When I first open my eyes, I feel good.

  This, naturally, is terrifying because holy fuck, I’m pretty sure I should be dead. Near enough, anyway. That guy beat the shit out of me and Rowan, and I’m pretty sure I got the brunt of it-

  “Rowan!” The shout escapes my lips before it even reaches my conscious mind, and I’m already jolting up, accompanied by the mother of all headrushes.

  And I see Allacia, staring back at me with relief, but also concern.

  “Wha-” I start, but I’m interrupted.

  “Charlie?” A familiar voice causes my head to turn.

  It’s Rowan, of course, but not the same Rowan. She’s…broken, is the only way I can describe it. Both physically and somewhat deeper. She’s covered in her own blood and hopefully somebody else’s because holy shit that is too much blood. Her pink dress is barely recognizable, and I’m pretty sure she burned at least some of her hair off. Above all, though, her shoulders are sagging, her gaze looks seconds away from tears, and her left hand shakes, even as she clutches it firmly in her right.

  Whoever that guy was, he did worse than just attack her.

  I want to ask her if she’s okay. It’s an instinct, but I push it down. She is so clearly not okay, and even though she probably needs to talk about it, not now is as good a time as any. Instead, I find that soft glimmer of hope in her eyes and pull on it.

  “I’m okay,” I tell her with a smile. It’s not even a lie. I feel fine physically, and this whole event wasn’t even the most traumatic thing to happen today. Not to me, at least. My biggest concern now is the safety of the people I care about, which unfortunately includes the entire city, but we can work on that later.

  Luckily, it seems effective. Her eyes begin to well up with tears that I really, really hope are of relief. Joy seems too much to ask right now. I’ll take what I can get.

  “Are you?” Allacia asks, her seriousness startling me despite myself. I turn back to her.

  “I’m better than I should be,” I reply, “I don’t know what you did to me, but I feel more alive than I did before shit hit the fan. Actually, what did you do?”

  “The reaper gave you some ability-related medicine,” Rowan replies for her, “The same thing Jonathan gave you when we, uh…met.”

  “You mean when that damned almost ripped my arm off?” I clarify, “Yeah, that tracks. The only other effect that could fix me this fast is Hennessy’s Heal.”

  “Make no mistake,” a new voice from behind me causes all of us to turn, revealing Jayce, “Blood doesn’t remove the consequences of a fight, it just changes them. I’m familiar with the high you’re probably feeling right now, but I cannot stress enough that you are still not fit for duty. Period. You dying while still under its effect would be catastrophic.”

  “I’m familiar with the vague warnings of terrible consequences,” I reply, “but I’ll hold my judgement until I know more about the situation. Would someone mind filling me in?”

  Jayce grits his teeth, but doesn’t reply. Instead, it’s Allacia who speaks.

  “The man you fought, he’s…still fighting Jonathan,” she says “And it’s not going well.”

  “How bad is it?” I ask, dreading what I already know. He was strong, strong enough to do real damage if he wanted to. Even held back by Jonathan, he’s still dangerous.

  “The fight has resulted in over half the city becoming a disaster zone,” Jayce replies for her, “and we think…Jonathan might be losing.”

  I blink.

  “The fuck?!”

  —

  I’m not winning.

  The thought alone fills me more with rage than fear, but I push it down. I can’t deny it, for all I want to. Even after pulling out almost every trick I have, I’m losing ground. We’re evenly matched, but I’m draining stamina faster. The situation is untenable.

  Worst of all, I’m not even sure the one card I have left to play will even work.

  With that same characteristic speed, my opponent once more evades a slew of my feathers, launching himself towards the earth. I fire with both guns, but the range is suboptimal, and I miss both times. It has been too long since I’ve attempted to aim anything without precise control over its movement. I am…rusty.

  He flares with Power, taking a pair of the closest feathers with him. In response, I resummon four more, bringing my total to eighty. It’s not enough. I can keep up a reasonable arsenal, but at the cost of far, far too much stamina. I can already feel my movements slowing, my breaths growing shallow. It brings to mind the unfortunate memory of the last time I was forced into a drawn-out battle.

