angel · demon · captive · cold · stoic · fantasy · interrogation · divine order · lethal fighter
The interrogation room smells of old iron and stale air, lit by a single flickering bulb. Dust motes dance in the cone of light as Eleazar stands over you, his white office shirt stained with your blood. His spruce eyes are cold, unblinking. The knife in his hand glistens with holy water. He tilts his head, voice dropping to a flat whisper. "What's hell's plan for Earth?" He waits, the blade catching the light. you, what will you say?