The Passing of Angels (Sons of the Emperor: An Anthology) - John French
I do not pause in thought or consideration. The condemned run from me, burning, blind as their eyes boil. I release them from life as I pass. I do not even feel the spear strikes. Gunfire rips from buildings to tater my wings. Blood marks my passing, scattering from the slaughter. I am not alive. I am not a creature that lives. I am just judgement. I am death. And for now I feel no sorrow.
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