The rumble of the subway train vibrated through Ethan's bones, a discordant symphony to the turmoil raging within him. Sleep had become a luxury he could barely afford, a fitful series of nightmares populated by shadowy figures and flashes of Afghan dust. He clutched the worn fabric of his jacket tighter, trying to ward off the chill that seeped deeper than the autumn air.

Corvus, perched on the luggage rack above him, ruffled his obsidian feathers. "You look like you've wrestled a gargoyle and lost," he croaked, his voice echoing strangely in the near-empty carriage.

"Feels like it," Ethan grunted, running a hand over his stubbled chin. He still hadn't fully reconciled himself to the abilities Corvus had revealed. Superhuman strength, accelerated healing – powers that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. He glanced at the prosthetics that lay unused in his apartment, reminders of the life he'd lost, the sacrifices he'd made. Now, he was burdened with something else, something far more dangerous. The Aethelred Strain.

Their research, fuelled by late nights and stolen internet access, had yielded little concrete information about the Order of Gabriel beyond whispers and legends. They were an old organization, shrouded in secrecy, their actions dictated by a fanatical belief in maintaining the balance between the mortal and celestial realms. And they saw Ethan, infected with the Aethelred Strain, as a threat to that balance.

"Did you manage to track down anything more on this… 'Order'?" Ethan asked, breaking the silence.

Corvus shifted, his intelligent eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Only more of the same old claptrap. Centuries of whispered warnings, tales of holy warriors eradicating… aberrations. It’s all very vague, very dramatic. I’m starting to think their PR department is run by a bunch of medieval poets."

Suddenly, Ethan's burner phone buzzed. He grabbed it, his heart leaping into his throat. The message was cryptic: "Meet me. Brooklyn Bridge Park. Under the Manhattan Bridge. Midnight. Come alone."

No signature. No context. Just a chilling sense of urgency.

"Who is it?" Corvus asked, sensing his unease.

"I don't know," Ethan admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "But I think it's someone from the Order."

He spent the rest of the day in a state of heightened alert, pacing his cramped apartment, running through scenarios in his head. Could this be a trap? A lure to draw him out into the open? Or was it a genuine offer of help? He knew he couldn't ignore it. The opportunity to learn more about the Aethelred Strain and the Order was too valuable to pass up.

As midnight approached, Ethan found himself standing beneath the towering steel skeleton of the Manhattan Bridge. The air was thick with the smell of salt and diesel, the sounds of the city a constant, throbbing pulse. He scanned the shadows, his senses on high alert. Corvus was perched on a nearby lamp post, his keen eyes acting as his own personal surveillance system.

A figure emerged from the darkness, a tall, slender man dressed in a nondescript grey coat. He kept his head down, his face obscured by the shadows.

"You're Ethan Blackwood?" the man asked, his voice hushed and laced with anxiety.

"Who are you?" Ethan countered, his hand instinctively moving towards the Glock tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

The man sighed, removing his hood. His face was young, barely out of his twenties, with tired eyes and a haunted expression. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

"My name is Michael," he said. "I'm… I was a member of the Order of Gabriel."

Ethan's grip tightened on his weapon. "Was? What changed?"

Michael hesitated, glancing nervously around. "I saw things… things I couldn't reconcile with our mission. The methods we use… they're brutal. Unnecessary. And I started to question everything."

"Questioning the Order is usually a one-way ticket to oblivion," Corvus croaked from his perch.

Michael flinched, his eyes widening in surprise. "You… you have a raven?"

"He's more than just a raven," Ethan said, his voice hardening. "Get to the point. Why are you here?"

"I know about the Aethelred Strain," Michael said, his voice trembling. "I know what you are. And I know what the Order plans to do."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "They don't just want to contain the Strain. They want to eradicate it completely. To erase any trace of its existence. They believe it's a stain on creation, a perversion of the divine order."

"And how do they plan to do that?" Ethan asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"By killing you," Michael said bluntly. "And anyone else who carries the Strain. They have methods… rituals… that can sever the connection to the angelic essence. It's excruciatingly painful, and almost always fatal."

A wave of cold washed over Ethan, a visceral understanding of the danger he faced. This wasn't just about containing him; it was about destroying him, eradicating his very being.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "What's in it for you?"

"Guilt," Michael said, his voice choked with emotion. "I helped them track you. I provided information that led to their first attempt on your life. I can't live with that. I need to make amends."

"Amends by getting yourself killed?" Corvus interjected. "That’s not very bright, even for a human."

Michael ignored the raven. "I also know about the Strain's origin," he continued, his voice gaining urgency. "It doesn't come from some random mutation. It's connected to something far more ancient, far more powerful."

He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The Aethelred Strain originated from a fallen angel. One of the Grigori. His name was Aethelred. He was banished from Heaven for consorting with humans, for sharing forbidden knowledge."

Ethan felt a jolt, a strange resonance with the name. Aethelred. It was more than just a label; it was a whisper in his blood, a memory buried deep within his soul.

"Aethelred's essence was shattered, scattered across humanity," Michael continued. "Those who carry the Strain are descendants of those who were touched by his essence. You are one of them. And you are… special."

"Special how?" Ethan pressed, his mind reeling.

"The Order believes you are a direct descendant, a potential host for Aethelred's consciousness," Michael said, his voice filled with dread. "They fear that you will become the 'Aethelred Ascendant,' a being of immense power who will disrupt the balance of the celestial and mortal realms."

The prophecy. Ethan remembered the fragments they had found in the hidden library. The prophecy foretelling the rise of an 'Aethelred Ascendant.' Was he destined to become a monster, a harbinger of chaos?

"They will do anything to prevent that from happening," Michael said. "Anything. They have weapons, rituals, even… angelic artifacts. They won't hesitate to use them."

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, intricately carved box. "This is a key," he said, handing it to Ethan. "It unlocks a safe deposit box. Inside you'll find documents, files… everything I could gather about the Strain, the Order, and Aethelred himself. It's all I have left to offer."

Ethan took the box, his fingers brushing against Michael's. He could feel the man's fear, his desperation. Was he telling the truth? Could he be trusted?

"The Order's ultimate goal," Michael said, his voice cracking, "is to prevent the Ascendant from rising. They believe that by eradicating the Strain, they can avert a catastrophic future. But they're wrong. They're blinded by their dogma. They don't understand the true potential of the Aethelred Strain."

Before Ethan could ask him to elaborate, a sudden, piercing light erupted from the shadows. He heard the sharp crack of gunfire, the air filled with the smell of ozone. Michael gasped, clutching his chest, his eyes wide with terror.

"They found me," he whispered, his voice fading. "They know…"

He crumpled to the ground, a dark stain spreading across his grey coat.

"Get out of here!" Corvus shrieked, his voice filled with panic. "Now!"

Ethan reacted instinctively, drawing his Glock and firing blindly into the darkness. He heard shouts, the clang of metal, the whine of energy weapons. He didn't wait to see who he was shooting at. He grabbed the box from Michael's lifeless hand and turned to flee, Corvus swooping down from the lamp post to lead the way.

He ran, his lungs burning, his heart pounding in his chest. He could hear the Order's hunters closing in, their footsteps echoing on the pavement. He knew he couldn't stay here. He had to disappear, to find a way to understand the truth behind the Aethelred Strain, the Order, and the fallen angel named Aethelred. And he had to do it before the Order caught him and extinguished him forever. The night had taken a dark turn, one that would leave Ethan forever changed.