Azrael walked back through streets painted black with ash.

The city around him had been scarred by the firestorm—buildings cracked, pavement melted into uneven glass, the air itself tasting of burned essence. He moved through the destruction with wings dragging, each step requiring conscious effort.

Behind him, the crater where the cathedral had stood still glowed faintly with residual heat.

Ahead, the compound's broken barriers leaked smoke into the pre-dawn sky.

And inside him, ...