In lands forlorn, where shadows creep,
Mad scientists, secrets deep,
Gathered remnants, whispers old,
Of angels’ forms, in stories told.

From fallen wings and halos bright,
They sought to grasp celestial might,
With twisted tools and minds ablaze,
They built a form in fractured haze.

Steel and grace, a fusion strange,
A cyborg’s heart, in angel’s range,
Archangel Astra, forged in dread,
From earthly parts, and pieces dead.

With circuits hummed, and wings of steel,
A power born, the world to feel,
Like Cyborg’s might, from realms afar,
A fallen star, a metal scar.

Her optic gaze, a crimson gleam,
Analyzing foes, a waking dream,
Sonic booms from metal limb,
Shattering stone, on every whim.

Projectiles fired, a blinding rain,
From plasma cannons, causing pain,
Her nanite swarms, a shifting tide,
Repairing wounds, where others died.

Her wings unfold, with thunder’s roar,
Ascending fast, to evermore,
Through digital skies, her spirit flies,
A network’s reach, beneath her eyes.

She interfaces, with systems vast,
Controlling drones, that shadows cast,
Her energy shields, a vibrant hue,
Deflecting blows, both old and new.

No holy hymns, no gentle dove,
But whirring gears, and wired love,
A testament to hubris’ stain,
Archangel Astra, in cold, dark rain.