[fic] there's creatures in the night

[inthistwilight]

Two days before Christmas and the streets of Chicago are filled with screaming and terror. People are running in fear from a small group of zombies that have appeared. It’s more chaotic that a Christmas sale at toy store.

“Awh… no…”

And in the midst of it all, there’s a lanky archangel unsheathing her sword and dumping her bag to the side, wings out. She was enjoying her evening thank you very much, and some stupid zombie invasion is not going to spoil it for her.

She dives in, too quick for the shuffling group and they’re falling about everywhere around her. She delivers a prompt kick to one and once they’re down, she swipes down hard and they stop moving instantly. Without missing a beat, she swings herself round slices across three in a row before plunging the blade into the chest of a fourth.

Yanking the sword back, she butts a zombie who’s crept up behind her with the hilt. It veers back from the knock and Dylan has just enough time to move round and with one fierce swing, sends the head flying and landing with dull thud on the sidewalk.

It’s extremely therapeutic, she’s found.

She can’t fight as she used to with a sword. Her usual approach is quick, furious hits until whoever she’s hitting goes down. She fights like a rabid animal. Fighting with a sword is a little bit different. It’s longer and bulkier than all her tiny knives, harder to manoeuvre in her hands. But it’s a gift and she’s found the blade cuts through things a lot better than her previous arsenal. So she’ll use it.

That and she needs to keep her distance because those zombies have teeth and she has watched plenty zombie films to know better. Still, despite that, if someone could stand back and study her, there’s something almost graceful about how she slices the next undead corpse in half with a swift spin – red hair flying around her head, her dress twisting at her knees, sprays of blood staining the snow at her feet.

One of the larger zombies, however, is not going to go down easily. Booting them in the chest, Dylan has start hacking away – blood coating her and she fights back the urge to wretch. She lops off the head with a grunt, and there’s, however, nothing particularly graceful about that.

When the last of the pack promptly dispatched back into the waiting arms of death for hopefully the last time, the archangel takes a breath and the street is filled with a hush. She straightens up, a little sore, but mostly unhurt. What annoys her most is yet another outfit is ruined and the blood that coats her smells foul.

“Ugh… g-gross.”

And the she just mopped the floor of the apartment today, too. Great.

Still, her good mood is not totally spoiled. She feels like she’s vented and then she remembers its Christmas in two days and hey – everything’s awesome.

Turning round, she moves back to a group of people looking at her in terror and relief, just by where her bag lies. Dylan smiles brightly, giving her sword a quick shake to remove the blood and half-decomposed innards that hang from it. Picking up her bag and singing it back over her shoulder, she gives them a small wave before she leaves.

“Merry Christmas!”