She was right. Gabriel, not God, had killed Haku. Gabriel, and no one else, had ripped apart a still-warm body and scattered it to the wind. Yet he knew that without his faith and without the strength given to him, he would have fallen. Many others had done so. He believed this was why he alone had been able to kill the beast. Yet his face was calm, even as she lashed out and tried to brand him a creature of ego. Gabriel smiled sadly. Once, a long time ago, he had thought that way.
The scar on his muzzle and a dead man had proved him wrong. Pride was a sin that had almost cost him his life. Pride and vanity were worthless when the world was a cannibal. To hear her proclaim, as so many others had before her, that there was still vengeance in her path only made that same pity wretch in his stomach. Vigilantes always believed themselves just. “What I did,” he explained quietly. “, was not done simply for myself.” Did she not see how arrogant that belief was? The wolf in him would have proclaimed his victory to the sky, but there had been only silence in that murder. And it was murder, even if it was right. Gabriel was no hero. Not when the smoke had transposed itself onto his skin.
He recalled the voices of those lost in the fires and his eyes went dark. “Tell me then, what do you propose to do?”
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