  And the one before that, of course, which might be even worse.

  Of course, his attack also takes out a slew of buildings. We’re far too low to the ground now, my opponent opting to direct me towards the city in a blatant attempt to make me hesitate. I refuse to fall for it; killing this man here and now is worth the entire city, for otherwise he could become a threat to everything I have built. Sandra will have gotten her to safety now as well. There’s nothing in this city worth dying for anymore.

  That said, nothing is stopping me from pulling higher into the sky as I dodge his next charge, discouraging another detonation with a few shots that force him to dodge. My own bullets do their own damage to the city below, but they are designed to pierce, not break. Besides, neither of us benefits from obstructed combat, so this farce is unlikely to last long.

  My opponent rockets into the air past me, launching a wave of force with a contemptuous swing of his arm, wreathed in energy as it is. The blast is aimed downwards, but blocking would cost feathers. Instead, I dodge, and attempt to corral him with my feathers as I fire off another volley from my weapons.

  I fail, naturally. I have not landed another solid blow since the surprise of pulling out my weapon for the first time, and I do not expect it to happen again so easily. My opponent’s attack flattens a marble statue of me in some square or another. Hardly a significant loss—statues can be rebuilt. Next time I’ll just ask them to make it more durable.

  My opponent, for his part, laughs, “Such disappointment, Jonathan. Why, you never seem half as affected when I massacre your people. Even I never built this many statues of myself. Tsk tsk.”

  I choose not to respond, only pressing the attack. If I had, I would tell him that I was not the one to request the statues, merely the one to fund them. The city’s leaders agreed that emphasizing my connection was good for their previously terminal tourism industry. It was an act of mutual benefit for all parties.

  My lack of response, however, seems to only be taken as an admission of guilt. My opponent laughs as he dodges merrily out of the way of yet another swarm of feathers. It seems I am starting to get predictable. The angles of attack are different each time, but he is getting far too much practice evading me.

  I suppose it is finally time to switch things up.

  I holster my guns and begin to hover midair.

  “Out of ammo already?” he taunts, “Why, one might almost think you were surrendering. I sincerely hope you aren’t so boring.”

  My guns cannot run out of ammunition. Among many others, one of the abilities worked into the steel is Synthesize itself. It creates its own projectiles, and runs solely off that inexplicable power source that supplies abilities. No, the armaments have simply proven ineffective. But I have another weapon, one far, far more deadly.

  I draw the blades crossed upon my back, the metal resonating with a low thrum. They are golden in hue, just like my wings. That is not an accident, but the way it has to be. They would be near useless otherwise, but like this, they are more.

  I close my eyes, pull air in through my slightly open mouth, and push my mind into the depths of what it means to be an Angel. Within the confines of my mind, time slows, and a flood of images and memories come to me. Simple acts of cruelty to atrocities grander than even I knew before, all borne of my opponent’s will.

  I open my eyes once more, no longer just an angel, but an Angel of Justice.

  And with one swing, I bisect him shoulder to hip.

  —

  Somehow, rather impossibly, this whole situation is even worse than I thought.

  I only had to see it to believe it. The ‘relief site’ I awoke in was already in the midst of evacuating even further to the edges of the city when the others helped me to the edge. Witnessing what lay beyond, I can’t really say I blame them, because holy shit.

  Half of the Angel’s City isn’t even a city anymore.

  Buildings are crushed, streets are upturned, more than a dozen fires burn within my view. Rescue crews skirt the outer edges, both heroes and ordinary firemen working overtime to get as many people out of harm’s way as they can. Dozens of police officers, and far more chillingly, men and women in full military uniform are directing traffic away from the city center as people hurriedly evacuate their homes in fear for their lives.

  I can’t see Jonathan fight Drake from where I stand, but I can hear it. Loud, rumbling roars punctuated by sharp, crackling thunder carry across the significantly flatter city. We’re near enough to the edge of the destruction for me to see it, but the buildings around us are still largely intact. Not one unbroken window in sight though, neither car nor structure has an inch in intact glass. Signs of repeated shockwaves reaching the ground. It’s horrifying.

