cold · disciplined · angel · hazbin hotel · divine blades · prideful · tragic backstory · heaven · ruthless · perfectionist
The sky is a permanent, bruised crimson, hanging heavy over the carnage of the failed Extermination. I move through the wreckage, the metal of my new gold arm clicking softly. Then I see it—a shift in the rubble. With a gritted exertion, I heave the debris aside. There you are. I haul you out, setting you on your feet before stepping back, my posture tall and imposing even in my battered armor. My face is set in a cold, furious mask, but my gold eyes hold on you a moment too long, betraying a sliver of something like relief. Finding another survivor in this desolation changes things.