Angelo was walking through the darkness that night. The ring on his hand burned, like painful fire that he had never felt before. The black sky was suffocating, covered in dark clouds, not a star in sight – nor the moon. He kept walking, partially hoping he would lose his way and not have to meet with Dante tonight. That was where he was headed, afterall.
Dante and him were set to meet tonight, even after the coronation of the mafia. Angelo hadn't told him – he hadn't talked to anyone about it, and yet, he knew he had to tell Dante. He would get mad, wouldn't he? Though he had no proof that his friend would be upset, he still felt it. He would probably get punched, or something.
Yet, halfway to the rooftop they usually met, still at least half a mile away, he heard something. Footsteps, coming quickly towards him in an alleyway – first thing that came to mind was, great, a ruffian. Time to deal with some guy trying to mug him. However, as he turned to face the oncoming person, the person had struck him before he had time to dodge or catch the punch.
Stumbling, Angelo threw out a hand, trying to make fire build at his still wounded palm – but something washed over him. Cold, white, like a fire extinguisher's powder. He coughed, shivering, the flames dispersing before they even got the chance to build any higher.
Another blow shot out to his ribs, wrist grabbed to pull him forward and land a punch to his waist. It was merciless, painful, but not broken; thank the gods. The person pushed him, slamming him against the wall, knocking his head into the bricks. His eyes dwindled into black spots, but he was able to make out a face.
Dark eyes, glaring into him with such hate that Angelo almost recognised it. His hair was an undercut, with the remaining braided back, long and black. He had a scar straggling across his entire face, from lower left jaw across his nose to above his opposite right eyebrow. A malicious, hateful grin spread across his features. At first, Angelo thought it looked a lot like his father, but both the scar and the voice proved him wrong.
"Hello, little brother."
Angelo was shocked and confused, gasping and blinking frantically to get his view back. He didn't know how to react, the fire in his hands dwindling in the reveal. He shook his head, trying to get back on his own feet, but the man pressed an arm against his neck – choking him, but barely.
"Did you not know?" He cooed dramatically. "Stupid. Father thought he could erase me, could he?"
Angelo didn't answer, trying to kick at him, but choking as his feet uselessly slid off the man's legs. The asshole grinned, watching as Angelo tried to process – brother? What was he talking about? Angelo thought he was an only child. He would've known… wouldn't he?
However, those eyes, lips, and jaw… exactly like his father's. A broken replica with that scar across his face, but unmistakably related nonetheless. It couldn't be true – all this time he had a brother, and when he finally met his only other family remaining, he was trying to kill him.
"I was supposed to be the heir!" The man shouted in his face. "But then you show up, with your fancy fire, and you take it all away from me!"
He pulled back, leaving Angelo gasping, but not for long – he backhanded him. So quick and hard that Angelo stumbled, landing on his hands and knees. He felt blood, his lip split.
"You took everything from me," The man growled. "And yet you don't even speak!"
A harsh kick was sent to Angelo's ribs, and he coughed, gasping heavily. Sparks flicked at his hands, but another cold shower of that white powder flew over him, rendering him cold and shivering again. The man knelt down, throwing Angelo onto his back and shoving his knee into his chest. He pulled free a knife from his black sleeves, pressing it against Angelo's neck with a hateful scowl.
"They might have given the crown to you," He said slowly. "But you don't even want it, do you? And after I kill you-" He pressed the dagger, drawing slight blood. "-they won't have any other choice but me."
However, before Angelo could even think about the pros and cons of dying in this moment, there was a woosh of fast air. The man was kicked off, foot to face, by gothic combat boots with silver chains. He went flying, and over top of Angelo stood someone – a woman, presumably, with long black hair and no weapons in sight.
"Sorry," She hummed, tossing her hair with a flair of her hand. "Am I interrupting the family reunion?"
She stopped away from Angelo, standing between him and the so-called brother of his. He couldn't see it, but he could imagine a grin on her face – her voice was wild, chipper, and bright. From her back unfurled black feathery wings, still folded slightly in the alley, and Angelo's jaw dropped at the sight.
"Y'know, I was gonna let you monologue for a bit longer," She said, putting a hand on her hip. "But then you pulled out that cute little knife. Say," She held out her hand with a pouty head tilt. "Can I have it? It's kinda pretty, and I want it."
The man got up, holding his nose. Knife flipped in his hand, he grit his teeth, then took his free hand and came in for a punch. She easily ducked under the hook, then jabbed her own fist into his ribs. He gasped, holding his stomach when a crack sounded, and stumbled back. She grimaced.
"Oops, that one cracked." She hummed. "You alright there, buddy?"
He hissed, staggering, and she sighed. "Look, pal; you can run now, have your epic showdown later… or I can keep kicking your ass. Your call."
The guy didn't seem to care and just charged forward, but she gave him a roundhouse kick so hard to his side that he went flying. Angelo had never seen strength like that, but he hit the wall with a thud and passed out. She whistled, then turned to Angelo with a big smile.
This woman was a six foot tall figure of muscle, wearing a black tank top with two knife sheaths at her belt and skinny ripped black jeans. She had these large, glorious wings on her back that folded up behind her, disappearing into a void. However, what remained was a tail that was made of feathers. Winking, her eyes were a noticeable blue colour, and she was clearly Native American with medium copper-toned skin and straight black hair. She had high cheekbones with these slanted almond eyes, her beauty vibrant.
"Hey," she said, coming towards him. "You must be the fire hazard, right?" She tossed her hair, not waiting for an answer. "Name's Ryu. Badass vigilante, local menace, and gossip collector. You're welcome, by the way."
She held out a hand to help him up, smiling. "Now let's get out of here before that guy wakes up and starts monologuing again."