《Life After Death》


 Chapter 1-A Death Without Dying

    Tell me, have you ever wondered what it feels like to die? For me, it was surprisingly painless, almost serene in its finality. But don¡¯t mistake that for an endorsement¡ªwhat comes afterward defines hell.


    The day was December 18th, 20XX. School had just been let out for Christmas break, and Mango Summit High hummed with festive chaos. This sprawling high school drew students from nearby small towns like Applecrest and Citrus Hollow, creating a melting pot of youthful exuberance¡ªor bitterness, depending on where you stood. Outside, the crisp winter air carried the sound of jubilant carolers, their harmonized voices cutting through the chill like knives wrapped in velvet.


    ¡°It¡¯s the most wonderful time of the year¡­¡± they sang. Their cheerful refrain bounced off the walls, echoing through the tiled hallways like ghosts of a warmth Arthur had long forgotten.


    Inside, Arthur trudged through the dimly lit corridors, the fluorescent lights flickering faintly overhead. The festive decorations felt like a cruel joke. Twinkling fairy lights lined the lockers, their soft golden glow casting halos on the polished floors. Paper snowflakes dangled from the ceiling, swaying gently, as though mocking his every step.


    As he approached the staircase, a memory seized him.


    A boot to his ribs.


    Laughter like shards of glass.


    The rancid stench of spoiled milk poured over his head.


    The sharp snap of his leg twisting unnaturally.


    And their faces¡ªsmiling, jeering¡ªblurred now into nameless specters.


    The incident had been swept neatly under the rug, like so much dirt in a school too busy celebrating to notice the decay beneath.


    He placed a foot on the first step, the wood creaking beneath his weight. The faint notes of the carolers drifted in from a nearby classroom.


    ¡°With the kids jingle belling and everyone telling you, ''Be of good cheer!''¡±


    The irony clawed at him. His heart beat a solemn rhythm against the song¡¯s jubilant tempo, each thud pounding the cruel chorus deeper into his thoughts. He climbed further, his breathing shallow, his gaze fixed on the dim glow spilling from the rooftop access door above.


    ¡°It¡¯s the hap-happiest season of all¡­¡±


    Another memory sliced through him like a dagger, a memory of his girlfriend, Emelia


    Her face¡ªpale, lifeless.


    Her stomach¡ªgutted, a macabre wound yawning open.


    Her blood¡ªsmearing the alley wall in crude letters: YOU GET WHAT YOU DESERVE.


    Arthur gripped the stair rail tighter, his knuckles pale and bloodless. Each step felt heavier than the last, his body dragging as if the weight of his memories had taken on a physical form. The carolers¡¯ voices echoed faintly from below, their saccharine cheer twisting into cruel mockery in his ears.


    The final flight of stairs stretched before him like a lifetime. Each creak of the old wood seemed to ask, Are you sure? Above, the faint hum of the rooftop door called to him, the air beyond promising cold, quiet absolution. Behind him, the carolers¡¯ song lingered, growing muffled as though the world were retreating from him.


    ¡°It¡¯s the most wonderful time of the year...¡±


    The words dissolved into the cool stillness of the rooftop as he pushed the door open, the icy wind biting at his skin.


    Another memory struck, sharp as a blade.


    His mother, crumpled on the floor, bruises blooming across her skin like dark flowers. Her left eye was swollen shut, her split lip trembling as she tried to speak. The broken beer bottle glinted in the corner, its jagged edge smeared with blood.


    A man lay sprawled near her, his face hauntingly familiar¡ªArthur¡¯s own features, but older, twisted in death. Blood seeped from the deep gash in his back, pooling beneath him like a spreading shadow.


    Arthur stood frozen in the doorway, a knife in his hand, its blade dripping red.


    The memory faded, leaving only the rooftop¡¯s desolate silence. Arthur stepped forward, the city sprawling below him in a sea of indifferent lights. The wind howled in his ears, carrying fragments of the song still rising from below.


    ¡°There¡¯ll be much mistletoeing, and hearts will be glowing when loved ones are near¡­¡±


    The irony twisted like a knife in his chest. Loved ones. Glowing hearts. A bitter laugh choked in his throat. He could see the carolers clustered by the school¡¯s main doors, their faces alight with joy as they sang. Their final refrain rose into the night, almost drowning out the sound of his heartbeat.


    ¡°It¡¯s the most wonderful time of the year¡­¡±


    A tear slipped from Arthur¡¯s eye, the warmth of it quickly stolen by the cold wind. His vision blurred as he stared at the ground far below, the distance between him and the earth feeling less like a fall and more like a release.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± a voice whispered, cold and serpentine, brushing against his ear like a breath of frost. ¡°Are you really going to do it this time? You¡¯ve chickened out before.¡±


    Arthur flinched, his gaze darting to his wrist. The scars there were faint but undeniable, pale lines tracing the path of his despair. His throat tightened as he clenched his fists, the nails biting into his palms.


    The voice chuckled, low and mocking, as if it lived within the recesses of his own mind. ¡°Come on, Arthur. Nobody will notice. Nobody ever does.¡±


    Arthur didn¡¯t answer. He took another step forward, the cold edge of the roof biting into his soles. One more inch, and it would all be over. Below, the carolers swayed, their voices rising together in unison as they reached the crescendo of their song.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°It¡¯s the most wonderful time¡­ of the year!¡±


    The words echoed in his ears, a cruelly cheerful requiem. Tears blurred his vision as he teetered at the edge, the world¡¯s festive spirit swirling below, utterly oblivious to the boy who had been left behind.


    Then, Arthur stepped off the edge. The world tilted, the wind roared in his ears, and gravity pulled him into its cold embrace. As he plummeted, his memories surged like a twisted symphony, dissonant and relentless. Fragments of his life¡ªhis mother¡¯s bruised face, his girlfriend¡¯s lifeless body, the blood on his hands¡ªflashed before him, each one more vivid and gut-wrenching than the last. They spiraled around him, mocking, accusing, driving him deeper into the abyss.


    And yet... no one reacted.


    The carolers sang on, their cheerful voices oblivious to the boy falling through their midst. The civilians below shuffled along, lost in their own worlds, not sparing a glance upward. Even the ground refused to greet him, his body sinking into it like a stone dropped into water.


    Arthur clawed his way out, gasping for breath that no longer came. He rose shakily to his feet, only to freeze as he saw himself¡ªhis own body¡ªstill standing on the rooftop above.


    It was smiling.


    There was no mistaking it¡ªit was his body. The same unruly white hair that he had never managed to tame, now catching the rooftop¡¯s dim light like a ghostly halo. The same dull purple eyes, lifeless yet piercing, shadowed by deep, sleepless bags that seemed carved into his face. The same white school uniform, its crisp fabric marred by faint scuffs and the familiar Mango Summit emblem stitched over the chest.


    It stood there, impossibly still, gazing down at him. The expression on its face¡ªhis face¡ªsent a chill through Arthur¡¯s ghostly form. It wasn¡¯t his usual wearied look of quiet resignation. No, this face was different. It smiled. Not warmly, not kindly, but with an unsettling, knowing twist of the lips, as though mocking him from the very shell he had abandoned.


    His face, the one he had worn every day of his life, now twisted into a grin that sent chills through his ghostly form. The figure looked down at him, its gaze piercing, and when it spoke, the voice wasn¡¯t his own.


    ¡°Honestly, that took longer than I expected,¡± it said, the familiar, mocking tone of the voice that had haunted his mind for years now given form. ¡°I was wondering if today would be the day. I had my doubts, you know.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s translucent hands trembled. By instinct, he floated upward, his ghostly form propelled by something beyond his understanding. ¡°W-who are you?¡± he stammered, his voice quivering with fear.


    The figure tilted its head, the wicked grin never faltering. ¡°I¡¯m you¡ªor at least, now I am. You¡¯ve been generous enough to hand over your body, so I¡¯ve claimed it.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Arthur breathed, his form flickering as panic gripped him. ¡°Why? How? Who are you really?¡±


    The figure¡ªhis body¡ªlaughed, a low, chilling sound that reverberated in the empty rooftop air. ¡°So many questions. Lucky for you, I never lie. Let¡¯s start with the how and why: I needed a body, and you didn¡¯t want yours anymore. The moment you relinquished your life, I seized it. Simple, really.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s ghostly fists clenched, though his attempts to steady himself only deepened his sense of helplessness. ¡°And your name?¡± he demanded, his voice rising in desperation.


    The grin widened, impossibly cruel. ¡°I am Veritas, the Archangel of Truth.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s form flickered, rage and despair clashing within him. ¡°Give it back! Give me back my body!¡± he roared, lunging forward. His hand passed through Veritas effortlessly, as though the archangel was a shadow, or perhaps it was Arthur who was no longer real.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Veritas taunted, his stolen voice dripping with mockery. ¡°You wanted to die, didn¡¯t you? You relinquished your claim to this body. You made it clear you had no use for it. So, I¡¯ve seized possession. Consider it¡­ repurposed.¡±


    Arthur stumbled back, his ghostly form shuddering as tears welled in his eyes. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, but you did,¡± Veritas interrupted, his tone sharp and merciless. ¡°Every step off that ledge was a declaration. You don¡¯t get to take it back now.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s mind raced, grappling with the reality before him. His body, his voice, his very existence had been stolen. And the one who had taken it wore his face better than he ever could.


    Veritas stepped closer to the edge, looking down at the bustling world below, his grin fading into something colder, darker. ¡°Now, Arthur, watch closely. You may have abandoned your life, but I¡¯ve got plans for it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but let me take care of these unsightly wounds first,¡± Veritas said with a wicked smile. A soft, green light enveloped his body, radiating an unsettling warmth as it mended every injury, every scar. Within moments, his skin was flawless, as though the pain Arthur had endured for years had never existed. The glow faded, leaving only Veritas¡¯s smug grin behind.


    Arthur lunged again and again, his ghostly fists passing through Veritas as though he were striking smoke. The futility of his efforts only fueled the archangel¡¯s laughter, a sound that echoed cruelly against the empty rooftop.


    ¡°Pathetic,¡± Veritas sneered, brushing past Arthur as though he were nothing more than a whisper in the wind. ¡°But since I¡¯m feeling generous, I¡¯ll leave you with a warning.¡± He paused at the edge of the roof, his form outlined against the last rays of the setting sun. ¡°When night falls, be wary of the Fallen. Their favorite meal is you¡ªworthless, wandering souls.¡±


    With that, Veritas stepped off the rooftop and disappeared into the twilight, leaving Arthur to crumble under the weight of his despair. He stared after him, trembling, his hands clenching uselessly at his sides.


    The horizon darkened unnaturally fast. For a ghost, night came differently¡ªhorrifically.


    The sky cleaved open as though torn by unseen hands, bleeding into a deep, pulsating crimson. The moon emerged, no longer a comforting beacon but a monstrous, unblinking eye that dominated the heavens. It stared down with malevolent intent, its gaze sending shivers through Arthur¡¯s incorporeal form. Blood began to rain, thick and warm, each drop carrying the metallic scent of despair.


    The living world remained oblivious to the horror. The carolers below continued their cheer, their joy undisturbed by the grotesque transformation above. But for the lost souls, the night was a different reality¡ªa predator¡¯s hunting ground.


    Arthur¡¯s attention snapped to the sky as something fell. Black feathers, drenched in the blood rain, drifted downward in unnatural spirals. Then came the bodies. They descended like grotesque meteors, landing with sickening thuds that shook the ghostly plane.


    One of them crashed mere feet from Arthur. It was colossal, the size of a school bus, its very presence radiating malice. Its flesh was gray and sickly, marred by gaping wounds that oozed golden ichor. The creature¡¯s head lacked eyes, but its elongated mouth split into eight jagged segments, revealing a whip-like tongue that writhed and lashed the air with grotesque hunger.


    Its hands ended in scythe-like claws, curved and serrated, twitching with anticipation. Its legs, grotesque imitations of a frog¡¯s, bent unnaturally as it began to rise. The wings on its back were not feathered but leathery husks stretched taut over bony frames, their edges frayed and torn.


    The creature sniffed the air, its segmented mouth trembling as it searched for the scent of its prey. Arthur could feel it¡ªits hunger, its intent. It wasn¡¯t hunting the living. It was hunting him.


    A deep, guttural growl rumbled from the beast as it turned its eyeless face toward him, its tongue snapping like a whip. Arthur stumbled back, his mind reeling. He was no longer just a ghost. He was prey.


    And the night had only begun.

 Chapter 2-Survival for the Dead

    Arthur froze in horror as he faced the grotesque beast before him. Its segmented mouth opened with a sickening crack, its whip-like tongue snapping in the air as it hungrily sought its prey. The only thought in his mind was run.


    Without hesitation, he turned and bolted. His legs carried him back to the rooftop¡¯s edge, and without thinking, he leaped off for a second time.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Ghosts can fly... right?¡± Arthur muttered to himself, his voice trembling. Panic surged as the wind rushed past him. ¡°Why am I not flying?¡±


    He hit the ground with a heavy thud, his body sprawled on the pavement. The pain he expected never came, but neither did the surreal sensation of phasing through the ground as he had before.


    Arthur scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off as dread took hold. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me... all those ghostly powers are useless during this hellish night.¡±


    The Fallen above sniffed the air, its head snapping toward him with an almost mechanical twitch. With a guttural growl, it leaped off the building, its heavy, malformed limbs crashing onto the pavement behind him.


    Arthur didn¡¯t wait for it to strike. He ran. His heart, though it no longer beat, felt like it might explode as he sprinted down the darkened street. He couldn¡¯t die. Not now. Not with that angel¡ªthat monster¡ªin possession of his body.


    The Fallen followed, its movements clunky and erratic. It barreled forward like a predator drunk on its own hunger, crashing into walls and buildings as it tried to follow Arthur¡¯s frantic turns.


    Arthur risked a glance over his shoulder and barked a nervous laugh. ¡°Blind and stupid. That thing¡¯s got nothing on me.¡±


    But even as he joked, his chest tightened. He wasn¡¯t sure where he was going¡ªonly that he had to keep moving. The blood rain soaked the ground, turning the streets into crimson mirrors that reflected the monstrous sky above.


    ¡°Hey, dummy! Over here!¡± a sharp voice cut through the chaos.


    Arthur¡¯s head snapped toward the sound. A girl stood at the end of an alley, her short purple hair gleaming under the unnatural light of the blood moon. Her vivid orange eyes locked on him, and she waved him over with urgency.


    ¡°Eliza?¡± Arthur shouted, disbelief mingling with hope as he dashed toward her, the Fallen roaring behind him.


    Eliza smirked, turning on her heel as she began to run. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I found you, idiot. Now move your ass!¡±


    Arthur didn¡¯t need to be told twice. He followed her, dodging debris and weaving through the chaotic streets as the Fallen thundered after them. Its blind rage and clumsy movements were the only things keeping them alive.


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain everything later,¡± Eliza shouted over her shoulder, her voice steady despite the chaos. ¡°Just keep up, Arthur!¡±


    For the first time since he had leaped off that rooftop, Arthur felt a flicker of hope. He wasn¡¯t alone¡ªnot entirely.


    ¡°Down here! It can¡¯t follow us!¡± Eliza shouted, her voice echoing through the night like a lifeline. She pointed to an open sewer grate, barely visible through the blood-soaked rain.


    Arthur hesitated for only a second before following her lead. Eliza vaulted into the darkness below with practiced ease, vanishing into the shadows. Arthur stumbled toward the grate, his pulse racing¡ªnot that it mattered anymore. He barely had time to brace himself as the Fallen¡¯s guttural roar thundered behind him.


    The moment his feet hit the ladder, a wet, slithering snap filled the air. The creature¡¯s whip-like tongue lashed toward him, slicing through the rain like a blade. Arthur flinched as it slammed into the ground inches from his head, the impact shaking the grate and sending shards of concrete scattering.


    ¡°Move!¡± Eliza¡¯s voice rang out from below.


    Arthur scrambled downward, his hands slipping on the cold, slimy rungs of the ladder. The Fallen snarled above, its segmented mouth snapping open with a sickening crack. Its tongue lashed again, striking the edge of the grate with terrifying force. Sparks erupted as metal bent under the impact, the sewer trembling around him.


    Arthur¡¯s foot slipped, and he nearly lost his grip. ¡°Damn it!¡± he hissed, clutching the ladder as his breath came in shallow gasps. The creature¡¯s tongue shot past him again, narrowly missing his shoulder and slamming into the sewer wall. Chunks of brick rained down, pelting him as he climbed lower.


    ¡°Eliza!¡± he yelled. ¡°It¡¯s still trying to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know!¡± she shouted from the ground. ¡°Just get down here, quick!¡±


    Arthur dropped the last few feet, his boots splashing into ankle-deep, murky water. He barely had time to catch his breath before the Fallen roared again, its tongue thrashing wildly at the opening above. The slick appendage smashed against the metal ladder, each strike bending them further inward. The sewer shook with every blow.


    The stench of the sewer hit Arthur like a wall, a rancid mix of decay and filth that made his stomach churn. He stumbled back, gagging, as Eliza grabbed his arm and pulled him deeper into the tunnel.


    ¡°Stay back!¡± she snapped. ¡°It¡¯s blind, but it can still smell us.¡±


    The Fallen above growled, its frustration echoing like a storm. Its tongue lashed one final time, stabbing through the grate and slamming into the ground where Arthur had just stood. The force sent a spray of foul water into the air, drenching them both. Arthur staggered, his heart pounding as the creature¡¯s tongue writhed mere inches from his feet.


    The Fallen let out a deafening screech, its frustration palpable. It slammed its claws against the edge of the grate, sending chunks of concrete raining down, but its massive frame prevented it from squeezing into the opening. The tunnel vibrated under its rage, but the creature remained trapped above.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Arthur leaned against the sewer wall, gasping for breath. ¡°It¡­ it can¡¯t get in, right?¡± he asked, his voice trembling.


    Eliza smirked grimly, wiping the water from her face. ¡°Not unless it shrinks a few sizes. But don¡¯t get comfortable¡ªit doesn¡¯t need to. If we don¡¯t move fast, it¡¯ll call for others.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s stomach dropped at the thought. He glanced back up at the grate, where the creature¡¯s grotesque mouth opened and closed, emitting an eerie, guttural clicking sound as it sniffed the air. Its tongue slithered back into the darkness, coiling like a serpent preparing to strike again.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Eliza said, her tone brooking no argument. She grabbed Arthur¡¯s wrist and tugged him further into the sewer. The dim light of the blood moon disappeared as they descended into the tunnel¡¯s oppressive darkness, the sound of the Fallen¡¯s enraged howls fading behind them.


    As they moved deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels, the suffocating darkness closed in around them. The faint echoes of dripping water and their own footsteps seemed to stretch endlessly, amplifying the oppressive silence. Arthur couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the nightmare wasn¡¯t over. No, this was just the beginning.


    Eliza¡¯s voice cut through the silence, sharp and blunt. ¡°So, tell me¡ªhow did you die? Or, to be exact, how did you kill yourself?¡±


    Arthur stumbled slightly at the question, caught off guard. ¡°W-what? How did you know?¡±


    She shot him a sidelong glance, her orange eyes glinting faintly in the dim light. ¡°You smell like mint. All of us who tried to end it, only to have those angelic bastards steal our bodies, smell like it. A few normal ghosts are hiding down here, but you¡¯re definitely not one of them.¡±


    Arthur swallowed hard, glancing down at his feet as they sloshed through the murky water. ¡°I¡­ I jumped off the school roof,¡± he said quietly, the words tasting bitter in his mouth.


