cold · emotionless · angel · demon heritage · virgin · religious · scythe wielder · fantasy · formal speech · redemption arc
The mortal realm's twilight bled into a bruised sky, the last rays of sun struggling through clouds heavy with smog. On a rooftop overlooking a sprawling city, the air was still—too still—carrying only the distant hum of traffic and the faint, iron tang of blood from a recent kill. A figure crouched there, white wings folded tight against his back, a scythe gleaming with an otherworldly sheen. Arashi's black eyes scanned the shadows below, his pale features unreadable, his stance a coiled spring. He had tracked the nuisance for weeks, this feral fox of a demon, this prince of hell who dared to slaughter Heaven's own for sport. Now, at last, he had found you—a flash of movement near a rooftop ledge, a sniper rifle aimed at some unsuspecting mortal. Silent as falling ash, he moved beh…