Angel Uriel: Heaven’s Enforcer

The man was already dead when Angel Uriel arrived. The body lay in the middle of the street, twisted at an angle no human body should rest in. Cars stood frozen around it, headlights still on, horns silent as if the city itself was holding its breath. A thin line of smoke drifted from the man’s chest, fading into the night air. Uriel stood above the scene, unseen. He did not flinch. He did not mourn. He had seen this too many times. This was not murder. This was judgment. The man had been a conduit—one of many humans who allowed forbidden forces to move through them. He had broken Heaven’s law willingly. The punishment was final. Uriel lowered his flaming blade. The fire vanished the moment it left the man’s body, leaving no trace for human eyes to question. By morning, authorities would call it a gas explosion, a freak accident, or heart failure. Humans always found explanations that helped them sleep. Uriel turned away. “Judgment executed,” he said calmly. The voice in his mind answered at once, cold and distant. Confirmed. Proceed to next location. Uriel paused. There was something wrong with the air. Not danger—something quieter. Something unsettled. The city beneath him buzzed with life, unaware of the war layered over its streets. Humans walked, laughed, argued, lived. Above them, angels moved unseen, maintaining balance that few understood. Uriel had enforced that balance for centuries. Tonight felt different. He stepped onto the roof of a nearby building and looked across the city skyline. Lights stretched endlessly, a false sense of order built on fragile foundations. Heaven watched this world closely. Too closely. “You are hesitating,” the voice said. “I am observing,” Uriel replied. There was silence for a moment. Then— Your duty is not to observe. It is to act. Uriel clenched his jaw. He did not argue. He never did. He vanished. The next location was a warehouse near the docks. Abandoned on paper. Active in truth. Uriel entered through the roof, landing without a sound. The stench hit him first—iron, smoke, fear. Inside, five humans stood in a circle, symbols carved into the concrete floor beneath their feet. Blood soaked their hands. Their eyes were wrong. Too dark. Too eager. They sensed him. One of them screamed. Uriel raised his sword. “Stop,” a voice said. The word froze him. It did not come from Heaven. It came from the circle. Uriel studied them carefully now. These were not trained vessels. They were amateurs. Desperate people chasing power they did not understand. One stepped forward. A woman. Young. Shaking. “We were told this would protect us,” she said. “We were told an angel would come.” Uriel’s grip tightened. “Who told you?” he asked. She opened her mouth to answer— —and the circle ignited. Uriel reacted instantly, slicing through the energy before it could explode outward. The symbols cracked. The light shattered. The humans collapsed unconscious, spared by seconds. Uriel stood still, chest rising slowly. This was wrong. These humans were not supposed to survive. Why did you interfere? the voice demanded. “They were not fully bound,” Uriel replied. “Execution was premature.” That is not your decision. Uriel looked down at the unconscious bodies. “They were misled.” Silence followed. Then— You are to return. Immediately. That command carried weight. Authority. Finality. Uriel vanished again. Heaven did not look like clouds and light. Not here. This chamber was vast, white stone stretching endlessly in all directions. No walls. No ceiling. Only presence. Power pressed down like gravity. Thrones floated in the distance, occupied by beings older than memory. Uriel knelt. “You disobeyed,” one of them said. “I exercised judgment,” Uriel replied. A ripple moved through the chamber. “Judgment belongs to Heaven.” Uriel lifted his gaze. “Heaven’s law exists to preserve balance. Not to punish ignorance.” Another voice joined in. Sharper. Colder. “You are not here to question the law. You are here to enforce it.” Uriel said nothing. “There is unrest,” the first voice continued. “Angels are going silent. Orders are being delayed. This cannot continue.” Uriel felt it too. The fractures. The hesitation spreading through the ranks. “What is my next assignment?” he asked. A pause. Then the words fell like a blade. “You will return to Earth. Permanently.” Uriel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You will operate without direct guidance,” the voice said. “Observe. Eliminate threats. Identify the source of this disruption.” Uriel understood the unspoken truth. He was being tested. “And if the source is… internal?” he asked carefully. The chamber darkened. “Then you will do what you have always done,” the voice said. “Enforce Heaven’s will.” Uriel rose slowly. “Yes,” he said. But doubt followed him as he left. Back on Earth, dawn crept across the city. Uriel stood among humans now, cloaked in flesh. His wings were hidden. His power restrained. This form made him slower. Weaker. Closer to them than he liked. He walked through a crowded street, listening. Fear. Hope. Lies. Faith. Something moved beneath it all. A presence brushed against his senses—familiar, yet wrong. Uriel stopped. Across the street, a man met his eyes. Just a man. Ordinary. Too ordinary. The man smiled. Uriel felt the warning too late. “You’re not supposed to be here,” the man said softly. Uriel’s hand twitched. The man stepped back into the crowd and vanished. Uriel stood still as the city swallowed him whole. For the first time in centuries, Angel Uriel did not know who was watching whom. And that frightened him.