Wings of Heaven (eBook)

Chapter 1

Growing up on Earth during an age of overpopulation and nationalistic views can be hard enough, but growing up on Earth and being dirt poor can be vastly more straining. Xiang Li knew this all too well. Being raised on the streets had toughened him up, but in a way desensitized him to the cruelty of the world. He did not understand the horror in this way of life.

Everyone in the Old China slums carried a weapon. It was a fight or die world, hence why the young man carried a sword at his waist. A straight edged blade across his hip, and a tattered black vest was more than enough to describe what kind of person he was. His orange tipped hair flickered in the breeze as he slowly made his way down a seemingly endless road. Having no real home, he often wandered the streets like this, scavenging for food, or just aching for something to do other than starve and fall into depravity like most did. The rusted and run-down buildings, along with the groups of shady men in the shadows littered across the area would have bothered most, but not Xiang. This world was all he knew.

Walking into one of the nearby buildings, he pushed back a ripped and shredded sheet. Groups of men standing around with guns stared him down. They were large and muscular, most covered in scars. Their clothes were tattered and old, their guns worn and overused. One of the larger men gave him a nod, prompting him to pass them and head into the back.

As Xiang walked into the back, a man sat down at a table smoking a cigarette. He was much older with grey hair and a scar running down his left eye. The room was littered with rusted foreign objects, and full of different coins. The man appeared to be a business man of sorts, and familiar with the young man. A clear eye staring down the young boy, he motioned for him to move forward.

“Watcha got for me today kid?” The man asked, tapping his fingers together. He appeared to be counting coins and rustling through different little trinkets.

“Here you go.” Opening up the bag he kept on his side, he dropped down a few spare parts to guns, knives, and even some vehicle parts. Xiang had stolen them or taken them from abandoned parts of the slums. The man sitting at the chair looked at the items, placing a monocle over his right eye, a dark brown.

“Hmm, he said.” Looking the items over a few times before handing them over to one of the larger men. “Give him what he’s earned.” Motioning for the large man to take the items away, he handed Xiang a small sack containing four cans of food.

“This is it? My stuff is worth way more than this crap. I deserve twice this!” Xiang raised his voice slightly, stepping forward only to be blocked off by the larger man, who scowled and cracked his knuckles. The older man at the table spoke calmly.

“You get what you get kid. Now get outta here or we can take that food back and let you starve. It’s up to you.” He said, scoffing as he counted his money. Xiang gritted his teeth and stared the man down. Huffing heavily, he grabbed the sack and barged out of the room. Pushing past several men, he bolted out of the building and into the street. Just who the hell did that guy think he was? Xiang worked hard to get as many parts and special items as he could manage. He often risked his life for them. The young man’s mind was racing. He took off down the street with a hustle.

As he power walked down the street, some of the thugs who frequented the area gave him dirty looks, but he did not pay attention to them. Instead he walked until he reached a less populated area of the slums. He spotted a nice little place near an abandoned warehouse. It was surrounded by old cars and barrels. Perfect for him to relax in.

Sitting down next to a rusted and hole-ridden barrel, he popped open a can of beans he had acquired. A sigh releasing from his chapped lips, the young Chinese man stared up at the sky. His dark brown eyes could make out the moon, just barely, even though it was in the afternoon. He often wondered what it was like in space. Was it an endless abyss for the lost, or an ocean of stars to be explored? Being homeless, he was certain that he would never know. It was saddening, but that was the life he knew. He merely wandered along the wrecked houses and abandoned factories. From afar the slums looked like a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Truth be told, it felt like that to Xiang. He never knew what to expect in a world of troubles.

Pulling his sword closer to himself, he could hear blaring sirens off in the distance. Sliding back a bit, he adjusted himself as to not be seen by anyone. Xiang had not gotten this far by making himself known by everyone around. His lean body stayed downward as his brown eyes were fixated on the path to his left--the direction the blaring originated from.

“Probably damn drug lab busts again.” He muttered, as he took another bite of his cold, tasteless food. He always hated American food, but it was easier to get ahold of, and it never spoiled. Being cheap and mass produced, everywhere had some. It was not hard to imagine a can of beans could last longer than he’d live.

Clutching the weapon at his hip, the sirens began to grow louder and louder. It was rather strange, being so far into the slums, cops never made it out this far. What could they be after? He wondered. Standing up, the man could see flashing lights in the distance. Positioning himself behind the barrel, he tossed the can, making a dink when it hit the ground. His heart began to race for a moment, unsure of what would happen next. But he could make out a rather large dust cloud barreling towards the buildings he took refuge in. This was not entirely out of the ordinary in the slums. Gangs and bandits often engaged in battle, usually wrecking everything in site. But the dust cloud was much larger than any he had seen before.

“What the hell?” He whispered in confusion.

Bursting forth from the cloud of dust and smoke was a cloaked figure. Xiang could barely make it out, having to squint his eyes. He could see this figure was atop a vehicle resembling a motorcycle. Sleek and black with twin thrusters, it propelled itself slightly above the ground. A large humming noise emitted from the rumbling engines that gave the machine power. The cloaked figure’s face was obstructed, and could not even be discerned if it was male or female. A set of rusted goggles and a dark hood added for effect.

Soaring just above the ground, the cloaked rider spun the vehicle around, firing blue blasts of energy towards his pursuers. These pursuers were obviously police vehicles, painted dark with blue stripes. They had become visible, just as they were hit by the bursts of energy, melting right through the metal frames, and causing them to burst into flames. The flashing of lights and melting of alloys prompted the chinese man to duck for cover.

“Shit!” He yelled. As metal and rubber was shredded, rolling harshly across the dirt.

Unfortunately for the rider, a beam of purple plasma had been fired from one of the officer’s vehicles, just before they were taken out. Amidst the smoke and flames, the rider had been unable to see this beam, until it was too late. The bike was engulfed in red hot flames as it’s rider was sent tumbling several meters away. The vehicle was destroyed as what was left of it became scraps of metal littered across the dirt road.

Now that the figure was sent flying, Xiang noticed the hood had fallen down, and the goggles were busted. Craning his neck to get a good look, the young man’s eyes widened. He could now make out a face--an identity for the rider. The figure was now very obviously a man, appearing to be at least ten years older than the boy, with short brown hair and deep blue eyes. The man was obviously not from around the slums. His attire was of a decent quality leather, and his arm was rather curious. Upon further observation, he realized the man’s right arm was a robotic prosthetic.

The scene was a blur, smoke and flames obscuring any passing viewer’s vision. The man struggled to move, utilizing his robot limb as much as he could muster. The police vehicles were merely bonfires. Xiang was certain more would arrive within minutes.

Sirens blaring in the distance once again, Xiang stood up. The authorities would no doubt arrive to take care of the situation. Turning around to leave and never turn back, he was stopped in his tracks. Something indescribable came over him, a need to turn around. What was he doing? He could not put it into words, but for some reason, he threw his sword over his back and ran out into the street.

“Why do I do this to myself?” He thought as his heart began to thump rapidly, and his teeth raked the inside of his cheek. The sword wielding man’s legs moved on their own, as if willed by some outside force. As his shoes scraped against the pavement, Xiang could not help but sweat. Droplets trickling down his cheek, he wiped them away with his arm.

Sliding over to the man, he noticed that he was still struggling to sit up, blood trickling down his arm and cheek. His injuries did not appear to be critical at first glance, but the cloaked rider would most certainly have a hard time operating at maximum capacity. The slum dweller knew that there was not much time to be wasted here, as the police forces were no pushovers in old China.

“Hey man, can you move?” Xiang quietly inquired, looking around to make sure the police...