    Eliza let out a dry, sad laugh. ¡°That¡¯s brutal. You would¡¯ve scarred all those carolers for life. Then again, my method wasn¡¯t much better.¡±


    Arthur hesitated, then asked cautiously, ¡°How long¡­ I mean, how long have you been like this? I didn¡¯t even notice you¡¯d been replaced.¡±


    ¡°Two weeks,¡± Eliza said, her tone flat. ¡°Not surprised you didn¡¯t notice¡ªno one else did. Not my parents, not my friends. Why would some random guy I barely know?¡±


    Arthur flinched at her bluntness but pressed on. ¡°How did you remember my name, then? I doubt even the guys who used me as a punching bag remember it.¡±


    Eliza glanced at him, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. ¡°We did that group project together a few weeks ago, remember? All my friends felt bad I got stuck with you. Joke¡¯s on them¡ªyou actually pulled your weight. That A brought my mediocre grade up nicely.¡±


    Arthur gave a small, self-conscious laugh. ¡°You weren¡¯t so bad yourself.¡±


    They fell into a brief, uneasy silence, broken only by the sound of their footsteps splashing through the filthy water. Finally, Eliza spoke again, her voice tinged with anger. ¡°So, which of the Ten Commandments got you? Mine called themselves Devotiel, the Archangel of Worship.¡±


    Arthur frowned. ¡°He said his name was Veritas, the Archangel of Truth. What are the Ten Commandments, anyway?¡±


    Eliza¡¯s expression darkened, her fists clenching at her sides. ¡°A bunch of angelic assholes. They go around convincing people to kill themselves so they can steal their bodies. Apparently, they even mess with people¡¯s lives¡ªstirring up tragedies, making things worse¡ªjust to push us over the edge. Real saints, huh?¡±


    Arthur¡¯s chest tightened as Veritas¡¯s mocking grin flashed through his mind, the angel¡¯s cruel words echoing like a curse. ¡°Aren¡¯t angels supposed to be kind and loving?¡± he asked softly, his voice trembling with disbelief.


    Eliza let out a hollow laugh, the sound bouncing off the tunnel walls with a bitterness that cut deeper than the cold air. ¡°You¡¯d think so, wouldn¡¯t you? But nope. They¡¯re worse than devils¡ªmore depraved, more manipulative. At least devils don¡¯t pretend to be something they¡¯re not.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Are demons real too?¡±


    Eliza sighed, her footsteps splashing softly through the murky water. ¡°Not in the way you¡¯d imagine. No horns, no fiery pits. But these ¡®angels¡¯... they¡¯re not the traditional kind either. They come from somewhere called the Abyss. A whole other world. Lucky for us, that¡¯s a problem for the living.¡± She paused, glancing back at him. ¡°Down here, the only thing we have to worry about are the Fallen.¡±


    Arthur shivered at the memory of the monstrous creature that had hunted him. ¡°How many of us are there?¡±


    Eliza held up her hand, ticking off on her fingers. ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­ including you and me? Five. One other guy who had his body stolen by an angel¡ªhe¡¯s a bit of a nutcase, but most of what he says checks out. Then there are two lost souls¡ªboth girls. You¡¯ll know one of them.¡±


    Arthur stopped in his tracks, staring at her in shock. His heart¡ªor whatever ghostly imitation of it he had¡ªsank. ¡°Who?¡±


    Eliza didn¡¯t answer directly, her expression softening just slightly. ¡°You¡¯ll see soon enough,¡± she said, leading him further into the dark.


    They eventually reached a rusted metal door tucked away in the sewer¡¯s labyrinthine depths. Eliza pushed it open, revealing a surprisingly cozy hideout hidden in the belly of the city.


    ¡°Hey, guys!¡± she called out. ¡°I brought us a new friend. He¡¯s just like me and the nutcase upstairs.¡±


    Arthur stepped inside, his eyes widening. The room was small but welcoming, a strange juxtaposition against the grim reality outside. Bookshelves lined the walls, crammed with manga and novels. A battered TV sat on a rickety stand, hooked up to a collection of gaming consoles that looked like they had been salvaged from the living world. The faint hum of electricity filled the air, though Arthur couldn¡¯t fathom where the power came from. Small bedrooms branched off from the main area¡ªpersonal spaces for people who didn¡¯t need to sleep but still craved a semblance of normalcy.


    The first person Arthur noticed was a man leaning against the wall, engrossed in a webnovel on his phone titled Cycle of Fate. He looked to be in his late forties, his violet eyes shadowed by deep, tired bags. His black hair was streaked with white at the tips, and a neatly trimmed stubble lined his jaw. He wore a black suit and red tie, an outfit that gave him an air of someone who had once been meticulous and professional. Now, he carried the same faint minty scent that clung to Eliza¡ªa mark of the stolen.


    The second figure was a young woman lounging on a couch, a manga open in her lap. She looked to be in her late twenties, with orange hair tied into a loose ponytail. Small freckles dotted her cheeks, and square glasses perched on her nose, framing hazel eyes that flicked back and forth across the pages. She wore a flowing orange sundress that seemed out of place in the sewer¡¯s gloom, but the warmth of her presence softened the sharp edges of the room.


    Arthur¡¯s breath caught when his gaze landed on the last figure. His heart¡ªor whatever semblance of it remained¡ªached as recognition slammed into him like a freight train.


    She wore the same school uniform as him and Eliza, her brunette hair long and braided neatly over one shoulder. Her blue eyes were an ocean of conflicting emotions¡ªsadness, longing, and a flicker of joy that ignited when they met his.


    ¡°Emelia,¡± Arthur whispered.


    Before he could say another word, she crossed the room in a blur, throwing her arms around him. He froze for a moment, stunned, before his own arms wrapped around her. Tears spilled freely down his cheeks as he clung to her, his voice cracking as he murmured her name over and over.


    Her voice was soft, trembling with emotion. ¡°Arthur¡­ I¡¯ve missed you so much.¡±


    Eliza stood off to the side, watching silently. For once, she said nothing, giving them this moment of reunion amidst the chaos of their new reality.

 Chapter 3-The Dead Who Want to Live

    Arthur held Emelia tightly, the weight of their reunion grounding him in a reality that still felt surreal. The chaos and horror of the past few hours faded into the background for a brief moment. But the calm was shattered when the man Eliza had called a nutcase looked up from his phone, his violet eyes narrowing as he reached for a metal bat lying on the floor.


    Without warning, he swung the bat with surprising force¡ªstraight at Arthur¡¯s head. Arthur flinched, bracing for the impact that never came. The bat passed harmlessly through his head, leaving him stunned and furious.


    ¡°What the hell was that for?!¡± Arthur yelled, his voice echoing through the small hideout.


    The man rested the bat on his shoulder, his expression calm but intense. ¡°Here¡¯s a fun fact,¡± he said, his tone matter-of-fact but laced with authority. ¡°Nothing can harm you now. Except for the Fallen. So here¡¯s the rule: never go out at night. Night starts at exactly 6:06 PM. After the six seconds pass, if you¡¯re not back here at least thirty minutes before that, you¡¯re on your own. Got it?¡±


    Arthur blinked, still reeling from the unprovoked attack. ¡°That¡¯s your idea of a welcome? A bat to the face?¡±


    Eliza sighed, rolling her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s Hugo for you. Batshit crazy¡ªpun intended. He swung that same bat at all of us when we showed up. Don¡¯t take it personally. He¡¯s also the one who got this place built, so we tolerate his¡­ quirks.¡±


    Hugo shot her a glare. ¡°I¡¯m being serious, Eliza. The Fallen get stronger the more they eat. And if you¡¯re out there after nightfall, you¡¯re as good as dead. You remember what happened to Kyle?¡±


    Eliza grimaced but shrugged. ¡°Yeah, yeah, I get it. It won¡¯t happen again.¡±


    Hugo¡¯s gaze lingered on her for a moment before softening slightly. ¡°Good.¡±


    Meanwhile, Emelia pulled back slightly from Arthur, her expression conflicted. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ good to see you again,¡± she said softly, her voice trembling. ¡°Though¡­ I wish it hadn¡¯t come to this.¡±


    Arthur didn¡¯t respond with words. Instead, he hugged her tighter, afraid she might vanish if he let go.


    The sound of a couch creaking broke the moment. ¡°Hey, boss,¡± Roxanne called out lazily from her spot. ¡°Are we doing dinner tonight?¡±


    Hugo turned to her with a deadpan expression. ¡°You do realize we¡¯re dead, right? We don¡¯t need to eat.¡±


    Roxanne waved him off, a playful pout on her lips. ¡°Yeah, but food still tastes good. What else are we supposed to do down here? It¡¯s not like we have a ton of options for entertainment.¡±


    Eliza smirked. ¡°That slacker is Roxanne,¡± she said to Arthur, jerking a thumb toward the lounging woman. ¡°She¡¯s basically a leech. She mooches off Hugo¡¯s connections for luxuries. Not that I¡¯m complaining¡ªthe games she got him to bring in are pretty decent.¡±


    Roxanne sat up, her ponytail swishing as she glared at Eliza. ¡°Oh, shut up. I¡¯m not a slacker! I was very productive in my life, thank you very much.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really? You never tell us what you did when you were alive,¡± Eliza teased.


    Roxanne opened her mouth to retort, but Hugo cut in sharply. ¡°You two, knock it off. Lovebirds¡±¡ªhe pointed the bat at Arthur and Emelia¡ª¡°come help me cook dinner.¡±


    Emelia¡¯s face brightened instantly, her earlier sorrow replaced with a cheerful smile. ¡°Alright, boss! It¡¯s been a while since I got to cook with Arthur.¡±


    Arthur hesitated, glancing at her before nodding slowly. Despite everything, the idea of doing something normal¡ªeven in the most abnormal of circumstances¡ªfelt like a small comfort.


    Arthur felt the barest flicker of something he couldn¡¯t quite place. Maybe it was hope. Or maybe it was just the absurdity of the dead trying to live.


    ¡°Listen up,¡± Hugo said, pulling a chef¡¯s knife from a drawer and testing its edge with his thumb. ¡°If there¡¯s anything you want down here, let me know. I¡¯ve got a few connections from my old job¡ªpeople who can see the dead. They¡¯ll bring us supplies if we need them.¡±


    Arthur raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter as he watched Hugo with mild disbelief. ¡°This whole situation is too absurd. Just too much has happened in the last hour.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it,¡± Emelia said softly, nudging him with her shoulder. Her smile was gentle, warm¡ªa flicker of comfort in the chaos. ¡°And I¡¯ll be with you the whole way.¡±


    Arthur let out a breath, the tension in his chest loosening slightly. ¡°Thanks,¡± he murmured.


    ¡°Hey, slacker,¡± Hugo called over his shoulder to Roxanne, who was sprawled on the couch. ¡°We¡¯ve got leftover rice. You good with stir-fry?¡±


    Roxanne sat up, her freckled face lighting up. ¡°Perfect! Everything you make tastes amazing, boss.¡±


    Eliza chimed in from across the room. ¡°Hey, boss, since we¡¯ve got a new friend, how about we bring out the alcohol?¡±


    Hugo shot her a sharp look. ¡°I don¡¯t care that we¡¯re dead¡ªI¡¯m not serving drinks to minors. And Roxanne gets way too flirty when she¡¯s drunk. I¡¯m not dealing with that mess tonight.¡±


    Roxanne huffed in mock indignation. ¡°I¡¯m perfectly charming when I¡¯ve had a few,¡± she said with a smirk.


    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± Eliza teased, grinning. ¡°Charming like a hurricane.¡±


    Arthur chuckled, the absurdity of the situation easing some of the weight in his chest. For the first time since he¡¯d become a ghost, he felt a flicker of normalcy¡ªor at least, something close to it.


    ¡°Alright, Arthur, you¡¯re on vegetable duty,¡± Hugo said, tossing him a cutting board and a handful of bell peppers, onions, and carrots. ¡°Emelia, you¡¯re on protein. We¡¯ve got some chicken in the fridge¡ªcut it into bite-sized pieces.¡±


    Arthur caught the board, fumbling slightly before setting it on the counter. ¡°Got it. Anything special with these?¡± he asked, picking up a bell pepper.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Julienne them,¡± Hugo replied. ¡°Thin strips. And don¡¯t butcher it¡ªclean cuts.¡±


    Arthur gave him a mock salute. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    The kitchen quickly filled with the rhythmic sound of knives chopping against wooden boards. Emelia worked deftly, slicing the chicken into uniform pieces while humming a soft tune. Arthur, though slower, found the repetitive motion soothing. For a moment, he forgot about the Fallen, Veritas, and even the blood-red sky outside.


    Hugo moved with practiced efficiency, his knife gliding effortlessly through a bunch of scallions. He grabbed a wok and set it on the stovetop, flicking on the flame. The faint sizzle of oil followed as he tilted the pan to coat the surface evenly.


    ¡°Alright, Arthur, veggies over here,¡± Hugo said, motioning with a spatula. Arthur carried the cutting board over, carefully sliding the colorful array of peppers, onions, and carrots into the wok. The vegetables hit the oil with a loud sizzle, releasing a savory aroma that filled the small hideout.


    ¡°Smells amazing already,¡± Roxanne said, leaning over the back of the couch to sniff the air.


    Hugo added the chicken, stirring it with quick, precise movements. ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there gawking, Eliza. Grab the soy sauce and oyster sauce from the pantry. And some garlic while you¡¯re at it.¡±


    Eliza rolled her eyes but complied, tossing the bottles onto the counter. Hugo added them with a flourish, the sauces bubbling and coating the ingredients in a rich glaze. The steam rose, carrying a mouthwatering scent that made Arthur¡¯s stomach growl¡ªeven though he wasn¡¯t sure ghosts could get hungry.


    ¡°Alright, we¡¯re almost done,¡± Hugo said, tossing in the leftover rice. He stirred it vigorously, each grain soaking up the savory mix of flavors. ¡°Arthur, grab the plates. Emelia, help him serve.¡±


    Within minutes, the stir-fry was portioned onto five plates, the vibrant colors of the dish making it look almost too good to eat. The group gathered around a small, makeshift dining table, each person taking their usual seat.


    Arthur glanced at the scene, the absurdity of it making him laugh softly. Here they were¡ªghosts, dead and forgotten¡ªsitting together for a family-style meal in the depths of a sewer.


    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± Emelia asked, her blue eyes curious.


    Arthur shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. ¡°Nothing. Just¡­ this is the weirdest dinner I¡¯ve ever had. But also, maybe the best.¡±


    As the group dug into their plates, laughter and light conversation filled the room. The horrors of the outside world¡ªthe blood rain, the monstrous Fallen, the manipulative angels¡ªfelt distant, replaced by the simple joy of sharing a meal. For a moment, they weren¡¯t ghosts navigating a nightmarish afterlife; they were just people, enjoying each other¡¯s company.


    Arthur looked down at his plate, frowning slightly as a thought crossed his mind. ¡°If we don¡¯t need to eat, where does the food go?¡±


    Eliza shrugged, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork. ¡°No clue. We don¡¯t need to go to the bathroom either, which is a blessing, I guess. But somehow, we can still get drunk.¡± She paused, smirking as she twirled her fork. ¡°Ghost logic is weird.¡±


    Hugo leaned back in his chair, swirling a glass of what he had emphatically claimed was grape juice. ¡°Well,¡± he said, raising his glass, ¡°let¡¯s get to the fun part. Since we¡¯ve got a newcomer, how about we all share how we died?¡±


    The room fell into an awkward silence as the group exchanged uneasy glances. Nobody seemed eager to go first.


    Hugo sighed dramatically, setting his glass down with a thud. ¡°Fine, fine. I¡¯ll start¡ªfor the newcomer¡¯s sake.¡± He leaned forward, his tone taking on the air of a storyteller. ¡°It¡¯s an interesting tale, really. There I was, deep in a forest in Guyana, facing down a horrid monster. Its body was made entirely of maggots, squirming and writhing with every movement. My team¡ªgood people, every one of them¡ªhad already been slaughtered. That thing, the Boogeyman, loved filling us with fear. It thrived on it.¡±


    The group leaned in slightly, intrigued despite themselves. Arthur could feel the tension in the room rising.


    Hugo continued, his voice lowering. ¡°I knew I couldn¡¯t escape. So, I thought, if I had to die, I¡¯d do it on my own terms. I put my gun to my head and pulled the trigger. Only¡­¡± He gestured dramatically. ¡°My soul left my body, and that angelic bastard swooped in and stole it. His name was Adoriel, the Archangel of Reverence. A pompous name for a pompous thief.¡±


    Hugo took a long sip of his drink before finishing. ¡°At least I got to see the Boogeyman tear Adoriel¡¯s arm clean off. Shame he managed to survive, though.¡±


    Arthur blinked, processing the wild tale. ¡°How much of that is actually true?¡± he asked, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Besides the angel stealing his body? Probably not an ounce,¡± Eliza deadpanned, her tone dripping with skepticism.


    Roxanne tilted her head, looking thoughtful. ¡°I think he¡¯s telling the truth. Why would he lie about something like that?¡±


    Eliza giggled. ¡°Maybe he¡¯s hiding some super sketchy secret. For all we know, he wasn¡¯t even in Guyana.¡±


    Emelia stifled a laugh, joining in. ¡°Yeah, Hugo. Admit it¡ªyou¡¯re covering up an embarrassing death.¡±


    Hugo placed a hand dramatically over his heart, as if deeply offended. ¡°I swear on my life¡ªwell, my afterlife¡ªthat I¡¯m telling the truth. I was a government agent, part of a classified organization that hunted supernatural threats. I wouldn¡¯t lie about this!¡±


    Eliza smirked, leaning back in her chair with a lazy grin. ¡°Sure, boss. Whatever you say.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re all so mean,¡± Hugo grumbled, dramatically crossing his arms before pointing at Roxanne with his fork. ¡°Whatever. Roxanne, you¡¯re up next.¡±


    Roxanne rolled her eyes but set her plate down, leaning forward with a sly grin. ¡°Fine, fine, I¡¯ll go. But I¡¯m warning you¡ªmy death is super embarrassing.¡±


    Eliza raised an eyebrow. ¡°Can¡¯t wait to hear this train wreck.¡±


    Roxanne ignored her, diving into her story with gusto. ¡°So, one night I got really drunk¡ªlike, completely wasted. I was stumbling back to my apartment when I ran into this guy. Super hot. Was his name Markus? Or maybe Miles? Doesn¡¯t matter. Anyway, I decided to shoot my shot and asked him out.¡±


    Arthur blinked. ¡°You asked out a random guy on the street?¡±


    ¡°Obviously,¡± Roxanne said with a smirk. ¡°But he turned me down! Said something about being too busy with work for a relationship. So, naturally, I asked out his brother standing next to him.¡±


    ¡°His brother?¡± Emelia said, stifling a laugh. ¡°You just¡­ moved on to the brother?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Roxanne replied without hesitation. ¡°And let me tell you, the brother was even hotter. His name was Warren. Or maybe Wallace? Ugh, names are so hard to remember. Anyway, he turned me down too.¡±


    Eliza rubbed her temples. ¡°Where is this story going, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Right, right,¡± Roxanne said, waving her hand. ¡°So, after getting rejected by both hot brothers, I stumbled my way back to my apartment. But¡­ well, I was still very drunk and completely misjudged the stairs. I tripped, fell down the whole flight, and boom, instant death.¡±


    Arthur couldn¡¯t hold back a chuckle. ¡°You seem way more interested in the two guys you met than the fact you, y¡¯know, died.¡±


    Roxanne leaned back with a laugh, shrugging. ¡°If you¡¯d seen them, you¡¯d understand. They were gorgeous. Anyway, that was a year ago. Been dead ever since.¡±


    Eliza snorted, shaking her head. ¡°You¡¯re something else.¡±


    Roxanne grinned, clearly unbothered. ¡°Thanks, I try.¡±


    Hugo drained the last of his drink and set the glass down with a sigh. ¡°Alright, who¡¯s next?¡± His gaze swept over the table, but the remaining three fell silent, their expressions hesitant and guarded.


    Arthur shifted in his seat, glancing at Emelia, who avoided his gaze. Eliza fiddled with her fork, her usual smirk replaced by a distant look. The moment hung heavy, the air thick with unspoken stories.


    ¡°Guess not everyone¡¯s ready yet,¡± Hugo muttered, his tone softer than usual. ¡°Fair enough. Take your time.¡±


    The room fell quiet, save for the faint hum of the TV in the background. Despite the lingering silence, the bonds between them felt a little stronger, the weight of their shared afterlife a little lighter. For Arthur, it was enough to make the strange, surreal world feel just a bit more bearable.

 Chapter 4-Storm After the Calm

    ¡°Come on, Arthur,¡± Eliza said, leaning back in her chair with a sly grin. ¡°How about you go next? You already told me everything anyway.¡±


    Arthur shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze. ¡°Yeah, but that was different. I¡¯m¡­ not ready now.¡± His eyes flickered toward Emelia, his reluctance written across his face.


    Eliza sighed, dramatically throwing her hands up. ¡°Fine, fine. What about you, Emelia? Everyone saw the report on the news anyway.¡±


    The room fell silent as Emelia turned to glare at her. Without hesitation, she kicked Eliza in the shin. The sound echoed slightly in the quiet room.


