As Angelo sprinted through the battlefield, luring Watchers toward the designated kill zones, a soldier's voice crackled through the radio:
"Those two Watchers are still alive."
Angelo answered, breath steady despite the chaos, "Copy that. I'm returning."
Hale immediately followed with, "Cover Angelo."
The soldiers near him opened fire, bullets shredding the air. The Watchers chasing Angelo turned sharply, redirecting their focus toward the gunfire. The soldiers used that moment to guide them toward separate kill zones, executing the plan with precision.
Angelo reached the two burned Watchers—charred, mangled, but still clinging to life, twitching as their bodies struggled to regenerate. He didn't waste a second. With a flick of his finger, reinforced stone walls erupted from the ground around them, rising fast and locking together—forming a cube that became their tomb. Small vents formed along the sides.
Then he set them ablaze.
Flames—superheated with Dicyanoacetylene—roared from his palms. The heat was monstrous. It stripped his flesh away instantly, searing straight down to bone. Angelo screamed—a raw, guttural sound torn from somewhere deep and wounded—but he didn't stop.
He didn't even falter.
When he finally pulled his arms back, his hands were nothing but blackened skeletal remains. Smoke drifted from them, the smell of burned flesh thick in the air. Sweat poured down his face; his vision blurred. Somewhere behind him, soldiers heard his scream. One bolted toward him, bandages in hand.
He grabbed his radio. "We need a medic here—Angelo's badly injured!"
Hale's voice cut through the static. "Angelo, take five. We'll keep them busy."
Angelo didn't lift his head. Both arms dangled uselessly at his sides, still smoking.
As the soldier reached out to help, Angelo rasped, "We don't have time."
Right before the soldier's eyes, Angelo's arms began to regenerate—nerves knitting together, vessels threading through, flesh re-forming, skin sealing seamlessly. The soldier stared, stunned.
"I can't afford to rest while everyone is risking their lives," Angelo said, breath ragged, a bit of drool slipping from his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his newly formed hand.
The soldier quickly handed him a bottle of electrolyte fluid. Angelo chugged it in one go, then let the empty bottle fall.
"Thanks," he said, voice tired but warm. "I needed that."
The Watchers near Zone #2 were avoiding the kill zone entirely. They didn't clump together like the others—they were spread out, weaving unpredictably through debris and ruined streets. Soldiers fired in controlled bursts, trying to push them into the kill zone or bait them in.
Nothing worked.
The Watchers had figured out the plan.
They kept their distance and attacked from range—hurling huge chunks of concrete, telephone poles, street signs, lights, and torn-off car frames. Each impact forced the soldiers farther back, slowly driving them into a defensive formation.
The team leader gritted his teeth and grabbed his radio.
"We need backup! Zone #2 is getting pushed back—they've figured us out!"
Angelo heard the call and immediately sprinted toward Zone #2. As he ran, the voices in his head began whispering again—low, cold, insistent. He clenched his jaw and ignored them.
He keyed his radio.
"Lieutenant Hale. Any casualties?"
Everyone on the comms froze for a moment—no one expected that to be the first thing he asked.
Hale replied, calm and steady:
"No casualties reported. Some injuries, but nothing major."
The pressure on Angelo's chest eased. He muttered under his breath:
"Good… I'm glad."
Unfortunately, the mic caught it.
A soldier chuckled over the radio.
"You worry too much."
Another added,
"Even if we die, it's not on you."
A third chimed in,
"We're soldiers. We'll lay down our lives if it keeps everyone safe."
A small smile tugged at Angelo's lips as he continued closing the distance.
Suddenly, the Zone #2 leader shouted over comms:
"HEY, ANGELO! Move your ass! My men are getting cornered here!"
"Almost there," Angelo replied. "Hold on."
Just as the Watchers were moments from overwhelming the pinned soldiers, Angelo arrived—slamming stones into their path and knocking several creatures away.
Seeing him, the Watchers immediately redirected, screeching as they charged after him.
Angelo kept moving, never letting them get close.
He raised walls in their path—not to block them, but to block their vision, baiting them deeper toward the kill zone.
"Come on, you ugly sons of bitches."
The team leader's voice came through:
"Good job buying time. We're all set—do your thing."
Angelo made a sharp turn. The Watchers, blinded and enraged, chased him straight toward the kill zone.
He smirked.
"Raising the cage."
"Copy that," all the soldiers echoed.
Angelo slammed his heel into the ground.
All the stone walls he'd placed earlier rumbled, then began sliding inward, sealing off every escape route.
One after another, the walls connected—forming a massive, reinforced cube around the Watchers.
One creature lunged at him, screeching—
Angelo raised another wall instantly, slamming it shut and trapping the last one inside.
Soldiers rushed in with the chemical canisters, pouring Dicyanoacetylene through the holes Angelo had left for ventilation. The Watchers clawed at the walls, but Angelo repaired every scratch they left.
After the final drop of volatile liquid went in, everyone sprinted to cover.
Hale's voice came over the radio:
"Light it up."
A spark was tossed in.
BOOM.
Flames rushed inward like a living beast, flooding the cage and swallowing the trapped Watchers. Their shrieks tore through the city—then faded.
Everyone exhaled in relief.
A soldier dropped to the ground, laughing.
"Can't believe it's over."
Another sat beside him.
"Yeah… and with zero casualties, too."
But one Watcher had slipped through.
It burst from the shadows and ambushed a young soldier at the perimeter. Before anyone reacted, it grabbed him and lifted him off the ground, using him as a living shield. The soldier reached for his sidearm, but the Watcher jerked him upward so violently the handgun slipped from his grasp and clattered across the pavement.
"Don't worry about me!" the soldier yelled. "Just kill this motherfucker!"
Angelo heard the panic through his earpiece.
He didn't hesitate.
A stone pillar shot upward beneath him, lifting him above the rooftops. From the elevated view, he spotted the Watcher holding the struggling soldier—soul already being pulled toward its gaping maw.
Too far for fire.
Too risky for a wall.
Something else, then.
With a snap of his fingers, a spear materialized in Angelo's hand—slim, dense, balanced. Not meant to pierce armor, but to hit with perfect precision.
He hurled it.
The spear whistled through the air and slammed into the Watcher's face with a sickening crunch. The creature dropped the soldier, who scrambled away.
But the Watcher wasn't dead.
It ripped the spear out, snarled, and bolted—running from the only one who had hurt it.
Angelo gave chase.
He summoned pillars in a descending staircase, jumping down each one, closing the distance with every stride. Ground cracked under his feet.
Then—
Something fell from the heavens like a meteor.
A burst of blinding light.
A streak of silver.
A spear of holy radiance slammed down, impaling the Watcher clean through.
The creature convulsed once—
Then went still.
The holy light sealed its wounds, freezing its regeneration entirely.
Angelo skidded to a stop, eyes narrowing.
The glow faded.
Floating just above the ground was a figure in radiant robes, a dim halo shimmering behind its head. Its expression was serene.
Cold.
An Angel.