Egon's face scrunched up as he focused on his hand, which he held out in front of him, slightly curled as if holding something invisible. It wasn't surprising that they'd do something magical like this; it was pretty much what he'd expect. So, energy. He closed his eyes, trying to feel it, finding the source - again, unsurprisingly - in his chest. Then he concentrated on moving it to his arm, and felt the warm rush of energy through his blood and into his hand.
"Flowing Blood," he said, opening his eyes, and watched as the air shimmered in his hand. Then a short dagger appeared in his hand. Egon looked at it, turning it around. The handle, an uglyish dull grey cylinder, was just long enough to hold with two hands. There was writing on the handle: Cut Free. The blade was much shinier, and there wasn't one of those cross-bar things that he knew was supposed to protect his hand.
"Um," he said, "did I do it wrong? It's kind of small."
Creator, he heard in his head, did I do something to displease you? To have such a wielder... well, he's kind of small.
"I'm not small!" he protested. "You are! I wanted a sword, not a knife!"
"Very good, all of you," the angel said, and Egon looked up at him. "Now you can command your sword"--
"Ha," Egon whispered to the blade.
--"just tell it to, and it will take the form of a small piece of jewelery that you can wear on your person at all times. It will be your friend and teacher - these swords are wiser than their bearers, I have found."
Ha, the sword whispered back, although Egon suspected nobody else could hear it anyway.
"New lives and families will be given to you," the angel said, probably answering a question Egon hadn't been paying attention to. "If you like, The Creator will allow you to remember your previous lives."
Egon had a feeling that something was wrong with that, but the angel continued before Egon could really think about it:
"Now," the angel said, "getting away from the questions about that... your wings. The first time they appear will be painful - they will tear from your shoulder blades, so brace yourselves." He stretched out his hand toward them, and Egon had a sinking feeling.
Take off your shirt, the knife suggested. Egon looked down at it. Well, fine then. Don't.
"They will emerge now," the angel said. "Be ready."
Then Egon's eyes widened and the knife clattered on the ground as he scrambled to remove the shirt, pulling it over his head. It was then that a searing pain tore through his shoulders, and Egon screamed, losing his balance and falling forward - onto the knife. Except the knife wasn't there any more, it was off to the side, and as the shirt slid down, it was trapped over Egon's head by something sticking out of Egon's shoulders.
Shuddering and gasping, Egon weakly lifted an arm and removed the shirt from him completely, watching it fall to the floor just under his head. It looked conveniently like a pillow, especially since he didn't think his shivering arms and legs could support him, even all together. Sweat trickled down his face and back, and Egon collapsed onto the floor.
His wings still stung, and there was liquid coming from his eyes too. He wiped it away and looked back at his new wings.
He thought they'd be pure white and spotless, or else black. Or maybe other cool colours, with a pretty pattern on them.
He didn't expect them to be stained with red. Or dripping.
