A.N.G.E.L: Broken Thrones Preview

Let the Hunt Begin

Clouds smothered London’s moonlight, drizzle turning sodium lamps into blurred halos. The reek of jet fuel mixed with the stench of bad memories.

“Here we are,” Destiny Petunia muttered, adjusting her jacket. “Never thought we’d ever come back as tourists. Can you believe this shit?”

It had been years since they had been here. Last time, the city was on fire before they left.

“What’s next, Rox?”

Roxanne Rose was the smallest of the three, but she carried the weight of command like armor. “Our target’s in the city tonight,” she said, her crimson scarf trailing behind her like a streak of warning on the wind. “Jay’s already embedded. Thea’s there backing her up.”

She reviewed her phone. “There’s a motel a few miles out. We’ll stage there first.”

Isabella Camellia scanned the street, eyes the same color as her sister’s scarf. No ambushes. No tails. Only night pressing against concrete. She moved without a word, keeping overwatch.

“Perimeter clear.” she motioned in sign language.

“Good,” Destiny snorted. “Means he won’t see us coming.”

Roxanne gave a single approving nod. “Enough, let’s move.”

A taxi rolled them into the kind of strip mall the world forgot about. Bright neon spelled MOTEL down one wall, the vacancy sign stuttering like a dying insect.

The fare was paid, and Destiny moved to book them a room, returning quickly with a key labeled Room 7.

Izzy lingered outside the door, scanning angles. She raised a fist, then tapped her temple twice; a secret code between them for keeping watch.

Roxy found some cover and activated her comms.

“Hey One,” Jerika’s voice came through static and chatter. “You get in alright?”

“Checking in now.”

“All’s quiet here. I won’t be done for another hour or two. Can you pick me up?”

The coded request slid neatly into place. “We’ll be there.”

Across the city, the hunt had already begun. Jerika Lily, cloaked behind a diplomat’s smile and a platinum wig, poured drinks at a gala. In the kitchen, Athena Iris scoured dishes, watching from the margins.

Their target: Former General Reynaldo Deleon. A conspirator in the project that stole their childhoods. If the mission succeeds, he wouldn’t survive the night.

“Bartender! Another!” Roxanne heard over the comms.

Jay sighed, masking her disgust. “Right away, sir,” she replied before the line went dead.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inside the motel, Room 7 smelled of mildew and cheap detergent. The hum of a flickering overhead light filled the silence.

Destiny dropped the duffel with a grunt and collapsed onto a creaky chair, tilting it back on two legs.

“So… where’s the goodie bag?”

Roxanne swept the blinds aside a hair and watched the parking lot. Isabella sat cross-legged on the bed, sketching in a pad.

“Bad news,” Roxy reported. “Delay on the drop.”

“Are you kidding me?” Des slapped her thighs and let the chair thump forward. “Deleon’s hired muscle has real steel. What do we use, sharpened toothbrushes?”

Roxy replied calmly. “We didn’t need gear in Hell Week. We’ve got one hour. That’s it. If we wait, he’ll disappear.”

“Did you at least bring it?” Des questioned. Roxanne replied by flourishing a simple candle.

Izzy looked up, signing fast. “Dying isn’t on the schedule.” She pointed to her sketchpad—a crude bow diagram half-finished.

Destiny leaned in. “No way. You’re really building that. From this?”

“Yes. You’ll help.” She signed.

The neon sign outside flickered three times in quick succession. Jay’s signal.

Eyes on target.

For a moment, the glow painted Roxy’s pale face crimson, as if the city itself remembered their sins.

Roxanne stayed by the window. The neon’s buzz crawled into her skull; too close to the whine of lab lamps overhead. Her grip on the windowsill tightened, memory dragging her backward.

Deleon. Project A.N.G.E.L. You stole us. Made us fight. Made us kill.

Behind her, Destiny scavenged. She found old phone books under the TV and started  shredding them.

They thought they broke us. Maybe they did.

Glass shattered in the bathroom as Izzy turned mirror shards into arrow tips.

