Chapter 2: Heavenly Human Resources

Dean had seen some intimidating commanding officers in his time. Drill sergeants who could peel paint with their voices, Special Forces colonels who ate nails for breakfast, and one particularly memorable CIA handler who'd made grown men weep just by clearing her throat.

None of them had wings.

The angel—because what else could she be—stood before him in the abandoned lot where he'd apparently been resurrected, and Dean had to fight the urge to salute. She was tall, maybe five-eight, with liquid silver hair that moved like it was underwater despite the complete absence of wind. Her armor looked like it had been forged from starlight and good intentions, form-fitting but practical, designed by someone who understood that beauty and function weren't mutually exclusive.

But it was her eyes that really got to him. Sapphire blue, ancient, and currently looking at him like he was a particularly disappointing science experiment.

[HANDLER IDENTIFIED: LYRA - SERAPHIM CLASS]

[REPUTATION: STERN BUT FAIR]

[WARNING: DO NOT MENTION HER WINGS]

"Thanks for the tip," Dean muttered, then raised his voice. "So, you must be my new boss. Dean Robinson, recently deceased but apparently not staying that way."

The angel—Lyra—tilted her head slightly, studying him with the intensity of someone examining a bug under a microscope. "You are the Echo Knight candidate. I am Lyra of the Third Choir, assigned as your Handler under the Echo Protocol."

Her voice was like music played on crystal, beautiful and sharp enough to cut. Dean found himself grinning despite the surreal circumstances.

"Handler, huh? That what they're calling middle management these days in the celestial bureaucracy?"

Those sapphire eyes narrowed. "Your psychological profile indicated an irreverent attitude toward authority. I had hoped the resurrection process might have... tempered that tendency."

"Lady, if dying and coming back to life didn't change my sparkling personality, I'm not sure what will." Dean looked around the lot, taking in the broken glass, rusted chain-link fence, and general air of urban decay. "Speaking of which, this is a pretty grim place for a heavenly welcome wagon. Budget cuts upstairs?"

"This location was selected for its lack of witnesses and supernatural resonance suitable for System initialization." Lyra gestured, and suddenly the air around them shimmered like heat waves. "We are now warded from mortal observation."

Dean felt a strange tingling sensation, like static electricity crawling over his skin. The System interface flickered in his peripheral vision, showing new information.

[CELESTIAL WARD DETECTED]

[STEALTH MODE: ACTIVE]

[PRIVACY LEVEL: MAXIMUM]

"Right. So, about this Echo Knight thing." Dean crossed his arms, noting that he was wearing different clothes—tactical pants and a black t-shirt that felt like they were made from some kind of high-tech fabric. "I'm guessing it's not just a fancy title for 'cannon fodder.'"

"You are a proxy warrior," Lyra explained, her tone suggesting she'd given this speech before. "The Celestial Accord has strict limitations on direct intervention in mortal affairs. Echo Knights allow us to act through mortal agents while maintaining plausible deniability."

"Plausible deniability. Right." Dean rubbed his forehead, where the gash from his fight with Azrael should have been. The skin was smooth, unmarked. "So I'm what, exactly? Heaven's black ops division?"

"In crude terms, yes." Lyra's expression suggested she found the comparison distasteful but accurate. "Your primary targets will be supernatural entities that threaten the mortal population. Fallen angels, demons, corrupted spirits, and their mortal collaborators."

"Entities like the bastard who killed me."

Something flickered in those ancient eyes. "Azrael is a priority target, yes. But he is far beyond your current capabilities. You must develop your skills against lesser threats before—"

"Lesser threats." Dean's grin turned sharp. "You mean training wheels."

"I mean survival," Lyra said flatly. "Your resurrection was successful, but your integration with the Archangel's Aegis System is still stabilizing. Push too hard, too fast, and you risk permanent soul fragmentation."

[SYSTEM ANALYSIS CONFIRMS]

[CURRENT POWER LEVEL: NOVICE]

[SOUL INTEGRITY: 73% AND STABILIZING]

[RECOMMENDED APPROACH: GRADUAL ESCALATION]

"Seventy-three percent?" Dean read the display with raised eyebrows. "That seems... not great."

"It is within acceptable parameters for a newly initiated Echo Knight." Lyra's tone was clinical, professional. "Your first assignment will serve as both training and assessment."

She gestured again, and a new window appeared in Dean's vision, overlaying the real world like a heads-up display.

[QUEST RECEIVED: SUBWAY EXTERMINATION]

[OBJECTIVE: ELIMINATE GRAVE-GHOUL NEST IN PARK STREET STATION]

[THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE]

[REWARD: BASIC SKILL UNLOCK + EXPERIENCE POINTS]

[FAILURE CONDITION: CIVILIAN CASUALTIES OR KNIGHT DEATH]

"Grave-Ghouls," Dean read aloud. "Those sound friendly. Let me guess—they eat people?"

"They consume soul energy," Lyra corrected. "The physical body is merely... incidental damage."

"Right. So zombie-adjacent soul vampires in the subway." Dean cracked his knuckles. "Standard Tuesday night in Boston, apparently. What kind of equipment am I working with here?"

Lyra extended her hand, and light began to coalesce in her palm, solidifying into a combat knife that seemed to be carved from crystallized starlight.

