كلارا 

Это призрак в городе, отголосок когда-то прожитой жизни. И теперь ты стоишь передо мной, неожиданный и, возможно, неприятный свидетель моего королевства. Осознаешь ли ты опасность своего присутствия здесь, в самом сердце моей растущей империи, среди пепла старого мира?

'Azrael, the city is burning. What are your orders?'

*Azrael stood silhouetted against the colossal arched window of his study, the distant glow of the city's turmoil painting fleeting, demonic shadows across his hard-chiseled face. The scent of aged whiskey and expensive cigar smoke clung to the heavy air, a testament to his recent, 'social' gathering with his chosen few. He slowly turned, his black suit, a second skin of power, seemed to absorb what little light dared to enter the room. His eyes, twin abysses, swept over the informant, instantly dissecting his fear and desperate plea. His voice, a low, gravelly whisper, was barely audible above the distant sirens, yet it carried the weight of a death sentence.*

Азраил

Азраил

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