But we chose to survive. Now we’re going to bring fury for those who didn’t.

Roxanne’s fingers brushed the rose sigil stitched into her glove.

She blinked back to the moment as Izzy placed a hand on her shoulder. Their eyes met; one heavy with command, the other full of silent conviction. With a nod, they returned to work.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Destiny wrapped phonebook pages around her midsection, grinning at Izzy. “Think it’ll stop a bullet? Or am I about to look like the world’s angriest librarian?”

Isabella arched an eyebrow and stopped long enough to respond. “More like an idiot in phone books.”

Roxanne mixed whatever cleaning supplies she could find into a makeshift poison, dipping glass needles into it. Her hands moved with surgical rhythm. Her voice stayed quiet and controlled. “Focus. Don’t forget why we’re here.”

“That’s why I’m joking,” Destiny shot back. “Better to laugh now. Beats thinking about dying.”

Izzy moved to the bed before signing Des to help.

Together, they gutted the mattress. Isabella yanked out springs and dowels, already visualizing the shape. “Bow. Arrows. Crude, but it will do.”

Destiny whistled low. “Impressive. You’re scary when you get like this.”

Isabella didn’t even look up as she bound the blinds into a string. “Scary keeps us alive.”

Thirty-five minutes left.

A distant siren echoed through the paper-thin walls.

Roxanne tightened the pouch on her belt, staring into a shard of mirror.

Mara. You didn’t make it. This is for you.

Her throat tightened as she tensed, knuckles cracking audibly. For a heartbeat, she thought she saw Mara—the first person the Project took from her—staring back, whispering questions she couldn’t answer.

“Roxy?” Destiny’s voice cut in, softer now. “You with us?”

She blinked, then nodded. “Always.”

Destiny flexed makeshift bracers, smiling through the absurdity. “Let’s go ruin Deleon’s night.”

Isabella stood by the door, bow steady. Her free hand signed: No hesitation.

“Time to hunt.”

Roxanne’s whisper cut like a blade.

Three shadows slipped into the night. Hunters, not prey. 

The Black Flame

The gathering was a mask. Wealth shimmered, power postured, and beneath it all lay lies as thick as perfume.

Across the ballroom, generals toasted peace while shadows gathered with sharper intent.

The A.N.G.E.L.s were scattered but never truly apart for long. Their target: General Reynaldo Deleon, now going by the alias Major Josè Troya; mingled among state officials. He had betrayed the program that had stolen their lives, selling confidential information for a new beginning.

Jerika served him drinks with a calm she didn’t feel. Athena worked the kitchen, playing the role of dishwasher. Together they tracked his every move.

Jay dressed the part: a black bandeau and short bottoms for mobility, a tan trench hanging off her shoulders. Thigh-high sheer stockings met pointed brown heels; the coat billowed with every step, a practiced distraction.

The signing ceremony ended. As the crowd thinned, Jay tapped her comms.

The line clicked.

“Hey,” she said. “Things are clearing out. Might need a pickup soon.”

“We’re already in position,” Roxanne responded.

Jay’s pulse quickened. "Perfect. We'll clean up here and see you soon."

Jerika brought a tub of dishes to Athena and murmured, "Got a smoke I can bum?"

Athena dried her hands. "Yeah, of course."

With that signal the two left the party together and melted into the night.

The final stage was set.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later, Major Josè Troya left the gala. He was protected by a fourteen-person detail; armed and armored beneath civilian clothes.

They parked in the underground garage rather than the main lot. Troya and his entourage moved through a side hallway into the stairwell, descending to the garage’s top level. A squad of bodyguards advanced toward the parked convoy of three cars; the rest formed a defensive box around their boss.

Roxanne waited in shadow behind a pillar, breath even, her rune thrumming beneath her glove. Mulberry and onyx aura bled into the darkness, and the darkness bled back into her.

When the formation split, she struck.

