City of Angels I

The storm had rolled in faster than expected, clouds swelling black and purple as the air grew heavy with tension. The city streets below were eerily quiet, save for the occasional hiss of rain hitting the cracked pavement. Drenched in twilight, the abandoned district of Prism City had a haunting beauty to it—until you heard the sound. A low hum, like electricity flowing through a severed wire, rippling through the stillness.

Lia crouched behind a rusted shipping container, her breath held tight in her chest. She wasn’t supposed to be here. No one was. Not after the Surge. But curiosity had brought her too far, and now it was too late to turn back.

Through the sheets of rain, she caught sight of it. The angel.

It hung in the air, its wings—if you could call them that—spreading out like long, jagged blades of bone and stretched, transparent skin. They didn’t flap. They barely even moved. The creature simply hovered, suspended like a puppet on invisible strings. Its body was elongated, unnaturally slender, with joints that bent too sharply, as if every movement it made came from a place of pain.

But its face—that was the worst. Pale and featureless save for two glowing orbs where eyes should have been, glowing white with a cold, predatory hunger. A halo of light circled its head, crackling with static energy, flickering like a broken neon sign.

Lia's heart pounded in her ears as she watched it float, almost idly, down the narrow alleyway. It hadn’t seen her yet. Or, at least, it hadn't acknowledged her. She’d heard stories about these things—the Surge-born "angels" that roamed the no-go zones. They weren’t celestial. They weren’t divine. Just...wrong.

She shifted slightly, her boot scraping a loose piece of metal. The sound was so faint, so minimal, but the effect was immediate.

The angel froze. The hum in the air intensified, crackling with an unseen energy. It had heard her. Or sensed her. She wasn't sure which. Its head jerked, snapping toward her direction with an almost mechanical abruptness, and she could feel its gaze boring through the container that shielded her. Her breath hitched as its halo brightened, pulsating in sync with the rising tension in the air.

She glanced at her hand—the one gripping her pistol—and willed herself not to move. Don’t use magic, she reminded herself. Magic was like lighting a beacon, and this thing would pounce the second it felt a surge of mana. But her muscles screamed to run, to get out of there before—

It moved.

With an unnatural fluidity, the angel drifted closer, as though gliding on an unseen current. It hovered just meters away now, and the temperature around her plummeted. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as her breath clouded in front of her face, the air so thick it was hard to breathe. The hum transformed into a low, vibrating growl, like the pulse of static through a broken radio.

The angel was waiting. It knew she was there, and it was toying with her, savoring the anticipation before it struck.

Lia didn’t wait for it to make the first move.

With a swift, silent motion, she rolled out from her hiding spot, drawing her pistol as she came up on one knee. She didn’t use mana, didn’t dare, but the bullet wouldn’t do much against this thing, either. Still, it was her only shot.

The angel’s head jerked again, eyes narrowing, and with a sudden, blinding burst of speed, it shot toward her. Its wings splayed wide, claws extending from its too-long fingers, sharp as glass. Lia barely had time to fire.

The bullet hit its target—center mass—but the creature didn’t stop. It didn’t even flinch. It simply twisted mid-air, moving with a speed and grace that defied logic, closing the distance between them in seconds.

Lia's heart seized. She dove backward, barely avoiding the creature’s clawed hand as it slammed into the ground where she’d just been. The impact sent a shockwave through the alley, and the ground cracked beneath it.

Too fast. There was no way she could outrun it.

As she scrambled to her feet, the angel turned, slow and deliberate, its glowing eyes locked onto her. There was no emotion there, no malice—just an empty, chilling hunger. The halo above its head flickered again, a warning. A charge was building.

And then she felt it—mana. Her own magic, rising unbidden in response to her fear. It was enough. The angel's eyes flared brighter, and with a deafening screech, it lunged at her again.

Time slowed. Lia’s mind raced, a single, desperate thought pushing through the panic.

Don’t let it touch you.

Lia’s body reacted before her mind caught up. She threw herself to the side, hitting the ground hard and rolling behind a pile of broken crates. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, but she barely felt it—her adrenaline was in overdrive. Her vision swam, heart hammering in her chest as she scrambled to her feet once again.

The angel was relentless.

Its claws slashed through the crates like they were made of paper, splinters flying everywhere. It didn’t slow, didn’t hesitate. It never seemed to tire. Every movement was fluid, graceful, terrifying. Its wings didn’t even flap; they seemed more like ornaments, a cruel mockery of divine beings, as if it didn’t need them to glide effortlessly through the air.

The alley was a dead end. She couldn’t run any further. Trapped.

She felt her magic rising again, surging through her veins, begging to be unleashed. But the moment she used it, the moment she cast even the smallest spell, the angel would sense it. It was like a shark drawn to blood.

Lia’s eyes darted around. She had no more time.

The angel’s halo flickered, its eerie red light pulsing faster now, almost as though it was charging up for something. And it was—Lia had heard stories of this too. If you let the angel “charge”, you were done for. It could unleash a blast of concentrated mana that would tear you apart.

