Dying

She was wounded, limp on the ground. The empty gaze of her dead enemy stared at her from a pool of blood, some of it her own. The moon still hung high in the sky and no other creatures dared draw near the bodies, fearing their power. Destruction was left as a testament to their strength, trees uprooted and lying on their side like twigs.

The pain was unbearable. He had used an angel-slaying sword. Thank God her father had dallied with a Zodiac and not another archangel, or else the poison that was spreading through her body would have killed her by now. It was enough to weaken her to the point of death, however, and she struggled to move. A glimpse of feathers caught her eye and she gagged. Her beautiful left wing, the shades of dawn from the white tip to starry top, was lying on the ground near her. The hunter had ripped it from her body and tossed it on the ground like garbage.

They had said she could kill him herself. He was powerful, this hunter, and knew what she was, knew what to use against her. She asked for help, knew how strong he was, that he was a match. But they had said she could handle it, they had faith. Look where their faith led her, she thought bitterly, as she tried to push herself away from the ground. She had expended too much energy fighting him. The poison was weakening her further, keeping her from healing her wounds. And the pain from her missing wing was worse than any injury his sword could inflict on her.

Uzume caught her breath as she heard someone approach. It was her brother, sent to guard her friend and arriving too late to help in the fight. The youkai and fae had stayed far away; she couldn't blame them. She had been able to kill him, but not without cost. Loki bent down and hauled her to her feet, ignoring the blood she dripped on his finery. A god he may be, but he couldn't heal her. She didn't have the strength to astral project, to leave her body and go to the Realms for healing. And Raphael wasn't coming. He usually came.

Nathanial appeared moments later, distress evident in his eyes as he took in her mutilation. He tucked his own starry wings away and looked at the wound. It wouldn't close, like a leaky faucet that will eventually drain the water dry. Uzume knew that this battle had been far worse than what they had expected - at least, worse than Loki had expected. Her comrades had sent her to fight it alone. They had to have sensed the battle, her waning strength, and yet no help came.

She pulled at the bond with Fukurokuju. It was the first time she had done so and could sense his indignation, his anger as she took his strength as her own. The demon-were could put up with it, would recover quickly. She felt her injuries slowly wrenching together, save for the gaping hole in her back. Uzume wanted to use the bond again, but knew she would kill him if she took anymore. So she went limp as Nathanial did his best and tried not to scream very much when Samael arrived to burn the wound close. There wasn't much strength for screaming anyway.

The sun rose the next day and she drew energy from that as well. From the sun, the air, the distant storms that carried lightening and fire in them. Uzume didn't know how she returned to human form, how she found herself in her own bed, safely locked behind wards lest another enemy come near and sense her weakness. She felt exhausted, drained. As the second day passed in much the same manner, she knew something had to be done lest she die. Crawl to her comrades, tenuous her trust may be, and demand healing. Call in a favor from the vampire she had saved and receive the crudest form of a blood transfusion.

Dying. A young woman in her mortal form and a powerful supernatural goddess in her soul. And she was dying.