(http://media.screened.com/uploads/0/733/219358-wasteland_large.jpg)<br/><br/><strong>35 Miles Southeast of Phoenix, Arizona</strong><br/><br/><br/>The slaughter never ceased, not for him anyways.<br/><br/>A simple movement of his right wing pulled his body effortlessly out of the way of a slashing sword wielded by a low-level demon. His left hand was already in motion before the evasion had even begun, gripping around the hilt of his own weapon as he ripped it outwards, feeling almost no resistance as it sliced through the demon that was approaching him from behind. With lightning speed his right hand shot forward, with the palm of his hand he gripped the creature's forehead as an ear-splitting scream lit the area, seemingly from the pressure being applied to the beast's skull. He then applied more pressure with his thumb and twisted counter-clockwise, feeling the demon's bones snapping with the motion as it dropped limply to the ground.<br/><br/>The tattered and frayed, battle-worn wings of the Archangel tucked around his form as he stepped into the doorway of what appeared to be an old courthouse. Once inside he returned to the fight once more, gripping his blade in both hands as he unleashed into his opponents. His long black hair flew around his face as he spun into a low circle, bringing his blade through another beast. His icy blue eyes danced as he moved, never ceasing to take in information of the battle around him, every minute detail was absorbed into his thought process as he planned ahead the next fifteen steps without even taking the first. Every move was precise and fluid, each strike ended with the death of another opponent, no movement was wasted, even his evasions turned into vicious counter-attacks. This was his element, his whole purpose for being, he was the Archangel of Death and it was not a hollow title.<br/><br/>It hadn't been difficult to spot the small nest of demons, the rest of the town had been either burned to the ground or been long ago abandoned, this building however appeared to be somewhat maintained and occupied. Even if it hadn't been that obvious, he could feel the demons for miles. At first he had wondered why such a small group would be stationed this far out from any of the remaining cities in this part of what used to be known as 'Arizona'. However then he realized that this was on one of the major supply routes used by the humans in this area, and this particular town was located very near a stretch of highway that was a part of the route, even more importantly though it was a stretch of highway that was perfect for an ambush.<br/><br/>Now it seemed... they were the ones on the receiving end of an ambush.<br/><br/>The intricate carvings and symbols along the length of his blade began to fill with the color of blood as the blade became drenched, cutting through wave after wave of demons, it seemed they had packed far more creatures into this space than he'd originally realized. It was of no real importance, these were nothing more than demons, insects beneath his feet, let it be fifty, a hundred, they still couldn't best an Archangel even on their best day, let alone the Archangel whose entire duty was to hunt and destroy them. It didn't take long to cut through their ranks, leaving behind a mountain of gore that was spread across the wide central room of the building. As he cut down the final demon, he came to a total of 29.<br/><br/>A scowl took over his features as he turned towards the front doorway of the building and began walking. He slung his blade to the right, flinging the blood off of its now smooth and polished surface before sliding it home within its sheathe on his back.<br/><br/>29... he was getting rusty. Normally 29 would have been much easier to handle, but he had almost felt himself become overwhelmed for a minute and it had startled him. He brushed it off as nothing more than his two-hundred plus years of imprisonment within Hell. Which to anyone that's ever been to Hell, is much longer than two-hundred years. It was very easy to lose yourself there, to lose track of time, your goals, even your sanity. With Azazel as his tormentor and Lucifer's constant badgering to join his cause, he was amazed he'd made it out in the shape that he had.<br/><br/>The thought of Lucifer brought anger to him. He still remembered the day of the battle...the day that had started the first civil war on Heaven. Azrael had been away on assignment, only to return and discover that Lucifer had indeed acted on the plan that he'd tried to pull Azrael into, and he'd attacked Heaven, taking a large handful of angels with him before being cast out. He could still remember returning home to the devastation they had left, the carcasses of his fallen brothers and sisters laying around him, the violation to his home was heartbreaking. It was on this day that he had first truly felt the emotion of anger, the way it had lit up his senses, he had felt overflowing with the desire for vengeance, however Ariel had been there to calm his thoughts, as if she could read his mind she had whispered to him, "To go would be suicide... live to fight another day..." It was very simple advice, but he knew it was true and he listened.<br/><br/>"I hope you made it out...." He said softly, his thoughts on Ariel as he exited the building, reaching out with his right hand to tap along the doorway as he departed and as he pulled his hand away, a glowing handprint stayed in its place. As he continued onwards flames suddenly burst from the handprint, spreading across the building's interior as if it had been soaked in gasoline. Within seconds the entire building was ablaze, casting an eerie glow onto the shattered town around it, silhouetting Azrael's form.