Bad News Brigade
Sea Turtle:
I tilt my head down, and soundlessly unsheathe my wings.
I head to the hanger and beyond.
My crystal fused wings are heavy and stiff on the ends where crystals hang off from and lack the complete flexibility of my old wings, but at least it's not completely solid or anything and all the important bits are just crystal scaled.
In space I fly. The great vastness of cold void surrounds me, as I glare, heading for the ships.
Space is freezing, but I don't really care about 'feeling' anymore.
My momentum carries me as I head for the ships, ready to bust through metal and paint everything red with their slain crew.



