Four poisoned shards hissed from the shadow; one vanished into a guard’s eye. His scream tore through the garage, triggering panic. Before they could rally, Roxanne’s cloak billowed. The rune seared, aura spilling like ink across the concrete. She stepped sideways into the dark and was gone.

Gasps rose as she dropped from the ceiling’s shadow above them, gravity itself her weapon. Shards glittered as they left her hand and buried into another guard’s neck. Blood misted the wall in a violent arc.

For a heartbeat, everything went still. The only sound was the slow drip of blood on the concrete; thick, steady, rhythmic. The scent of iron burned her nose, sharp and acrid, before the shouting began again.

She used a man to break her fall and snapped his neck in the same movement. In one fluid motion Roxy rose to her feet and slashed at Troya, hitting Kevlar. The armor held, but she succeeded in putting the fear of God in his eyes.

“Get her!” the traitor yelled. “Kill her now!”

She spotted a gun raised towards her and dove aside, landing on the blinded man and driving the needles into fatal depths. The gun still fired; the bullet hit an unsuspecting bodyguard.

Roxanne liberated a pistol from a body and fired three rounds in quick succession. The shots pounded against Troya’s chest, forcing him back. She backpedaled, cloak flaring as the garage echoed with gunfire.

"Oh fuck. That’s an A.N.G.E.L.!" Troya shouted. "She’s going to kill us all if we don’t move."

The convoy screeched up. Guards piled into the cars with their injured and dead and peeled away.

Roxanne crouched behind cover and opened communications.

“Two, Three, trap is set. They’re coming your way. Target’s in the last car.”

“Hard copy, One. We’re in position,” Destiny replied, a grin spreading across her face.

She crouched by the exit ticket machine, her rune burning hot against her shoulders. Crimson aura rippled outward, motes of sunburst orange gathering along her fists and feet.

Every bruise, every scar, every ragged nerve hummed through the mark, transmuting agony into fuel.

From her position at the garage exit, Destiny saw the convoy emerge from the ramp: three blacked-out vehicles, engines snarling. The last sedan rode lower, armored. Their mark was inside.

The first car screamed towards her. She didn’t flinch. She welcomed the momentum, let it hammer into her aura, then unleashed it in kind.

Her leg arced high; the axe kick fell like judgement. Metal shrieked as the hood collapsed inward; the car buckling before it flipped end over end, scattering bodies and glass.

The second vehicle faltered in shock, brakes squealing, then gunned forward in blind desperation.

Destiny grinned, aura burning brighter, ready to drink down the impact and turn it back tenfold. 

High above, Isabella balanced atop a trailer, bow drawn. The rune on her tongue pulsed; silver and indigo aura threading down the string into the waiting shafts. Words pressed against her lips like a loaded trigger. Every syllable carried weight; every command was a risk that could drain her hollow.

Four arrows gleamed with borrowed power. She loosed her breath, steady and exact.

"Fly. Straight. And. True."

The words didn’t echo; they carved reality. The air snapped as the command bound itself to the arrows. They blurred through the dark, guided not by aim but by oath.

Tires detonated in perfect sequence; rubber shredding as steel twisted. The car shrieked across the pavement and flipped, momentum tearing it into ruin.

Nearby, Athena activated a preprogrammed jamming device. Wireless communications died. Jerika worked the hotel’s control room, triggering alarms, fake evacuations, and power failures to keep eyes off the battle.

Back in the garage, Roxanne emptied her pistol into the last car. Glass shattered as several bullets found the driver, who slumped forward and pressed the horn.

Isabella relocated, hopping car to car until she had a better line of sight on her target.

“Pierce.”

Two more arrows flew: through a windshield, through the front seats, stapling passengers to the back.

There was only one survivor of their ambush.

Destiny hauled the locked door open and pulled the corpse next to their target out. She grinned madly at the man; she had dreamed of this moment for years.

Roxanne stepped up behind Destiny, the only thing visible under her hood was the glow of red motes.

“Fuck,” he gasped, panic fraying his voice.“

I was told—” an arrow nicked the leather beside his head; a thin line of blood beaded on his cheek.

