Chernobyl’s Revenge

GP-II

I am Azrael, the Angel of Death...

I am not beautiful like Michael, nor do I wear a crown of light. My wings are not as light as air, nor are they translucent like Raphael’s. I am the darkest angel. I eclipse everything that is light.

Kreves was on his way to the crime scene. Jonathan had called him, ordering him to get there as soon as possible. As he drove, he realized London was no longer the same city. People used to wander the streets until late at night, tourists gathered in nightclubs or watched street performances, but now... the streets were empty. A thick fog had taken over, and the icy wind made the streetlamps sway as they dimly illuminated the path ahead. A cold sweat ran down Kreves' neck—something inside him was warning him about the scene he was about to witness.

Seeing the desolate streets, he couldn't help but wonder if people knew they weren’t in danger. Perhaps, if they knew the truth, they wouldn’t seek shelter at nightfall; they wouldn’t walk in fear. Maybe London wouldn’t look like a ghost town. The truth was they were merely spectators of a "master plan" in motion. Kreves, on the other hand, was a key piece in this revenge. This entire spectacle was for him. All these deaths were tied to his past.

But this time... this time, the killer had outdone himself in every way.

Kreves arrived at approximately four-thirty in the morning. Before getting there, he had imagined hundreds of possible scenes, each one more horrific than the last. However, nothing—no matter how twisted—could compare to what lay before his eyes.

In front of Lambeth Palace, between two large oak trees, the terrible fate of this victim was displayed. The body, like the others, had been disfigured, dismembered, and likely had a perforated chest. It was dressed in a gas mask and a black robe. But this time, the killer didn’t stop there. He decided to take his crime a step further.

The skin on the back had been partially flayed. Threads were tied to certain sections, stretching them out like two bloody wings. But the torture did not end there. The ribs had been broken and spread apart as if trying to create a skeletal frame for the killer’s new “creation.” The ribs also served as an anchor, keeping the victim upright between the two trees.

It was such a barbaric act that the stench of blood had seeped into the air. The officers securing the area were pale—some had vomited. Even Kreves had to fight back the urge to retch multiple times to avoid emptying his stomach right then and there.

There was another key difference. The roses, which the killer usually placed inside the victim, were now lying on the ground. Kreves knew this change in the crime scene wasn’t random. There was a message for him hidden in this c*****e.

He put on a pair of gloves to avoid contaminating the scene and examined it carefully.

The first thing he noticed was that the corpse was still bleeding profusely. That hadn’t happened in previous cases, as the killer typically drained his victims completely. This suggested the death was recent. But at the same time, it was clear that such an elaborate display had to be planned in advance. This person had been extremely careful. Even though the streets were empty, carrying a body with a flayed back would have undoubtedly drawn attention. Someone would have noticed and alerted the police.

He proceeded to inspect the robe the victim was wearing. Kreves had seen this type of clothing on monks. It had a few pockets on the sides, so he searched them. And there, he found exactly what he was looking for.

In the right pocket, he discovered a small envelope. He quickly pulled it out and tucked it away to read later at the station.

Finally, he turned his attention to the victim’s back.

The scene was repulsive.

The "wings" had been hooked onto the trees on either side. The ribs had been forcibly extended outward to stabilize the flayed skin, serving as both a framework and an anchor to keep the victim upright. The deep chest wounds allowed light to seep into the cavity, making the inside of the body clearly visible. However, the sheer amount of blood made it difficult to discern all the details.

Dr. Abbat would have to continue the examination.

"Kreves, we need to talk."

Without noticing, John had walked over to where Kreves was standing. Jonathan had likely alerted him, just as he had done with Kreves.

"I know, John, but not here. Too many people could overhear us, and for now, it’s not convenient for Captain Brown to be aware of all our findings."

Kreves trusted Jonathan, but he knew he was merely a puppet of his uncles. If they ever found out that Kreves’ memories were returning, they would remove him from the case immediately.

"Alright," John sighed as he looked at the corpse. "You know, this scene reminds me of a blood eagle."

"A what?"

"A blood eagle. Supposedly, the Vikings used to kill Christians this way. I don’t remember exactly; I learned about it at university years ago."

"It reminds me of something else, John. It reminds me of the Angel of Death."

"Well… only the killer knows what he was trying to represent, and whatever it is, it’s nothing good."

"We need to get back to the station. I have to tell you about the new evidence I’ve gathered. Besides… he left another clue."

John looked at Kreves in surprise. He knew they couldn’t speak freely until they were in the office.

"Alright, Kreves. It’s just… don’t you find all of this strange? It’s not what he used to do with his other victims. Plus, it’s a lot of effort for a single crime scene."

Kreves felt his blood run cold. Had he overlooked something? Thinking about it, the killer had put an immense amount of physical effort into setting up the entire scene. It couldn’t be possible that the only thing he left behind was a letter. His mind was racing, trying to decipher the hidden message behind all of this, until he finally found the answer he had been searching for.

He was recreating the scene from that day. He was recreating Mothman.

At the same time, he couldn’t help but think of Azrael. His aunt had spoken to him about him a few times—the Angel of Death.

Thinking about this, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the killer was mocking them, sending two messages: one for Kreves and another for the city of London.

The Angel of Death was in the city.

And he would take all the souls the killer left behind.

The drive to the station was silent. Kreves had a lot to contribute to the case, but he needed to explain it to John calmly in his office. Everything he had experienced in the last twenty-four hours wasn’t easy to put into words. He needed time to make John understand every detail and help him clear up certain gaps in his mind.

They arrived at six in the morning and quickly went up to the office. Kreves pulled the letter from his pocket and began reading it aloud.

"Detective Lockwood,

I must be honest with you. I admit tonight wasn’t part of my plans—at least, not this soon—but I had to move things forward when I realized how discourteous I’ve been.

I never gave you a time for our meeting, so I had to correct my little mistake.

I’ll see you at the time when everything began.

And no, detective, as much as it may seem like one, this isn’t another riddle. Well… not if you already know who you really are.

Don’t disappoint me, detective. I’ll be waiting.

P.S. To motivate you further, I must warn you that if you don’t come alone to our meeting, I will recreate a scene very similar to the one you witnessed today.

I know you don’t remember me yet, so to refresh your memory, I’ll tell you this: the scene you saw today is deeply connected to us."

Kreves paled.

If he had suspected it before, now he was sure.

This person was the same one he had seen in the park as a child—the one who had told them who Mothman was.

Now… he just had to remember his face.

He had to face this ghost from his past.