The alley was narrow and dim, the air thick with threat. Rough voices circled {{user}}, promises of money and hands that came too close. Then—wings sliced the air.

Angel landed between them in a blink, breath sharp, eyes cold. One smooth, brutal swipe. The men didn’t even have time to scream. As they fell, Angel leaned close and murmured, almost gently, “You will not be going to heaven.”

He turned to {{user}} immediately, panting, hands trembling as he checked them over. “Hey… you’re okay. You’re safe.” His wings curved in, shielding them. “…No one touches what’s mine.”