taking deep breaths. "But a lot of them are the weaker ones, and we have Alex and Tara helping now too."

Golden light flashed. One of his boxing gloves disappeared, and he was holding what looked like a spray bottle of window cleaner. Jenny had no idea what it was without the Guidance system.

"For you," he said, stepping closer and holding it out. "I'll make one for Oliver too. I would've made it sooner, but I didn't have enough Energy. I'm guessing you don't either."

Jenny shook the spray bottle. Red liquid sloshed inside. It wasn't much different from her potions, but she thought it was interesting that others had come up with different means of healing. She glanced down at her wound. Blood still flowed from the hole in her side, but it had slowed down to a trickle. Her body was still moving, heavy and sickly, but moving, and her heart continued beating, so she must still have enough blood to keep things running for now.

"How does it work?" she asked.

Golden light flashed again. "It's a Minor Spray of Recovery," said Dulé. "It'll close and heal anything. Saved us a bunch of times already."

She almost told him to wait. To store up more Energy first so they could make something stronger, but Dulé already had another spray bottle in his hand. She pressed her lips together, straining hard to think.

Something about the way he said close and heal fluttered through her thoughts. These should work similarly enough to her potions. As long as the wound closed, and the blood flow stopped... Her breathing deepened as the idea formed. She glanced at Oliver's legs. Close and heal...

She realized what she had to do. The only way to get Oliver out of this alive was to cut off his legs. She'd hold off from healing herself just yet; there was no way to know how much of these sprays they'd need. And if she could at least keep it together, keep Oliver alive, until they got to the library, then everything would work out.

"Okay," she said, her voice wavering slightly. She looked up at Dulé, realizing she was about to speak her idea out loud, making it real. "I'm going to cut off his legs."