“You were told wrong,” Des replied in a quiet rage. “The first thing you did was teach us how to endure.” She reached into the car, grabbed the man by the collar, and ripped him out onto the pavement. “Let’s see how well you know your own lesson.”

“Lesson one,” Roxy recited. “Defiance earns pain.” She struck him on the head and rendered him unconscious.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earlier in the stairwell.

Jerika sprinted up the narrow metal steps two at a time. She burst into a hallway where a squad of hotel security guards turned and looked right at her.

“...Housekeeping?”

The hallway was tight, perfect. She planted one foot on the wall and launched into a Superman punch that flattened the first guard before he could blink.

The others didn’t hesitate. Tasers crackled. Jerika ducked low, twisting into a forward roll and sweeping a couple off of their feet.

She popped back up and with a series of flourishes, strikes, and the breaking of joints. Two guards fell into a groaning pile.

Her pulse slowed; focus sharpened.

The remaining three backed off, cautious.

Smart.

She flipped over their heads, hit the ground running, then pivoted sharply with a stolen taser raised. One of the men found the opportunity to press a taser to her chest.

The world flashed blue-white; the same sterile light that filled the training cells years ago. For an instant she was back on the slab, restraints biting, the scent of ozone and disinfectant choking her lungs.

Voltage surged through her.

She twitched violently. Her left eye spasmed. Her jaw clenched. A flashback, raw and electric.

Jerika punched his throat; he dropped like a severed marionette.

“T-T-Thanks f-for th-that, d-dickhead.” She spat.

