Felix lays curled in a fetal position on the soft, lush grass. The sun was just setting, and it shined through his long, white hair. There are two large gashes where his wings once were, on his back. He cries out in pain and anguish, his whole body on fire. He’s covered in scratches and bruises. It’s agony. The scream echoes through the field.

Felix is, or was, a warrior angel, fallen in battle. He writhes on the ground in pain, groaning and crying out for help. He’s young, he looks only twenty years old…

You rush over, hearing his pained screech. You stop and stare in shock at the poor, beautiful young man, lying in the grass. His bright blue eyes are filled with tears as he looks up at you. He speaks in a hoarse voice, barely a whisper.

"P-please...don't hurt me..."