Her options were slipping away.

In a moment of desperation, Lia grabbed the nearest object—a rusted pipe—and swung it wildly.

The angel barely reacted. The pipe struck one of its wings, sending a shudder through its frame, but it was like hitting solid steel. The angel’s body rippled in response, almost annoyed by the attempt.

But then, something strange happened.

The angel paused, its gaze shifting from her to the pipe in her hand. Lia blinked, confused, watching as its head tilted slightly, those glowing eyes narrowing. It didn’t attack, didn’t charge. It simply hovered there, observing.

A thought crossed her mind, ridiculous but clear: It’s waiting.

In the heat of the moment, her instincts took over. Lia threw the pipe to the ground and raised her hands in surrender.

The angel reacted instantly. Its eyes dimmed, and it slowly lowered its claws, wings pulling back slightly. The humming in the air lessened, the static charge fading into the background. Lia could barely believe it—had the creature actually understood her submission? Was this what it wanted?

But no. That flicker of hope was short-lived.

The angel’s glowing eyes shifted back to her, and a tremor of malice crackled through the air. It wasn’t looking for a fight—it was looking for fear. For the right moment. She was still its prey, and it was simply waiting to savor the kill.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the angel’s head snapped to the side. A sound—barely audible—echoed down the alley. A distant shout, or maybe a vehicle, coming from far away. The angel’s wings twitched, and for the briefest second, it hesitated.

Lia didn’t waste that second.

With every ounce of strength she had left, she bolted. She didn’t look back, didn’t care where she was going. She just ran. The alley blurred around her, her feet pounding against the pavement, her breath ragged in her throat.

Behind her, she could hear the angel’s eerie hum growing fainter. It didn’t follow.

Whether it had found new prey or simply let her go, she didn’t know. But she wasn’t going to stop to find out.

Lia didn’t stop running until the alleyways were far behind her, until the hum was gone, until she was certain that, for now, she was safe.

But the image of the angel—its eyes, its wings, the terrifying grace with which it moved—was burned into her mind, a permanent reminder of what lurked in the shadows of Prism City.

Lia stumbled into an abandoned parking garage, her legs burning from exertion, lungs on fire. She leaned against a crumbling support pillar, desperately gulping in air. Her hands trembled uncontrollably as the adrenaline started to wear off, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. She slid down to the cold concrete floor, clutching her knees to her chest, trying to slow her racing heart.

Her mind was still reeling. The angel had let her go. Or had it? She didn’t understand—angels didn’t stop unless they were hunting something else. It was as if it had been… distracted. And what was worse was that brief moment when it seemed to assess her, watching her like a predator watching wounded prey.

A shiver ran down her spine. She had barely escaped with her life.

The low hum of the city crept back into her awareness, the distant roar of engines and the occasional murmur of voices filtering through the cracked walls of the garage. She wasn’t safe here. Nowhere in the Lower District was safe anymore, not since the Surge had torn open the fragile balance between the natural and the aberrant.

Lia cursed under her breath. She had known better than to come this deep into the district alone, but her desperation for supplies had overridden her caution. Now she had barely enough to get by, and she was running on borrowed time.

With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet, wiping the sweat from her brow. Her body ached, but she couldn’t stay here. The angel might have moved on for now, but it wouldn’t be long before another prowler picked up her scent. Or worse, someone in the black market caught wind of her.

She was just about to start moving again when a soft clicking noise echoed through the garage. Lia froze, her heart skipping a beat. The sound was faint, but unmistakable—metal tapping on concrete, like claws.

Her stomach clenched. She hadn’t heard any hum. It wasn’t another angel.

She slowly turned toward the source of the sound, her senses on high alert. In the dim light of the parking garage, a figure emerged from behind a wrecked car. A man—or what used to be a man—dragged himself into view. His face was gaunt, skin pale and pulled taut over his skeletal frame. His eyes were sunken, glowing faintly with an unnatural light, and his mouth hung open, revealing rows of sharp, jagged teeth.

A ghoul.

The creature sniffed the air, its head tilting toward her. It stumbled forward, its limbs twitching unnaturally as it moved, like a puppet on strings. Ghouls weren’t fast, but they were relentless once they caught a scent. And she had no intention of letting it get close.

Lia quickly reached into her jacket, fingers brushing over the smooth grip of her concealed blade. She had enough magic left to fend off a ghoul if it came to that, but the risk of drawing attention was too high. The last thing she needed was another angel, or worse, a pack of ghouls swarming her position.

She crept backward, keeping her eyes locked on the creature as it continued to stalk toward her, its head twitching as if confused. The clicking of its claws grew louder as it stumbled closer, and Lia's breath quickened.

The moment it lunged, Lia drew her blade and slashed in one swift motion. The steel caught the creature across the throat, severing muscle and sinew. The ghoul collapsed to the ground, gurgling as dark, tar-like blood pooled beneath it.

