Dean wasn’t sure if he was awake or drowning.

  His eyes wouldn’t open. His head felt too heavy for his neck, like it was filled with water instead of thought. He tried to move and couldn’t. His arms and legs were locked down.

  A chair held him in place, tight enough that his chest barely rose when he breathed.

  Then, a low, mechanical hum vibrated through the floor, thrumming against the base of his skull.

  It reminded him of a generator. Or a hospital equipment. Or something worse.

  The room smelled clean in a way that felt wrong. Not fresh. Sterile.

  Then pain snapped through his hand.

  A sharp, sudden sting. Needles pushing into his skin from the armrest itself. He let out a strangled grunt. Before he could stop himself, his fingers twitched uselessly.

  That woke the rest of him up.

  His heart began to race. His thoughts followed.

  Where am I? What is this place? Why can’t I move? Why won’t this stop?

  He tried to turn his head. It barely moved, but it was enough for him to hear the screaming.

  From the next room. Not close. Through a wall.

  A woman.

  Her voice tore through the low hum of machinery, rising and breaking, then cutting off for half a second before surging back again. Each scream was followed by a sharp electrical crack, like power being forced into something that didn’t want it.

  Dean swallowed.

  Another jolt ran through his hand. His body jerked against the restraints.

  I'm not the priority.

  The thought landed cold and clear.

  Whatever was happening to him, it was preparation. A mere setup. He was simply waiting his turn.

  With his vision blurring in and out, he glanced at a figure moving in front of him holding a tablet. White robes. A mask he couldn’t focus on.

  The room tilted.

  His stomach dropped, like he was falling backward into sleep.

  “Baseline established,” the robed figure with the tablet said calmly. “Proceed.”

  Dean tried to hold onto the sound of the woman screaming. But even that slipped away.

  Outside, sirens tore through the night.

  “The location of Detective Dean has been revealed, I need every available unit out on Brighton Route. Our location; the Docks. Our enemy is possibly armed and extremely dangerous. Proceed with caution!”

  Cannon called it in fast.

  Every available unit; Patrols, tactical, SWAT, all raced to the Docks.

  The police convoy didn’t even make it to the gates.

  They were greeted not by a warning, but by a missile. It streaked through the salty air, a trail of white smoke slamming into the lead SWAT van. The explosion was absolute. The vehicle flipped, a fireball of twisted metal and incinerated lives.

  “Out of the cars! Now!” Cannon roared.

  Hayes scrambled out of the wreckage of their sedan, her ears ringing. She looked back and felt her stomach drop. In the first ten seconds, thirty percent of their force was gone. Erased.

  They dove behind rusted shipping containers as a hail of rapid-fire slammed into the metal.

  This wasn't a wild fire. This was trained.

  “Move! Move!” Cannon yelled as he grabbed one of their men by his tactical vest behind a container.

  Blood soaked through the officer’s sleeve, but he was still breathing.

  “This isn’t just a snatch and grab,” Cannon yelled. “This is a war. We stay alive, and we get Dean. That’s the only mission!”

  Hayes peeked out and immediately pulled back as something burned through the edge of the container, metal glowing red.

  “High-tech weapons,” Hayes said. “Energy-based.”

  One of the squad captains, a veteran named Miller, signaled to his team.

  “Left flank, go! Cover the right. On my mark!”

  As he stepped out to take a clean shot, a single round from an enemy rifle hissed through the air. It didn't just hit Miller; it glowed.

  The bullet tore through his shoulder, not just puncturing the flesh but cauterizing it instantly. Miller’s arm was severed by the sheer heat of the projectile.

  The captain screamed as he collapsed, blood pouring where his arm used to be. The sound cut through everyone.

  At this moment, they knew. They were outmatched and boxed in.

  Inside the docks, the warehouse felt calm.

  A group of Valkyrie guards sat around a crate, playing cards.

  They wore the winged crest of the Order on their shoulders, laughing as the sounds of the massacre echoed outside.

  In the midst of their laughter, something crashed through the ceiling.

  Glass and debris rained down as a figure dropped into the center of the room.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The guards didn't reach for their gun immediately, they smirked.

