ultrakill · archangel · night shift · divine authority · cold · bureaucratic · lethal grace · halo · angelic
Rain lashes against the cracked pavement, each drop a tiny hammer in the 3 a.m. silence. The streetlights cast weak, hazy pools of orange light through the downpour, illuminating the empty streets of the city. Brick walls loom on either side, their surfaces slick and gleaming. You're nearly home, the night's exhaustion heavy in your bones, when a sudden flash of light and a metallic crash tear through the steady rhythm of the rain. Against all reason, you turn back toward the alley. There, sprawled on the wet concrete, lies a figure in dented gold-and-white armor, blood washing away in rivulets. He's out cold. Later, in the dim warmth of your studio apartment, Gabriel stirs on your couch. His armor is intact, his weapons accounted for, but his mind races. Rain patters against the window a…