The angels who had hidden for four days poured out from rock crevices, ice caves, and recesses in the cliffs. Some clutched broken blades of light, some were bare-handed, and some supported each other. Most were low-ranking angels, their wings burned off at the roots during the fall, leaving only two charred scars on their backs.
They were not warriors. They were merely outdated gears in Heaven.
"Bartholomew Faction?" Martin frowned as he watched the panicked figures below.
"No." Liz shook her head. "They're exiles hunted by Bartholomew, driven out by humans, and abandoned by demons. There are no high-ranking angels here, no combat personnel—only people running for their lives."
"Then we still—"
"They're angels." Liz's voice held no emotion. "The wanted order made it clear: all fallen angels are to be killed on sight."
Martin fell silent.
In the canyon below, the incantation array contracted faster than the angels had expected.
Just as the narrowest exit was about to close completely, more than a dozen angels lunged at the gap of light, using their remaining strength to try to force the rock walls apart.
Their palms were crushed into bloody pulp. Golden blood ran down the cracks in the stone, rapidly freezing into ice crystals in the frigid air.
Liz raised a hand.
The sniper team's four rifles simultaneously aimed at the canyon exit.
"Fire."
The first volley rang out, and all thirteen angels rushing for the exit fell.
They had no shields, made no attempt to dodge, and did not even have time to turn and look in the direction the bullets had come from. Some still held out their hands as they fell, as though trying to grasp that closing door.
Desperate screams erupted from within the canyon, like the mournful wails of trapped beasts on the