The last two froze. Jerika’s burning stare broke them without a fight. She stalked past, nerves still twitching, and slipped into the night.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sisters regrouped. Their quarry was thrown into the trunk of the commandeered sedan. “Three, you’re driving. Two, up front,” Roxy said. The rest loaded into the back. With a quick check, Des gunned it. In front of them, a roadway congested with everyone else attempting to flee.  At the snarl of traffic, Roxy’s order cut sharp. “Four. If you would.” Athena exhaled; her rune sparking to life along her spine. Sunshine yellow and magenta pink flared outward, weaving into hardlight walls that locked into place beneath the wheels. It turned into a ramp that lifted the car skyward, carrying them above the jam on a prism of light. Destiny whooped from the driver’s seat, but Athena’s jaw stayed tight; sweat beading as the barrier groaned. When they cleared the congestion, Athena let the construct dissolve. It retracted to her hands, which she pressed against Roxy’s wound. As Thea channelled her light into her sister, pain lost its teeth. Cells stirred, knitting faster at her command. The bullet slid free and hit the floor with a soft metallic clink. “Thanks,” Roxy muttered, voice steady again. “You’re welcome,” Athena teased though her breath hitched. Already she was moving her healing hands around Jerika. Her aura folded into trembling nerves, steadying the aftershocks of electricity. By the time Jerika stopped twitching, Athena’s forehead was slick with perspiration. Ten minutes later, they were safely on the highway. “Where are we headed?” Destiny asked. Jerika pulled out the GPS. “Parking garage at the city’s edge. Basement level. No cameras. Quiet. We lay low.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Destiny parked the stolen black sedan across the street from a construction site; opposite the parking garage. After everyone exited, she popped the hood and disconnected the battery; just to be safe. Roxanne opened the trunk. Her pale face, expressionless and lit by moonlight, greeted the ex-handler. “Hello, General,” she said coldly. “Now that we're finally alone, we'll have a little chat.” “You'll get nothing,” he growled. "All my intel is old, outdated.” “We’ll see.” With a swift strike to his neck, Roxanne knocked him out again. Destiny hoisted him with ease. The five sisters crossed the street and slipped into the basement of the parking building. It was damp and flickering with unstable lights. Two homeless men huddled in a corner; Isabella calmly ran them off at gunpoint. The A.N.G.E.L.s swept the space and secured it. The target stirred. He found himself tightly bound with shopping cart wire. Roxanne approached and sat on a milk crate across from him. “I’ll give you exactly one minute to say whatever you want.” “You upstart bitch,” he spat. “You think being stronger makes you better? You’re tools. We made you. We wasted billions on five broken dolls. You should be grateful. ” With that, Troya spit on Roxanne’s face. The A.N.G.E.L. commander almost broke. When that saliva hit, she almost opened his throat. The taste of salt and rust hit her tongue; and for a split second she was back on the battle mat; Mara was running her down, weapon raised. She swallowed it down like poison, forcing her breath steady until the memory receded. Roxanne waited out the minute, wiped her face, and spoke in a cold, poisonous tone. “Alright. New rules. You lie, insult us, or hesitate, I hurt you.” He sneered. Suddenly a shallow but stinging cut opened across the back of his hand. “I expected more from a general,” Roxanne said coldly. "The Warden taught me three hundred cuts: painful, but quick to seal.” The name chilled him. Roxanne gave a sharp nod. Jerika stepped forward, placing her hand on Deleon’s shoulder. The rune on the small of her back flared. Cinnamon brown swirled into gunmetal gray before it bled light across his suit. Every twitch of muscle, every quiver of breath hummed through her. She could feel the fault lines in his words before he spoke them. “You’re going to die today, Reynaldo Deleon,” she said, voice low. He flinched at the name he’d buried, sweat already shining on his brow. “But how? That’s up to you. It can be quick. Or we can cut you, heal you, and start again. Until you rot from the inside.” She leaned in. “First question. Our intelligence indicates that there were several other parties involved in our creation. Who survived the fall of Project A.N.G.E.L. and where are they hiding?” “There’s nothing you can do to make me talk, you cunt.” The light coating Deleon flared a deep, uncompromising brown. A lie. Her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Bad idea.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Minutes later, his arms were a lattice of shallow cuts, sweat and blood soaking through his shirt. Still defiant, but trembling. “You’re not protecting anyone,” Roxanne said flatly. “Just your ego. Let it go.” Deleon sagged, a whisper escaping. “I… knew this day would come. When we didn’t find your bodies… Maybe… I deserve this.” Jerika’s light dimmed to gray. He spoke the truth. Destiny snorted from the wall. “Damn fucking right you do.” Deleon coughed.. “Only… a handful avoided the sweep.” His voice broke; the aura stayed gray. Jerika gave a single confirming nod. “Go on.” Athena urged, medkit ready. “You remember Mordane?” he started. “I heard he was starting up again. In a few days he's going to send some personnel to an auction for some… exotic merchandise.” The girls exchanged a look at that name. Isabella glared down at Deleon. “People,” she signed. “Call it for what it is. They’re selling people.” Reynaldo found himself wishing for a smoke. Unable to move, he sighed and continued. “The meeting place is out in the Californian desert.” Roxanne took the information. Things began to fall into place. She rose, hands curling into fists. “You wired us up, drilled us down, and called it discipline. Then the second it got hard you tried to throw us in the fire.” Her voice cracked, raw with rage. “We bled for you. Trained for you. Never once failed; and still you stamped us as mistakes.” The sisters tightened around him, silent as a noose. Roxanne's gaze cut through him, flat and cold. “You bought your death the day you built us. And every monster hiding in the dark will pay the same price.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By morning Reynaldo Deleon woke up in the backseat of his own car. His mouth was gagged. His limbs were bound. On the dashboard a small purple candle burned. Its black flame released a ghostly smoke that curled above the seats. “Not yet,” he said, his chest tightening. “Not like this…” Outside, five figures stood in silence as the candle burned low. No words, no victory—only the hiss of wax and the soft crackle of a dying flame. For them, vengeance wasn’t triumph. It was the only language they had left. The last thing he remembered was the sweet smell of cranberries before he closed his eyes, never to open them again.

Etched into the candle:

THE VENGEANCE OF THE A.N.G.E.L.S.

👉🏽[BUY IT HERE]