Once again, that unrelenting feeling that this was not the way it was supposed to be was upon him. He had only brief instances to think out his next course of action.
He watched as the target rushed at the machine, only for the swift and nimble mechanical intruder to dance away. The extremely skilled blow to the back of head at just the right location had just the right power to knock him out with no serious damage. Still, the Power wasn’t summoned in any way Nixon could feel.
He watched the lifeless body get hoisted onto the machine’s shoulders. The woman attacked suddenly, and he flinched knowing what was coming next. Sure enough, she was dead moments later. Nixon couldn’t stay inactive much longer, and the weapon was getting closer.
There was no more time to delay. No matter the series of events that had brought him here, this kind of ruthless and unjustified terrorism was not going to be tolerated. Nixon had always had some levity in his missions for such causes.
He paused, for just an instant, considering the consequences of the action he was about to take.
Was he really about to save the life of the target during this act of revenge against a merciless, unfeeling machine? Was this even the target? He had not embraced the Power, had no intentions to use whatever powers he did have at his moment of ultimate suffering (this was key, as Nixon knew such self-control to the possessors of the Power was unfathomably unlikely). He was still a boy, or barely a man. Nixon had rarely been called to dispatch a mortal man or woman, and when he had, they had been ages older than this.
It all added up to more confusion inside Nixon. He was utterly lost, devoid of direction.
Then, clarity. Purpose was purpose, even if that purpose was to be determined later.
The flame-infused broadsword was unsheathed, and Nixon moved as fast as lightning to the machine and its prize that was about to escape.
One swipe was all it took. The metal man slid apart effortlessly, crashing back to the ground with a horrible racket as it did so.
The notion of success was short-lived when Nixon swore beyond God’s glory in Heaven that it said his name before it permanently shut down, cold and frenzied eyes blinking out like old light bulbs.
Nixon wasted no time in his retrieval of the limp body of the target, now his burden to bear on his heavily-armored shoulder. He turned to leave, knowing that time was quickly running out, when his mind held him back.
He remembered the other.
He had seen the boy pass out after being helped by the woman, who he now could only reasonably assume was his mother. He turned to find him a few steps away, breathing very shallowly, blood still dripping from his mouth from the punch.
He hesitated again. What was the point? Why save just that one more? The answer came to him as he stood there. This one was already out cold as well. No fuss. No feet dragging. He was there; his life could be saved, and that was enough. Nixon knew anger and remorse would come with him. The inevitable 'Why save me? Why not leave me to die with all the others?' moments were practically guaranteed. Nixon was a man of goodness, though, despite the ends he'd gone to at times. He could think of no logical reason NOT to save this boy. That was enough for him.
Logic. Huh. He almost sounded like Ryu.
He walked over, deftly swung the other up onto his free shoulder, braced both bodies, and summoned the fierce power within him.
It lit like dry wood to a spark, his mighty wings taking shape instantly. With a single, only slightly labored push, he and his two new charges were off like a shot while the park below emptied.
“Even in death, God has a plan,” he said in part to break the silence, in part as a prayer.
-----------------------
Had it lived (as it were) to see the moment of impact, the mechanical man who had been sent before Aryu’s arrival for the expressed purpose of obtaining and securing the winged man for a return to his superiors, he would have had no joy in knowing that the bomb would have arrived precisely .000237 seconds after it had predicted. It would have been enough for him to request a full upgrade upon return.
Instead, its non-functioning body was simply obliterated like all the other people, places, and things of Tan Torna Qu-ay.
To any one human who may have been paying attention, the impact arrived with pinpoint precision.
Impact is a poor choice of words. From launch to target, the ordinance never had any intention of hitting the ground. Indeed, should it have, it likely would be considered a dud or failure.
A weapon such as this one can do multiple times more damage if it detonates above the blast target. The resulting explosion and concussion wave then instantly fires downward, hitting the ground like a spring, firing back up and using its cumulative force to feed the explosion that is heading outwards from the epicenter, creating a far more powerful explosion than one that had just hit the ground. It was far more efficient and destructive to have it done this way.
No one in the village had any idea what was about to happen. There was no whistle or hum as it approached. Most of the citizens had become aware of Aryu’s return and feared a moment like this was about to happen anyway, so the majority of the population was seeking some form of futile refuge. They’d never seen the distant explosions, had no idea the destruction they had caused,
