An Angel's Wrath

"I don't understand..." Leo stood, body trembling, staring at his useless hands. They were the same hands that had single-handedly saved so many innocents for so many years. So why had they failed him now? And when he needed them most?

Leo knew on some level that his hands were not to blame, but all previous logic had slipped into his unconscious and complete despair had dulled his sense of reality. Leo's knees buckled at the shear weight of the heartbreak he was suffering and he collapsed to the floor. "No, please..." he whispered, hardly daring to register the finality of his own words. His hand moved to his lover's side, hovering over her body, afraid to touch her. She looked so beautiful, she always looked beautiful, but Leo knew that the horror spread out before him was far from it. He shed no tears... the shock and despair was so complete that tears could not do the pain justice. He felt... numb, empty. Devoid of all feeling and sane thought. The emotion Love had been sucked from within his very heart... he was drained of it, and every happy feeling that ever existed in his soul, for the being that held the source of his love, lied bloody and still in front of him. He closed his eyes to the image before him, he hated to deny himself the view of his wife, but her physical state was churning his stomach. He felt sick. Standing, his face blank, Leo felt a sensation coarse through him. It was like none other he had ever felt before. He felt uncomfortable with the feeling at first, but then he began to realise it was a comfort. He glared into the mirror at his reflection. He barely recognised himself, his nostrils flared. Anger coursed through his veins. The always good, always well behaved, kind, calm and loving Leo was angry. And he knew just where to direct his wrath....