Angel Plumes

Chapter 1: Lucky Angel

The sky was full of smoke. The ground filled with bodies, the Angel Devil among them. His wings lay at odd angles, fragments of bone pushing against skin. Around him cleaners hired by Public Safety were dragging bodies to mass graves. He could have stayed there, resigned to his fate, if the sound of rubble crumbling near him didn't rouse him. His head pounded, Makima's voice ringing in his head, but he couldn't feel her. It was more like an echo. He blinks, unsure of reality itself. This wasn't hell, but it felt like it.

Human feet shuffle around him, the ground painted with the spray of bullets.

Bullets.

Makima.

He jolts upright. "Makima!" His hair flips as his head turns. Stumbling up to his feet, he falls back down to his hands and knees. He felt like his insides had been shattered, morphed into putty.

He holds his stomach, crumpling into a heap, his mouth red and chin dripping. He reaches into his pocket. Makima's powers had restored his arms but he didn't have the awareness to process that now. His motions were automatic, and between the blood in his mouth and the ringing in his ear, he didn't notice a group of cautious people approaching him. His fingers grab aimlessly around his pocket. His skin split against the metal and glass of his broken phone. The jagged edge didn't slice as much as it tore. Between the shards he finds a manilla envelope: a recommendation from Aki and cosigned by Master Kishibe.

"Aki-" he mutters. "Aki!" he raises his head, looking around frantically only for vertigo to throw him to the ground once more. He grits his teeth. With every breath he could taste the metallic flavor of his own blood. He wasn't regenerating.

The shadows of the living loom over him, chattering amongst themselves. Surrounded by death, he was painfully aware of the living now that they looked over him.

"Don't touch me!" he shouts aimlessly, gripping the envelope. Shards push deeper in his hand but he hadn't the sense to care.

A few people step back and a few others mumble about getting a hunter involved. By some unbelievable stroke of luck, Angel recognizes one of the faces.

"Kishibe?" Angel looks up to him through his messy hair. There was a bustle of indiscriminate noise, the people parting to make room for the old Mad Dog. He was speaking but Angel couldn't make out a word. Fatigue holds him down like chains, his eyes rolling upwards, barely conscious.

A dragging noise. A dull thud. Some horrible squishing noise he couldn't quite place.

A single gloved hand pulls Angel's chin upward and pries his mouth open. The other squishes something into it.

A wave of strength allows him to struggle, but a firm grip holds him down. He was forced to swallow. Thick liquid and little pieces coat his throat as he blinks away the haze. Portions of the fluid were freshly congealed.

Above him was a hunk of human remains being squeezed over his mouth by his superior. A few veins and fatty tissues shift away from the skin, sliding against the leather of Kishibe's glove.

Angel pulls away again with a jerk, moving to his hands and knees. He coughs, wiping his mouth against his sleeve. From the corner of his eye he notices the red of his cut shrinking. Holding his hand up, he watches his wounds close.

"Can you stand?" Kishibe asks, throwing the hunk aside with a wet splatter. The already crushed flesh separated its layers as soon as it hit the jagged rubble.

Angel tests his wings. A half hearted flap works out the kinks and they fold neatly against his back. Kicking up some rubble dust, he drags himself to his feet. "Yeah... for now...." Angel mutters, a mixture of devil and human blood dripping down his chin.

He feels a hand on his arm, pulling him into a supportive stance. His arm thrown over Kishibe's shoulder, Angel winces. He holds his head and neck as far away from Kishibe as possible. He ached more than he was ever used to.

"Good." Kishibe comments. "Do you need more?" He glances at a mangled corpse, missing a piece from its abdomen. It hadn't been cut, the impressions of where the fingers had punctured pooled with resting blood.

Angel felt his insides turn. "No- no more." He gags. It was too fresh. The body still smelled like the living. A recognizably human face was still left behind with no current signs of rot. It was different when he didn't have to think about it, but this guilt was his to bear. Even if he couldn't remember he knew he'd been involved with the carnage.

"Prepare a stretcher," Kishibe commands a few lingering members of the clean up crew.

"F-for the devil? Are you serious?" One of them asks.

"It's useful for questioning. Key witness." Kishibe explains with no particular tone.

Angel sighs sharply, already certain this would be a very exhausting ordeal.