Wesley Snipes - Talon of God

He finished with a joyful shout that made Talon feel physically ill. “You’re sick, Black,” he whispered, glaring up at the younger man. “You need help.”

“No, you need help,” Black snapped, jerking him away from the window. “Too bad there’s no one to give it to you. I’ll be honest, I’ve been waiting to see what nonsense you’ll pull out of your holy ass this time around, but it’s nearly dawn and so far?” He shrugged. “Nothing. What’s wrong, SEE warrior? No miracles left in the tap for you?”

Talon turned away, but Black grabbed his chin, forcing him to look through the window again. “You’re missing the best part,” he whispered, forcing Talon’s chin up until he was staring at the sky. “Look at the smoke and you’ll see it.”

Talon didn’t want to see, but he couldn’t look away, because Black was right. High overhead, the smoke from the fires was swirling with the dark clouds and the flocks of carrion birds to make a shape in the sky. Looking at it was like trying to spot the shadow of a fish under the water, but Talon had spent his whole life looking for such signs, and he saw this one clearly. Something was coming. Something big .

“What is that?” he whispered.

“The future,” Black whispered back. “ My future, and you don’t have a part.” He shook his head. “Poor Talon. You made a good run of it, but we’ve won. While you holy rollers were off thumping your Bibles and condemning the people who needed you most, we were here ripping the world apart to remake in our image. Gotta be an improvement, right? I mean, can’t possibly be worse than this hypocritical hellhole your God made. He slapped the whole thing together in seven days, with vacation. That’s some shoddy construction. Clearly, it’s time for an upgrade.”

“That is not an upgrade,” Talon said savagely, turning on Black. “I don’t know what they promised you, but you’ve let the wolves in by the front gate, and they’re not going to spare you when they start to rampage.”

For a moment, he almost thought that threat got through, but Lincoln just bared his teeth. “Good,” he snarled. “This meek little flock needs a shake-up, and unlike you, I ain’t no sheep.”

He turned away after that, leaving Talon leaning on the wall staring at the burning city. It was the longest he’d left him unobserved, and Talon knew he should be using that, but he couldn’t seem to move. He was just so tired, and the enemy was so far ahead. He wanted to believe that Lauryn was out there, but he didn’t even know if she was still alive, or how she could fight this if she was. He’d never questioned God’s choice, because the Almighty did not make mistakes, but as he watched the smoke curl up to add definition to the thing in the sky, Talon couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just this once, he’d been wrong to blindly trust his instincts. He didn’t regret saving Lauryn’s and Will’s lives, but he was bitter about having to make the choice in the first place. How many people could he have saved if he’d been down there on the streets with her? How many innocents had fallen tonight because he’d been stuck here satisfying Lincoln Black’s sadism?

How many had he failed?

Talon closed his eyes. Always. Always , that question returned to haunt him. No matter how hard he fought or how much he improved, it was never enough. When the chips were down, he always failed someone who deserved better. Decades ago, it had been Hope, his first apprentice. Now, it was Lauryn, left out there alone, and who knew? The night wasn’t over. Maybe by the time the sun rose, he’d realize he’d failed all of Chicago. Even if Black set him free right now, he was too hurt to fight. He didn’t even have his sword. All he could do was sit here and pray for God to forgive his weakness and comfort the city he’d failed so utterly, and he was closing his eyes to do just that when he felt a warm hand land on his shoulder.

He jerked instinctively, already looking for Black. But for once, it wasn’t the assassin. It was no one. The space behind him was empty, and yet Talon could feel the hand gripping his shoulder harder than ever, the fingers warm as sunlight, filling his body with strength and his mind with a memory of another time, long ago, in another life.

Finally.

Talon gasped, his pain forgotten as the memory flooded through him—the wings of fire, the promise of a greater purpose.

You are not forgotten , the angel’s voice said. Loyal Soldier of El Elyon, God Most High, you have endured through great hardship, and you have held fast. You have turned the other cheek, sacrificed pride, and striven to return a lost sheep to the flock. Such work has favor in the eyes of the Lord. Your prayers have been heard, and your pupil is anxious to have you back at her side. The fiery touch moved to Talon’s right hand. Will you fight once more?

“I will,” Talon gasped, the joyful words jumping from his lips. “Always.”

Then rise , the angel commanded. And take back what the enemy would steal.

As the words faded, the fire went with them, but not before leaving a familiar weight in Talon’s hand. When he looked down, he was clutching his sword, but not as it usually looked. His sword had always been a simple cross blade, brightly polished through care and wear, but still mundane metal. This weapon glowed with the reflection of angel fire, and everywhere the shadowless light fell, his wounds vanished, leaving him whole.

“The hell ?”

Talon lifted his head to see Lincoln Black staring at him in disbelief, and then the assassin bared his teeth. “Oh, hell no!” he shouted, drawing his own crooked black sword with a scrape of metal on bone. “You ain’t going nowhere. You’re mine !”

“I can never be yours,” Talon said, standing up. “I am already claimed body and soul by he who made me best, as are you.”

“I hate when you talk that Godspeak!” Black spat, lifting his blade. “This won’t be like last time, old man. That’s our castle in the sky, not yours. Power’s in our court now.”

Talon shook his head sadly. “If that’s what you call power, I pity you.”

“Save your pity for yourself, asshole!” Black roared, swinging at him, but the blow stopped cold, the black sword striking Talon’s bright white blade like a hammer against an anvil. For a moment, Black just stood and stared, and then he jumped back with a string of curses so foul, Talon had to shake his head. It was already clear any words he spoke would fall on deaf ears. After burying himself so deep, violence was the only language Black still respected. If Talon wanted to reach him, he would have to answer in kind. He just wished he felt worse about that as he turned and joyfully raised his own sword to meet Black’s attack.

Father forgive me…

In his long years of wandering, Talon had learned many ways of using his body as a weapon. He considered it a soldier’s duty to master as many forms of fighting as possible, even if he hoped never to use them. But while all the skills he’d learned were useful in their own ways, his favorite style was the Japanese art of Aikido, and not just because it was beautiful. He loved it because of all the martial arts, Aikido was the only style he’d encountered that stressed the safety of both the attacker as well as the defender. At the heart of its philosophy was a longing for harmony and a deep respect for all living things—using your opponent’s own momentum, aggression, and strength against them to nullify violence with stillness. Learning it had been a humbling, enlightening, joyful experience, and it was that hopefulness Talon held dear now, using his favorite style to flip Lincoln Black’s attacks back on him.