The metallic tang of blood still clung to the air in the hospital room, a phantom echo of the beating he'd barely survived. Ethan flexed his newly-mended fingers, the sensation alien yet exhilarating. Corvus, perched on the windowsill, watched him with obsidian eyes that held a knowingness that unsettled Ethan even more than his impossible recovery.

"Feeling stronger, I presume?" Corvus rasped, the sound like gravel grinding against bone.

Ethan ignored the sardonic tone. He was still grappling with the reality of the past few hours. Talking raven, superhuman abilities, a genetic strain from a fallen angel – it was all too much, too fast. He needed something, anything, to anchor him back to the world he knew.

"I need to get out of here," he muttered, swinging his miraculously healed legs off the bed. He hadn’t even registered the absence of the phantom pain that had haunted him since the accident. Another unwelcome 'gift' from the Aethelred Strain, he supposed.

"An understandable sentiment. However, I suspect our pursuers won't be deterred by hospital walls," Corvus stated, cocking his head. "They are not known for their subtlety."

Ethan frowned. "Pursuers? You mean… the guys after the 'Aethelred Strain' you keep talking about?"

"Indeed. The Order of Gabriel. They are… zealous, to say the least. Best to avoid a confrontation here. Too many innocents."

The thought of risking anyone else, especially after almost getting Clara killed, solidified Ethan's resolve. He might not understand what was happening, but he wouldn't let anyone else get hurt because of it.

"Let's go," he said, pushing himself to his feet. The ground felt solid, the room surprisingly small. He felt…contained. Claustrophobic. He needed space, and the suffocating antiseptic smell of the hospital was making him nauseous.

Corvus launched from the windowsill, circling Ethan's head once before leading the way towards the fire escape. Ethan followed, his movements fluid and silent, a stark contrast to the awkward gait he'd adopted after the accident. The Aethelred Strain was rewriting him, physically and mentally, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

They descended the fire escape with surprising speed. Ethan’s enhanced agility allowed him to practically float down each level, landing softly on the gritty asphalt below. Brooklyn at night was a symphony of urban sounds: sirens wailing in the distance, the rumble of the subway, the muffled bass of music spilling from open windows.

He felt a strange sense of connection to the city, a heightened awareness of the pulse of life around him. He could hear conversations several blocks away, smell the distinct aroma of street vendor hot dogs mixed with the acrid scent of exhaust fumes. The Aethelred Strain wasn’t just making him stronger; it was amplifying his senses, turning him into something…more.

As they slipped into the shadows of a narrow alley, Corvus suddenly stopped, his head tilted, listening. "They are here," he whispered, his voice a low, ominous rasp. "Close."

Ethan felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He scanned the alley, his senses on high alert. He couldn't see anything, but he could feel them. Someone was watching.

A glint of metal flashed in the darkness, followed by the *thwack* of a crossbow bolt burying itself in the brick wall inches from Ethan's head.

"Damn it!" he swore, adrenaline surging through his veins.

Two figures emerged from the shadows, clad in dark, tactical gear. Their faces were obscured by masks, but Ethan could see the cold, steely glint in their eyes. They were armed with crossbows, modified with some kind of strange, glowing attachments.

"Ethan Blackwood," one of the figures said, his voice distorted by a vocoder. "By order of the Order of Gabriel, you are to surrender."

Ethan scoffed. "Surrender? You almost killed me a few days ago. I don't think so."

"Then we have no choice," the figure replied, raising his crossbow.

Another bolt flew, this one aimed directly at Ethan's chest. He reacted instinctively, his enhanced reflexes kicking in. He leaped to the side, the bolt whizzing past him, and slammed into the first attacker, sending him crashing into the brick wall.

The second attacker fired again, but Ethan was already moving, weaving through the narrow alley with a speed he never knew he possessed. He grabbed a discarded metal pipe and used it to deflect the bolt, sending it spiraling harmlessly into the night.

"Impressive," Corvus croaked, watching the fight from a nearby rooftop. "But they are merely the first wave. More will come."

Ethan wasn’t listening. He was focused on the fight. He disarmed the first attacker, knocking the crossbow from his hand and delivering a swift kick to the groin. The attacker crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain.

The second attacker, realizing he was outmatched, retreated towards the alley's entrance. Ethan wasn’t about to let him escape. He pursued him, scaling the wall with ease and leaping onto the rooftops, a feat that would have been impossible just days before.

He followed the attacker across the rooftops, the cityscape stretching out before him like a concrete ocean. The air was cool and crisp, filled with the distant sounds of the city. He felt a surge of exhilaration, a sense of freedom he hadn't experienced since leaving Afghanistan.

But this was no game. These men wanted to capture him, to control him, to potentially kill him. He couldn't afford to let them win.

The attacker reached the edge of the building and leaped across to the next rooftop, a gap that would have been impassable for a normal human. Ethan hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and jumped.

He soared through the air, his body feeling weightless. He landed on the next rooftop with a soft thud, his knees absorbing the impact. He felt a thrill of adrenaline, a sense of power coursing through his veins.

He continued to pursue the attacker across the rooftops, the chase becoming a dizzying dance across the urban landscape. He saw glimpses of bewildered faces staring up at him from the streets below, people caught in the surreal spectacle of two figures battling high above the city.

The attacker reached a dead end, a rooftop with no escape. He turned to face Ethan, his face obscured by the mask, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination.

"This is pointless, Blackwood," he said, his voice still distorted by the vocoder. "You cannot escape the Order. We will find you."

"Maybe," Ethan replied, his voice calm and steady. "But I'm not going to make it easy for you."

He lunged at the attacker, tackling him to the ground. They grappled for a moment, a desperate struggle for control. Ethan managed to knock the mask off the attacker's face, revealing a young man with short, cropped hair and haunted eyes.

"Who are you?" Ethan demanded, pinning him to the ground. "Why are you doing this?"

The young man spat in Ethan's face. "I'm doing what is necessary. You are a threat to the balance of the world. You must be stopped."

Ethan felt a surge of anger. He wanted to beat the information out of him, to make him understand the fear and confusion he was feeling. But he knew that wouldn't solve anything.

"I don't understand any of this," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "I just want to be left alone."

"That is not an option," the young man replied. "The Aethelred Strain will not allow it."

Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in Ethan's shoulder. He cried out in pain, staggering backwards. He looked down and saw a small, dart-like projectile embedded in his flesh.

"Paralysis dart," the young man said, a smug look on his face. "It will take effect in moments."

Ethan felt his limbs growing heavy, his movements sluggish. The Aethelred Strain was fighting back, trying to counteract the effects of the dart, but it was too slow. He was losing control.

He looked up and saw several more figures emerging from the shadows, reinforcements from the Order of Gabriel. They were closing in, their crossbows raised.

He was trapped.

Corvus swooped down from the sky, landing on Ethan's shoulder. "We must leave, now!" he croaked, his voice urgent.

Ethan knew Corvus was right. He couldn't fight them in this condition. He needed to escape, to regroup, to find out what was really going on.

He took a deep breath and focused all his remaining strength on a single thought: escape.

He leaped off the rooftop, plunging into the darkness below. He didn't know where he was going, or what he was going to do. But he knew one thing: he wasn't going to let the Order of Gabriel control him. He would fight them, and he would find out the truth about the Aethelred Strain, no matter the cost.