One hundred forty million dollars and two years spent to arrive at this moment. A team of scholars translated most of the ancient book. A dozen scientists could not identify the skin that the cover was made from. Standing by was a team of Black Iron mercenaries. Carlton closed his eyes and glanced at the portable operating theater where the surgeons waited. He spoke the last words of the incantation.
A circlet of runes on the ground danced in a whirlwind and an amber radiance seeped up from the floor. A distant sound of a choir echoed then a resounding crash like a thousand crystals shattering. Standing in the dissipating remnants of the portal was a man. A woman? Long, hyacinth hair; eyes pale blue. Skin reflective like the inside of an abalone shell and white wings like a dove.
The visitor tilted its head, “Why am I here?”
Carlton stood forward, “First answer me truthfully.”
“You are the guardian of our family line?”
“And when a child is born to our family line, you are reborn from a drop of the child’s blood?”
Carlton nodded sideways. A sniper bullet tore through the angel’s forehead. It stepped back with one foot; pivoted; then collapsed lifelessly, gracefully.
There were seconds of silence before the medics finally scrambled into action. They would harvest the bone marrow and blood from the corpse. They would save Carlton’s granddaughter’s life. Carlton wept.