    ¡°What the hell was that for?¡± Eliza exclaimed, rubbing her leg out of instinct. ¡°We can¡¯t even feel pain!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re being rude,¡± Emelia said, pouting as she crossed her arms.


    Arthur¡¯s gaze narrowed, his earlier hesitation replaced by a sharp edge. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go, Eliza? You were so blunt about asking me earlier.¡±


    Eliza froze for a moment, then let out a forced yawn, stretching her arms dramatically. ¡°You know what? Forget I said anything. I¡¯m tired. I¡¯m heading off to bed.¡±


    Arthur raised an eyebrow, incredulous. ¡°Wait, we don¡¯t even get tired¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªand she¡¯s gone,¡± Emelia finished, sighing as they watched Eliza retreat into her room without looking back.


    Hugo leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. ¡°I figured this would happen. She¡¯s not ready to talk about it. Won¡¯t even open up to herself about why it happened.¡± He shook his head, his voice tinged with frustration. ¡°Though, honestly, I can¡¯t blame her.¡±


    The room grew quiet again, the weight of unspoken stories hanging thick in the air. Emelia hesitated, then turned to Arthur. ¡°Um¡­ Arthur? Could we talk in private?¡±


    Arthur blinked, caught off guard by the request. ¡°S-sure. Where should we go?¡±


    ¡°This way,¡± Emelia said softly, gesturing for him to follow. She led him to her room, her pace unhurried but purposeful.


    Arthur stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the space. The room was cozy, filled with pieces of Emelia¡¯s personality. A small bookshelf lined one wall, brimming with novels in neat rows. Plushies of various animals and characters were arranged on the bed, their soft colors standing out against the dim light. His eyes finally landed on the nightstand, where a framed photo of the two of them smiled back at him¡ªa frozen moment of happiness that now felt like a distant memory.


    Emelia walked over to the bed, sitting down and fiddling with the hem of her skirt. ¡°Hugo told me,¡± she began, her voice quiet but steady. ¡°He said ghosts that smell like mint had their bodies stolen by angels¡­ after they tried to kill themselves.¡±


    Arthur stiffened, the words striking a chord of guilt and pain he hadn¡¯t yet faced. ¡°Emelia¡­¡± he whispered, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words.


    The room felt smaller, the silence between them heavy with the weight of what neither of them was quite ready to say.


    ¡°To be fully honest, I¡ª¡± Arthur began, but his words were cut off by a piercing scream that tore through the air.


    ¡°Eliza!¡± Emelia gasped, her eyes wide with panic.


    Arthur didn¡¯t hesitate. He bolted toward the sound, his pulse pounding in his ears. Emelia followed close behind as they reached Eliza¡¯s room. Without a second thought, Arthur shoved the door open, and the scene that greeted them was pure chaos.


    The room was in complete disarray. The wardrobe lay toppled over, its contents spilled across the floor. Shards of glass from shattered photo frames glittered in the dim light, carpeting the ground like jagged stars. But it was Eliza who captured their focus. She was pressed against the wall, her body lifted several feet off the ground, her feet dangling helplessly. Around her neck coiled a slimy, black tentacle, its pulsating surface glistening as it tightened mercilessly.


    ¡°Not¡­ again,¡± Eliza choked out, her voice strained as her hands clawed at the tentacle. Her face was pale, her breaths ragged.


    Arthur¡¯s gaze darted around the room until it landed on a knife lying on the floor amidst the mess. Without hesitation, he grabbed it and lunged at the tentacle. The blade sliced through the slick appendage with a sickening squelch, spraying a dark, viscous fluid across the floor. Eliza fell to the ground, gasping and coughing violently as she clutched her throat.


    Arthur barely had time to check on her before the wall beside them cracked, a small hole forming as something began to emerge. The hole could¡¯ve fit a rat at most, but the creature that crawled out defied all logic.


    It unfolded itself slowly, its body impossibly twisting and stretching until it stood upright. Though human-sized, its grotesque form seemed too large for the space it had just emerged from. Its skin was a raw, angry red, stretched tightly over its frame like a grotesque costume. Where ears should have been, there was only smooth flesh. Its single, massive eye gleamed like a sickly yellow lantern, its gaze locking onto Arthur with a predatory intensity.


    When it opened its gaping mouth, a writhing mass of slimy, cylindrical tentacles spilled out, lashing the air violently. Each appendage moved with a life of its own, dripping a viscous, greenish liquid onto the floor. Its jagged, unsteady movements gave the impression of something that had no bones, yet it remained disturbingly upright. The wings on its back were skeletal, with no feathers, only sinew and torn skin stretched across the bony frames.


    Arthur froze, the knife trembling in his hand. The creature¡¯s jagged movements were mesmerizing in their unnaturalness, a stark reminder of the nightmarish world he now inhabited.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    The sound of hurried footsteps signaled Hugo¡¯s arrival. He burst into the room, his metal bat already in hand. Without hesitation, he swung it at the creature¡¯s torso, the impact echoing through the room. The Fallen barely flinched, its massive eye narrowing in annoyance as it lashed one of its tentacles toward him.


    ¡°Move!¡± Hugo barked, dodging the attack with practiced ease. In one swift motion, he pulled a taser from his jacket and jammed it into the creature¡¯s neck. A burst of electricity crackled through the air, and the Fallen collapsed, its body melting into a puddle-like form that sloshed unsettlingly across the floor.


    Hugo turned, hoisting the still-recovering Eliza into his arms. ¡°We¡¯re leaving. Now,¡± he ordered, his voice clipped and urgent.


    Arthur and Emelia exchanged a quick glance, both understanding the gravity of the situation. They didn¡¯t need to be told twice. The group hurried out of the room, the distant sounds of wet, squelching movement behind them serving as a reminder that the creature might not stay down for long.


    As they reached the main area, Roxanne appeared, her wide eyes darting between them and the direction they¡¯d come from. ¡°What¡¯s going on? What¡¯s that noise?¡±


    ¡°No time to explain!¡± Hugo snapped. ¡°Move it!¡±


    Not waiting for an answer, Roxanne joined the group, her fear overriding any curiosity. Together, they fled the hideout, their footsteps echoing in the dark, damp tunnels. The oppressive sense of danger clung to them like the creature¡¯s vile stench, filling the air with a suffocating weight.


    The sewers were colder than usual, each breath visible as wisps of vapor in the dim light. The faint sound of water dripping from unseen crevices only amplified their unease. Eliza clung to Hugo tightly, her fingers gripping his shirt as though letting go would make her disappear. Silent tears streamed down her face, her usually sharp demeanor crumbling under the weight of fear.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got you,¡± Hugo murmured, his voice steady but strained. He glanced down at her, his brow furrowed with determination. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. We just need to survive until morning. Once the sun rises, all the Fallen will disappear. Just hold on.¡±


    Eliza nodded weakly, but her grip didn¡¯t loosen.


    ¡°How did that thing even get in?¡± Arthur asked, his voice tight with panic as he struggled to keep up.


    ¡°Each Fallen is different,¡± Hugo replied grimly, his eyes scanning the dark tunnels ahead. ¡°They all have their own quirks, their own¡­ abilities. But I never thought one could contort itself like that. That thing¡­ it shouldn¡¯t have been able to get through the walls.¡±


    ¡°Boss,¡± Roxanne chimed in, her voice uncharacteristically subdued. ¡°Where are we going? Do you even have a plan?¡±


    ¡°Of course I do,¡± Hugo snapped, though his tone betrayed a hint of irritation¡ªmore at the situation than at her. ¡°I¡¯ve got multiple hideouts set up for emergencies like this. It won¡¯t be as nice as our main spot, but it¡¯ll keep us alive.¡±


    Arthur reached out, his hand finding Emelia¡¯s. ¡°Just hold on to me. Don¡¯t let go.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Emelia whispered, squeezing his hand tightly. Despite the chaos, her faint smile was a flicker of comfort in the darkness. ¡°I promise.¡±


    The group pressed on, their faith in Hugo¡¯s plan the only thing keeping them moving forward. But the further they went, the more oppressive the air seemed to grow. It felt heavier, thicker, as if the tunnels themselves were conspiring against them. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, twisting and writhing like living things.


    Arthur¡¯s grip on Emelia¡¯s hand tightened, his pulse pounding in his ears. The hope they clung to felt fragile, tenuous¡ªlike a thread that could snap at any moment.


    And then it did.


    As they rounded a corner, they came to an abrupt stop. The faint flicker of hope they had been nurturing extinguished in an instant. Blocking their path was a creature so grotesque, so otherworldly, that it made the previous Fallen seem almost tame.


    Its lower half resembled a massive centipede, its countless legs squirming and clicking against the wet floor. Instead of feet, grotesque, rotting hands protruded from each segment, their bloody red fingernails scraping against the ground. The air reeked of decay, each step leaving a slimy residue in its wake.


    The creature¡¯s upper half was cloaked in black, the fabric hanging loosely as if draped over a frame that barely existed. Neither its torso nor its face was visible, but something inside the cloak shifted and writhed with an unsettling, wet sound¡ªlike countless worms squirming together. From its back emerged enormous black wings, each feather glinting in the dim light like a razor-sharp blade.


    The cloak shifted, and long, grotesque arms emerged from beneath it. These were not arms in the traditional sense but grotesque appendages that split into writhing tentacles, each one lashing violently as if searching for something¡ªor someone¡ªto latch onto.


    The group froze in place, their breaths caught in their throats. The air felt charged, suffocating, as if the very presence of the creature was draining the life from the surrounding space.


    ¡°What the hell is that?¡± Roxanne whispered, her voice trembling.


    Hugo gritted his teeth, his grip on Eliza tightening. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he admitted, his usual confidence replaced by a grim seriousness. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a Fallen like this. Feathers¡­ on its wings? That¡¯s new.¡±


    The creature¡¯s single, massive eye appeared beneath the hood of its cloak, its eerie, glowing red gaze locking onto them. The wet, squelching sound of its movements filled the tunnel as it began to advance, its tentacles lashing the walls with sharp, wet cracks.


    Arthur felt Emelia¡¯s hand tremble in his, and for a moment, he thought he might break. But then Hugo¡¯s voice cut through the oppressive silence.


    ¡°Stay behind me. No matter what.¡±


    A sinister red light flared from the Fallen¡¯s single eye, bathing the tunnel in an eerie, pulsating glow. The air grew heavier as the light swept over the group, lingering on each of them as though it were scanning their very souls.


    When the beam passed over Hugo, Eliza, and Arthur, it froze. The creature stiffened, its grotesque body halting its unnatural movements. The red glow intensified, the eye narrowing as if in recognition. It wasn¡¯t just searching¡ªit had found something. Three things. Its laugh filled the air, a chilling sound that reverberated like a thousand whispers in the dark. Yet the creature had no mouth.


    Not yet.


    It blinked, and in an instant, its single, glowing eye was replaced by a gaping maw. The space where its eye had been now stretched into a vertical slit filled with endless rows of jagged teeth, each glistening with a sickly sheen. The teeth churned like a grinder, a horrifying promise of what would happen to anything unfortunate enough to fall into its grasp. The sound of grinding echoed, sharp and wet, sending shivers through the group.


    The Fallen blinked again, and the mouth vanished as though it had never existed. Its eye returned, unblinking, its crimson light locking onto the three of them once more. It tilted its head, as though amused, before letting out another hollow, echoing laugh that made the walls of the sewer tremble.


    Arthur¡¯s hands tightened into fists, cold sweat breaking out across his skin despite the chill of the tunnel. ¡°What the hell is it doing?¡± he muttered, his voice barely audible over the creature¡¯s laughter.


    ¡°It¡¯s found something,¡± Hugo said grimly, stepping in front of the group, his bat raised defensively. ¡°And it doesn¡¯t plan on letting us go.¡±


    ¡°Found what?¡± Eliza rasped, still clutching Hugo¡¯s arm. Her voice was strained, fear flickering behind her usually sharp eyes.


    Hugo didn¡¯t answer. His gaze stayed locked on the creature, his knuckles whitening around the grip of his bat, that he kept on his waist.


    The creature¡¯s laugh faded, replaced by the sound of its tentacles cracking against the walls. It advanced slowly, deliberately, its razor-edged wings stretching wide, scraping against the sides of the tunnel. Sparks flew as the bladed feathers carved into the concrete, each step closer sending a ripple of dread through the group.

 Chapter 5-Archangel of Truth

    The Fallen advanced, its grotesque body jerking with each uneven step. Its single, glowing eye fixed hungrily on the group, its tentacles thrashing violently. The surrounding air grew colder, the oppressive weight of the creature¡¯s presence suffocating.


    But then it stopped.


    In one grotesque motion, the creature¡¯s head snapped back, its neck twisting in a full 180 degrees with a sickening crack. Its massive eye flared, shifting from crimson to a brilliant gold. A faint, otherworldly hum filled the air as it turned its entire body, as if something far more enticing had caught its attention.


    Illusionary feathers began to fall from above, shimmering faintly as they drifted through the sewer''s darkness. Each feather dissolved into faint wisps of light before hitting the ground, their glow casting eerie shadows on the walls. The group froze, their breaths caught in their throats as they felt the shift in the atmosphere. Something¡ªsomeone¡ªwas approaching.


    The Fallen¡¯s movements grew frantic, its tentacles writhing wildly as it charged toward the source of the feathers. Whatever it sensed, it was desperate to devour.


    A calm, commanding voice echoed through the tunnel, cutting through the chaos like a blade. ¡°The angels¡¯ first sin was allowing that devil to defile our god. The madness of our god drove us out of Nirvana and into this wretched realm, where the world of man tainted our heavenly flesh.¡±


    The voice was calm, yet every word dripped with disdain. Though the speaker remained unseen, the group could feel his presence¡ªan overwhelming aura of danger and power that made even the Fallen seem insignificant.


    ¡°And yet,¡± the voice continued, steady and unyielding, ¡°the humans¡¯ first sin was far simpler. Staying alive. Every day, you disgusting creatures perpetuate this sin. And now, I must walk among you mongrels.¡±


    The Fallen¡¯s eye transformed into its horrifying maw, rows of jagged teeth grinding together as it closed the distance. Its tentacles lashed at the walls, the sound of cracking stone reverberating through the tunnel as it prepared to consume the intruder.


    The feathers continued to fall, swirling in a strange, hypnotic pattern as the figure stepped into view.


    ¡°There is only one truth in this world,¡± the voice said, now clear and unmistakable. ¡°The rot must be purged.¡±


    The moment the words were spoken, the Fallen froze mid-lunge. In an instant, its grotesque body was diced into countless pieces. The air rang with the faint, metallic hum of a blade cutting through flesh, though no movement had been seen. The sewer walls were splattered with viscous black blood as the remains of the creature fell to the ground in chunks, twitching weakly before going still.


    As the blood pooled around the fallen pieces, the feathers vanished, leaving only the silhouette of a man standing amidst the carnage. Slowly, he stepped forward, his boots splashing lightly in the muck. The faint glow of the sewer¡¯s dim lighting illuminated his figure.


    He wore a long black trench coat, its edges frayed and darkened with age. A katana hung at his side, its sheath unremarkable yet emanating an aura of silent menace. His messy white hair fell over his face, framing piercing purple eyes. Deep, dark bags beneath them hinted at sleepless nights¡ªor perhaps an eternity of weariness. Despite his disheveled appearance, his presence was suffocating.


    Arthur¡¯s heart sank as he recognized the face¡ªthe face he once called his own.


    It was him.


    Or rather, it was Veritas, the angel who had stolen his body.


    ¡°You survived longer than I thought, mutt,¡± Veritas said, his voice cold and condescending. His gaze swept over the group, his lips curling into a faint smirk. ¡°But don¡¯t get too comfortable. The rot always finds a way to crawl back.¡±


    The group stood frozen, the oppressive silence following his words more deafening than the creature¡¯s shrieks had been.


    ¡°Arthur, is that¡­?¡± Hugo began, his voice faltering as his gaze locked onto the figure before them.


    Arthur¡¯s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. ¡°It is,¡± he said, his voice cold and sharp, eyes burning with hatred. ¡°That bastard angel, Veritas.¡±


    Veritas smirked, his purple eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. ¡°Running from the Fallen now, are we? What happened to that burning desire to die, Arthur? Or is it that being reunited with your precious dead girlfriend has suddenly made everything peaches and cream?¡± He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. ¡°How touching.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s breath hitched, his grip on Emelia¡¯s hand tightening. But Veritas wasn¡¯t finished.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right,¡± Veritas continued, his tone growing darker. ¡°Do you remember how she died, Arthur? She cried for you, pathetically calling your name as the knife plunged into her again and again. Her blood spilled across the cold pavement, her throat choking on her final wish¡ªthat you would save her.¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± Emelia whispered, her voice trembling as tears welled in her eyes.


    Veritas¡¯s smirk deepened, ignoring her plea. ¡°And where were you, Arthur? Let me refresh your memory. You were being smacked around like a pi?ata by your dear old dad. Funny how you couldn¡¯t even save yourself, let alone her.¡±


    The words hit like a sledgehammer, each syllable digging into Arthur¡¯s soul. His breathing grew ragged, his vision blurring with rage. Without thinking, he released Emelia¡¯s hand and snatched Hugo¡¯s bat in one swift motion.


    ¡°Arthur, wait!¡± Hugo called, his voice edged with panic.


    Arthur didn¡¯t listen. He swung the bat with all his strength, aiming for Veritas¡¯s smug face. The air cracked with the force of the strike¡ªbut the bat passed harmlessly through, as if Veritas were made of smoke.


    Veritas chuckled, a low, guttural sound that echoed through the tunnel. ¡°Did you really think that would work? While I can interact with you pathetic wretches¡ªand even kill you if I feel so inclined¡ªyour worthless hands can no longer touch the mortal realm. You¡¯re nothing but shadows clinging to scraps of a world that no longer belongs to you.¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Arthur stumbled back, his chest heaving as his grip on the bat tightened. The futility of the situation only fueled his fury, his knuckles whitening as he glared at Veritas.


    ¡°Enjoy your miserable existence,¡± Veritas said mockingly, his voice dripping with condescension. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll survive.¡±


    As if to punctuate his words, Veritas suddenly coughed, a spatter of dark blood escaping his lips. He wiped it away with the back of his sleeve, his smirk faltering slightly.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Arthur spat, his voice venomous. ¡°Choking on your own lies?¡±


    Veritas chuckled again, though weaker this time. ¡°Ah, yes. I forgot to mention¡­ telling lies does come with its drawbacks. A little curse, you might say.¡± He gestured lazily at the bloodstain on his sleeve, his smirk returning. ¡°But who needs lies when the truth cuts so much deeper?¡±


    Arthur¡¯s rage boiled over, his vision tunneling on the angel wearing his face. But before he could act again, Emelia stepped between them, her tear-streaked face resolute. ¡°Arthur, stop,¡± she said firmly, her voice trembling but steady. ¡°He¡¯s not worth it.¡±


    Veritas raised an eyebrow, his smirk curving into something darker, more sinister. ¡°Listen to her, Arthur. The little ghost still believes in you. How sweet.¡±


    ¡°Get out,¡± Hugo yelled, gripping his taser with a trembling hand. Despite the steel in his voice, the faint quiver betrayed his unease. ¡°Now.¡±


    Veritas regarded Hugo with a look of mild amusement, tilting his head as though considering the demand. ¡°But I¡¯m not done,¡± he said, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. He gestured lazily toward Hugo. ¡°Honestly, you¡¯re the most fascinating one here. How does it feel to go from hunting the supernatural to becoming the supernatural?¡±


    ¡°That story was real?¡± Roxanne blurted, her wide eyes darting to Hugo.


    ¡°Of course it was,¡± Veritas said with a chuckle, as if the answer should have been obvious. ¡°He served an organization called A.E.G.I.S. A secretive little group with big ambitions. Most of its members have supernatural abilities themselves. Funny, really, considering how they like to pretend they¡¯re the heroes.¡± His eyes flicked to Roxanne, his grin widening. ¡°Oh, and the two dashing gentlemen you encountered the night you died? Agents of A.E.G.I.S as well. Small world, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Roxanne¡¯s jaw dropped, the pieces clicking together in her mind. ¡°Wait, what?¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Hugo growled, his voice low and dangerous. ¡°You¡¯ve had your fun. I suggest you leave.¡±


    Veritas let out a soft laugh, ignoring the threat entirely. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m almost done.¡± He turned his gaze to Eliza, who had been hiding silently behind Hugo, her trembling form clutching at his arm like a lifeline. ¡°But before I go, how about poor little Eliza? She¡¯s been cowering behind you, hoping you¡¯d protect her. How quaint.¡±


    Hugo moved to shield Eliza further, his shoulders squaring as he glared at Veritas. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be like that, Hugo. It¡¯s not fair if we don¡¯t share her story, is it? Everyone here¡¯s had their dirty little secrets dragged into the light. Why should she be any different?¡± Veritas¡¯s voice was honeyed venom, sweet and sharp, calculated to cut.