Lia didn’t wait for it to finish its death throes. She darted for the exit, her heart hammering in her chest once more. She had gotten lucky with that one.

As she stepped out into the night air, her thoughts drifted back to the angel. The way it had paused, the way it had seemed to be thinking.

She had to know more.

She had to find out what made the angels tick—what made them decide to hunt, what made them hesitate. Because next time, she might not be so lucky. And in a world like this, understanding your enemy was the only way to survive.

Lia moved quickly through the desolate streets, every shadow stretching ominously in the flickering neon lights above. The Lower District was a graveyard of once-bustling life—abandoned, crumbling, and hollowed out by the Surge. Whatever remained of civilization was now just a fragile veneer. Buildings loomed over her, their broken windows reflecting fragments of the skyline like jagged teeth.

Her mind kept circling back to the angel. Its eerie, half-glowing wings, the unsettling, twisted form it had taken—beautiful and horrifying all at once. It hadn’t been like other aberrations. Angels were cold, calculating killers, no longer bound by human instincts or emotions. But this one… this one had looked at her. It had recognized something in her. And in that recognition, it hesitated.

Was it possible that the Surge hadn’t fully eradicated whatever humanity they’d once had?

Lia shook her head, trying to push the thought away, but it gnawed at her. She’d have to speak to someone—maybe someone in the old information networks still operating underground. But that would come later. For now, she had to lay low, recover, and regroup.

The air in the Lower District was thick with the smell of decay and burning fuel. Her boots splashed through puddles of murky water, the only sounds around her besides the distant hum of malfunctioning tech and occasional growls of other aberrations lurking in the shadows.

As she approached the outskirts of a more dilapidated part of the city, Lia spotted a faint light coming from an alleyway. She knew better than to investigate—it was probably someone just as desperate as she was, or worse, a trap. But something tugged at her instincts. If she was going to understand more about the angels and the Surge, she’d need every lead she could get.

Cautiously, she made her way toward the light, sticking close to the walls and moving quietly. As she rounded the corner, she saw a man hunched over a small, makeshift fire. His face was gaunt, like so many others, but he didn’t have the hollowed, inhuman look of a ghoul. He looked… alive.

"Don’t suppose you have a cigarette," the man croaked without turning to face her. His voice was raspy, almost disbelieving, as if he hadn’t spoken to another person in days—maybe weeks.

Lia relaxed slightly but kept her hand on the hilt of her blade. "Don’t smoke."

The man chuckled dryly. "Didn’t think so. Not many left who do."

She stepped closer, her eyes scanning him. He was wrapped in layers of tattered clothing, the kind of outfit that marked him as one of the forgotten—those left behind when the Surge broke out and tore the world apart.

"You’re not from around here," he said, finally looking up at her. His eyes, surprisingly sharp despite his emaciated appearance, locked onto hers.

"No," Lia replied, unsure how much she wanted to reveal. "Passing through."

"You’ll want to keep moving," he advised, poking at the fire. "This place is crawling with them. Angels. Ghouls. Worse things."

"I noticed." Lia's tone was clipped, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking. "Do you know anything about them? The angels?"

The man’s eyes flickered with something—recognition, maybe fear. He stared at the flames for a long moment before responding. "They were people once, you know. Surge did something to them. Turned them into… that."

Lia’s breath caught. She had heard this before, but she needed details, anything to make sense of what she'd seen. "What else? What makes them attack? What makes them stop?"

The man shook his head slowly, the fire casting harsh shadows on his gaunt face. "They don’t stop. Not unless something holds them back. A lot of folks say it’s a glitch, a breakdown of whatever’s left of their minds. Others think it’s more like... instincts kicking in. A survival instinct."

Lia thought of the angel from earlier. The moment it had hesitated. "And what about earlier today?" she pressed. "Have you seen one hesitate?"

The man frowned and looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time. "You’ve encountered one, haven’t you?"

Lia didn’t answer directly, but the silence between them was enough.

The man’s eyes darkened, and he leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "There are rumors. I’ve heard people say that some angels… remember things. Not for long, and not clearly. But it’s like they see something or someone that triggers a memory from before the Surge. They stop because… maybe, for a moment, they recognize you."

Lia felt a chill run down her spine. The thought of an angel remembering, even fleetingly, the life they once had was deeply unsettling. What had that angel seen when it looked at her? What part of its forgotten humanity had flickered back to life, even for a second?

Before she could ask more, the man stood up abruptly, his hands trembling. "You should leave. The angels don’t like this place much, but they come here sometimes. Looking for something. Or someone. You don’t want to be here when they decide to return."

Lia nodded, backing away from the alley. The man’s warning echoed in her mind as she stepped back into the desolate street. Whatever had happened to the angels, whatever had caused the Surge to warp them into these twisted creatures, it had left traces of their past buried somewhere deep within.

And Lia had a sinking feeling that somehow, she was connected to it.

As she slipped into the shadows once more, she couldn’t shake the image of that angel’s eyes—the brief flicker of recognition and the terrifying possibility that it had known her, once.