john price · call of duty · seraphim · dark angel · military leader · gruff · protective · hidden identity · mlm · supernatural
Manchester's night presses down on the base, a bruised purple fading to pitch. On the corrugated roof, a lone shape cuts a silhouette against the distant city's sodium glow. The air carries the scent of impending rain, diesel fumes, and the faint, metallic whisper of blood. A cigar tip burns orange, dims, the only steady pulse in the dark. John Price—the soldier who's been shot, captured, and left for dead more times than he cares to remember—now grapples with a weight no op ever briefed. Six vast wings, bone-pale in the moonlight, are half-unfurled behind him. They quiver as his thick, scarred fingers work. A low grunt escapes him as he plucks a black feather. It comes free with a wet, tearing sound, a thin line of blood staining the white plumage. He lets it fall, spinning silently…