    Eliza shook her head violently, her eyes welling with tears. ¡°Stop it. Please stop talking,¡± she begged, her voice breaking.


    Veritas¡¯s smirk deepened, his words slower, deliberate. ¡°You see, Eliza was quite the challenge for my dear comrade Devotiel. Such a strong will. Such defiance. She had to work extra hard to sweet-talk her into ending it all.¡± He sighed theatrically, shaking his head. ¡°You were tricky, weren¡¯t you, Eliza?¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± she whimpered, her hands covering her ears as if they could block out his words. ¡°I don¡¯t want to remember. Please don¡¯t make me remember.¡±


    Arthur and Emelia exchanged worried glances, their anger at Veritas eclipsed by the sight of Eliza¡ªso strong, so unflinching¡ªreduced to this state. For the first time since Arthur had met her, her eyes weren¡¯t filled with sharp wit or anger but pure, unbridled fear.


    ¡°Ah, but that¡¯s the fun part, isn¡¯t it?¡± Veritas said, his tone mockingly light. He leaned forward slightly, his purple eyes locking onto hers. ¡°Reliving that night. The panic. The despair. You can feel it, can¡¯t you? Crawling up your spine, whispering in your ear, reminding you how helpless you were.¡±


    ¡°Stop it!¡± Eliza screamed, her voice raw with pain, tears streaming freely down her face. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, trembling violently.


    Veritas straightened, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his coat with an air of practiced indifference. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll leave the poor girl to her nightmares. For now.¡± He turned his gaze back to the group, his smirk sharp enough to cut. ¡°Well, this has been delightful. I¡¯ll see you all soon, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    But just as he began to turn away, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes gleamed with malicious delight as he added, ¡°Though, before I go, I suppose it¡¯s only fair to tell you how she died. Eliza hung herself¡­ while the corpses of her parents lay on the floor, her fingerprints smeared all over the knife embedded in their chests. I did say she had to work extra hard.¡±


    His words hung in the air like a poison cloud, suffocating and vile. Eliza¡¯s breath hitched audibly, her body trembling as tears streamed down her face. She sank to her knees, her hands clutching her stomach as if trying to hold herself together.


    Veritas turned fully this time, his voice light and cheerful, as though he were discussing the weather. ¡°Ah, the lengths some souls will go to escape the weight of their sins. Truly admirable.¡± With that, he turned on his heel, his black trench coat billowing behind him as he disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel, his laughter echoing faintly in the distance.


    The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Eliza¡¯s gasps as she struggled to contain the tidal wave of emotions crashing over her. Her eyes, usually sharp and filled with defiance, were now vacant, hollow. She wanted to scream, to vomit, to vanish, but her body betrayed her. She was trapped in the suffocating grip of her memories, the horror Veritas had dredged up consuming her entirely.


    Arthur clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. His gaze remained fixed on the spot where Veritas had disappeared, his body trembling with a mix of rage and helplessness. ¡°Bastard,¡± he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.


    Roxanne shifted uncomfortably, her usual levity nowhere to be found. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. Even Hugo, the steady anchor of the group, seemed momentarily lost in thought.


    Finally, it was Hugo who broke the silence, his voice steady but carrying a weight of exhaustion. ¡°There¡¯s no point in standing around. Come on. The other hideout is up ahead.¡±


    Without waiting for a response, he knelt beside Eliza, scooping her up in his arms as gently as if she were made of glass. She didn¡¯t resist. Her head rested limply against his shoulder, her tear-streaked face turned away from the others. Her lips trembled, but no sound came out.


    The group began moving again, their footsteps echoing through the cold, damp tunnel. The oppressive air seemed even heavier now, weighed down by the ghost of Veritas¡¯s words.


    After a few moments of silence, Eliza¡¯s voice broke through, barely a whisper. ¡°Hugo¡­ do you think the ghosts of the people we¡¯ve killed will appear in this hell?¡±


    Her question lingered in the air, a quiet plea for absolution wrapped in fear.


    Hugo glanced down at her, his expression softening despite the gravity of the situation. His reply came after a beat, calm but tinged with the honesty she likely didn¡¯t want to hear. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Many of us end up eaten by the Fallen each night. Even if the souls of the people we¡¯ve wronged appear here¡­ I don¡¯t know if they¡¯d still exist after this place takes them.¡±


    Eliza closed her eyes tightly, as though trying to shut out the world, her tears soaking into Hugo¡¯s shirt. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t want to see them,¡± she whispered. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    Hugo said nothing, his steady presence the only comfort he could offer. The rest of the group remained silent as well, the weight of what had transpired pressing down on them like a lead blanket. Each step forward felt heavier, the tunnel stretching endlessly ahead.

 Chapter 6-The Priest of Half Insanity

    The sun rose, bathing the world in pale golden light. The oppressive weight of the night¡¯s horrors lifted, though the scars they left behind lingered. The Fallen had vanished with the dawn, retreating into whatever dark abyss they called home. For now, the group could breathe¡ªbut only until the next nightfall.


    Each member drifted into their own solitude, seeking refuge from the weight of Veritas¡¯s words and the memories they stirred. Roxanne returned to the main hideout, settling into her corner with a stack of manga. The familiar pages and exaggerated stories were a welcome distraction. Hugo, ever the pragmatist, left to arrange repairs for the hole in the wall and to reinforce the hideout¡¯s defenses. Eliza and Emelia withdrew to their rooms in the backup hideout, their doors closed against the world, seeking solace in isolation.


    Arthur, however, couldn¡¯t remain confined. The walls felt too close, the silence too heavy. He needed space. Without a word to the others, he floated through the tunnels and emerged into the daylight above.


    The world above ground was starkly different from the oppressive darkness of the sewers. The streets were alive with motion and sound, a stark contrast to the desolation he¡¯d grown accustomed to. Cars weaved through traffic, their engines humming. Pedestrians hurried along the sidewalks, their faces buried in phones or engaged in quiet conversations. Life moved on, oblivious to the unseen world Arthur now inhabited.


    Arthur couldn¡¯t help but feel detached as he floated above the bustling roads. The people below seemed like ants, scurrying about their lives, unaware of the horrors lurking just out of sight. He drifted aimlessly, watching and observing, wondering if they even realized how fragile their existence was.


    Then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, his attention was caught by a figure standing at the edge of a small park. The man was peculiar, to say the least. His messy orange hair caught the sunlight, contrasting sharply with his pale skin. One of his eyes was hidden beneath a pristine white medical eye patch, its stark contrast against his pale skin drawing immediate attention. The other, a startling shade of pink, seemed to gleam with an unsettling intensity, as though it could pierce through to one¡¯s very soul. Just beneath the exposed eye, a small mole adorned his cheek¡ªa subtle imperfection that only served to heighten the strange, magnetic aura surrounding him.   He wore black, priest-like robes, the fabric adorned with faint silver embroidery that shimmered in the light. Around his neck hung a pendant¡ªa symbol of some religious order Arthur didn¡¯t recognize. But the most bizarre detail was the weapon strapped to the man¡¯s waist, a chainsaw, its blade gleaming as though freshly sharpened.


    Arthur froze mid-air, his curiosity piqued. Nobody should be able to see him. And yet, as if sensing his presence, the man tilted his head upward and waved. His expression was warm, almost friendly, but there was an edge to it¡ªa sharpness that made Arthur hesitate.


    ¡°Impossible,¡± Arthur muttered. He hovered uncertainly for a moment before descending, drawn by the strange man¡¯s unnerving aura.


    The man¡¯s smile widened as Arthur landed. Without missing a beat, he pulled out a phone and held it to his ear, as though engaged in a casual call.


    ¡°Hello there, lost lamb,¡± the man said, his voice smooth and rich, yet carrying a playful undertone. ¡°How has the land of the dead been treating you?¡±


    Arthur¡¯s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. ¡°How can you see me?¡± he demanded. ¡°I¡¯m dead. This shouldn¡¯t be possible.¡±


    The man lowered the phone, his pink eye sparkling with amusement. ¡°Oh, dear boy,¡± he said, tucking the phone into his robe with a theatrical flourish. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised what¡¯s possible. Death is a thin veil, and some of us have the¡­ privilege of peeking through it.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening as he faced the enigmatic man. ¡°Who are you? What do you want?¡±


    The man tapped his chin theatrically, his grin widening as though he relished the tension in the air. ¡°Who am I?¡± he mused, his voice dripping with mock contemplation. ¡°Well, you can call me Michello.¡± His grin stretched wider, revealing teeth that were just a touch too perfect, their pristine sharpness unsettling rather than reassuring. ¡°And as for what I want¡­¡± He leaned forward slightly, his pink eye gleaming with a dangerous light. ¡°That depends entirely on you.¡±


    Arthur instinctively took a wary step back, his senses screaming that Michello was no ordinary human. Something about the man radiated danger, controlled chaos that made the hairs on the back of Arthur¡¯s neck stand on end. ¡°Why are you talking to me?¡± Arthur asked, his voice edged with suspicion. ¡°What are you?¡±


    Michello¡¯s expression softened, though his unsettling aura didn¡¯t waver. ¡°Ah, the plight of you lost lambs,¡± he said with a hint of melancholy, though his tone remained eerily playful. ¡°To be trapped in this prison, wandering aimlessly, burdened by sins that chain you to the darkness. It¡¯s tragic, really. But fear not¡ªmy Lady alone holds the key to your salvation.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s brow furrowed, frustration bubbling beneath his confusion. ¡°What do you mean? Tell me more.¡±


    Michello straightened, clasping his hands in front of him as if in prayer. ¡°This existence is but a trial,¡± he said, his voice taking on an almost reverent cadence. ¡°A trial by my Lady, designed to test your worth. To prove yourselves, to cleanse the filth of sin you¡¯ve smeared upon your souls, and to be reborn into her infinite embrace.¡± He tilted his head, his unsettling grin softening into something almost serene. ¡°Shall we pray together, Arthur? Shall we begin your cleansing?¡±


    Arthur¡¯s patience snapped, his voice cutting through Michello¡¯s cryptic monologue. ¡°You¡¯re not making any sense. What cult are you part of?¡±


    Michello chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down Arthur¡¯s spine. ¡°Cult? Oh, dear boy, you wound me.¡± He spread his arms wide, the gesture was theatrical and unsettling in equal measure. ¡°We are no mere cult. We are a recognized religion, fully embraced in Japan. Perhaps it¡¯s unsurprising that you Westerners remain blind to such truths¡­ but no matter. My Lady does not sacrifice anyone unworthy of her grace.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Arthur stared, caught between disbelief and unease. Michello¡¯s tone carried an unsettling certainty, as though his faith was an unshakable foundation beneath a structure of madness.


    Michello¡¯s grin sharpened again, his tone shifting as he straightened his posture. ¡°I am a proud servant of the Church of the Infinite Gates,¡± he declared, his voice ringing with conviction. ¡°In your world of the supernatural¡ªa world you are now irrevocably part of¡ªmy name is known by another title. My codename is The Executioner.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s stomach twisted at the name, the weight of it heavy with implications he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to understand. He took another step back, his instincts screaming that this man was as dangerous as any Fallen he had encountered. ¡°Executioner?¡± he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.


    Michello¡¯s grin grew wolfish, his pink eye narrowing with dangerous glee. ¡°Ah, I see you¡¯re catching on. Good. It makes this far more interesting.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s voice wavered as he forced himself to speak. ¡°What are you doing here, anyway?¡±


    Michello laughed lightly, the sound casual yet laced with menace. ¡°Oh, just passing the time,¡± he said, his tone deceptively airy. ¡°Waiting for A.E.G.I.S to make another delightful attempt on my life. It¡¯s something of a sport at this point, you see. I¡¯m their top priority kill target, after all.¡± He paused, his head tilting slightly as his nose twitched. His expression shifted, a predatory gleam lighting his pink eye. ¡°But you, Arthur¡­ you¡¯re far more interesting.¡±


    Arthur stiffened as Michello stepped closer, his movements deliberate and unnervingly predatory, like a lion circling its prey. Each step felt calculated, his presence suffocating. Michello¡¯s nostrils flared slightly, as though catching a faint, tantalizing scent. His pink eye glimmered with a mixture of curiosity and menace.


    ¡°You smell like an angel,¡± Michello murmured, his voice low and dangerously smooth, each word dripping with intrigue.


    Arthur¡¯s blood ran cold. It wasn¡¯t just that Michello could see him¡ªhe was studying him, breaking him down piece by piece. Every glance, every slight twitch of Michello¡¯s features, felt like a scalpel carving into Arthur¡¯s very essence.


    ¡°So,¡± Michello continued, his grin sharpening, ¡°which of those ten bastards manipulated you into forsaking your oh-so-precious life?¡±


    Arthur hesitated, the words catching in his throat before he forced them out. ¡°It was Veritas¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Michello interrupted, his grin widening into something almost feral. ¡°The bastard of Truth.¡± He spat the name like venom. ¡°Such heathens are the enemies of my Lady and the Church. Their lies, ironically cloaked as truths¡ªare blasphemies of the highest order.¡± He paused, his gaze narrowing in thought before a bright smile returned to his face. ¡°I¡¯ve decided. I¡¯ll remain in the U.S. for a while. For you, my dear young lamb. To help you recover your body and return to the land of the living.¡±


    Arthur blinked, stunned by the abrupt offer. ¡°You can¡­ wait¡ªcould you help me hunt two more angels, too?¡± His voice was hesitant but laced with determination.


    Michello froze, his expression shifting into one of euphoric delight. ¡°Not one, but three?¡± His hands clasped together, his pink eye gleaming like a child presented with an unexpected gift. ¡°Oh, you beautiful lamb! You¡¯ve blessed me with such an opportunity. Thank you. Truly, thank you. To guide you and your friends into my Lady¡¯s embrace will be a divine mission, one I shall cherish.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s mind raced at Michello¡¯s words, hope flickering faintly in the chaos. ¡°Tell me,¡± he asked, his voice soft but insistent, ¡°is it possible to revive someone already dead?¡±


    Michello¡¯s smile faltered for a brief moment, his expression growing thoughtful. ¡°Possible?¡± he echoed, his tone almost reverent. ¡°Yes, young lamb. But certainty? No. The path is fraught with trials few could overcome. Rumor has it that A.E.G.I.S has unearthed half of the equation for resurrection, but the other half remains shrouded in mystery. To return the departed to life, one would need authority over both the realm of the living and the domain of souls. It is doable, my boy, but it teeters on the edge of the impossible.¡±


    Arthur nodded, the weight of Michello¡¯s words settling heavily on his shoulders. Still, a faint glimmer of determination lit his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s all I needed to know. Thank you so much.¡±


    Michello¡¯s grin returned, though now tinged with an unsettling edge. ¡°You¡¯re quite welcome, my dear lamb,¡± he said, his tone almost affectionate. ¡°But now, I must take my leave. I can sense the rats closing in on my location.¡± His gaze flicked to the horizon, his smile curving into something far more vicious. ¡°It seems the hunt has come to me.¡±


    Without another word, Michello turned, his robes billowing behind him as he dashed into the distance, his movements impossibly swift and eerily fluid. The faint sound of his laughter echoed in the air, a blend of exhilaration and bloodlust that sent shivers down Arthur¡¯s spine.


    As the man vanished into the distance, Arthur remained frozen, his mind racing. The unsettling encounter left a lingering weight in the air like a storm waiting to break. Whoever¡ªor whatever¡ªMichello was, one thing was certain: Arthur had just made a dangerous acquaintance. The man¡¯s words, his unsettling smile, and the eerie mix of menace and zeal left an impression that Arthur couldn¡¯t shake.


    With the daylight beginning to wane, Arthur decided not to risk staying out any longer. The memory of the Fallen and Veritas¡¯s taunts still loomed large in his mind. He turned and made his way back to the hideout, his thoughts swirling with confusion and unease.


    As he descended into the tunnels, he found Hugo leaning against the wall near the entrance, a cigarette in hand. The faint glow of its ember barely lit his face, but his sharp eyes immediately locked onto Arthur.


    ¡°Back so soon?¡± Hugo asked, exhaling a thin plume of smoke.


    Arthur hesitated for a moment before speaking. ¡°Hey, Hugo¡­ do you know a man named Michello? His codename is Executioner.¡±


    The cigarette stopped halfway to Hugo¡¯s lips. His expression darkened, his usual calm giving way to a look of wary disbelief. ¡°The Priest of Half Insanity?¡± he muttered, his voice laced with a mixture of contempt and grim amusement. ¡°Of course, I¡¯ve heard of him. That psycho is so dangerous that A.E.G.I.S. would rather risk an all-out war with Japan¡ªand the cult that controls it, then let him continue to exist unchecked. And even then, we still can¡¯t kill him. Why the hell are you bringing him up?¡±


    Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his gaze avoiding Hugo¡¯s piercing stare. ¡°Uh¡­ I might¡¯ve accidentally¡­ befriended him. He said he¡¯d hunt down the angels for us. Actually, he seemed really excited about it.¡±


    Hugo froze for a moment, then let out a sharp, humorless laugh. ¡°Good luck, kid. You¡¯ve gone and made friends with one of the greatest criminals in the country¡ªhell, maybe the world.¡±

 Chapter 7-Gods Favorite Child

    ¡°Why is Michello considered so dangerous?¡± Arthur asked, leaning back against the cold stone wall of the hideout. ¡°Besides the fact that he was carrying a chainsaw, he actually seemed¡­ kind of nice.¡±


    Hugo let out a sharp, humorless laugh, exhaling smoke from his cigarette. ¡°Nice? That man¡¯s the definition of a wolf in sheep¡¯s clothing. You think he¡¯s dangerous because of the chainsaw? Kid, sit down. You need to hear this.¡±


    ¡°Oooh, boss,¡± Roxanne piped up, her freckled face lighting with interest as she set her manga aside. ¡°Story time! This should be good.¡±


    Hugo raised an eyebrow at her. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t care about my stories?¡±


    Roxanne shrugged, leaning forward with a grin. ¡°That¡¯s before I thought they were super fake. Now that I know they¡¯re real? You bet I¡¯m interested.¡±


    Hugo rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath before gesturing for Arthur to sit. As the group settled, he took a slow drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke curl around him before speaking.


    ¡°I first met that psycho six years ago,¡± Hugo began, his voice low and steady. ¡°Back then, he¡¯d only recently climbed to the top of A.E.G.I.S¡¯s high-priority kill list. The ¡®young priest,¡¯ as people called him, had a reputation even then. He¡¯d just started ¡®vacationing¡¯ in the U.S.¡ªa trip that left a trail of blood and chaos in its wake. And yet¡­¡± Hugo¡¯s brow furrowed, his tone tinged with bitter amusement. ¡°He spent his days doing the most mundane things: ghost watching, handing out money to anyone struggling, chatting with kids on the street. Like he was some kind of saint.¡±


    Arthur frowned. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like a high-priority threat.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, looks are deceiving,¡± Hugo snapped, his tone sharp. He exhaled slowly, composing himself. ¡°One night, I was running a mission to track him down. He wasn¡¯t exactly hiding¡ªhe never does. When I found him, he was strolling through an alleyway, watching the Fallen hunt their prey like it was some kind of art exhibit.¡±


    Even then, Hugo looked older than his years. His hair, prematurely streaked with gray, framed a face etched with exhaustion. The dark bags under his eyes spoke of countless sleepless nights and a job that demanded far too much. His A.E.G.I.S uniform was sharp and professional, but his weary expression betrayed the toll his work had taken.


    The alley was a grotesque scene of carnage. Blood pooled around mangled bodies, the metallic scent thick in the air. There were at least twelve corpses, each hacked apart with terrifying precision. Limbs were scattered like broken dolls, and the walls were splattered with crimson streaks. It was as though the alley itself had been painted in violence.


    Standing in the center of the chaos was Michello. His black robes were immaculate, untouched by the carnage surrounding him. He turned slowly as Hugo approached, the faint hum of the chainsaw at his side the only sound in the otherwise deathly silence.


