Like a fearsome luminous storm, the Angel ploughed through time and space. Trapped in a never-ending monochromatic void, it almost looked as though she was adrift. Unfortunately, she knew exactly where she was going. It would be an understatement to say that she was frightened; the sheer amount of power she wielded was unheard of, and was the sole reason she was here. It hadn’t been anything she could stop. It had built up inside her like a hot sun pulsating in her gut, until it just had to be released.
She could barely comprehend what was happening. Tumbling through time itself, with only a mysterious external force preventing too much deviation. Yet, in her misery and rage, she tried anyways. She had lost people who had become friends, people who she had cared about, and for what exactly? So this entire sick series of events could repeat again? She was responsible for something so reprehensible that it had cost the lives of hundreds. Her name was something to be feared, a nightmarish horror story told to scare, or told as a warning to even the most battle-hardened of superheroes.
Maybe things could be changed. Maybe she wouldn’t be forced to cause so much death and destruction. Using all of her willpower, she tried to force herself off this path. She had to change something. Anything. The future was not completely set in stone; she could discern that much from the chaotic mess around her.
The Angel. That was what they called her, what she would be remembered as. A single ironic name, next to a long list of the dead. She had been responsible for bringing the world to the teetering brink of an apocalypse. Not again.
Not this time.
Focusing her fury, she launched herself forwards.
This time things would be different.