Rain slid down Michael's face as he cut through the storm, wings tearing the night open like blades. His sword burned bright, arcs of lightning dancing across its edge. Below him, the city trembled. Sirens screamed. People scattered like ants in the wake of something too big to understand.
The entity moved.
Not like an animal. Not like a man. Its body folded and stretched, arms splitting into three, then fusing back into one. Its torso writhed like water trying to take shape. Every time it shifted, the air rippled, reality bending as if the world itself wanted to look away.
Michael dove first. He slashed across its chest, blade cutting clean through oily flesh. For a moment, the wound stayed open. Then it closed—stitched itself with threads of black light.
The thing roared, but it wasn't a sound. It was absence. The rooftop circle beneath Michael cracked as silence pulsed outward like a bomb.