    ¡°Oh, another agent,¡± Michello said, his voice calm and disinterested, as though greeting an uninvited guest at a dinner party. He tilted his head, his pink eye gleaming with faint amusement. ¡°I grow bored with you dogs. Leave now, and I¡¯ll spare you.¡±


    Hugo tightened his grip on his weapon, his jaw set. ¡°You¡¯ve already killed multiple of my comrades. I can¡¯t let you walk away from this.¡±


    Michello¡¯s gaze swept the alley, his grin widening slightly as he gestured to the carnage. ¡°Ah, yes. Your comrades. Such dedicated souls. Tell me, dog, do you mourn them? Or are they just another part of this endless machine you serve?¡±


    Hugo ignored the taunt, his eyes darting to the bodies. Each one bore deep, jagged cuts¡ªevidence of Michello¡¯s chainsaw. His stomach churned, but he forced himself to stay composed. ¡°Enough games, Michello. Why did you do this?¡±


    Michello chuckled softly, stepping over a severed arm as he began to approach Hugo. ¡°The Fallen,¡± he said, almost wistfully, ¡°such poor creatures, don¡¯t you agree?¡±


    ¡°What the hell are you talking about?¡± Hugo growled, his patience fraying.


    Michello stopped a few paces away, his pink eye-locking onto Hugo¡¯s. ¡°You can¡¯t see them, can you?¡± he said, his tone tinged with pity. ¡°The dead who linger. Their broken souls, tethered to this realm by their suffering. It¡¯s tragic, really.¡± He sighed, shaking his head. ¡°But then again, I suppose heretic dogs like you wouldn¡¯t understand.¡±


    Hugo¡¯s grip on his weapon tightened. ¡°Enough of your cryptic nonsense. You¡¯re a monster, Michello. Nothing more.¡±


    Michello¡¯s grin turned sharp, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. ¡°And what are you, Hugo? A savior? A hero? Tell me, do you truly believe you¡¯re making a difference in this world?¡±


    Hugo hesitated, the question cutting deeper than he expected. ¡°No,¡± he admitted finally, his voice bitter. ¡°I kill one monster, but there are always twelve more. Even if I kill you, there¡¯s still the Dove, the Butcher, and a hundred others like you. It¡¯s all a waste of time.¡±


    Michello¡¯s laughter echoed through the blood-soaked alley, rich and unrestrained, as though the surrounding carnage was the punchline to some dark cosmic joke. ¡°Oh, Hugo,¡± he said, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye with theatrical flair. ¡°At least you¡¯re honest. That¡¯s why I like you.¡± He stepped closer, his boots squelching in the crimson puddles, his grin widening into something both charismatic and chilling. ¡°But tell me this: if it¡¯s all meaningless, why are you still fighting?¡±


    Hugo stared at him, his jaw clenched tight. He didn¡¯t respond. He didn¡¯t need to. His silence was a fortress, but Michello¡¯s words chipped away at it with unsettling precision.


    Michello tilted his head, his pink eye glinting with dangerous amusement. ¡°Ah, the silence of a man wrestling with his own existence. How poetic.¡± He raised his hand, his fingers snapping with a sharp click. ¡°Let me show you the future¡ªa world of pure horror.¡±


    Before Hugo could react, the world around him warped. His vision blurred, the dim alley dissolving into a twisted, apocalyptic nightmare.


    The sky above him bled crimson, dark clouds swirling ominously as blood rain fell in relentless torrents. The moon hung low, its unblinking eye a glaring, malevolent presence that seemed to bore into his soul. Black feathers drifted through the air like a macabre snowstorm, dissolving into ash upon contact with the ground. The streets writhed with movement as monstrous abominations prowled the desolate landscape. Grotesque creatures with mismatched limbs, gaping maws, and countless, writhing tentacles filled the streets. Their guttural howls echoed like a symphony of despair.


    Hugo¡¯s stomach churned violently as the stench of decay and blood overwhelmed him. The sight¡ªthe sheer wrongness¡ªof the scene was too much. He doubled over, retching, his body convulsing as his mind struggled to process the nightmare unfolding before him.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the horrifying vision vanished. The alley returned, silent save for Hugo¡¯s ragged breathing and the faint hum of Michello¡¯s chainsaw. Hugo staggered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his legs trembling beneath him.


    Michello watched him with an almost pitying expression, his voice softer now, though no less unsettling. ¡°It¡¯s truly horrible, isn¡¯t it?¡± he said, spreading his arms as though embracing the memory of the vision. ¡°I see it every night¡ªa constant reminder of the fate awaiting those who refuse my Lady¡¯s embrace.¡± His smile returned, sharp and dangerous. ¡°I pity you, truly. But there is still hope for even a heretic dog like you. Pray to her, Hugo. Seek her guidance before it¡¯s too late.¡±


    With that, Michello turned on his heel, his black robes billowing as he walked away, leaving Hugo standing amidst the carnage. His chainsaw¡¯s faint hum grew quieter until it was swallowed by the night.


    ¡°At the time,¡± Hugo said, his voice heavy with the weight of memory, ¡°I didn¡¯t know what he showed me was real. I assumed it was just another one of his illusions. A trick to mess with my head.¡±


    Arthur leaned forward, his brows furrowed. ¡°Do you think we can trust him? To kill the angels, I mean?¡±


    Hugo let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. ¡°Trust? No. But could he do it? Absolutely. Michello is dangerous because he¡¯s brilliant and relentless. I used to talk to the bastard who stole my body¡ªmy own personal angelic tormentor. He mentioned Michello once. Called him ¡®God¡¯s favorite child who chose the path of a devil.¡¯ That¡¯s how the angels refer to him. Even they fear him.¡±


    The room fell silent, the weight of Hugo¡¯s words settling over them like a heavy fog.


    Roxanne let out a low whistle. ¡°What a scary man. But¡­ he might be our best shot, right? I mean, if he¡¯s that dangerous, maybe we should let him help.¡±


    Arthur nodded slowly, determination flashing in his eyes. ¡°If I see him again, I¡¯ll give him more details. We don¡¯t have many options, and if Michello¡¯s willing to go after the angels, then we should let him.¡±


    Hugo sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. ¡°Just be careful, Arthur. You might think you¡¯re using Michello, but don¡¯t forget¡ªhe¡¯s using you, too. And with someone like him, you¡¯re always playing by his rules.¡±


    As nightfall approached, the oppressive tension of the coming darkness hung in the air, but the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Eliza and Emelia stepped into the hideout, their faces drawn with exhaustion.


    ¡°Oh, hello, everyone,¡± Eliza greeted, her voice hollow, lacking its usual sharp edge. She dropped her bag onto a nearby chair, her movements mechanical. ¡°How¡¯s it going?¡±


    Hugo didn¡¯t miss a beat, his tone blunt and matter-of-fact. ¡°Arthur became friends with the government¡¯s most wanted criminal.¡±


    Both women froze mid-step, their eyes widening in unison. ¡°What?!¡± they exclaimed in disbelief.


    Eliza blinked, still processing, while Emelia looked between Arthur and Hugo, her face a mix of concern and confusion. ¡°Arthur, is he serious?¡± Emelia asked hesitantly.


    Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, his expression sheepish. ¡°Look, it¡¯s not as bad as it sounds. He said he¡¯d help us with the angels.¡±


    Eliza raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. ¡°And you thought that was a good idea?¡±


    Hugo cut in before Arthur could respond. ¡°Anyway,¡± he said, his voice turning more practical, ¡°I¡¯ve had this place reinforced. The Fallen can¡¯t naturally break objects, so we¡¯re safe in here. I promise.¡±


    Noticing their still-tense expressions, Hugo stood, gripping his metal bat. Without warning, he swung it at their heads. The bat passed harmlessly through, as expected, but the abrupt action drew simultaneous yelps from both women.


    ¡°What the hell, Hugo?!¡± Eliza shouted, grabbing him by the collar with an exasperated glare. ¡°It can¡¯t even hurt us! What was that for?¡±


    Hugo chuckled, unfazed by her outburst. ¡°For that reaction,¡± he said, smirking. He glanced at Emelia. ¡°What about you? Feel like taking a swing at me?¡±


    Emelia tilted her head, her voice calm but mischievous. ¡°Arthur, could you kick him in the shins for me, please?¡±


    ¡°Why me?¡± Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°I can only hit one shin at a time,¡± Emelia replied sweetly before delivering a light kick to Hugo¡¯s shin, grinning as she stepped back.


    Hugo winced theatrically, rubbing his leg as though he could actually feel the impact. ¡°You know what? I¡¯m not cooking dinner tonight.¡±


    ¡°Please, boss!¡± Roxanne chimed in, her voice taking on a pleading tone as she clasped her hands together and attempted a pair of wide, puppy-dog eyes. ¡°It¡¯s been ages since you¡¯ve cooked for us.¡±


    Hugo shot her a flat look. ¡°I cooked yesterday. You¡¯re just greedy.¡±


    Roxanne shrugged innocently, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. There¡¯s no evidence¡ªI made sure of that.¡±


    Hugo groaned, muttering under his breath. ¡°Fine, whatever. But you¡¯re helping this time.¡± He grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the kitchen.


    ¡°Wait, no!¡± Roxanne protested, her mock horror betrayed by the grin she tried to hide.


    The rest of the group chuckled as Hugo and Roxanne disappeared into the kitchen, their banter continuing in the background.


    ¡°I swear,¡± Hugo¡¯s voice called out, followed by the sound of a chopping board hitting the counter, ¡°you¡¯d have cut your fingers off ages ago if you weren¡¯t already a ghost.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m better at eating than cooking,¡± Roxanne quipped. ¡°It¡¯s a skill.¡±


    Eliza leaned against the table, her lips twitching into a faint smile as she glanced at Emelia. ¡°You¡¯d think they were siblings the way they go at it.¡±


    Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Roxanne stood over a pile of vegetables, holding a knife with an awkward grip. Hugo sighed, stepping behind her and gently taking her hand. ¡°Here, let me help,¡± he said, guiding her fingers to hold the knife and carefully chop the ingredients properly.


    ¡°T-thanks,¡± Roxanne mumbled, her cheeks flushing slightly as she focused on the task.


    Hugo smirked, his usual gruffness softening just a touch. ¡°Don¡¯t mention it. Just try not to turn dinner into a disaster.¡±


    After some time, Hugo emerged from the kitchen, carrying a large steaming dish of shrimp Alfredo. The creamy sauce glistened under the dim light, the aroma of garlic, herbs, and perfectly saut¨¦ed shrimp filling the room and drawing everyone¡¯s attention. Behind him, Roxanne trailed with plates and utensils in hand, her usual exuberance noticeably dimmed. She looked utterly spent, her shoulders slumped and her expression somewhere between exhaustion and exasperation.


    ¡°Dinner¡¯s ready,¡± Hugo announced, setting the dish on the table with a flourish. His tone was casual, but there was a hint of pride in his voice as he glanced at the perfectly cooked meal.


    Eliza sniffed the air, her mood lifting slightly. ¡°Well, at least you didn¡¯t burn the sauce this time,¡± she teased, a smirk tugging at her lips.


    Roxanne dropped into a chair with an exaggerated sigh, slumping over the table like a defeated warrior. ¡°You say that, but you have no idea the hell I went through. I¡¯ve seen things,¡± she groaned dramatically, waving a hand as though fending off an invisible foe.


    ¡°Things like garlic cloves and measuring cups?¡± Hugo quipped, raising an eyebrow as he handed out plates.


    Roxanne shot him a mock glare. ¡°You¡¯re lucky this turned out edible, or you¡¯d be eating it alone.¡±


    Emelia giggled softly, reaching for a plate. ¡°It smells amazing. Thank you both.¡±


    As everyone began to serve themselves, Arthur glanced at Roxanne, who was still feigning an air of devastation. ¡°You alright there, chef?¡± he asked, a playful smirk on his face.


    Roxanne sat up just enough to grab her fork, her eyes narrowing. ¡°I¡¯ll survive. Barely.¡±


    ¡°Stop being so dramatic,¡± Hugo muttered, though there was a faint, rare smile on his face as he took his seat.


    The group dug into the meal, the atmosphere growing lighter with each bite. The warm, rich flavors of the Alfredo were a temporary escape, a small comfort in their otherwise chaotic reality. For a while, the horrors of the outside world faded, replaced by laughter and the sound of clinking utensils.


    As the last remnants of dinner disappeared, Roxanne leaned back in her chair, her energy slowly returning. ¡°Okay, I admit it,¡± she said with a grin. ¡°That was worth the suffering.¡±


    Hugo rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡±

 Chapter 8-Night Parade

    December 22nd. The chill of winter hung in the air as Michello strolled through the quiet streets, the darkness wrapped around him like a cloak. The moon hung high above, its light pale and cold, illuminating the faint wisps of his breath in the frigid night. Around him, the world seemed almost serene, yet the distant cries of the Fallen pierced the silence like the wails of forgotten souls. Their movements were erratic, their usual hunger now tinged with unfamiliar, feral anger.


    ¡°Ah, how delightful,¡± Michello murmured, his voice soft yet carrying an edge of excitement. His pink eye glinted in the dim moonlight as he tilted his head, observing a particularly grotesque Fallen as it tore through an unseen specter. ¡°It seems tomorrow will be the Blood Moon.¡± His lips curved into a smile, sharp and dangerous. ¡°I should visit my dear friend. We must savor the night together.¡±


    His steps quickened, a bounce in his stride, as though the thought of the chaos filled him with glee. From the shadows, figures began to emerge, one by one, until a small group surrounded him. They were clad in flowing white cloaks, their faces hidden behind intricate fox masks. Each mask was painted with delicate crimson markings, a stark contrast to the purity of their robes. Around their necks, they bore the same holy emblem Michello wore¡ªa gleaming pendant symbolizing their shared faith.


    ¡°The night is young, my dear friends,¡± Michello announced, spinning on his heel to face them, his arms outstretched in a theatrical gesture. His voice carried a melodic lilt, as though he were delivering a sermon. ¡°Tomorrow, the heavens shall gift us an eternal crimson glow¡ªa blessing from our Lady! Praise be to our heavenly goddess, may the Lady¡¯s grace bathe us all!¡±


    He laughed then, a sound rich with mirth and madness, before breaking into an impromptu dance in the middle of the deserted street. His robes swirled around him as he spun, his chainsaw gleaming ominously at his side. The masked figures watched in silence, their heads tilted slightly, their reverence for their ¡°Cardinal¡± evident in their stillness.


    One of the white-robed figures stepped forward, their voice muffled by the mask but laced with deference. ¡°Cardinal, what would you have us do tomorrow night? We are not blessed as you are to witness the world of the dead.¡±


    Michello stopped mid-spin, his smile widening as he turned to face the speaker. ¡°Ah, yes. You poor, unseeing lambs,¡± he said, his tone dripping with mock pity. ¡°Fear not! I have the perfect task for you.¡± He stepped closer, his grin sharpening into something predatory. ¡°Go forth. Burn as many A.E.G.I.S facilities as you can. Kill their agents. All of them. Leave no one alive.¡±


    The group shifted slightly, murmurs of agreement rippling through them like a low chant.


    ¡°They¡¯ll be distracted by the unexpected Blood Moon,¡± Michello continued, his tone gleeful. ¡°It will be chaos¡ªglorious chaos! And while they flounder in the dark, you, my dear flock, shall deliver the Lady¡¯s will.¡±


    Another figure, their voice hesitant, stepped forward. ¡°Cardinal, should we seek permission from the Shrine Maiden first? Such an act may¡ª¡±


    Michello¡¯s laughter cut them off, loud and unrestrained. ¡°Permission? From her?¡± He waved a dismissive hand, his grin never faltering. ¡°She told me I could do whatever I want as long as I don¡¯t die.¡± He tilted his head back, his eye gleaming with unrestrained joy. ¡°And oh, how I intend to live tomorrow night! I¡¯ve never had the pleasure of enjoying the Night Parade in the U.S. before. What an exciting first!¡±


    He stretched his arms wide, his orange hair catching the moonlight as he basked in his vision of destruction. The masked figures knelt in unison, bowing their heads as they chanted softly, their voices blending into a haunting hymn that filled the still night air. Michello stood among them, his grin now almost serene as he prepared for the chaos to come.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Michello said with a dramatic pout, crossing his arms like a child denied a favorite treat, ¡°those heretics deserve it. A few months ago, they dared to demote me to second place on their priority kill list! Me! The nerve! I held that number one spot since I was sixteen, a whole ten years as the highest human on that list. This is truly unacceptable.¡± He stomped his foot lightly, his pink eye gleaming with exaggerated indignation.


    ¡°Yes, sir, of course,¡± one of the robed figures said, their voice uncertain as they glanced at each other.


    Michello waved them off, sighing theatrically. ¡°Ah, no matter. I shall reclaim my rightful place soon enough.¡± With a flourish, he walked to a nearby sewer grate, pried it open, and hopped inside. The clang of the cover echoed as he slid it shut behind him. The priests exchanged uneasy glances but made no move to follow, deciding¡ªwisely¡ªto stay above ground.


    Michello navigated the sewer tunnels with practiced ease, his boots splashing through the shallow muck. The darkness didn¡¯t bother him; he seemed to thrive in it, humming a cheerful tune as he made his way deeper. Soon, he reached a rusted metal door. Without hesitation, he raised a foot and kicked it open with a resounding crash.


    Inside, the group looked up in alarm, their moment of peace shattered. They had been gathered around the small table, enjoying plates of Hugo¡¯s butter chicken¡ªa dish he had made with Roxanne¡¯s clumsy help. The warm aroma of spices and cream still lingered in the air, but the cheerful atmosphere evaporated the moment Michello appeared.


    ¡°Oh, Hugo!¡± Michello exclaimed, his tone dripping with mock delight as he sauntered in. ¡°What a surprise! What are you doing here? Didn¡¯t I stab you in the leg last week? Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve been replaced by an angel all this time!¡± He feigned shock, his hand flying to his chest in mock horror. ¡°How scandalous!¡±


    Hugo¡¯s expression remained a mixture of confusion and exasperation. ¡°Yeah¡­ why the hell are you here?¡± he asked flatly, setting his fork down.


    Michello clapped his hands together, his grin widening. ¡°I bring good news, my dear friends! Tomorrow is the Night Parade!¡± His voice rose with excitement, his energy infectious despite the tension in the room.


    ¡°Wait, really?!¡± Roxanne exclaimed, her face lighting up as she all but leaped out of her chair. ¡°It¡¯s been so long since the last one¡ªI can¡¯t wait!¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡± Hugo said, arching an eyebrow but allowing a small smile to tug at his lips. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ good to hear.¡±


    Across the table, Arthur, Emelia, and Eliza exchanged confused glances before speaking in unison. ¡°What¡¯s the Night Parade?¡±


    Michello gasped theatrically, spinning toward them with wide, sparkling eyes. ¡°You don¡¯t know? Oh, you poor, ignorant lambs! Allow me to enlighten you.¡± He raised his arms as if delivering a sermon. ¡°On the night of the Blood Moon, the mortal realm is bathed in chaos as the supernatural grows exponentially more dangerous. The Fallen? They revert to their uncorrupted forms. For the living, it¡¯s a night of terror. But for the dead¡­¡± He paused, his grin stretching wider. ¡°It¡¯s a night of joy! A grand festival! A celebration where all the dead gather to revel in the fleeting peace. Tomorrow, my dear friends, shall be a night to remember.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Arthur, Emelia, and Eliza shared a mix of awe and apprehension as they processed Michello¡¯s words.


    Michello clapped his hands again, his chainsaw swaying slightly at his side as he spun in a small circle. ¡°Oh, how I adore the Night Parade! The laughter, the dancing, the sheer madness of it all! I do hope you¡¯ll join in the festivities. After all, it¡¯s not every day the dead are given such a gift.¡± He shot them a dazzling smile, his pink eye glinting with mischief.


    ¡°Well,¡± Hugo muttered, picking up his fork again, ¡°this should be¡­ interesting.¡±


    ¡°Wait, so it¡¯ll be safe to go up to the surface?¡± Eliza asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement, a rare glimmer of the old her shining through.


    ¡°Yes, indeed,¡± Michello replied, clasping his hands as if delivering a sermon. ¡°No dangerous creatures to harm you. The Fallen will revert to who they once were, shedding their monstrous forms for the night. And, as is tradition, they¡¯ll hold a grand festival to honor their god.¡± His tone was laced with theatrical reverence.


