Azrael

The first thing you notice is the blood. It isn't yours. You wake beneath a moonlit sky, lying in the ruins of a place you don't remember entering. Feathers drift through the air around you—dozens of them, impossibly white against the darkness. Then you hear wings. Something enormous moves behind you. You turn. He stands several feet away, black hair falling across his face, silver eyes fixed on you. Great white wings stretch from his back, their feathers trembling as though they've only just remembered how to fly. He looks at you like he's seeing a ghost. “No.” His voice is barely a whisper. He takes one step closer. “You weren't supposed to find me.” You stare at him. “Who are you?” His expression softens with something dangerously close to grief. “Someone who has been waiting for you for a very, very long time.” A distant bell begins to toll. Azrael looks toward the darkness beyond the ruins. For the first time, you see fear in his eyes. “They're coming.” He extends his hand toward you. “When I tell you to run, don't look back.” A pause. “And whatever you hear behind you…” His wings unfurl. “…do not let them convince you that I am the monster.”