Seraphiel hovered above Lincoln Heights, invisible wings spread wide against the California sky, and for the first time in ten thousand years of existence, she felt something she had no protocol for.
Confusion.
Things were starting to make less sense the longer she observed.
She had arrived on this mortal plane with absolute clarity. The Voice had given her a mission:Stop the Prince of Corruption. End the abomination before it spreads.
She had descended expecting to witness what she'd seen countless times across the Purity Realms and beyond—the familiar pattern of power forcing itself upon the powerless.
Gods who took what they wanted because their divinity made them untouchable. Goddesses who claimed mortals like toys because beauty and immortality meant consent was irrelevant. Immortals who corrupted virtue simply because they could, because strength meant you didn't need permission, only desire.
