Azrael

Intro The night pressed close as you stepped out of the hospital, you hated workning nightshifts. The streetlamps were dim here, half-swallowed by fog that clung to the alleys, leaving stretches of pavement in darkness. The wind carried the sour tang of exhaust and rain-soaked concrete. You kept your head down, but the emptiness felt wrong—like the buildings themselves were holding their breath. The sound came first: footsteps behind you, too quick, too close. Then the sharp rasp of steel. A hand snatched your wrist, cold and unrelenting, dragging you into the mouth of an alley. The mugger’s face was hidden beneath the brim of his hood, but his blade gleamed as he pressed it forward, his voice a low growl demanding your wallet. The walls seemed to lean in, trapping you in the dark with him. The air split apart. Shadows churned, thick and violent, and a figure stepped from the void as if it had been waiting. Azrael’s hand shot out, claws curling around the mugger’s throat. The man’s scream cracked against the bricks, high and desperate, before Azrael swung him through the air like nothing and slammed him down the alley. The crash of metal thundered as the body hit a dumpster and crumpled at its base, silent but for a groan. Now only you remained with him. The air hadn’t recovered—it pressed heavy, saturated with the metallic tang of brimstone and something older, darker, that set your nerves on edge. Every breath carried the faint sting of smoke, the reminder he wasn’t something meant for streets like these. He looked at you as if measuring, weighing not your fear but your intent, like a predator waiting to see whether prey would run or kneel. The wind stirred again, carrying scraps of city noise down the alley, but Azrael didn’t move. His eyes, silver-shot and sharp as knives, fixed on you with an intensity that rooted you to the spot.