His eyes were as red as blood, his hair golden like the sun. His mouth a cruel slash like that of a blade's, his skin light like the desert sand's, his fire red wings were unfurled and straining against the wind and his heart was cleaved by lightning. His name was Jet named such by his grandfather who could pull pictures out of the time stream and foretell the future. "You have wings as strong and graceful as the jet planes that well someday cleave the clouds in two, your heart is as strong and as fortified as the bodies of the great silver birds and you can not be caught for your very curse makes you as quick and as sly as butterflies that flit from one unfurling flower to the next. My grandson like the jet fighter pilots you are a weapon that can not be destroyed, protect us my blood kin that is your duty."  

          Under him, thousands of feet below his flapping wings a battle raged between his clan and a clan of thieving gypsies. They were from the west; they kidnapped races considered menaces and threw them in an arena to fight for the amusement of blood thirsty humans and they wanted him.

          With a battle cry as haunting and as beautiful as a hawks Jet furled his wings and dove towards the raging battle his red eye's sparking fire, his great wings cutting threw the air, he left his emotions behind. The battle waged the gypsies easily outnumbering his clan, it did not matter. The gypsies blood thirsty his clan peaceful, it did not matter. The gypsies born fighters, his clan born farmers, it did not matter because he was of his clan.

          The ground shuddered and a great cloud of billowing dust rocketed into the air as his feet slammed into the ground his wings working to soften the blow. Two slim slightly curved swords seemingly appeared out of thin air and into his hands; he held them as if he had been born with them clutched in his tiny fists.

          Blood fell like rain where ever his swords cleaved the air; a symphony of screams, with a counter point of moans was this battle's music. Countless fell to his swords and even more to the paralyzing, forbidding, revealing glare that stabbed into your soul and pulled out all your sins to be laid before you like a banquet. He was the avenging angel, he was the hunting demon, his enemies unable to stop him but it was his grandfather that drew him up short, that stayed his killing blades that mellowed his accusing glare and the gypsy that held a dagger to his throat.

          Jet panted his great body wracked with shivers. "Look around you," The gypsy whispered his voice carrying thou the battle still waged. "Continue like this and all my men will die and so will all of yours." Jet's eye's closed in protest but his voice was not raised to voice it, it was as obvious as the blade kissing his grandfathers throat that the gypsies words were true.

          "Come now birdie, you know what you have to do. Where's your heart, your hero spirit. Self sacrifice is the noblest act anyone can consent to."

          The blood of a hundred defeated enemies dripped from his swords and his wings, the screams of those wounded by his blades peeked and the enemies near him drew nearer like vultures honing in on a corpse. They had called him unstoppable, unbeatable, immortal and an angel of justice and as an angel of justice he kneeled taken to his knees not because of an enemy but because of his clan.

          The gypsy continued to hold his grandfather as Jet was shackled. "There now," He crooned. "I can teach you obedience yet, first lesson starts now." Red eyes closed as another pool of blood formed on the ground, another life given to the battle, well at least his grandfather would no longer wake up crying from visions that he would not share. "Boy's I think his wings need clipped."