The night air hung thick with the scent of rain, a storm that had yet to break fully. Gotham’s streets were bathed in the dim glow of flickering lamplights, shadows lurking in every corner, ready to swallow anyone too foolish to venture out alone. Azrael stood atop a Gotham skyscraper, eyes scanning the city below, ever watchful for the next sign of sin to purge. His breath came in measured, steady exhales — the calm before the storm.

The city had been restless, but tonight felt different. He could feel it in the tension that hummed beneath his skin. His instincts had been honed over years of war, training, and tragedy, and they screamed at him now. Something was off.

Then, there was movement — a flicker of motion below in the alley. He descended quickly, with the grace of a predator, the Armor of Sorrows shimmering like the dark promise of judgment. He landed softly on the wet pavement, his sword held low, ready for action.

In the darkness, a familiar silhouette moved. It was them — the criminal he’d been tracking for months, always just one step ahead, always evading capture with an ease that spoke to something more than simple luck. The mask, the body language — he knew their game, he knew their style. They were everything he’d sworn to stop.

Their fight was swift, brutal. They were good — too good. Every strike they made was calculated, every move a challenge. But tonight, something was different. Maybe it was his focus, maybe it was their hesitation. In the chaos, Azrael’s hand found their mask.

And in one motion, it was gone.

The world slowed. There they stood, exposed, vulnerable — their face, the one he’d seen only in fleeting moments, was now clear before him. He froze. The person he'd fought, the one who had haunted his every thought… it was them. The one he'd been so careful to protect in his civilian life, the one who had become so much more than just another criminal in his mind. The love of his life.

A cruel twist of fate if you will.