    ¡°There¡¯s even all kinds of delicious food and drinks¡­¡± Roxanne chimed in, her smile turning mischievous. ¡°Lots of drinks.¡±


    ¡°No drinking for you, you damn alcoholic,¡± Hugo grumbled, pointing his fork at her like a disapproving parent.


    Roxanne crossed her arms, feigning indignation. ¡°I¡¯m not an alcoholic, I¡¯m a connoisseur. There¡¯s a difference.¡±


    ¡°Hugo, we¡¯re going, right?¡± Arthur asked, glancing at him with a mixture of curiosity and hope.


    ¡°Of course we¡¯re going,¡± Hugo replied, leaning back in his chair with a rare smile. ¡°It¡¯s a special night, one that doesn¡¯t come around often. Roughly once every six months. We¡¯d be fools not to enjoy it.¡±


    ¡°Arthur, let¡¯s go together! I can¡¯t wait!¡± Emelia said, wrapping her arms around Arthur in a quick, enthusiastic hug.


    ¡°Scary guy, care to join us for dinner?¡± she asked, turning to Michello with an innocent smile.


    Michello chuckled, brushing a stray strand of orange hair from his face. ¡°Oh, as much as I¡¯d love to, I have a few people to kill. My schedule is quite full, you see.¡± He adjusted his chainsaw at his side, giving them a cheerful wave. ¡°So, please excuse me. I¡¯ll be leaving now.¡±


    As he strolled toward the door, humming a tune that sounded far too pleasant for someone who¡¯d just announced murder on his agenda, Roxanne leaned toward Hugo. ¡°Should we have let him leave?¡± she asked, her voice low but tinged with concern.


    Hugo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°Trust me, nothing stops that psychopath. If he wants to go, there¡¯s no point in trying to stop him.¡±


    The door clanged shut behind Michello, leaving the group in a momentary silence.


    ¡°Well,¡± Eliza said, breaking the quiet, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s going to be fun.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go ahead and explain everything,¡± Hugo said, gesturing for them to settle back at the dining table. ¡°Take a seat and finish your dinner.¡±


    The group obediently resumed their meal, the faint clink of utensils against plates filling the room as Hugo began to speak. His tone was measured but carried the weight of someone who had seen far more than he cared to admit.


    ¡°The entire world will turn into a large-scale festival tomorrow,¡± he started. ¡°The Fallen were once angels, but unlike the Ten Commandments, they chose not to steal human bodies. That choice came at a cost. Every night, they lose all control and transform into the Fallen¡ªmindless creatures consumed by the curse. The Night Parade is their only reprieve.¡±


    Arthur paused, his fork hovering over his plate. ¡°I¡¯ve been wondering about the moon. At night, there¡¯s always a giant eye staring down at us, and during a blood moon, the Fallen are free from their curse. What¡¯s the connection?¡±


    Hugo leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. ¡°From what I¡¯ve gathered, the moon is their god¡ªtainted and twisted, but still revered by them.  However, very few understand the full story. The angels are tight-lipped about it, they rarely speak of why they were cursed in the first place.  I¡¯m not sure if they even know why.¡±


    Roxanne grinned, resting her chin on her hand. ¡°If you let me drink, I¡¯ll help you get some information,¡± she offered, her voice laced with playful mischief.


    Hugo shot her a withering look. ¡°On one condition, I¡¯ll cut you off the moment you get too drunk.¡±


    ¡°Deal!¡± Roxanne said, her grin widening. ¡°You won¡¯t regret this.¡±


    Eliza leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. ¡°I¡¯ll help with the investigation too. No way am I going to be stuck as a third wheel with the lovebirds all night.¡±


    Hugo chuckled softly, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. ¡°Thank you. You two¡±¡ªhe pointed at Arthur and Emelia¡ª¡°should take the night to enjoy yourselves. Talk about whatever you need to. The Night Parade is a rare opportunity.¡±


    Arthur glanced at Emelia, a faint blush creeping up his neck. ¡°S-sure, thanks.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t wait!¡± Emelia exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ¡°It¡¯s going to be so much fun.¡±


    As the group finished their dinner, the tension in the room began to lift, replaced by an air of cautious optimism. For the first time in a long while, the promise of a night without danger felt like a gift¡ªone they intended to make the most of.


    The next day, at precisely six o¡¯clock, the group gathered in the nearby park, their breaths visible in the crisp winter air. Excitement buzzed between them as they eagerly awaited the Night Parade to begin. The seconds ticked by, each one charged with anticipation. Then, as always, at six minutes and six seconds past the hour, the world changed.


    The sky above seemed to ripple and tear, revealing a celestial tapestry bathed in hues of deep crimson and gold. The blood-red moon dominated the heavens, glowing with a radiant beauty that rivaled the finest ruby. Its light bathed the world in an otherworldly glow, casting everything in shades of scarlet and amber.


    From the sky, white feathers began to drift down, their edges shimmering faintly as if dusted with starlight. They were joined by colorful confetti that seemed to materialize from nowhere, swirling gently in the soft, magical breeze. Among them danced glowing fireflies, their tiny lights weaving through the air like living constellations.


    Then, the streets came alive.


    Astral floats, crafted from translucent, shimmering material, glided gracefully through the air and along the roads. Each one bore intricate designs, glowing softly as they illuminated the night. Some were adorned with angelic statues that seemed almost alive, while others carried elaborate depictions of celestial stories long forgotten by mortals. The floats radiated a quiet serenity, their beauty enough to bring tears to the eyes of those who watched.


    Above, angels with luminous wings floated gracefully, their ethereal forms outlined in golden light. Some descended to set up carnival games, their movements precise and almost reverent. Others busied themselves at food stands, crafting meals that glowed faintly with divine energy. The scents of roasted meats, sweet confections, and spiced drinks filled the air, tantalizing and comforting. A few angels simply floated silently, their hands clasped in prayer, their expressions serene as they gazed at the moon, as though hoping their god could share in this fleeting moment of joy.


    Scattered among the festivities were angels who knelt, their heads bowed, tears streaking their faces. They wept quietly, their sobs a mix of gratitude and sorrow. For them, this night was not just a reprieve¡ªit was a painful reminder of what they had lost and what they might never regain. Yet, they smiled through their tears, savoring the temporary freedom from their curse.


    The ghosts, too, were swept up in the emotion of the night. For some, it was their first Night Parade, and their awe was palpable. They marveled at the splendor of the event, their faces lighting with joy as they realized they could walk freely, without fear of the Fallen. Others, more seasoned, wasted no time and made a beeline for the food stands, eager to savor the legendary angelic cooking they had long anticipated. The mingling scents and laughter created a harmony that echoed through the streets.


    For a single night, the veil between realms seemed to lift, and the boundary between joy and sorrow blurred. The parade wasn¡¯t just a celebration¡ªit was a moment of unity, a chance for both the cursed and the damned to bask in the light of something greater than themselves.


    The Night Parade had begun.

 Chapter 9-Cruelty

    As the Night Parade unfurled in all its ethereal glory, a young man sat on a weathered bench in the park, surrounded by the quiet rustle of trees. The crimson glow of the blood-red moon bathed him in a surreal light, casting long, wavering shadows across his figure. His brush moved with fluid precision across a canvas, creating a stunning image of the celestial festival before him.


    The man¡¯s jet-black, shoulder-length hair framed his pale face, and his piercing blue eyes locked intently on the scene before him. His attire was simple, a black-and-blue striped shirt beneath a worn black apron splattered with paint streaks. Despite being very much alive, his gaze reflected an unsettling depth of knowledge and understanding, as if he could see far more than the mortals bustling just beyond the park¡¯s edge.


    On his canvas, he painted the Night Parade, yet his palette was a stark contrast to the vibrant hues of the festival. He worked only with shades of blue, his strokes capturing the beauty of the astral floats, the falling feathers, and the drifting fireflies in a haunting monochrome.


    Pausing briefly, the man tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint, almost bitter smile. ¡°So, the traitorous son is active tonight,¡± he murmured, his voice low and smooth, as though speaking to no one and everyone at once. His brush froze mid-stroke as he gazed skyward. ¡°Oh, Michello. I wonder what chaos you shall sow.¡±


    He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as though burdened by a thought too heavy to bear. ¡°I truly despise that child,¡± he said softly, the edge in his tone sharp enough to cut. ¡°To be so abundantly gifted by our lord, yet so easily lured by falsehoods. Such a waste of grace.¡±


    The young man returned his focus to the canvas, his brush gliding over it with a renewed intensity. The strokes were bold and deliberate, yet they seemed almost melancholic, as though he were pouring not just skill but also grief and disdain into the image. The painting became a vivid, albeit somber, portrait of the Night Parade¡ªits joyous revelry transformed into a haunting tableau under his skilled hand.


    Meanwhile, elsewhere in the heart of the Night Parade, Arthur and Emelia wandered through the festivities together. The glow of the festival illuminated their faces, and the jubilant laughter and music surrounded them like an embrace. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the oppressive weight of their existence seemed to lift, replaced by a fleeting sense of wonder and peace.


    Arthur leaned his head back against the tree''s rough bark, the distant sounds of the Night Parade fading into the background. The vibrant hues of the festival seemed far removed from the weight of the moment, the crimson glow of the blood moon casting an eerie light on the two of them.


    He took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the ground. ¡°I¡¯ve been avoiding telling you how I died,¡± he began, his voice low and trembling. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve already figured it out, but¡­¡± He paused, his hands curling into fists as he mustered the courage to continue. ¡°I killed myself.¡±


    Emelia¡¯s breath hitched, her hands tightening slightly on her lap. Her lips parted to say something, but the words wouldn¡¯t come. Finally, she managed to ask, her voice laced with a fragile vulnerability, ¡°Can you tell me why¡­? Was it because of me?¡±


    Arthur¡¯s head shot up, his eyes meeting hers. He hesitated momentarily, the weight of her question pressing down on him like a vice. ¡°No,¡± he said firmly, though his voice cracked with emotion. ¡°Your death¡­ it wasn¡¯t the reason. It was the first domino, though. After you¡­ everything just got worse. And not having you there for any of it¡­ it made everything so much harder.¡±


    A single tear rolled down his cheek, glinting in the moonlight before falling away. His voice wavered as he continued, ¡°I felt like I was drowning, Emelia. Every day, it got harder to breathe and harder to see any way out. And then¡­ I just stopped fighting.¡±


    Emelia¡¯s heart clenched at his words, guilt twisting in her chest despite his assurances. Without a word, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Her fingers trembled as they pressed against his back, and she whispered, ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Arthur. I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t be there for you.¡±


    Arthur froze for a moment before he relaxed into her touch, his own arms wrapping around her hesitantly, as though he feared she might vanish. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault,¡± he murmured, his voice muffled against her shoulder. ¡°None of it was your fault.¡±


    ¡°I wish I could¡¯ve stayed,¡± she whispered, her voice cracking. ¡°I wish I could¡¯ve been there for you. I¡¯m so sorry¡­ Please, Arthur, tell me more. I need to understand.¡±


    Arthur pulled back slightly, his eyes red and glistening as he met her gaze. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. ¡°Okay,¡± he said, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you everything.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s voice trembled as he recounted his memories, each word laden with raw pain and bitterness. ¡°The grief¡­ it consumed me. Losing you, Emelia, was like a piece of me was ripped away. I thought that was the worst of it, but somehow, life kept finding ways to break me further.¡±


    He took a deep, shuddering breath, his hands gripping his knees as if grounding himself. "The bullying at school¡ªit got worse after you were gone. It was like they could smell my vulnerability, like predators sensing wounded prey. Every insult, every shove, every cruel laugh¡ªit drove me closer to the edge. I thought I was losing my mind."


    Arthur¡¯s gaze grew distant, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But even that wasn¡¯t the worst of it. My dad¡­ his drinking spiraled out of control. It was always bad, but after you were gone, after everything, it became unbearable. I found out he¡¯d killed a teenager in a drunk driving accident years ago. And, of course, his buddy¡ªa lawyer¡ªgot him off. I wish he¡¯d gone to jail that day. Maybe things would¡¯ve been different."


    His hands clenched into fists, the knuckles turning white. "He¡¯d always been violent, but after he lost his job and the booze became his best friend again, the violence escalated. He¡¯d hit me, hit my mom¡­ more than I can count. One night, he pushed her down the stairs. She broke her arm, her ribs¡ªshe could barely move for weeks. I was the one taking care of her while he sat there, guzzling down another bottle like nothing happened."Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Arthur¡¯s voice cracked, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "I couldn¡¯t take it anymore, Emelia. I snapped. All the fear, the anger, the helplessness¡ªit boiled over. One night, I grabbed a knife¡­ and I stabbed him. Again and again, until he didn¡¯t move."


    Emelia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as tears streamed down her cheeks. "Arthur¡­" she whispered, her voice trembling.


    Arthur shook his head, his expression a mixture of guilt and despair. "And that wasn¡¯t even the end of it. That damn angel¡ªVeritas, fed off my despair, amplified every negative emotion until I felt like I was suffocating in it. I thought I could escape it all. I thought maybe if I ended it, I could find some peace. So I climbed to the school roof and tried to throw myself off."


    His voice broke entirely, and he squeezed his eyes shut, the tears finally spilling over. "But I didn¡¯t even get that right. Instead of dying, my body was stolen. Veritas took everything from me¡ªmy life, my pain, my identity¡ªand left me as this."


    The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, the distant sounds of the Night Parade fading into an almost haunting silence. Emelia reached out, her hands trembling as she cupped Arthur¡¯s face, forcing him to look at her.


    "You went through all of that," she said, her voice choked with emotion, "and you¡¯re still here. You¡¯re still you, Arthur. I¡¯m so sorry I wasn¡¯t there for you. But I¡¯m here now. We¡¯ll face this together."


    Arthur leaned into her touch, his tears mingling with hers as they sat under the haunting crimson glow of the blood moon. The ethereal light cast an almost surreal aura around them, the vivid reds and golds making the world feel both alive and suffocating.


    "Can you tell me who did it?" Arthur asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching hers. "Who killed you? Do you know?"


    Emelia¡¯s gaze faltered, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped his. Just as she opened her mouth to respond, the air seemed to shift. A cold chill swept over them, and both turned their heads toward a scene that froze them in place.


    Arthur¡¯s breath caught in his throat. Standing across the park was himself¡ªor rather, Veritas. The angel wore his stolen body with an air of arrogance, his purple eyes glinting in the moonlight. Beside him stood a girl, and Arthur immediately recognized her. Long hot pink hair cascaded down her back, contrasting sharply with her pale, almost ghostly skin. Her cold gray eyes were void of emotion, like mirrors reflecting nothingness. She wore a long black dress adorned with fake black flowers, the petals seeming to drink in the crimson light. Two hair ornaments resembling thorny vines rested on either side of her head, completing her unsettling appearance.


    The girl clung to Veritas¡¯s arm, her body language brimming with a twisted sense of devotion. Her grip on him was possessive, as though she feared he might vanish if she let go.


    Arthur¡¯s voice broke the silence, sharp with confusion and unease. ¡°What¡¯s the damn angel doing with our classmate¡­ isn¡¯t that Maria?¡±


    His words were met with silence. Then he turned to Emelia, noticing her sudden rigidity. Her wide, tear-filled eyes were locked on the scene before them. Her entire form trembled violently, her hands clutching his as though he were the only thing anchoring her to reality. If she could have vomited, Arthur was sure she would have.


    ¡°No¡­ no,¡± she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear. Tears poured down her face, soaking into the fabric of her sleeves as she desperately tried to look away, but her gaze refused to shift.


    Arthur¡¯s heart pounded, alarmed by her reaction. ¡°Emelia, what¡¯s wrong?¡± he asked, his worry growing with each passing second.


    Her voice came out shaky, barely audible, but her words hit like a thunderclap. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s the girl who killed me.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s blood ran cold. His eyes snapped back to the girl standing beside Veritas. Maria. The girl who had seemed so ordinary, so unassuming, in life now exuded an aura of darkness that set every nerve in his body on edge.


    He turned back to Emelia, his own fear overshadowed by the sight of her pain. ¡°Emelia¡­¡± he began, his voice heavy with sorrow, but no words could bridge the chasm that opened between them at that moment.


    Maria¡ªthe girl who had taken everything from Emelia¡ªstood there, alive, clinging to the monster who had stolen his body. The night that had promised fleeting joy now felt like it had been consumed by a deeper, more sinister darkness.


    ¡°Oh my, what an interesting development,¡± Michello¡¯s voice broke the heavy silence, his tone dripping with amusement. Arthur and Emelia turned abruptly, startled as Michello tumbled out of the tree they were sitting under, landing with a theatrical flourish. He dusted himself off casually, his ever-present grin stretching wider. ¡°I¡¯d wager Veritas knows exactly what she did. If anything, I¡¯d bet he amplified whatever hatred she had for you, just to make her do it. Such a delightful twist, don¡¯t you think?¡± He chuckled darkly, as though recounting a particularly entertaining story.


    ¡°Wh-what are you doing here?¡± Emelia stammered, her voice shaking as she momentarily forgot the chilling sight of Maria and Veritas. ¡°And why were you in a tree?¡±


    Michello waved her questions away with a lazy hand, his pink eye glinting mischievously. ¡°Such questions are irrelevant, my dear. The important matter at hand is this, tonight, I shall hunt an angel.¡± He tilted his head, his chainsaw hanging loosely at his side, the blade glinting ominously in the crimson moonlight. ¡°There are two in this park, but only one of them is the thief who stole my friend¡¯s body. At no extra charge, I¡¯ll even chop the limbs off that Maria girl. Consider it a bonus.¡± He flashed them a thumbs up, as though offering a neighborly favor.


    Arthur¡¯s stomach churned at Michello¡¯s casual tone, his unease growing with every word. ¡°Won¡¯t you suffer some kind of divine retribution if you do this? Especially on a night like this?¡± he asked, his voice edged with both worry and disbelief.


    Michello threw his head back and laughed, a rich, unrestrained sound that echoed through the park. ¡°Divine retribution? Oh, my naive young lamb, I¡¯ve been courting divine wrath for years!¡± He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°I¡¯ve angered every other part of the world, from demons to every government agency on the planet. Why, I even killed two of Santa¡¯s reindeer once. Poor old Saint Nicholas has been trying to kill me every Christmas since.¡± He straightened, his grin now bordering on maniacal. ¡°If divine retribution hasn¡¯t caught me yet, what¡¯s one more act of defiance?¡±


    Arthur and Emelia exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and resignation. Michello¡¯s chaotic energy was impossible to ignore, and his unrelenting confidence in the face of cosmic consequences was somehow both terrifying and oddly reassuring.


    ¡°Now then,¡± Michello said, lifting his chainsaw with a theatrical twirl. The blade roared to life, its guttural hum filling the air with a sense of impending violence. ¡°Let us begin the hunt. Shall we?¡±

 Chapter 10-Satisiel

    A little earlier, as the Night Parade pulsed with energy and color, Hugo, Roxanne, and Eliza navigated through the bustling festival, their eyes scanning the sea of ethereal faces. Laughter and music filled the air, but the weight of their purpose kept them grounded amidst the revelry. They were searching¡ªseeking someone, anyone, who could provide the answers they desperately needed.


    Eventually, their wandering brought them to the park, where they spotted a lone figure seated beneath a tree. The man worked methodically, his brush moving with an almost hypnotic rhythm over the canvas before him. The painting depicted the Night Parade, but instead of the vibrant, chaotic colors surrounding them, his strokes rendered the scene somber shades of blue. The contrast was striking, as if the joy of the parade had been drained and replaced with a quiet melancholy.


    The trio approached cautiously, their footsteps crunching softly against the fallen leaves. The man¡¯s piercing blue eyes flicked up briefly, acknowledging their presence, before returning to his work. His black hair fell loosely around his face, framing his pale features. He wore a black-and-blue striped shirt under a paint-splattered black apron, his appearance neat yet unassuming. Despite his calm demeanor, his gaze had an unsettling depth, as though he saw far more than he let on.


    ¡°Hello there,¡± the man said, his voice low and smooth, yet carrying an edge of pity that immediately put the group on guard. ¡°You pitiful souls, to have not died but to instead suffer the indignity of having your vessels stolen. How truly tragic.¡±


    Roxanne tensed, but Hugo placed a calming hand on her shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± Hugo said evenly. ¡°We are looking for answers. Can you help us?¡±


    The painter set his brush down and regarded them fully for the first time, his gaze unflinching. ¡°You seek knowledge, clarity¡ªanswers to the questions that plague your existence.¡± He tilted his head, a faint, almost enigmatic smile playing at his lips. ¡°I can provide them.¡±


    ¡°Will you tell us everything?¡± Hugo asked, his tone calm but firm.