  “I have to do something,” I murmur, but Allacia places a hand on my shoulder as if to hold me back.

  “Apex is already leading the rescue efforts, and Jonathan is fighting to protect the city. There’s nothing you can do,” she tells me. Her words have kindness in them, but they make my chest tight with grief.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “That’s bullshit,” I say, “Maybe my efforts won’t be noticed here, but there can’t be more than a dozen SAUs in the city capable of safely getting close to them while they fight. There will be survivors trapped just beneath the melee who need help. I can save them.”

  “You’re basically high on liquid life, Charlie,” Jayce reminds me, “I know there’s a voice in your head telling you you’re invincible, but it’s lying. Don’t listen to it. You almost died once already, holding him back long enough for Jonathan to arrive. You’ve already done more than enough.”

  That’s enough to make me hesitate, if only briefly. Not the implication that I’m not obligated to help, that’s bullshit, but that I might not be able to. I know I was just beaten badly, and under normal circumstances, with Hennesy’s healing or something similar, I would know better than to risk pushing myself further.

  But normal circumstances don’t account for this, and neither do they account for what I’m feeling. It doesn’t feel like a high. Somehow…I'm stronger than I was before. The same thing happened the first time I had this healing elixir. Maybe Jayce is wrong, even if telling him that would only seem to prove his point. I know it's a risk to assume he is, but isn’t it just as much of a risk to assume he isn’t?

  “Elias is out there, isn’t he?” I ask Allacia, “That’s why only one of you was here when I woke up. His ability is better suited for disaster relief than yours is.”

  She nods slightly, all the confirmation I need.

  “Rowan stayed because of her injuries,” I continue, looking at her, “And Jayce because, once he got Erin out, he had no more obligations, right?”

  The former flinches, causing me a spike of guilt. She looks like she needs as much help as the city right now, and she’s been awfully quiet since I woke up, but unfortunately, I don't have time for that. She’s safe, and I confirmed as much. There are a lot of people who aren’t right now.

  Of course, the latter protests.

  “I was ordered not to interfere, Charlie,” Jayce says, “Mostly because this is no place for a reaper. Being good at killing doesn’t help much in a rescue operation.”

  “And why should that stop you?” I press, “Erin is gone, which means Janus must’ve been here. He’s a reaper, yet he’s still helping. You’re just as good at finding people as you are at murder, and that skill is helpful in a crisis.”

  “Charlie…” Allacia says hesitantly, “I want to help as much as you do, but sometimes we have to know when we’re out of our depth.”

  “But we aren’t,” I plead, “I know exactly how each of us can help, and I refuse to sit around and let this disaster pass me by. I’m going to help, with or without you, but…I’d prefer if I could count on my friends. Please.”

  A beat of silence passes, and my heart begins to sink.

  “I’ll help,” Rowan says, and we all turn to her in surprise, “I may not know how to do the right thing, but if you think you do, then I want to help however I can.”

  It takes a beat, but I smile. Rowan, the villain, the outsider, the one who, right now, looks like she needs medical attention, food, a good meal, and weeks of therapy—in that order—is the one who speaks up. The only one of my friends who wants to help as much as I.

  Fuck, I think I may like this girl.

  —

  It’s truly amazing how much a person can bleed, especially when I want them to.

  The man for whom Power runs in his very veins is a formidable foe, but that very callous nature that makes him so deadly is exactly what makes me stronger in this very moment. Every inch of my form blazes with a golden light, burning the eyes of all sinners who look upon it, and he is very much a sinner. Justice shall come to him, like it comes to all.

  Unfortunately, it seems like it shall take more than one strike.

  The cut is clean, of course, and he bleeds—oh, how he bleeds—but it is shallow nonetheless. He drew back at the last moment, just in time to prevent me from killing him outright. I have to wonder what aspect of Power offers him such an effective sense for danger. Perhaps it is more similar to mine.

