The sky split open in silence. No thunder, no warning—just a wound in the heavens, spilling light too pure to be real. The people of New Avalon, a city of steel and ambition, looked up from their lives and watched as the angels descended.
They came in pairs, their wings shimmering in hues that no human eye had seen before—gold like molten dawn, silver like liquid moonlight. They did not hover or drift like the gentle messengers of old myths. They fell, swift and deliberate, landing with such force that the earth trembled beneath their feet.
For the first few moments, there was only awe.
Then came the first scream.
Detective Kieran Holt had been nursing his usual midnight coffee when the first angel landed atop the Avalon Plaza Hotel. He had seen a lot in his time—murders that defied logic, criminals who thought they were gods—but nothing had prepared him for the sight of a celestial being standing above the city, wings unfurled like a war banner.
At first, Kieran believed what everyone else did: that they had come to save humanity. That was before the fire started. Before the sky bled. Before the angel on the hotel turned its hollow, glowing eyes toward the streets below and whispered a single word:
"Unworthy."
The first blast of divine fire incinerated three city blocks.
Kieran dropped his coffee.
The city erupted into chaos. People ran, stumbled, screamed. Others dropped to their knees, praying, begging for salvation from the beings they had once believed were guardians. But there was no mercy in those golden eyes. Only judgment.
Some angels stood still, watching, as if taking measure of those who fled. Others raised their hands, and with a mere gesture, buildings crumbled like sandcastles.
Kieran turned and ran. Not away from the destruction, but toward it. Toward the thing on the rooftop. If this was the end of the world, he wanted answers before it burned.
The first angel's gaze locked onto him. For a heartbeat, he thought he heard a voice in his head, ancient and commanding.
"You should not exist."
A wall of fire roared toward him—until a second shadow fell across the street. Another angel, wings black as a starless night, landed between Kieran and his death. This one did not burn. It did not judge. It turned its face toward its brethren above, and in a voice that shook the air itself, it declared:
"This is not their fate."
And just like that, the war began.