{Diana}
Diana watched the new recruits stumble through basic sword forms. Their wings flapped uselessly. Their stances crumbled under their own weight.
[Like watching baby birds try to fuck.]
"Straighten up!" Diana barked. "You think demons care if you're tired?"
A recruit - barely past her first decade - dropped her sword. It clattered on marble.
"S-sorry, Commander Diana!"
"Sorry doesn't bring you back from death." Diana kicked the sword back to her. "Again."
The recruits scrambled to reset. Diana crossed her arms, enjoying their panic. After a century of this, watching them flail never got old.
Then the air shifted.
Every recruit stopped mid-swing. Their eyes went wide, staring past Diana at something behind her. Or someone.
Diana didn't need to turn around. She recognized that presence.
[Of course she'd make an entrance.]
