Azrael woke to screaming.

Not the screaming of battle—he'd become fluent in that language over millennia. This was different. Terror mixed with religious fervor. The sound of masses confronting something that transcended their comprehension.

His body protested movement. Nine days of lying broken had not been sufficient healing time. His spine still held fractures. His essence channels were ruptured beyond complete repair. His consciousness felt like shattered glass hastily glued ...