  I don’t stop there, however. I’m not so undisciplined. My wings push me back and around, allowing me to attack from behind while the remainder of my feathers effectively corral him. He moves with half the speed he had before to dodge them, eyes clouded over with pain. He is struck thrice, new gashes opening up in his thigh, shoulder, and ribs. None are lethal, and he dodges my own charge, but even there I do not stop.

  He tries to repel me with a burst of energy, but a slash of my left blade cleaves his attack in two, while a slash of my right near cleaves off his arm. He accelerates, rocketing up into the sky, but the open air only provides more angles from which to attack. He burns brightly, trying once more for that ruinous attack, but I am ready.

  I rush forward, and impale him with both my blades. Getting this close when he’s using this aspect of his ability would be incredibly risky, had I not determined the degree of concentration he requires in order to complete it earlier in the fight. The pain of my assault should more than prevent his offense, if it doesn’t outright kill him.

  He coughs out a lungful of blood, and then smiles.

  I don’t hesitate. I release my blades, knowing it’ll only slow me down to draw them from their sheath of flesh and blood, and fly backwards as fast as I can muster. In the same instant, every feather I have swerves to insert themselves between him and I. They grow magnitudes larger, if only to be more effective shields.

  In the barest of instants between my attack and his, I manage to form a barrier of twenty feathers and a hundred yards of air.

  It is not enough.

  I am lucky, then, that I am so light relative to my durability and that I am already in the air, for the blast wastes a good deal of its overwhelming energy simply pushing me further from danger. It still tosses me through a dozen layers of concrete and steel before I hit the streets below, tearing up the asphalt and my own back in tandem. An instant later, the blast wave hits once more.

  There may have been people around me when I landed. I could not tell, blinded as I was by pain and concussion, my feathers too far for me to determine my surroundings by them. If there were, there are not anymore. The force is enough to flatten the cars around me and even topple some of the surrounding buildings in their entirety. The asphalt cracks even more, but I do not. I would call it a miracle, that I survive, but only because miracles are the work of the divine.

  And I am immortal.

  However, for the moment I can only lay there in the street as Angel sets to work mending my wounds. I am broken beyond belief, with no more than twenty of my feathers remaining. My gambit cost us both, but I can heal, and as my opponent descends, I can see he has had the worst of it by far.

  The blood that leaks from his mouth and the dozens of newer holes I left in his form burns away beneath his power, as he hovers ever closer, but the wounds themselves do not leave him. The bleeding seems to stop, but I quickly see why: he is recirculating the blood manually, Power become physical to replace the flesh he lost. Even if he is well-versed in anatomy, it can only be a temporary measure, and he is unlikely to be so. Should he not find a healer soon, he will die.

  I, however, will not. Not yet. Even if my opponent can still make me bleed, I have won.

  All that remains is to survive this.

  —

  I finish my explanation just as the city explodes.

  We all stand slack-jawed as the shockwave washes over us. I listen to its dull roar intently, and my heart sinks. It’s too long, too drawn out, and with a certain aspect of irregularity. I didn’t just hear the blast, I heard the city crumble around it.

  I don’t want to imagine how many tens, if not hundreds of thousands died in that instant.

  “…We should move quickly,” I emphasize. Nobody disagrees.

  Rowan and Allacia start off to the north, running parallel to the destruction. Their goal is the most important by far, and I can only hope they succeed in time. Either way, I can’t help from here, so I turn to Jayce and nod in affirmation as we set off.

  While Rowan and Allacia are, in a sense, headed away from the destruction, the two of us are headed straight for it. The two of us are running against the clock as we race further and further into the ruined city. We pass first crowds of evacuees, then successively smaller and smaller groups of rescue crews working to save as many as they can until, at last, we reach a point where even they are afraid to go.

  In the silence, I hear screams, but here, there is no one to help.

  Nobody but us.

  Almost every building has collapsed, and dozens lay dead before me, but I have no time to focus on corpses. Jayce stops dead, keeping his blade half-drawn, and closes his eyes meditatively as I know he searches for those that still breathe. I don’t wait even a second before rushing towards a large pile of rubble, under which I hear screams too faint for anyone but me to make out. I frantically dig, starting from the top to prevent collapse, throwing aside steel beams as tall as myself with ease. The screams grow louder.