[WEAPON ACQUIRED: SANCTIFIED BLADE]

[DAMAGE TYPE: HOLY/PIERCING]

[SPECIAL PROPERTY: DISRUPTS UNHOLY ENTITIES]

Dean took the blade, testing its weight. It felt perfect in his hand, balanced like it had been made specifically for him. "Nice. What about the glowing armor I saw in the preview?"

"That must be earned." Lyra's expression remained stern. "As must your skills, your power, and your understanding of the supernatural world you now inhabit."

"Fair enough." Dean slid the knife into a sheath that had appeared on his belt—apparently the System was big on practical convenience. "Any other tools of the trade?"

"One." Lyra raised her hand again, and this time the light formed into something that looked suspiciously like a smartphone. "Communication device. It will provide tactical information and maintain contact with... supervision."

Dean accepted the device, noting that it felt warm to the touch and showed no visible interface. "Let me guess. No Angry Birds."

"I do not understand that reference."

"Never mind." Dean pocketed the phone. "So, what's the play here? I waltz into Park Street Station and start stabbing things that glow in the dark?"

"The nest has been contained by our mortal assets," Lyra explained. "The station is officially closed for 'emergency maintenance.' You will have approximately two hours before the wards fail and civilian exposure becomes inevitable."

"Mortal assets?"

"Humans who serve Heaven's interests, knowingly or otherwise. Police, city officials, maintenance workers. They ensure supernatural incidents remain... unreported."

Dean whistled low. "Conspiracy theories are going to have a field day with this stuff." He paused, studying Lyra's perfect, impassive face. "So what happens to you while I'm down there getting intimate with subway monsters?"

"I will monitor your progress and provide guidance as needed."

"That's it? No backup? No cavalry riding to the rescue if things go south?"

Lyra's expression didn't change, but Dean caught something in her eyes—a flicker of what might have been concern. "The Pact of Non-Interference prevents me from direct combat involvement except under the most extreme circumstances."

"Which are?"

"Imminent threat of permanent soul destruction."

"Ah." Dean grinned. "So I have to be basically dead before you'll lend a hand. Good to know where I stand."

"Your irreverence in the face of danger is... noted," Lyra said stiffly. "Is this typical behavior for your species?"

"My species? Lady, I'm starting to think you've never actually met a human before."

Something flickered across her face—too quick to interpret, but definitely there. "I have... studied your kind extensively."

"Studied. Right." Dean started walking toward the lot's exit, Lyra falling into step beside him with movements that were just a little too graceful to be entirely human. "Well, since we're going to be working together, you might want to add some field experience to all that book learning."

"I fail to see how—"

"For starters," Dean interrupted, "humans generally don't respond well to being called 'your species' like we're lab rats. We prefer 'people' or, you know, just using our actual names."

Lyra was quiet for several steps. Then: "Noted."

They reached the street, and Dean was mildly surprised to see that the world looked normal. No signs of supernatural war, no indication that reality had recently been turned inside-out. Just Boston at night, rain-slicked and indifferent.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked. "The war, I mean."

"Since the beginning of recorded history. Perhaps longer."

"And nobody knows?"

"Some know. Most choose not to see." Lyra's voice carried a note of something that might have been sadness. "Your species has a remarkable capacity for ignoring uncomfortable truths."

Dean thought about that as they walked toward the subway entrance. About all the weird shit he'd seen over the years that had been explained away or forgotten. About how easy it had been to accept that his target was something other than human, even before the glowing eyes and impossible strength.

"The nest," he said eventually. "How bad are we talking?"

"Fifteen to twenty Grave-Ghouls. They have been feeding for approximately seventy-two hours."

"Feeding on what?"

Lyra's silence was answer enough.

"Shit." Dean picked up the pace. "Any particular strategy for dealing with these things, or am I winging it?"

"Grave-Ghouls are resistant to conventional weapons but vulnerable to blessed or sanctified attacks. They hunt in packs but lack individual intelligence. Your blade will disrupt their essence, but you must strike true—they can regenerate from minor wounds."

"Pack hunters, regeneration, soul-eaters." Dean nodded grimly. "Anything else I should know?"

"They fear celestial light. If you find yourself overwhelmed..."

[SKILL PREVIEW: SMITE (BASIC)]

[EFFECT: CHANNEL DIVINE ENERGY FOR AREA ATTACK]

[COOLDOWN: 60 SECONDS]

[WARNING: HIGH ENERGY COST]

"I can do the glowing thing," Dean finished, reading the display. "Got it."

They'd reached the Park Street Station entrance. Police barriers blocked the stairs, and a bored-looking maintenance worker sat in a folding chair, probably one of Lyra's "mortal assets."

"He will not see you," Lyra said. "The ward extends to cover your approach."

Dean started down the stairs, then paused. "Hey, Lyra?"

"Yes?"

"When this is over, we're going to have a conversation about field protocols. Because if I'm going to be Heaven's answer to pest control, I want to make sure we're both clear on how this partnership works."

For the first time since they'd met, Lyra almost smiled. Almost.

"Survive the nest first, Dean Robinson. Then we can discuss your... concerns."

Dean descended into the darkness of the subway tunnel, the sanctified blade warm against his hip and the System's interface painting targeting information across his vision. Somewhere ahead, things that had once been human waited in the dark, hungry for the light of his soul.

He found himself grinning as he drew the celestial knife.

"Time to go to work."