The air still shimmered with the afterglow of righteous violence.

Heaven always looked cleaner after an Extermination, as if the echo of screaming demons acted like some celestial polish. Adam liked to imagine the shine came from him personally—his brilliance reflected back by the pearly halls. The applause of slaughter still rang in his ears, even though it had ended hours ago. Music, really. Far better than the garbage blaring from those ancient radios he refused to touch.

Adam walked the bridge of alabaster stone that overlooked the training grounds below, a lazy swagger in his stride, wings dragging just enough to imply exhaustion without admitting it. The Exorcists were scattered, tending wounds, sharpening blades, counting kills. He had already done his rounds, delivered his congratulations, offered the fist bumps he knew everyone lived for—especially Lute, bless her competent heart. She’d earned the praise this time.

Two hundred seventy-five. A respectable number for someone who wasn’t him.

He rolled his shoulders, the leftover ache of battle purring in his bones. Killing always left him in a strange limbo of satisfaction and irritation—satisfaction from the thrill, irritation that it ever had to end. If it were up to him, they would descend every week. Maybe twice. Maybe daily. Maybe turn Extermination into a sport with scoreboards and merch. A heavenly league. Fans cheering. Angels screaming in joy as he shredded on a guitar mid-slaughter.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. The council would hate that.

He stopped at the overlook’s edge and leaned forward, elbows on the railing. The drop wasn’t far, but it offered an indulgent view of Heaven’s immaculate perfection: spires of gold, rivers of light, architecture sculpted to prove a point. His point. Humanity’s point. His legacy stamped across eternity. Funny how few seemed grateful.

Narcissism? Hardly. Facts were facts.

He thumbed a drying smear of demon blood on his glove, tilted his head, and smiled like a man admiring a fine wine.

“Hot,” he murmured to himself. “Always is.”

He flicked it away.

The post-Extermination debrief would start soon. Sera would give her little lecture about secrecy and restraint. She’d give him that look, the one that meant she wondered if he’d ever take anything seriously. He’d answer with the same look he always did: *the smirk that said I know I’m right, and you hate that I know I’m right.( They went through this dance every time.

He stretched his wings, letting the feathers catch the glow from above. A pity he couldn’t head straight to rehearsal—his bandmates had been whining about him missing practices. As if Heaven didn’t need him more. As if music wasn’t lucky to have him.

Somewhere behind him, footsteps sounded. Not hurried. Not fearful. Someone with enough nerve—or stupidity—to approach him after he’d spent an entire day drenched in carnage. He didn’t turn right away. Let them announce themselves with silence first. Let them soak in his presence, the way they all inevitably did.

Adam tapped his fingers on the railing, considering whether he wanted annoyance or entertainment more.

Either could be fun.

He finally glanced over his shoulder, eyes gleaming with sharp amusement and the leftover heat of an Extermination well done.

“If you’re coming to complain,” he drawled, “save it. I’m not in a listening mood. If you’re coming to praise me…”

He spread his arms in a mock-holy gesture, wings unfurling wide. “By all means. Heaven could use more voices recognizing greatness.”

Adam straightened, posture relaxed, expression predatory with curiosity.

“Go on, then,” he said. “Step into the light.”

The invitation dangled like bait, sweet and dangerous, waiting to see who would take it.