Every time I close my eyes, I see a flash of the past. Sometimes, I see the battlefield with bodies at every step, and smoke from artillery fire everywhere you looked. Sometimes I see friends, Odin, Michael, and even Azazel. But most of the time, I...
Y/N: Hands in the air, gangbangers. Easier for me to cut em that way.
Hatchet looms over Angel Dust. Angel's arms are bound, face bruised. Cherri stands nearby, eye blazing with defiance and something softer when she looks at me.
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Hatchet: (snarling) You lost, freak? Or you lookin' for a beatdown?
Y/N: Nothing like that. Just here to end the racket before your turf becomes history.
Hatchet: (laughs rough) Racket? You got guts, punk. You sure you're not here to pick a fight?
One of Hatchet's men edges closer, uneasy, eyes darting between me and his boss.
Grunt: Uh... boss?
Hatchet: Do you know who the fuck you're talking to? What, you think just because you're a guy my men won't fuck your ass?
Grunt: Boss!
Hatchet: What the fuck do you want, Seth?
Grunt: He's the Harbinger of Death!
Hatchet's grin falters. His eyes widen.
Hatchet: ...Harbinger of Death? Like that's some kind of joke? You... you ain't jokin'?
Angel Dust snorts under his breath, cheeky even in cuffs.
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Angel: Honey, if he's death, he's prettier than Lucifer.
Cherri snickers, then her expression shifts.
Y/N: Release them. Now.
Hatchet:(voice shaky) Let 'em go. I... I don't want trouble with... Death.
The crew hesitates, glancing at my impassive figure. I draw my katana.
Y/N: You really wanna play that card?
Hatchet's face drains color.
Hatchet: We... we can make it right! You don't gotta kill us! We'll... we'll let them go!
