Dust still drifted through the air where the hospital once stood. The ground trembled beneath Francis's feet as he lowered his massive white wings, feathers shimmering like cold fire. His hazel eyes glowed with an unnatural radiance, fixed on Leonte and Mark as if they were the only two beings left on earth.
But they weren't alone.
A roar of engines cut through the silence.
Two armored figures shot across the rubble—sleek black exosuits reinforced with kinetic plating, shock‑absorption joints, and electric pulse cores humming with power.
Edward.
Jamal.
Their visors glowed blue as they skidded to a stop between Francis and the survivors.
Edward's voice boomed through the suit's amplifier.
"Francis Hale—stand down!"
Francis tilted his head, wings spreading wider. "You cannot command what has been chosen."
Jamal stepped forward, armor plates shifting with each movement. "Chosen by who? You died ten years ago."
Francis smiled faintly. "Death is only a doorway."
Edward raised his arm. The suit's gauntlet charged, crackling with blue energy. "Then let's slam it shut."
The Battle Begins
Francis moved first.
He launched into the air with a single beat of his wings, wind blasting outward like a shockwave. Edward and Jamal braced themselves, boots locking into the ground.
Francis dove.
Edward fired a pulse blast—
a sphere of electric force that struck Francis mid‑air.
Francis twisted, absorbing the hit, landing in a crouch that cracked the pavement.
Jamal charged.
His suit's shoulder plates glowed red as he slammed into Francis with full force. The impact sent Francis skidding backward, wings flaring to keep balance.
Francis hissed—not in pain, but in irritation.
"You fight with metal," he said, rising. "I fight with purpose."
He swept his hand.
A wave of invisible force blasted outward.
Edward was thrown across the rubble, smashing into a collapsed wall. His suit sparked but held.
Jamal dug his boots into the ground, sliding but staying upright. "Edward!"
"I'm good!" Edward shouted, climbing out of the debris. "Hit him again!"
The Turning Point
Francis leapt into the air again, wings slicing through the dust. He dove toward Jamal, claws extended.
Jamal activated his shield module.
A shimmering barrier erupted around him just as Francis struck. The impact sent ripples of energy across the shield, but it held.
Edward used the opening.
He launched upward using the suit's thrusters, tackling Francis mid‑air. They crashed onto the pavement, rolling across broken concrete.
Francis snarled, slashing at Edward's helmet with his clawed hands. Sparks flew.
Edward gritted his teeth. "Jamal—now!"
Jamal slammed both fists into the ground.
His suit discharged a massive electric surge that traveled through the rubble, up Francis's legs, and into his torso.
Francis screamed—
a sound that shook the air, half‑human, half‑something else.
His wings spasmed.
His body convulsed.
The symbols on his chest flickered like dying embers.
Edward pinned him down with the suit's full weight. "Stay down, Francis!"
Francis's voice cracked, distorted. "You cannot stop judgment…"
Jamal stepped beside Edward, raising his gauntlet.
"Watch us."
He unleashed a concentrated pulse directly into Francis's chest.
The blast lit the entire area in blinding white.
Francis's wings snapped outward—
then collapsed inward like folding paper.
His body went limp.
The glow in his hazel eyes faded.
The ground stopped shaking.
Silence.
Aftermath
Edward slowly stood, armor smoking. "Is he…?"
Jamal scanned the body. "Alive. Barely. Whatever he is now… he's not invincible."
Leonte limped toward them, Mark supporting him. "You got him."
Edward nodded. "We're taking him in. This time, no mistakes."
Jamal exhaled. "Let's hope the world holds together long enough to figure out what he's become."
As the medical team approached with reinforced restraints and containment gear, Francis lay motionless—wings broken, symbols dim, the false seraph finally grounded.
Francis lay motionless for only a moment.
Then his eyes snapped open—
not hazel, not glowing gold—
but pure white, blazing like twin suns.
The air around him vibrated.
His broken wings twitched… then unfurled to their full twenty‑five‑foot span, feathers shimmering like shards of light. The ground beneath him cracked as if rejecting the power rising from his body.
Edward shouted, "Everyone BACK!"
But it was too late.
Francis launched upward.
One beat of his wings sent a shockwave across the rubble, knocking soldiers and agents off their feet. He shot straight into the sky, climbing higher and higher until he hovered above the city like a pale star.
The Military Response
Sirens wailed across St. Louis.
Convoys of military trucks roared down the streets.
Blackhawk helicopters circled the sky.
F‑22 jets streaked overhead, engines screaming.
A commander's voice boomed through loudspeakers:
"TARGET LOCKED. FIRE AT WILL."
Missiles launched in synchronized arcs—
dozens of them—
leaving trails of smoke as they raced toward Francis.
He didn't move.
He didn't flinch.
He simply hovered, wings spread, eyes blazing white.
The missiles closed in—
10 feet
7 feet
5 feet—
And then they stopped.
Frozen in midair.
Dozens of warheads hung around him like a halo of death.
Soldiers stared upward in disbelief.
Jamal whispered, "That's… impossible."
Edward clenched his fists. "He's controlling them."
Francis slowly raised one hand.
The missiles rotated—
turning away from him—
aiming downward toward the city.
"No…" Leonte breathed. "No, no, NO—"
Francis released them.
The Fall of St. Louis
The sky lit up with streaks of fire as the missiles rained downward.
The first struck the Gateway Arch.
A deafening explosion tore through the monument, sending a shockwave across the riverfront. The Arch bent, twisted, and collapsed in a cloud of smoke.
The second barrage hit Busch Stadium.
Flames erupted across the field, seats, and surrounding blocks. The shockwave shattered windows for miles.
More missiles struck the city center—
office towers, bridges, entire blocks swallowed in fire and smoke.
Citizens screamed as the ground shook beneath them.
Cars overturned.
Buildings crumbled.
The sky darkened with ash.
St. Louis became a storm of destruction.
Edward watched in horror, unable to look away. "Dear God…"
Jamal's voice cracked. "He's wiping out the city."
Mark whispered, "This is judgment… his version of it."
Leonte stared upward at the glowing figure in the sky—
the man who once was Francis Hale—
now something else entirely.
Something apocalyptic.
Francis hovered above the burning city, wings spread wide, white eyes blazing through the smoke.
And his voice echoed across the sky, carried by a wind that wasn't natural:
"The cleansing has begun."