Divide the Sky

Prologue: No Matter What

[CONTENT WARNING:  Mental health issues, suicide.]

The sun rose above the ruins of Hull, and the angels woke with it. They stretched their wings and opened every single one of their eyes, ready for another day's hunting. On the rooftop of the burnt-out Royal Infirmary, the flock uncurled from a tight huddle of feathers and found their prey watching them wake.

Tyler laughed as the groggy angels scuttled and darted like spiders, scrambling to fan their wings and pull their swords. It was dark, gallows humour, laughing at that much danger springing to life around him. But this was his last sunrise, so he was in that sort of mood.

"'Ey up, lads," he said, his voice rusty from disuse. Tyler made a show of yawning and rubbing his eyes, though his heart had been hammering ever since the massive ball of tangled wings and limbs started unfolding.

Behind the angels, the sunrise lit the edges of an almost unrecognisable city. Hull hung rain-soaked and rotting, with cars choking the roads and buildings hanging like charcoal smudges over the empty streets. The distant silhouette of the Big Wheel was the only thing that hadn't changed, an old friend standing silent over the abandoned fair.

It had been beautiful before the angels. Full of life, and colour, and more freedom than Tyler had ever known. He'd wanted so badly to save this place, but he'd lost everyone. You can't save the world on your own.

The angels fell in around him, shifting into formation with a thunderclap of wingbeats. They all wore masks, hiding their human faces behind cold bone-white smiles.

Good. It was easier that way.

Tyler stood just out of their reach, one foot on the roof's edge. They kept some distance but he caught bright-eyed animal eagerness in their eyes. They were many, they were fast, and here was some big, slow bloke with nowhere to go.

The daft sods had no idea. This was exactly where he wanted to be.

And yeah, he was there to kill himself. Before the Angelfall he'd have been ashamed of that, but after two solid years spent in Hull while the world literally ended around him... honestly, he was just proud he'd lasted this long.

It was a cold and still dawn, but the air warmed and thickened with their closeness. His lungs tightened and every hot, soupy breath tasted like damp feathers and smoke.

Hundreds of eyes swivelled to stare at him, popping open across wing-ridges and splitting cheeks and tongues. Angels were eldritch things, covered in eyes and fire, but at their core they were human. Righteous geeks with a hundred eyes across their wings. Stolen bodies and minds twisted into a shining point. Their nostrils flared at the tang of his sweat, sniffing for the cold-metal of a pipe gun or the nose-stinging chemicals of a bleach bomb.

But Tyler didn't have a grand goodbye planned. Just the bird shit-speckled roof's edge and the open air. That was all he wanted. It was enough.

He hadn't felt the sun on his skin in years. And goddamn, it was just so warm.

Rafael would've hated him for turning his back on everything they'd worked for. Survive, no matter what. That was their rule, right from the day the world fell apart. But it had been a year since an archangel tore Rafael apart, and he was tired of counting the days until he met the same end. They'd lost this fight. There was another battle waiting for him in the afterlife, and he was so damn ready to die.

"Sorry, mate. I did my best," Tyler said. "But I can't do this without you."

The angels crept close. Tyler feinted towards the flock, sending them into a scattered panic, and while they scattered he stepped backwards. His muscles locked up, resisting, and his whole body tried to sway back towards the angels. A few reached out, opening their arms, but he knew better than to get within their reach. Those hands were worse than the fall.

He pushed back, pushed past the fear. To the edge of the roof and over.

With one final step gravity tore every other choice out of his reach.

He regretted it instantly. The lurch and the rushing air and the fear took him, and he begged begged begged for this not to be the end. For wings to grab him, hands to take him, fire and teeth and eyes and judgement. Anything but the ground.

In the middle of all the terror, and his own voice screaming and distant and strange, Tyler could smell the wind and taste the air. Cold, and crisp, and so so beautiful.

The concrete knocked the life out of him in one sharp, shattering finish.

One life ended and began again.