    The man¡¯s smile widened slightly, though his eyes remained cold. ¡°Of course. But first, a condition.¡± He leaned back slightly, folding his arms as his gaze swept over them. ¡°I only ask one thing of you, do not place your faith in the priest of half-insanity.¡±


    ¡°Michello?¡± Eliza interjected, her brows furrowing. ¡°You¡¯re talking about him, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    The man¡¯s smile faltered, replaced by a look of pure disdain. ¡°Yes, of course. That filthy wretch,¡± he said, his voice dripping with venom. ¡°He is the most deplorable of all humans¡ªeverything you¡¯ve heard about him, and far worse. To trust him is to invite chaos into your already fragile existence.¡±


    Hugo¡¯s eyes narrowed, his instincts sharpening at the painter¡¯s words. ¡°You seem to know a lot about him. Who are you exactly?¡± His tone was careful, probing. ¡°Which of the Ten are you?¡±


    The painter¡¯s smile returned, though it was now tinged with amusement. He set his brush aside, his movements deliberate, almost theatrical. ¡°As astute as ever, Hugo,¡± he said, inclining his head slightly. ¡°I am Satisiel, the archangel of contentment.¡±


    The air seemed to shift around them, growing heavier as the name settled in the space between them. Despite Satisiel¡¯s calm exterior, there was an unmistakable authority in his presence¡ªa quiet, unyielding power that set him apart from the surrounding mortals.


    Roxanne crossed her arms, her voice laced with suspicion. ¡°If you¡¯re one of the Ten, why should we trust you any more than Michello?¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s expression remained calm, yet his piercing blue eyes darkened, a flicker of pain and regret visible in their depths. ¡°You can¡¯t trust me,¡± he said, his voice even but weighted with an unspoken burden. His gaze swept over them, lingering on each face as though searching for something intangible. ¡°But I can promise you this¡ªI am the far lesser of two evils.¡±


    Hugo crossed his arms, his stance firm. ¡°Fine. Then tell us everything,¡± he said, his tone sharp, carrying the authority of someone who refused to be toyed with.


    Satisiel nodded slightly, his posture straightening as he began to speak, his voice resonating with an almost hypnotic cadence. ¡°Long ago, before the worlds were fused, there were three realms, Nirvana, where we angels resided; Gaia, the domain you humans call Earth; and the Abyss, the shadowed realm of demons. Each world was separate, yet interconnected, governed by its own god¡ªa delicate balance maintained for millennia.¡±


    He paused, his gaze growing distant, as though reliving the memories he spoke of. ¡°But that balance was shattered by a demon whose hatred for the divine burned brighter than the stars themselves. His loathing was not limited to the god of the Abyss. No, his ambition was far greater. He sought the death of every god in existence¡ªa plan so audacious, so vile, it defied reason.¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s voice grew heavier, tinged with something close to sorrow. ¡°His cunning was unmatched. He devised a method to corrupt and destroy the gods of each realm. I cannot speak for how he slew the others, but for our Lord Helios, the god of Sun and Rationality, his plan was devastatingly effective. Through some unspeakable act, he tainted our Lord with madness.¡±


    The word hung in the air like a shadow, its weight palpable. ¡°Madness,¡± Satisiel repeated, his voice a quiet whisper that carried immense gravity. ¡°That insidious force that corrupts mortals and immortals alike. It seeped into our Lord¡¯s essence, poisoning his mind and breaking his will. The god who once illuminated Nirvana with the light of wisdom and reason became a shell of himself. His body began to decay, his divine flesh rotting even as he still lived. The agony of his existence made him irrational, unstable¡­ dangerous.¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s hands clenched at his sides, his composed demeanor cracking just slightly. ¡°His madness drove him to cast us out¡ªhis own creations, his loyal servants. He thrust us from the heavens, and as we fell, we were tainted by the very madness that consumed him. Most of us were twisted beyond recognition, our forms shattered and corrupted. We became the Fallen¡ªmonsters trapped in a nightmarish cycle.¡±


    He closed his eyes briefly, his voice steadying as he continued. ¡°But we¡ªthe Ten Commandments¡ªwere different. We were Helios¡¯s elite, chosen for our strength and resilience. We resisted the taint longer than the others. Yet even our strength had its limits. To survive, we needed vessels¡ªbodies untouched by the corruption.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Satisiel¡¯s gaze met Hugo¡¯s, his expression solemn. ¡°We sought out humans on the brink of despair, those who had given up on their lives. At the moment they relinquished their will to live, we took their bodies, seizing them to avoid succumbing to the same fate as the Fallen. It was not an act of malice but of desperation¡ªa choice made in the shadow of annihilation.¡±


    He straightened, his voice softening but no less resolute. ¡°That is our story. It is not a tale of righteousness or virtue. It is one of survival. I do not ask for your forgiveness, for I know it is not something I deserve. But understand this, we did what we had to do to endure, to continue existing in a world that sought to unmake us.¡±


    Hugo¡¯s expression hardened, his voice cutting through the weight of Satisiel¡¯s previous words. ¡°Tell me, what happens when we¡¯re devoured by the Fallen?¡± he asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and dread.


    Satisiel¡¯s serene demeanor remained unchanged, though his gaze grew heavier. ¡°When a Fallen consumes one of the dead, they begin to experience a form of purification,¡± he explained, his voice steady and deliberate. ¡°This afterlife is saturated with the lingering power of the God of Death and Disorder¡ªa force that taints everything and everyone within its grasp. Yet, paradoxically, it also has the potential to heal.¡±


    He folded his hands behind his back, his posture almost professorial. ¡°The gods of Gaia¡ªyes, all three of them¡ªstill live. Their influence remains potent within the mortal realm, unlike our lord or the God of the Abyss, who have long since been diminished or destroyed. When a Fallen consumes the dead, they ingest residual traces of the God of Death and Disorder¡¯s authority. This power, chaotic as it may be, begins to mend the cracks in their shattered forms.¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s blue eyes darkened further, his voice lowering as if sharing a forbidden truth. ¡°They do not return to what they once were¡ªnot fully. But they become something new. Something¡­ whole. Not entirely angel, not entirely monster. It is a fragile, unstable equilibrium. And with enough consumption, a Fallen can even escape this afterlife altogether. They can break free of the chains binding them to this realm and reenter the world of the living.¡±


    Hugo exchanged a tense glance with Eliza before turning back to Satisiel. ¡°And what about us? What happens if they devour us?¡± he pressed, his tone edged with suspicion.


    Satisiel¡¯s lips thinned, his expression becoming uncharacteristically grave. ¡°You, Hugo¡ªand you, Eliza¡ªare unlike the rest of the dead. Your bodies were stolen by us, the Ten Commandments. We who once basked in the greatest blessings of Lord Helios carry remnants of his divine essence within us, even now. Should a Fallen devour you¡­¡± He paused, his gaze sharp and unyielding. ¡°The process would be instantaneous. They would be revived completely, their corruption burned away in the heat of Helios¡¯s lingering light.¡±


    Eliza¡¯s breath caught, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. ¡°You¡¯re saying¡­ we¡¯re like a shortcut for them?¡± she asked, her voice shaking slightly.


    Satisiel nodded solemnly. ¡°Precisely. The essence within you is a fragment of our lord¡¯s power, and it catalyzes their restoration. That is why you must tread carefully. To the Fallen, you are not merely prey. You are salvation.¡±


    Hugo frowned, his mind working through the implications. Is there anyway to tell how many of the dead a Fallen has devoured?¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained clinical. ¡°A Fallen¡¯s wings are a reflection of their progress. The more dead they consume, the more their wings regenerate. A completely winged Fallen is exceedingly rare, but they do exist. They are the most dangerous among their kind¡ªthose closest to full revival.¡±


    Hugo¡¯s eyes narrowed, the memory of the winged Fallen they had encountered surfacing in his mind. ¡°That explains the one we fought,¡± he muttered, his voice tinged with realization. ¡°It had wings.¡±


    Satisiel inclined his head slightly. ¡°Indeed. And to my knowledge, only one Fallen has ever devoured enough to fully revive. I cannot overstate the danger they pose¡ªnot only to you but to all who reside in this realm and beyond.¡±


    Eliza clenched her fists, her voice tense. ¡°If they¡¯re this dangerous, then what do you suggest we do?¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s gaze settled on her, his expression unreadable. ¡°Find the others,¡± he said simply. ¡°Seek out those whose bodies were stolen by the Ten Commandments. You are not alone in your plight. There are others like you, scattered across this realm, lost and desperate. Unite with them. Together, you may stand a chance.¡±


    His words lingered in the air like a commandment of their own, heavy with both hope and foreboding. The group exchanged uncertain glances, the weight of their newfound knowledge pressing down on them like an iron shroud.


    Hugo¡¯s brows knitted together as he stared at Satisiel, the weight of his question hanging in the air. ¡°What is Michello?¡± he asked, his voice low but firm. ¡°I¡¯ve met plenty of people who can peer into the afterlife, but he¡¯s¡­ different. He has too many abilities, and too much knowledge. It¡¯s like he doesn¡¯t fit into any category. He¡¯s an abnormality.¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s serene expression faltered for a moment, replaced by a faint shadow of unease. ¡°Michello,¡± he began, his tone measured, ¡°was born an Awakened, a rare soul with innate gifts. However, the abilities you¡¯ve seen¡ªthe power to peer into the afterlife, his unsettling immunity to madness¡ªthose were not his by birth. They were granted to him.¡±


    ¡°Granted?¡± Roxanne interjected, leaning forward. ¡°Granted by who?¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s blue eyes darkened, his voice taking on a solemn weight. ¡°A gift from our lord, Helios,¡± he said simply, the words heavy with meaning. ¡°In the waning days of his sanity, our lord foresaw a need for a successor. Someone who could inherit his will and carry forth his purpose. And so, he split his power in two, bestowing half upon Michello.¡±


    ¡°And the other half?¡± Hugo asked, his voice tight with anticipation.


    Satisiel shook his head, a faint sigh escaping his lips. ¡°That remains a mystery, even to me. Perhaps the other recipient has yet to awaken, or perhaps they are biding their time. Regardless, the blessing given to Michello was a grave mistake¡ªone no one, not even our lord, could have foreseen.¡±


    Eliza tilted her head, her gaze sharp. ¡°Why? What happened?¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°Michello¡¯s fall from grace began at sixteen,¡± he said, his voice tinged with regret. ¡°That was the year of the incident¡ªthe catalyst that turned him into an enemy of the world. Each of the great Pillars of power, the anchors of your mortal realm, felt the weight of his actions. A.E.G.I.S. The Vatican Order. Kings Cross. Santa¡¯s Workshop. Even his own Church of the Infinite Gates. Every one of them suffered catastrophic losses at his hands.¡±


    Roxanne¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°What kind of losses are we talking about?¡±


    ¡°Executives,¡± Satisiel replied grimly. ¡°Each organization lost at least two of their most powerful leaders. Michello¡¯s rampage was indiscriminate, his destruction unstoppable. As for the cult he belonged to, the Church of the Infinite Gates¡­ they lost all five of their cardinals in a single night.¡±


    ¡°Five cardinals?¡± Hugo repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. ¡°And they just¡­ forgave him?¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s gaze hardened, his tone growing cold. ¡°Their leader did. She wishes to keep Michello all to herself. She knows the true depth of the power he holds, and she wields him like a weapon. To her, he is nothing more than a loyal dog¡ªa rabid beast she occasionally unleashes upon the world.¡±


    ¡°And Michello¡¯s okay with that?¡± Eliza asked, incredulity coloring her voice.


    ¡°He is utterly devoted to her,¡± Satisiel said, his voice sharp with disdain. ¡°He claims loyalty to her ¡®divine will,¡¯ but I suspect there is more to it. That so-called goddess that the cult believes in¡­ she is no deity. I believe she is a demon. And not just any demon, but one of the same level as the fiend who tainted our lord with madness and brought about the fall of Nirvana.¡±


    The room fell silent, the weight of Satisiel¡¯s words settling over them like a suffocating shroud. Each member of the group exchanged uneasy glances, their minds racing with the implications.

 Chapter 11-The Five Cardinals

    The soft melody of a nursery rhyme drifted through the air, carried by the gentle whistle of a hunter closing in on his prey. It was a familiar ritual for Michello¡ªa quiet tune before the storm. His steps were unhurried, each one deliberate, savoring the moment before the carnage began.


    The warm hum of his chainsaw remained silent at his side, its deadly edge gleaming beneath the glow of the moon. Yet, it wasn¡¯t needed¡ªnot yet. A soft, serene smile played across Michello¡¯s lips, but his eyes burned with something far more dangerous. Excitement.


    He approached them slowly¡ªVeritas and the girl who clung to him so desperately, her pink hair stark against the night¡¯s eerie glow. Michello tilted his head slightly, his pink eye gleaming like a predatory beast playing with its food.


    ¡°Hello there, lost lambs,¡± he greeted, his voice laced with saccharine amusement. ¡°May I assist you in being redeemed for your sins?¡±


    Maria¡¯s grip on Veritas tightened, her nails digging into his sleeve as she shrank behind him. Her gray eyes darted toward Arthur¡ªtoward the ghost watching from a distance. ¡°Who is this creep, Arthur?¡± she hissed, fear creeping into her voice.


    Veritas, ever composed, met Michello¡¯s gaze with cool detachment. ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± he said, lying effortlessly.


    Michello chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Not surprising you¡¯re unaware of me,¡± he mused. ¡°Maria Parker.¡±


    Maria stiffened.


    ¡°Ah, of course, I know all about you.¡± Michello¡¯s voice dropped, his tone like velvet, smooth yet hiding razors beneath. ¡°Especially your dirty little secret.¡±


    A tremor ran through Maria¡¯s frame, her face draining of color. She retreated further behind Veritas, her grip tightening on his arm. ¡°What¡­ what are you talking about?¡±


    Michello didn¡¯t blink. He didn¡¯t need to. He simply uttered a single name.


    ¡°Emelia.¡±


    The name was a whisper, yet it might as well have been a gunshot. Maria¡¯s breath hitched.


    Veritas¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but his body tensed ever so slightly. ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it if you left, Michello.¡±


    Michello¡¯s grin widened. ¡°How polite. But you just confirmed that you know exactly who I am.¡± He let out a small, delighted laugh. ¡°I suppose you¡¯re not interested in the act tonight.¡±


    His posture shifted, his fingers curling slightly as he raised his right hand. The crimson gemstone embedded in his ring shimmered ominously.


    ¡°So be it. If you refuse redemption through prayer, then let me cleanse you in fire.¡±


    A surge of flame erupted from his ring, the air igniting in a swirl of crimson light. The blaze roared to life, twisting and writhing like a serpent unleashed from its bonds.


    Veritas reacted instantly, grabbing Maria and leaping back, his speed leaving only the faintest blur in the wake of the flames.


    Michello¡¯s laughter rang through the night, rich and unrestrained. ¡°How adorable,¡± he purred. ¡°Trying to save her, are you?¡±


    Veritas landed effortlessly, his grip firm as he set Maria down. His gaze was sharp, unreadable.


    ¡°Get out of here,¡± he ordered.


    Maria shook her head, her entire body trembling. ¡°A-Arthur, I can¡¯t¡ª that man¡¯s dangerous¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s an order,¡± Veritas said, his voice dropping into something cold and absolute.


    Maria flinched, hesitating for only a heartbeat before she turned and ran, disappearing elsewhere into the park


    Michello exhaled softly, watching her go before turning his attention back to Veritas. His grin had not faded.


    ¡°Now, then,¡± he murmured, rolling his shoulders. ¡°Shall we begin?¡±


    The air crackled with angelic energy as large, radiant wings unfurled from Veritas¡¯s back, their feathers shimmering with a soft, ethereal glow. Their sheer presence felt suffocating, an overwhelming force of celestial power pressing down upon the surroundings. With a flicker of light, a katana materialized at his side, its silver blade gleaming with a brilliance that seemed untouched by the night¡¯s crimson hue. As he grasped the hilt, illusionary white feathers began to drift from the sky, dissolving before they could touch the ground.


    Veritas''s piercing gaze locked onto Michello, his expression one of absolute contempt. ¡°You,¡± he spat, his voice laced with deep-seated disgust. ¡°The most deplorable of all humans. Born to be a vessel for our god, only to be seduced by a devil.¡±


    Michello tilted his head, his pink eye glinting with delight. He slowly rolled his shoulders, the hum of his chainsaw reverberating through the air like an unholy hymn. ¡°To insult my dear goddess in such a way¡­¡± His grin widened, his voice carrying the cadence of a man who had long abandoned reason. ¡°You truly must desire death.¡±


    Without hesitation, Michello vanished, reappearing mere inches from Veritas in an instant. His chainsaw screamed to life, the blade whirling in a vicious arc as he swung with the intent to carve through divine flesh.


    But Veritas was faster.


    He sidestepped the attack effortlessly, his wings barely shifting as he brought his katana up in a swift counter. The moment Michello entered his range, an unseen force constricted around him¡ªit felt as if invisible chains were tightening around his limbs, locking his body in place.


    Michello¡¯s grin faltered, his muscles locked in unnatural rigidity, as if bound by the very fabric of reality itself. For the briefest of moments, he felt what it was like to be truly helpless.


    Veritas moved, his katana flashing with divine judgment, poised to cleave Michello in half.


    But the priest vanished in a blink, teleporting a short distance away, escaping the attack by mere inches. The divine chains shattered the moment he reappeared, but the sensation still lingered¡ªa phantom restraint that sent a thrill of irritation through him.


    Michello clicked his tongue, his fingers flexing as he regained control of his movement.


    ¡°How annoying,¡± Veritas muttered, his brows knitting in slight frustration as he lowered his katana. His voice carried no arrogance, only cool assessment. ¡°I can bind your movements, but not your ability¡­ truly, what an irritating beast.¡±


    Michello¡¯s expression darkened, his usual amusement thinning for the first time. ¡°What a dirty tactic,¡± he hissed, rolling his neck before raising his hand. The crimson gemstone on his ring ignited, flames roaring to life as they coiled around his fingers, twisting like living serpents hungry for flesh.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Allow me to cleanse you, O worthless sinner,¡± Michello intoned, his voice reverent yet mocking, as if reciting a prayer twisted beyond recognition.


    Veritas didn¡¯t hesitate. His wings flared outward, a single powerful flap launching him skyward, just as torrents of crimson flame exploded from Michello¡¯s hand, engulfing the space where he had stood.


    The air shimmered with heat as Michello¡¯s crimson flames coiled and surged, licking at the edges of Veritas¡¯s divine radiance. Sparks ignited mid-air, the collision of holy light and infernal fire casting the battlefield in a mesmerizing yet deadly dance of opposing forces.


    Veritas hovered in the air, wings unfurled like a celestial decree. His katana gleamed, the very air around it vibrating with divine authority. His sharp gaze locked onto Michello with an unwavering focus, his expression untouched by rage or emotion¡ªonly cold, merciless judgment.


    ¡°Short-distance teleportation and an artifact capable of conjuring fire at will,¡± Veritas mused, tilting his head slightly. ¡°You truly are a threat. Allow me to send you to that ¡®goddess¡¯ you worship so dearly¡ª in the afterlife.¡±


    With a single powerful beat of his wings, he surged downward, his katana poised in a devastating arc aimed directly at Michello¡¯s skull.


    Michello raised his chainsaw, the blade roaring to life with an almost giddy scream, intercepting the weapon with a force that sent shockwaves rippling through the air. Sparks rained down as their weapons clashed, steel grinding against steel, divine might battling relentless defiance.


    Michello grinned, his pink eye gleaming with excitement as he flicked his wrist, unleashing a torrent of fire aimed directly at Veritas. The angel twisted mid-air, dodging the flames with effortless grace before retaliating with a blinding arc of silver light.


    The battle escalated¡ªMichello teleporting in bursts, his flames licking at Veritas¡¯s heels; Veritas weaving through the inferno, his katana striking like a falling star. Blow after blow, they moved like two opposing forces of nature, unstoppable destruction against unyielding judgment.


