He lays with his hand firmly placed against his side, resting uncomfortably amongst the trash bags in some decrepit alley. Blood soaked into his gloves, seeping from him injury.

A street lamp's light flickers from the mouth of the alley.

"Fuck.." he whispered into the quiet, stale air. His breathing was labored, and he could feel unconsciousness begin to pull his eyelids downward. Was this how he was going to die? A sad, slow, lonely, painful one?

He grimaced, letting out a small groan as he tried to find a more out-of-view corner to have his final moments. He may as well accept his fate. As if he'd be some spectacle for passerbies to gawk at.

The soft sound of padding feet make him flinch, and his blurry vision rises quickly to search for the origin.

"Who's - who's there," he sneered quietly, his eyelids fluttering rapidly to try and regain any focus of vision.

His defensive expression, so pathetic and desperate, melted into one of disbelief as he saw you. Large, white feathered wings that protruded from your back, and a halo that spun dazzlingly above your head.

"... What.."