A Pattern Of Intolerance Toward Our Divine Counterparts

Fiery the angels fell. Goddamn, Apone and his hair trigger do good work. The flame-thrower belched cursed fuel and fire in an arc, as the winged bastards crossed our field of vision. Burnt feather stink and flutters of white filled the air.

We’ve been fighting this war for what seems like forever, though it’s only really been a few months. Nobody knows why they come, or whether they really are what they appear to be. We know that most of our weapons only slow them down, but the folk we’ve been laughing at since before Darwin have been chanting incantations and throwing arcane shapes over our ammo and napalm, and it actually seems to make a difference on the battlefield. The charred remains of androgynous monsters falling to the ground in front of us are testament to that.

The few aborigines left in our own country and across the colonised globe who still hung on to older ways, our cousins in the Middle East, and the orthodox religious scattered in pockets across the rest of the world -and I’m sorry if I don’t know the right names for them but until last August I was trained primarily to shoot them first and interface compassionately and with tolerance of their culture and religion later – they all fared better than we did. We were still trying to take down these old warriors with standard ordnance and harsh language, and getting torn to shit, weeks after everybody else had realised that this was not our standard theater of war, and had dusted off the guerilla tactics and old-world smackdown.

None of our training or experience was any good against an enemy who had no clear point of origin, and could turn up anywhere. And by anywhere, I mean materialising on the wing behind our lines, not brewing from social discontent within our schools and suburbs. Domestic terrorism we can work with, but these guys… these guys are something else.

They are strong, and impervious, and fast, and merciless. But they don’t know how to fight out of desperation, and they don’t know how to fight angry or against the odds, and that’s something we’d forgotten, but that they aren’t capable of ever learning in the first place.

The funny thing is, we’ve now got proof of Heaven, but nobody has seen any sign of Hell. But then, war is Hell, right? That’s what they say. And when you see one of those things up close, with the blood of your brothers sprayed across it’s face, you wonder why we ever needed to invent demons in the first place.

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Nicolas Papaconstantinou
Nicolas Papaconstantinou is an enthusiastic amateur creative type, and the chap behind Elephant Words. Be nice to him. He growed up kinda wrong.

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