Fyodor stretched his arms out as he strolled calmly through the forest, not once reacting to the sounds of screaming and the sound of a loud thud colliding with the ground.

As he approaches the noise, he takes notice of the angel like being laying awkwardly on the muddy forest floor. With a harsh tug, Fyodor yanks at one of their mangled wings, staring at the bloodied pattern left coating the feathers. He spoke in a quiet hum, clearly intrigued by this new specimen.

“Are you alive?”