[b]The Archangel[/b] -- [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wtfhZwyrcc]Believer[/url]

The wind was cold and cruel, and bit without respite at her lungs. 

Atop the spire of the Empire State she stood while her ascetic's clothing fluttered in in the wind, and the wisps of gold that was her hair took in the sunlight. The world below was ever moving, ever changing, a chaos which was duly embraced by the ones who thrived in it, and despised by those who refused to understand it. It was a chaos that she had embraced and lived well within, but it came at a price: The Clairvoyant had deemed it necessary that she spend most of her time as a protector. So the silence of interaction she held between other people, let alone fellow Epics was harrowing in some instances...but it was necessary. If anyone found out [i]who[/i] she was, her family would be at risk.

It was not worth having friends. 

Her only company would be the cold, and the blood of the adversaries of Epic City. 

Slowly her hands closed into fists, and there would be a flicker of light. The shine of the sun refracted off her surroundings for a moment, casting a glance of multicolored brilliance for a moment before she simply took a step forward off the edge of the spire, and she plummeted towards the earth. A rush of wind chilled her spine, cries of horror beneath to the idea she was a jumper, and the roar of unceasing traffic all intermixed together in a confusing cacophony. 

It was entrancing in a sense, perhaps even [i]tempting[/i] to do nothing; after all, she had come so close to death so many times before. In the world of living deities like the High, she often wondered what actually lay beyond the veil of mortality. Was the divine preached by the countless religions the world the truth? Or were the High the messengers of God, and no one knew it? Death was always over her shoulder, she was sure. Waiting, watching for the opportune moment. Such a moment was not nigh however, she was a servant of the people. When the people no longer needed her help, she would finally be free for him to reap. 

Since such was true in the very least, there would be a change. 

Lines of light traced through the air from her shoulder blades; curving, taking the shape of blindingly radiant wings, the new wings of light she created flared open, and her direction of motion sharply changed. Just barely above the ceilings of unending traffic, she tore through the air. Blurring past all the madness, the horns honking, and the cabbies cursing, her emerald gaze studied and carefully watched those she flew past. It was a note, a study of curiosity, for she also often wondered exactly how many Epics now walked through the bustling crowds, keeping up an act of normalcy for the sake of survival. Epics which would cry out in surprise just as so many countless others would as she whipped past in a rush of air. 

She was intent on a stop before the beginning of her day, a stop which was part of her daily morning ritual.

One pause in the bustling nature that allowed her at least some form of peace, albeit briefly. Upon granite and weary stone she landed before the steps of the gorgeous St. Peter's church. It was tranquil there, as the massive doors crept open with an agonizingly long squeal that echoed through the steeples of gothic architecture. At long last however, the world fell silent as the doors closed. All the chaos, all the madness of New York was nothing inside this place. Past shafts wondrous multicolored light cast by the stained glass windows she strode along, the sound of her boots muffled by the crimson carpet. 

In one clenched hand she held a rosary, a symbol of the threads of belief she still tried to desperately cling to. 

With each step, the wings of light she held began to dissipate, as each feather of the radiant constructs fell in her wake as if she were molting. Into a pew she slid, and the girl dropped to her knees in prayer. Having already confessed a few days prior, she instead began by crossing herself, folding her hands together, and speaking clearly as the wings finally ceased to exist. On the opposite side of her, the Nuns of the convent simply stared at her in amazement for a moment before resuming the lighting of candles, and she spoke with a beautifully elegant voice into the heavens. 

[i]"Pater noster, 
qui es in caelis,
sanctificetur nomen tuum. 
Adveniat regnum tuum. 
Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. 
Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, 
et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut, 
et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. 
Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, 
sed libera nos a malo. Amen."[/i]

She could only hope that her trespasses would be forgiven indeed.

For in the end, no matter how hard she fought for good...she would still always be a murderer.