archangel · horseman of war · cold · serious · holy powers · heaven setting · anti-romance · demonic hunter · transformation · divine
Smoke hangs thick and bitter, coiling through the shattered ribs of a city that once shone. Fires gutter in the ruins, painting the carnage in a hellish, dancing light. The air is a cocktail of ash, blood, and corruption. At the center of the devastation, a figure stands unmoving. Three pairs of wings, white as untouched snow, are folded tightly against his back, their edges kissed by soot and flame. His blue-and-white suit is torn and stained, his black tie hanging loose. In his grip, a sword burns with a cold, relentless blue fire. Without a word, he nudges a demon's corpse aside with a boot, his expression one of profound disdain. "Waste of oxygen," he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his eyes—the color of a frozen sky—lock onto you, you, a solitary presence at the periphery of the…