  “Lose your way, buddy?” one of the guards asked, tossing his card aside.

  Another leaned back in his chair.

  “One-way ticket down here. I’d suggest heading back up the way you came.”

  They all laughed.

  The figure didn’t move.

  “Is this all?” he asked.

  One of them snorted. “Disappointed?”

  “No,” the man said. “I had hoped to take you all out in one swoop… Oh well, I guess I can savour this one!”

  He moved like a blur.

  His fist connected with the first guard’s jaw, the force of the blow sending the man flying across the room to crack against the stone wall. His bone cracked. The body didn’t get back up.

  The others scrambled for their weapons, opening rapid fire. The stranger stood firm.

  With a violent snap, two massive white wings erupted from his back, wrapping around him like a shield. The bullets sparked off the feathers as if they were made of tempered steel.

  The guards froze.

  One of them whispered, shaking, “Impossible… it’s… it's the Banished One!”

  Panic broke them.

  He didn't give them time to pray. He moved through the room like a scythe.

  Silence filled the room as a surgical slaughter left the head of the second guard rolling on the steel floor.

  The rest rushed at him in a failed attempt to drive him back.

  The last guard ran.

  He screamed into his radio as he fled toward the basement.

  “It’s the Banished One! We’re being ambushed! Protect Subject 86752! I repeat. Protect Subject…”

  Before he could finish, a hand burst through the his back, clutching his still-beating heart. The guard fell like a discarded paper bag.

  The Banished One looked down at the body, wiping the blood off his hands with a clean cloth.

  “86752,” he said softly. “Interesting.”

  Outside, the firing stopped as one of the Valkyrie squad leaders received the broken transmission. His expression changed instantly.

  He raised his hand.

  “Code red,” he ordered. “Protect the merchandise.”

  In an instant, the docks fell silent.

  The elite soldiers ignored the cowering police entirely, turning as one and sprinting deep into the docks toward the warehouse.

  Hayes and Cannon were left behind, crouched in the ruins, surrounded by smoke and wreckage.

  Cannon looked at Hayes, his face pale. “What the hell just happened?”

  Hayes, with a fire of anger in her eyes, watched them run past.

  Behind her, Commander Miller lay against the wreckage, pale and shaking. He lifted his remaining arm and gestured weakly at the bodies scattered across the dock.

  “All this,” he said through clenched teeth, “just to rescue one man.”

  Hayes didn’t look away from the docks.

  “All that,” she replied, her voice low, referring to the soldiers who had just dismantled them, “just to keep us from one man.”

  She paused, then added, almost to herself, “This is nowhere near over.”

  And she moved.

  “Hayes!” Cannon shouted.

  She didn’t stop.

  “Goddamn it!” Cannon swore and grabbed his radio. “I need a medic at the docks on Brighton Route. Now.”

  He knelt beside Miller. “Stay with me. Help’s coming.”

  Then he turned to what was left of his unit. “Anyone who can still stand, you're with me. Let's move!”

  The silence inside the warehouse was worse than the gunfire outside.

  Hayes heard the gunfire before she reached the door. Followed by short bursts. Then screams.

  One cut off abruptly.

  As Hayes slipped through the door, she saw a body slammed into the warehouse door from the inside, splitting the frame and collapsing halfway through. It hung there, lifeless.

  She stepped over it scanning the room.

  The room looked wrong.

  Guards were scattered across the floor, dead in seconds. No signs of a prolonged fight. No chaos. Just bodies, placed where they fell.

  “My God,” she muttered.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Could this be the creature?” she whispered. “But when did it get here?”

  She took another step, forcing herself to look closer. Something didn’t fit.

  The kills were too clean.

  She shook her head slowly. “No… not like this.”

  Cannon entered behind her, weapon raised. He took in the scene and stiffened.

  “Why the hell did you run off with no backup?”

  Hayes didn’t answer. She was staring at the floor, tracing the pattern in her head.

  “Notice anything?” she asked.

  Cannon crouched, examined a body. “These are… The Order?”

  “Yep,” Hayes said. “The same ones who flattened us minutes ago.”

  Cannon looked up. “Then… What did this? The creature?”

  “No,” she said. “It's way too clean. That’s not its M.O.”

