The short one lunged

The short one lunged, his mistake.  She had been well trained, and as his sword darted toward her, she traced a line down his arm with her blade.  He was obviously surprised, dropping his sword even though the wound was minor.  She stepped forward, sacrificing some of the safety of the chimney, by placing a foot firmly on the sword.

     The tall one shifted, almost out of her view, and she turned just in time.  He was more skilled, and had greater reach.  Her sword blocked his, but then the leader struck as well.  She dropped to the ground, rolling to the side, and avoiding the second blow, but her wings got in the way.

     She lay on her back panting, and the leader placed his sword at her throat.  “Drop your sword!”

     She complied, though she kept its location in mind, waiting, no hoping, for them to make a mistake.  The one she had cut came forward, “I want to cut her, it’s only fair.”

     The leader scowled, but nodded, and the short one placed his sword on her arm.  She flinched, and he laughed.  “Maybe, I’ll have a little fun instead?”  He put his sword at her belly and slashed upward.  This sliced skin, and ripped the fabric from navel to neck.  “Now I will finish you off for good!”

     As he pulled his sword back, a new masculine voice said, “Stop, what are you doing?”  The three almost cowered in his presence.  A blonde haired pretty faced male with perfect muscular physique stood before her.  He wore a simple black cape and underneath a toga of the same color. “I sent you to save a life, not to take one.”

A beginning

Irti leapt from the building, and covertly unfurled her black wings.  She glided to the next roof, landing on her feet, and turned to see if she was still being followed.  Sure enough, there they were, three white-winged males, all brandishing swords, and all with only one thought-her death.

     She scoffed at them before leaping down from that roof.  Her large twelve-foot wingspan opened quickly to catch the rainy wind.  She reached around her back with her right hand to grab the hilt of her sword.  If only she did not have to fight such dire odds.

     Her black hair whipped in the wind crossing over her eyes, diminishing her ability to see. This temporarily knocked her a little bit off balance.  She steadied herself by lifting a few of her feathers to control her glide to the next roof, where she landed again gracefully on her feet.

     She was a Daeva, a black angel.  What humans called a demon or helpers of the “devil.” Humans were mistaken.  First, her kind had never heard of the “devil.”  Second, her kind only wanted to stop the Ahriman from interfering with the history of the humans.  Humans thought of the Ahrimans as “angels“ or helpers of God.  This disgusted Irti.

     The rain fell cold against the bare skin on her back.  She mused about why she was out there, it was August 14, 1792, and she had just failed in her mission.  The Ahriman had foiled some human assassination attempt.  She didn’t know why, but she would find out.  She drew her bronze colored sword, and scowled at them, “Why did you stop those Girondists?”

     The one in the center, stocky with black hair and swarthy skin, spoke, “We were saving a life.  Maximilian Robes Pierre must survive.  And for your interference, you must be eliminated.”

     With that the two others, one tall and skinny, but also swarthy, the other short and vaguely Irish looking, moved forward and to the sides, trying to encircle her.

     Glancing about, she saw a large chimney, not a perfect defense, but at least something to put her back to.  She darted quickly to it, and moved her sword in small circles, flexing her wrist.  They moved to trap her there.