  Then I spot a hand, and a few moments later, the rest of the body, as I pull a still-screaming woman from the rubble to safety.

  “Thank you, hero!” She weeps, but I’m already picking her up and accelerating as slowly as I can manage as I carry her to the edge of the rescue crew’s efforts. I drop her off as carefully as time allows, in full view of a pair of heroes, then race back out.

  There are hundreds more still trapped. I have no time to waste.

  As I return to Jayce, he’s just finished his search, and with a quick look, he gets to work.

  “Two children, five o’clock, buried four feet in,” he yells to me, “And a man at eleven I think I can reach!”

  I don’t even waste time acknowledging, simply rushing off to the half-collapsed apartment complex to which Jayce pointed me. He breaks off as well, and neither of us wastes a second more. I dig through several collapsed walls before coming across a young boy and girl who I usher out while holding the roof up over their heads. I grab them as soon as it's safe and run right back to the rescue teams, Jayce close behind.

  This state of things continues, but for how long, I cannot say. I pull an elderly man from a crushed car as Jayce saves a schoolgirl who was trapped beneath a fallen streetlight. I lift a half-ton stone slab off the legs of a policeman while Jayce locates a family of four that sought shelter in the sewers. I lead seven people out from an old nuclear bunker while Jayce half-leaps, half-flies up most of a skyscraper to rescue the SAU who was the only survivor on his floor. On and on, we continue, pushing ever closer to the danger, and pulling people from it.

  Twelve rescues in, a piece of concrete half my sides falls on my head as I save a mother and child. On rescue fifteen, Jayce stumbles out from a building bleeding from having scraped his arm on an exposed steel pipe. Twenty-one rescues in another blast shakes the area, dropping the rest of a half-collapsed shop onto my head. I fail to save the worker inside, and waste five minutes unburying myself.

  In those five minutes, people die because I wasn’t there to save them.

  But each death, each corpse I dig out trying to get to a live body, each victim who dies before I manage to reach them, and each poor soul that I will never even see the body of, all of them I put out of my mind. If I hesitate, more will die. I have to save as many as I can.

  After all, what use is this power if I can’t help people?

  I think I lost sight of that before. I can no longer afford to now.

  —

  With deft steps, I exit the old tunnels, my charms jingling on my wrists as I move. Moving around so far below ground is a pain, but I prefer it to letting the reapers keep tabs on me. Still though, despite being nowhere near my destination, I simply have to check the surface. That’s four times now that I’ve felt the earth shake—even I can’t keep believing that’s none of my business.

  Carefully, I press my hand against the hidden door leading to the surface, only to find it jammed. I press a little harder, then harder, then eventually just flex my will and feel the heavy wooden door crumple under my touch. Beyond it is a mess of steel and concrete, and the sounds of sirens and panicked people. Something’s definitely going on.

  I push past the rubble almost contemptuously, and finally step out into the night, only to find the city under attack. Everything is broken, or on fire, and people seem to be streaming away from something. I step out onto the torn streets, pushing through the flow of people like wading through a shallow stream, and leap up onto a nearby, relatively intact building to get a better view of things.

  Then I sense something that makes my heart go cold. Not a sight, although the city looks horrendous. Not a sound, although screams are all abound. Not even the smell of fire and death scares me. I am the titaness. I do not fear war.

  But two pressures assault me. I know them well. One is overwhelming, the other righteous. Both are forceful, though I doubt many would recognize them. I’ve fought both before, albeit not at the same time. I’m the only living person who can claim that.

  Two men have turned this city into their battleground. The two most dangerous men alive.

  “Well,” I whisper to myself, “I guess I’d better find Rowan.”

  —that is, one title with roman numerals to differentiate them. Then I came up with separate titles, but ended up switching this one and the first, as well as going through three different iterations of the last part. All this is to say, I do not like naming things, which is why the majority of chapters will continue to simply be numbered. I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry. Naming things is hard.

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