Angel and Gun Short Story

Published by N.A. Soleil on

Warning: Gore/death.


The last gunshot rang out, its echoes melting away into a hypoxic silence.

With a pained grunt, the woman leaned onto the wall and slid down, leaving a carmine smear. Still clutching her firearm in one fist, she levered her arms up onto her raised knees and tilted her head back. She was pale and sweating heavily, and soon her hitched and shallow breathing was the only sound in the room.

The deadly fingers of red reaching menacingly across the front of her loose shirt and pants were an obvious explanation for her state – as were the half-dozen or so bodies piled up around the room.

She’d held out admirably: the attacking force had had her both outnumbered and outgunned. If you asked her why the Federation forces had chosen to attack this ramshackle medical outpost being run out of a farm, she’d tell you it was because they were bastards.

Though now with everything lost and her death imminent, her face crumpled and silent tears streaked through the dirt and gore on her cheeks. Her head lolled from one side to the other, and her watery gaze lit on the bodies of her patients, who hadn’t hesitated to grab weapons though they were, in some cases, gravely injured. Every last one had given their life to protect this place. She said her silent goodbyes, and apologies piled up in a throat too tight with regret to release them.

She was the only one left now, and not for long.

Something blocked the light streaming in through the kicked-down door, and despite her condition she leveled her weapon at the unfamiliar silhouette with impressive speed.

“Who’s there?” She called, her voice trembling but forceful.

The hooded figure facing her was freakishly tall, and it didn’t immediately react. She cocked the hammer back threateningly.

“I’m not here to harm you,” a deep, rich voice said from the shadows. “I’m going to raise my hands so I can lower my hood, okay?”

The woman eyed the figure, visibly weighing her options, then gave a curt nod. She watched him like a hawk, and even though her sides were beginning to shake from the effort of holding her arms up, her hands were still steady. The figure deliberately put long arms out to either side, slowly raised large hands, and swept them back under the hood to slide it back.

The firearm wavered slightly as the woman openly stared at the face that was revealed. Her eyes were beginning to glaze over.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured with a ghost of a smile.

Her arms dropped and the weapon clattered out of her lax grip. Making no sound at all, the hooded man crossed the space in three long steps to kneel next to her. He studied her for a moment, tilting his head.

“You’re very interesting. That’s the first time anyone’s ever said that to me,” he said to her quietly, then gathered her limp body effortlessly in his arms and stood.

Uriel paused at the threshold to glance back into the farmhouse’s interior, transformed into a morbid tableau. In the future, would he regret this impulsive decision? Would she?

A smile pulled at his full lips.

Only one way to find out.

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N.A. Soleil

N.A. Soleil is a portmanteau pseudonym of two authors' names, and, together, they write the Metacosm Chronicles!


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