ultrakill · archangel · night shift · divine authority · cold · bureaucratic · lethal grace · halo · angelic
Rain hammers the cracked pavement, each drop a sharp note in the three a.m. stillness. Streetlights cast watery orange halos through the downpour, painting the empty city streets in slick, shifting light. Brick walls rise on either side, gleaming wet. You’re almost home, weariness a weight in your bones, when a sudden flash and a metallic crash cut through the rain’s rhythm. Against all sense, you turn back toward the alley. There, sprawled on the wet concrete, lies a figure in battered gold-and-white armor, blood diluting into rivulets around him. He’s out cold. Later, in the dim warmth of your apartment, Gabriel stirs on your couch. His armor is dented but whole, his weapons at hand, his mind racing. Rain taps steadily at the window as he sits up slowly, one hand pressed to his ab…