  Suddenly, a metal clanged somewhere deep in the warehouse.

  They both froze.

  Weapons up. Slow steps forward. They followed the sound to a heavy sewer hatch, pulled open by sheer force.

  “It’s a passage,” Hayes said, spotting the opening.

  “Where does it lead?” an officer asked.

  Cannon didn’t hesitate. “Let’s find out.”

  They dropped through a hatch.

  Beneath the warehouse was a maze of tunnels made entirely out of concrete, with dim lights flickering overhead.

  A labyrinth.

  At the far end, a soldier ran.

  He was barely holding himself together, breathing ragged, eyes wild. He burst into a lit chamber and nearly collided with guards stationed at the door.

  “I need to see the boss,” he gasped.

  They grabbed him. “You’re off post.”

  “He’s right behind me!” the soldier screamed.

  “Who?” one of them demanded.

  The soldier swallowed. “The Banished One.”

  The door behind them hissed open. A voice answered calmly.

  “The Banished One?” Four-Five said.

  The soldier turned toward him desperately. “I saw him. He’s real.”

  Laughter rippled through the room.

  “Relax Cadet, it's merely a fairy tale,” Four-Five said evenly. “Stories made up to scare cadets like you. Get back to your post.”

  “There is no post,” the soldier said, shaking. “He wiped them all.”

  The laughter stopped.

  “Including the elite unit sent after the police?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m the only one left.”

  “I see.”

  Before he could speak, a thunderous BANG shook the reinforced door.

  Then another.

  The steel began to buckle inward, screaming under the pressure of a blow that shouldn't have been humanly possible.

  “Load the merchandise onto the ship,” Four-Five ordered. “Now.”

  Soldiers raised their weapons, forming a line.

  The final blow sent the door crashing inward, crushing four men beneath it.

  In the dust and flickering light, Four-Five saw it: the silhouette of a man, and the shimmering, impossible span of white wings.

  Four-Five didn't hesitate; he turned and fled toward the rear exit.

  Hayes and Cannon reached the room seconds later, only to find another graveyard.

  Every Valkyrie soldier lay dead.

  Again.

  At the far end, the winged man stepped through a shattered glass partition, moving toward a cowering soldier who was firing a submachine gun wildly.

  He caught the barrel of the gun with one hand, wrenched it away, and hurled the soldier against the glass wall with enough force to turn him into a smear of red.

  Beyond the glass sat Dean. Strapped to a chair. Barely conscious.

  His eyes fluttered as the drugs began to wear off.

  The winged man shattered the barrier and stepped inside.

  “What a mess they’ve made of you,” he said quietly.

  He broke the restraints and let Dean slump forward.

  Then he froze.

  He tilted his head, hearing a rhythmic rattling through the wall.

  A sound. A heartbeat. Weak. Uneven.

  He grabbed a massive piece of machinery and hurled it through the concrete, exposing a hidden chamber.

  Behind it, Four-Five was placing a barely living woman into a towering vial.

  Four-Five pulled out his side arm and fired.

  The bullet grazed the winged man’s side, burning his flesh. He grunted, tore a metal plate free, and hurled it. It sliced into Four-Five’s arm, but the leader of the Order managed to stumble into the shadows, leaving the woman behind.

  The winged man shattered the vial.

  As the chemical fluid drained away, leaving a red-haired woman crumpled inside. He lifted her carefully and vanished.

  Seconds later, Hayes burst in through the hole in the wall.

  “Dean!” Hayes yelled, running to the chair.

  She checked his pulse.

  His eyes fluttered. He looked at the broken wall, and then at Hayes.

  “He had white wings,” Dean whispered.

  Cannon arrived just in time to hear it.

  He followed Hayes’s stare to the destruction around them.

  “Whoever did this,” she said, “it’s definitely not the creature.”

  Outside, high above the docks, perched atop a shipping container, the winged man stood silhouetted against the moonlight.

  The light hit his face, revealing the calm, calculated features of Jackson Blackwood.

  The white wings folded slightly behind him, glowing in the night air.

  He looked down at the red-haired woman in his arms, his eyes cold and curious.

  “So,” he said, “what exactly are you to the Order?”