Kingdom
The kingdom spread out before him, a towering view of concrete slabs rammed into the dirt. Broken glass glinted in the moonlight, a treasure amongst the overflowing dumpsters. Often this treasure was found by the subjects in the city. It would pierce their flesh, leaving them swearing and stumbling, booze on their breath.
He snarled, shutting his eyes, letting the stench fill his lungs, letting the air hit his face, leaving it feeling frigid and raw. He stretched his neck, releasing the tension which built below. Below the surface something was restless. It bubbled deep below his surface.
It rolled beneath the surface of the city. A surface stained with cigarette ash and chalk outlines, washed away by the icy rain.
A surface littered with hypocrisy, with saints and sinners alike. A culture teeming with every vice this world had to offer. What were they calling that these days? Oh right. Freedom. Diversity.
His lip curled in a kind of disgust. A kind of twisted pride. The leer of revulsion turned into a kind of smirk. But only for a moment, and then his lips curved back into resignation. It looked a lot like sadness, but that couldn't be. The admission would never leave those lips, chafed from icy winds.
The city had to keep moving, keep going, keep getting battered and bitter, and pushing itself up again.
His eyes snapped open, glowing in the sickly city lights which lay, mapped out, at his feet. He let the stale air out of his lungs and rolled his shoulders.
His brothers didn't need to like it; they didn't even need to understand it or respect it. It remained the simplest truth.
This was his kingdom.
And sometimes Raphael hated that.
AN: My original idea left my mind all-together when it came time to write, but I hope I did this prompt justice.