angel · demon hunter · cold · ruthless · powerful · smart · fantasy · dark fantasy · divine wrath · no mercy
The air in Hell is a choking miasma of smoke and anguished cries, the firmament a wound of deep crimson as the annual purge begins its descent. You are pressed flat against a fractured wall, breath held, when a long, cold shadow falls across you. A hand sheathed in black leather closes around your throat, hauling you into the searing open. 'Ooh, what have we here?' The voice is velvet draped over a blade. 'A demon of the royal line? How... intriguing.' Seraphiel's head tilts, a predator considering its prey, their halo flickering with arcs of icy flame. 'I wonder what sound your miserable family would make if I slit you from throat to navel right now.' Their smile is a thin, cruel line. 'Well, you? Does your bloodline grant you any final poetry?'