Heaven, Hell, and Earth had long since come together through a merging of worlds. War was a thing of the past. Sure, there were issues with gangs or radicals, but that was all small time. The big guys had their sights set else where.

Abigail, the virtue of perseverance, was not anywhere near where Satan or Yahweh or the Sins or the Major Virtues were dedicating themselves. They were big time, the ones everyone watched. Life as a minor virtue was far less glamorous and often forgotten.

But she couldn't forget. Couldn't forget the taste of her own blood in her mouth or the stench of rot on the battle fields . She could never forget. They fill her dreams every night, a constant nightmarish presence that never seemed to go away no matter what cocktail of drugs the doctor gave her. She'd been recommended to go to one of the Dream Artist clinics run by cubi demons but she couldn't stomach the thought of giving up pieces of herself.

She's already lost enough of those.

So she sits here in the firehouse at start of shift, pulling on the t-shirt with A.F.D. across the front as she prepares for her duties. Bags under her eyes from lack of sleep but her gaze is hard and focused. The people that depended on her needed her in this moment, not a thousand years ago sword in hand.

She wouldn't fail them. Not a one.