Read Online Angels of War (Angels of War Trilogy Book 1) by Andre Roberts - Free Book Online
Authors: Andre Roberts
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lightening flickered behind her. She set her jaw and pressed her thick lips together in concentration.
The angel inhaled a deep breath laced with blue electricity. She dropped towards the earth fast, with her wings out at her sides. Joan pulled her wings back and dove like a hawk from the skies. The speed exhilarated her and pumped adrenalin through her veins as she followed the path Michael left for her.
Joan became a silver flash against the gray rain fattened clouds. Michael raced ahead, southwest over Atlanta. The scene below took her breath. Atlanta, Georgia captivated her. The architecture built to symmetrical perfection blended with the hill country on the city’s edge. Her heart pounded hard in her chest as she trailed the archangel, he, a bright golden streak over the city like a comet. Michael blasted past the CNN Headquarters and dove towards the Georgia Dome and through its roof like a ghost.
Joan closed her eyes and rushed towards the dome. Within seconds she slipped through the roof. She opened her eyes and sped by metal support beams and hot spotlights. Green artificial turf spread out beneath her. She never thought she would ever experience the Georgia Dome from this angle. The flight down from its curved roof towards the gridiron made her giddy.
The archangel Michael stood on the fifty-yard line dressed in full armor. His sword in hand, every light in the dome gleamed against his golden armor.
Joan landed before the archangel, folded in her white wings. She faced him. He studied his beautiful sword as if to inspect its honed edge. She glanced around at the massive arena. The Georgia Dome remained empty save for a gray haired guard slumped in a seat high above the field.
She reminisced about the games she attended in the dome. The salty hot dogs, the crowd’s fanatical roar and the hot buttered popcorn brought back teary memories. At a game, William once wiped the grease from his tiny hands on her Atlanta Falcons jersey. She missed the ice-cold sting from soda in her throat. She remembered with fondness Charles’s stale beer breath. Memories.
Memories she took for granted and soon may become distant good memories to her and many other people if she did not get her head together.
Michael smiled at Joan. “God ordered me to come down here and make sure you understood how to fight.” He twirled the sword in his right hand. “Do you remember the art, Joan?”
Joan turned away from the guard and focused on Michael’s face. His eagle helmet glowed against the spotlights. “I’m not sure.”
She drew her sword with her right hand, the blade hissed against the scabbard’s leather interior as she brought the gladius out to light.
She readied the Heaven made steel. Her pulse raced so fast her ears started to ring.
Joan began to conjure up the days when she did fight. How many years passed since her last battle? She played her thumb along the jewels embedded in the hilt, purple, and green, yellow, red, and sky blues, along with many others. The Georgia Dome brought back feint memories when she fought in the Roman Coliseum. Ancient bloody battles echoed in her mind just enough to send a fresh chill down her spine.
Her eyes beheld Michael’s placid face, the sword he manipulated in his hand, and his slow movement. She followed him, captivated like a sparrow mesmerized by a dancing net.
“First, you need to calm down,” he said.
Joan nodded, transfixed by the way he moved. Her nervous eyes darted to his muscled legs and the muscles in his huge forearms each time he twirled the blade. He passed the sword from one hand to the other. Her eyes became heavy. Michael’s sword gleamed underneath the bright lights, the edge seeming to ripple. His moves lulled her mind into a dangerous sluggishness she found irresistible.
The hard blow bounced against her helmeted head before her eyes registered his attack. The punch knocked her back to the ten-yard line. She landed on her
The angel inhaled a deep breath laced with blue electricity. She dropped towards the earth fast, with her wings out at her sides. Joan pulled her wings back and dove like a hawk from the skies. The speed exhilarated her and pumped adrenalin through her veins as she followed the path Michael left for her.
Joan became a silver flash against the gray rain fattened clouds. Michael raced ahead, southwest over Atlanta. The scene below took her breath. Atlanta, Georgia captivated her. The architecture built to symmetrical perfection blended with the hill country on the city’s edge. Her heart pounded hard in her chest as she trailed the archangel, he, a bright golden streak over the city like a comet. Michael blasted past the CNN Headquarters and dove towards the Georgia Dome and through its roof like a ghost.
Joan closed her eyes and rushed towards the dome. Within seconds she slipped through the roof. She opened her eyes and sped by metal support beams and hot spotlights. Green artificial turf spread out beneath her. She never thought she would ever experience the Georgia Dome from this angle. The flight down from its curved roof towards the gridiron made her giddy.
The archangel Michael stood on the fifty-yard line dressed in full armor. His sword in hand, every light in the dome gleamed against his golden armor.
Joan landed before the archangel, folded in her white wings. She faced him. He studied his beautiful sword as if to inspect its honed edge. She glanced around at the massive arena. The Georgia Dome remained empty save for a gray haired guard slumped in a seat high above the field.
She reminisced about the games she attended in the dome. The salty hot dogs, the crowd’s fanatical roar and the hot buttered popcorn brought back teary memories. At a game, William once wiped the grease from his tiny hands on her Atlanta Falcons jersey. She missed the ice-cold sting from soda in her throat. She remembered with fondness Charles’s stale beer breath. Memories.
Memories she took for granted and soon may become distant good memories to her and many other people if she did not get her head together.
Michael smiled at Joan. “God ordered me to come down here and make sure you understood how to fight.” He twirled the sword in his right hand. “Do you remember the art, Joan?”
Joan turned away from the guard and focused on Michael’s face. His eagle helmet glowed against the spotlights. “I’m not sure.”
She drew her sword with her right hand, the blade hissed against the scabbard’s leather interior as she brought the gladius out to light.
She readied the Heaven made steel. Her pulse raced so fast her ears started to ring.
Joan began to conjure up the days when she did fight. How many years passed since her last battle? She played her thumb along the jewels embedded in the hilt, purple, and green, yellow, red, and sky blues, along with many others. The Georgia Dome brought back feint memories when she fought in the Roman Coliseum. Ancient bloody battles echoed in her mind just enough to send a fresh chill down her spine.
Her eyes beheld Michael’s placid face, the sword he manipulated in his hand, and his slow movement. She followed him, captivated like a sparrow mesmerized by a dancing net.
“First, you need to calm down,” he said.
Joan nodded, transfixed by the way he moved. Her nervous eyes darted to his muscled legs and the muscles in his huge forearms each time he twirled the blade. He passed the sword from one hand to the other. Her eyes became heavy. Michael’s sword gleamed underneath the bright lights, the edge seeming to ripple. His moves lulled her mind into a dangerous sluggishness she found irresistible.
The hard blow bounced against her helmeted head before her eyes registered his attack. The punch knocked her back to the ten-yard line. She landed on her
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