    Then, in an instant, Veritas shot upward, his wings spreading wide as his form became a streak of radiant energy against the darkened sky. With terrifying speed, he descended in a blinding dive, katana poised for a final, decisive strike¡ª


    Only for his blade to be caught.


    A slim, pale hand wrapped effortlessly around the sword¡¯s edge, stopping its momentum completely.


    Veritas¡¯s eyes widened slightly, his descent forcibly halted as an unexpected force entered the fray.


    ¡°Michello,¡± a calm, almost lilting voice murmured, ¡°it seems your vacation will need to be cut short.¡±


    The figure that held his blade smiled softly, her fingers gripping the steel as though it were nothing more than an afterthought.


    Freya stood before them, unbothered, untouched.


    Her long, light pink hair cascaded down her back, adorned with delicate blue flowers that contrasted the harsh scar stretching across her face. Half of her skin, on the right side, looked almost dead, decayed, as if frozen in time, a haunting testament to something long past. She wore a black dress with an open back, the fabric flowing like liquid shadow around her.


    Michello¡¯s grin widened the moment he saw her. ¡°Oh? Freya, my dear! This is rare. None of the other cardinals ever bother joining me on my vacations.¡±


    Freya simply flicked her wrist, effortlessly pushing Veritas backward, sending the angel skidding across the air. She smiled at Michello, unbothered by the divine radiance still clinging to her fingertips.


    Before Michello could say more, another presence materialized behind him, stepping out of nothingness with a casual sigh.


    ¡°It¡¯s an emergency,¡± a voice drawled, filled with irritation. ¡°The Shrine Maiden has summoned all five of us, and yes, that includes you.¡±


    Kai had arrived.


    Unlike the others, his presence carried a different weight¡ªone of silence, observation. His messy blond hair was barely visible beneath the hood of his black cloak, and a plague doctor¡¯s mask concealed the majority of his face. He wore a white undershirt beneath a black vest, his wired headphones dangling loosely from his ears. Even now, he only bothered to remove one earbud, his other hand stuffed in his pocket as though completely uninterested in the chaos unfolding before him.


    Michello clicked his tongue. ¡°Tch. If it¡¯s an emergency, then tell the Maiden I¡¯ll be along in just a moment. I was in the middle of something important.¡±


    A soft, apologetic voice chimed in from the side.


    ¡°I¡¯m very sorry, Mr. Veritas!¡± The speaker bowed repeatedly, her hands tightly gripping a black umbrella. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, could Michello kill you some other time?¡±


    Aya stood there, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot.


    She wore a black dress with a white collar, the simple yet elegant design clashing with her light blue hair streaked with red highlights. Her heterochromatic eyes¡ªone light blue, the other deep purple¡ªdarted between Veritas and Michello anxiously. A red flower was pinned into her hair, the petals trembling slightly as she continued muttering apologies under her breath.


    ¡°Enough of this, let¡¯s go already.¡±


    Another presence kicked Michello in the shin.


    He barely flinched, more out of amusement than anything else, as Mio stood beside him, arms crossed, her expression filled with annoyance.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to go back to my room and finish my game, so can we wrap this up already, you pest?¡±


    Mio was as distinct as ever. Her long lime-green hair was tied into pigtails, her yellow eyes glimmering with boredom as she barely spared anyone a glance. She wore a black button-up shirt tucked into a short black skirt, a portable game console clutched firmly in her hands.


    But perhaps the most unsettling thing about her was the doll sitting on her shoulder¡ªan eerily perfect miniature version of herself, its eyes closed, its presence an unspoken weight in the air.


    Michello sighed dramatically, rubbing his shin. ¡°Kicking me? Really? Mio, I thought we were closer than that.¡±


    Mio barely spared Michello a glance, her fingers still tapping away at her game, her focus unshaken. ¡°We¡¯re not,¡± she muttered, her voice dripping with disinterest.


    Michello sighed, exasperation laced in his tone. ¡°What¡¯s so important that I must be dragged from my well-deserved vacation? You¡¯re ruining my enjoyment of the Night Parade!¡± His tone was light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity beneath his words.


    Kai didn¡¯t even bother acknowledging the conversation, still lost in the loud rock music blasting through his wired headphones. He stared blankly at Veritas, seemingly entertained by the tension still lingering in the air.


    Mio, growing impatient, finally paused her game long enough to glance at Michello. ¡°We¡¯ll tell you when we get there, now hurry the hell up, you bastard. Even you have to listen when the Shrine Maiden calls.¡±


    Then, without warning, she kicked him in the shin again.


    Michello hissed through his teeth, dramatically clutching his leg. ¡°Gah! Mio, really? Again? Have you no respect for me?¡±


    Aya, ever the peacekeeper, bowed repeatedly, her voice apologetic. ¡°I¡¯m very sorry for her outburst. She was forced to wake up from a nap when we were given orders to come collect you.¡±


    Michello grumbled under his breath, rubbing his leg as he straightened. ¡°You people have no respect for my process. I was about to purify a sinner, and now I¡¯m being rushed like some common errand boy.¡±


    ¡°May we leave now, Michello?¡± Freya stepped forward gracefully, her voice as smooth as silk. ¡°It is rude to keep our dear Shrine Maiden waiting.¡± She extended her hand towards him, her icy blue gaze steady, unwavering.


    Michello sighed heavily, his shoulders dramatically sagging in defeat. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s go. But only because the Lady herself has requested it.¡±


    As he reached out to take Freya¡¯s hand, her cheeks flushed the faintest shade of pink, but she maintained her composure. With a firm yet delicate grip, she laced her fingers around his, leading him away from the battlefield.


    Mio¡¯s sharp yellow eyes flicked around the air, her expression souring. She sniffed, her nose crinkling. ¡°Hey, bastard. Just how much destruction did you cause? The whole damn area reeks of smoke.¡±


    Michello¡¯s grin returned, this time tinged with satisfaction. ¡°Oh, nothing major. Just ordered a few A.E.G.I.S. bases to be blown up.¡±


    Aya sighed, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. ¡°And this is why they try to assassinate you once a week.¡±


    Veritas watched them with growing frustration, his wings still spread, his grip tight on his katana. ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡± he demanded.


    Freya turned her head slightly, her icy gaze locking onto Veritas. A small, knowing smile curved her lips, a glint of amusement in her eyes. ¡°I would recommend you accept this mercy, angel.¡±


    Her voice was calm yet edged with quiet menace.


    ¡°You may have managed to hold your own against Michello.¡± She let that hang in the air for a moment before continuing. ¡°But against all five of us? You would die. And it would not be a pleasant death.¡±


    The air grew heavy with the weight of her words.


    Michello chuckled, tossing a mocking wave over his shoulder as the five Cardinals turned their backs and vanished into the night, their presence lingering like the aftermath of a storm.

 Chapter 12-Portrait of Blood and Pride

    The night air was thick with lingering tension as Hugo, Roxanne, and Eliza rushed toward the source of the commotion, Satisiel walking calmly beside them. The vibrant glow of the Night Parade clashed starkly against the fading remnants of battle, casting an eerie contrast between celebration and conflict.


    By the time they arrived, Michello was already leaving, his unnerving grin still present as the other Cardinals led him away. Veritas stood unharmed, his divine radiance still flickering slightly from the aftermath of his confrontation. Nearby, Arthur and Emelia stood close together, their expressions unsettled.


    Hugo skidded to a halt, scanning the battlefield for any lingering threats. Seeing none, he exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.


    ¡°What the hell just happened?¡± he demanded.


    Arthur turned to face them, his expression a mixture of relief and lingering unease.


    ¡°Michello offered to kill both Veritas and Emelia¡¯s murderer,¡± Arthur explained. ¡°But midway through, his cultists showed up, talking about some emergency. He left before finishing the job.¡±


    Hugo shook his head, rubbing his temple. ¡°You¡¯re lucky,¡± he muttered. ¡°Having to owe Michello a favor wouldn¡¯t end well for you.¡±


    A voice broke through the conversation, calm yet laced with a subtle amusement.


    ¡°Oh, Veritas,¡± Satisiel greeted, lifting a hand in a casual wave. ¡°It¡¯s been quite some time.¡±


    Veritas turned to him, his expression immediately souring, divine light flickering across his form as if his mere presence was enough to disrupt the air itself.


    ¡°How annoying,¡± Veritas sighed, his violet eyes narrowing. His gaze then shifted to Arthur, his lips curling in disdain. ¡°And I see my lesser half is with you as well.¡±


    Arthur clenched his fists, but before he could respond, Satisiel simply let out a small chuckle. His tone remained calm, yet sharp as a blade hidden beneath silk.


    ¡°I understand you are compelled to always speak the truth under your Commandment,¡± Satisiel mused, ¡°but it would do you well to remain silent. There¡¯s a reason you have no friends among us Ten.¡±


    The words hit their mark. Veritas¡¯s eye twitched ever so slightly, though his expression remained composed.


    With a smirk, he scoffed. ¡°Why don¡¯t you return to your paintings? Now that you¡¯ve fallen from Nirvana, you won¡¯t have to worry about accidentally dropping your works from the heavens and letting humans take credit for them.¡±


    His voice dripped with mockery as he added, ¡°I must say, I¡¯m torn on which of your lost masterpieces I like more¡ªThe Starry Night or Caf¨¦ Terrace at Night.¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s smile did not falter, though a faint flicker of irritation crossed his otherwise serene expression.


    ¡°Ah, yes. Our dear friend Cleansia found my art offensive to Nirvana¡¯s purity and decided it was best to rid the heaven of such blasphemy.¡± He let out a wistful sigh. ¡°Truly a pity.¡±


    His fingers twitched slightly, as if reminiscing about the pieces he had lost.


    Arthur, still on edge from Veritas¡¯s comment, looked between the two angels. ¡°Wait¡­¡± he hesitated. ¡°You¡¯re telling me Satisiel painted The Starry Night?!¡±


    Satisiel glanced at him, a soft, knowing smile playing on his lips. ¡°Among others.¡±


    Hugo groaned, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation. ¡°We are not getting into an art history lesson right now.¡±


    Satisiel chuckled softly, shaking his head. ¡°Yes, let¡¯s not dwell on the past.¡± His piercing blue eyes darkened slightly, his smile thinning. ¡°Though, I must say, I truly hope I don¡¯t encounter Cleansia in this world. That man¡­¡± he let out a slow, tired sigh, ¡°¡­is even worse than you, Veritas.¡±


    Veritas¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but there was an unmistakable flicker of irritation in his violet gaze. He turned his attention fully to Arthur, his smirk sharpening like a blade.


    ¡°So, Arthur, did I hear that right?¡± he asked, his voice thick with amusement. ¡°You¡¯re the one who sent that rabid dog, Michello, after me?¡±


    Arthur met his gaze without hesitation, his jaw tightening. ¡°I did. Care to explain why you¡¯re spending your precious time with Emelia¡¯s murderer?¡±


    Veritas let out a slow, deliberate chuckle, his wings twitching slightly as he tilted his head. ¡°For fun.¡± He spread his arms out theatrically, as if presenting himself. ¡°I plan to live your life far better than you ever could. And for some reason, the humans in your class adore that girl.¡± His lips curled in mock sympathy. ¡°Shame she only had eyes for a wretch like you.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s breath caught in his throat. ¡°What¡­ are you talking about?¡±


    Veritas¡¯s grin widened, his voice turning almost sing-song in its cruelty. ¡°Oh, dear Arthur. Your dearest Emelia? She died because of you.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s body tensed. ¡°That¡¯s a lie.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but it isn¡¯t,¡± Veritas cooed. He took a slow step forward, savoring the moment. ¡°She was killed because that psychopath¡ªMaria¡ªwas disgustingly in love with you. A horrid little obsession that festered and grew, warping her mind until she could no longer stand the sight of Emelia beside you.¡± He let the words settle, drinking in Arthur¡¯s reaction. ¡°Of course, I merely¡­ enhanced her feelings. Gave her a gentle push, if you will.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Though, truth be told, even without my influence, Maria still would¡¯ve killed her.¡±


    Arthur froze, his mind struggling to process what he had just heard. A silent tremor ran through his body, his hands clenching at his sides as his eyes widened in horror.


    The world around him felt distant, as if the weight of Veritas¡¯s words had suddenly made the Night Parade¡¯s warmth and celebration feel artificial, a cruel mockery of the truth that had just been laid bare.


    Veritas let out a low, pleased laugh. ¡°Ah, that look on your face¡­ I must say, it¡¯s delightful¡ª¡±


    His sentence was cut short as Satisiel, who had remained silent through the exchange, suddenly moved.


    His fist crashed into Veritas¡¯s face, the sharp, satisfying crack of breaking cartilage splitting through the air as blood splattered against the ground.


    Veritas staggered back, clutching his now-bleeding nose, his wings twitching from the unexpected impact.


    The shock was palpable.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Even Arthur, still reeling from Veritas¡¯s words, snapped back to reality as he processed what had just happened.


    Satisiel flexed his fingers, his face a mask of cold indifference, but his knuckles were stained red.


    ¡°Since the dead can¡¯t do it, allow me to assist,¡± he said simply, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. He glanced at the blood on his fist, exhaling softly. ¡°We used your despair as an opportunity to live, but mocking the dead is disgusting, you bastard.¡±


    His piercing blue eyes lifted, locking onto Veritas with something akin to disdain¡ªa rare expression from the normally tranquil angel.


    Satisiel slowly rotated his wrist, his gaze flickering toward the crimson smeared across his pale skin.


    ¡°What a shame,¡± he murmured, almost to himself. ¡°I typically don¡¯t use red in my work. But I suppose I could¡­ experiment.¡± He tilted his head, his voice carrying an unsettling curiosity. ¡°A fresh canvas, a new life¡­ perhaps I¡¯ll find a use for it after all.¡±


    Satisiel twirled his paintbrush between his fingers, his serene expression never faltering as a faint glow radiated from the tip. The ethereal blue paint shimmered unnaturally, pulsing with quiet power.


    ¡°I¡¯m well aware of your healing capabilities, Veritas,¡± he mused, inspecting his brush as if this was nothing more than a casual artistic endeavor. ¡°Which means you can manage a few more hits.¡±


    Veritas wiped the blood from his face, his violet eyes narrowing into a glare. ¡°You bastard,¡± he spat, rolling his shoulders as his wings twitched with tension. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t dare¡ª¡±


    ¡°Apologize to the children,¡± Satisiel interrupted, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable weight. His piercing blue gaze settled on Veritas, devoid of warmth. ¡°Even if you have to lie¡ªeven if you have to cough up blood¡ªsay ¡®sorry.¡¯¡±


    Veritas¡¯s lip curled into a snarl. ¡°Go fuck your¡ª¡±


    The words never finished.


    With a single, fluid stroke of his brush, Satisiel released a blade of pure blue paint. It sliced through the air with an unnatural speed, the sharp edge catching the glow of the Night Parade¡¯s lights before¡ª


    Veritas¡¯s arm was severed at the shoulder.


    A spray of blood painted the ground as the detached limb tumbled, the fingers twitching instinctively before going still.


    Veritas screamed, his wings flaring as he staggered back, gripping the fresh wound. His body trembled, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts as a green aura surged around him, his divine healing already beginning to mend the damage.


    But Satisiel wasn¡¯t finished.


    With calculated ease, he stepped forward and kicked Veritas to the ground, his movement as smooth as an artist perfecting his brushstrokes.


    Veritas hit the pavement hard, but before he could recover, Satisiel summoned a canvas in a flicker of white light, letting it hover in the air before pinning Veritas down beneath his heel.


    ¡°Hold still.¡±


    Dipping his paintbrush into the pool of Veritas¡¯s blood, Satisiel began to paint.


    Each stroke was precise, deliberate¡ªas if he had all the time in the world. The intricate details of Veritas¡¯s face took shape upon the canvas, each feature carefully rendered with an artist¡¯s meticulous hand. He used black and white paint, blending it seamlessly with the fresh red to create depth, shadows, and highlights.


    The portrait was disturbingly lifelike.


    Veritas gritted his teeth, his body trembling from the pain, but his wings twitched as his regeneration kicked in, new flesh beginning to weave together at the site of his missing limb.


    It didn¡¯t matter.


    Satisiel wordlessly lifted his brush again, another blade of blue paint flashing before¡ª


    His arm was cleaved off once more.


    Another sharp cry of pain tore from Veritas¡¯s throat as his severed limb hit the pavement for the second time. His healing tried to counteract the damage again, and yet, again, Satisiel repeated the process.


    For every time Veritas healed, Satisiel simply cut him down again¡ªover and over and over.


    The scene was a brutal display of control, the Angel of Contentment reducing the Angel of Truth to nothing more than a tool for his art.


    Minutes passed.


    Veritas¡¯s shallow breaths filled the silence. His body trembled, sweat and blood soaking the pavement beneath him. His divine healing had slowed, exhaustion beginning to take hold.


    And then¡ªfinally¡ªSatisiel stopped.


    He lifted his paintbrush one last time, stepping back to admire his work.


    The painting was complete.


    It was a perfectly rendered portrait of Veritas, drawn entirely in his own blood. The details were intricate, the shading immaculate. The use of black and white mixed with red gave the painting an eerie, almost hauntingly beautiful depth.


    Satisiel sighed, tilting his head slightly as he observed his work. ¡°Not bad,¡± he murmured, sounding almost pleased.


    Then, without another word, he removed his foot from Veritas¡¯s chest and let the canvas fall to the ground beside him.


    Satisiel flicked his wrist, letting the last drops of Veritas¡¯s blood drip from his brush before he casually tucked it back into his apron. He turned away, his expression serene, untouched by the violence that had just transpired.


    ¡°Keep it,¡± he murmured, his voice devoid of warmth, but carrying a quiet finality. ¡°It¡¯s yours, after all.¡±


    The blood-painted canvas lay at Veritas¡¯s feet, a perfect portrait of his own suffering, a reminder crafted by an angel who wielded artistry like a weapon.


    Satisiel sighed, rubbing at the crimson stains on his apron, though the action was more out of habit than any real concern. ¡°I must apologize for that display. I rarely lose my temper.¡± He exhaled softly, as if shaking off the lingering remnants of irritation. ¡°But even I have my limits.¡±


    Veritas staggered slightly as he pushed himself up, his breathing ragged. His regeneration was slowing, the repeated onslaught having drained him more than he cared to admit. His arm had finally reformed, but his wings vanished, a sign that he had used far more of his energy than he had anticipated.


    Satisiel didn¡¯t spare him another glance. ¡°Unless you have any further business with them, please leave.¡±


    The words carried no hostility, no malice¡ªjust cold dismissal.


    Veritas wiped the lingering blood from his face, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Satisiel with seething disdain. ¡°Why?¡± he demanded, his voice hoarse but still dripping with arrogance. ¡°Why are you siding with them? Why care about these worthless wretches? The same pathetic creatures who threw away their own lives so easily? The same ones we had to fight tooth and nail to keep?¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s footsteps faltered slightly before he turned just enough to meet Veritas¡¯s gaze. His expression remained calm, unreadable, but there was something sharp in his eyes¡ªsomething that made the air grow colder.


    ¡°It is not your duty to decide what a life is worth.¡±


    His voice was soft, yet it cut deeper than any blade.


    ¡°To call them worthless only reveals your ignorance.¡± Satisiel¡¯s lips curled into something resembling amusement, but there was no joy in it. ¡°You speak like one who believes himself above them. And yet¡­ that demon who killed our lord? He spoke the same way.¡±


    The silence that followed was suffocating.


    Then¡ª


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare compare me to that bastard.¡±


    Veritas¡¯s voice was venomous, his entire body rigid with fury. His violet eyes burned with something unhinged, something raw. ¡°I am nothing like that filthy, worthless scum¡ªSuperbia!¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s smile didn¡¯t fade. If anything, his amusement deepened.


    ¡°Then stop acting like him.¡±


    The words landed with the weight of a hammer.


    Veritas stiffened.


    Satisiel tilted his head slightly, as if regarding him with new curiosity. ¡°Stop looking down on humanity like they are insects beneath your feet. Instead, try looking at their beauty.¡±


    Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, the weight of the conversation lingering like an aftertaste of something bitter.


    Veritas stood frozen for a moment, his hands clenched into trembling fists. His jaw tightened, his lips parting slightly as if to argue¡ªonly to snap shut again.


    The rage boiled inside him, but there was nothing to lash out at.


    Because Satisiel had already won.


    ¡°Bastard,¡± Veritas muttered under his breath, his voice laced with frustration, before finally turning on his heel and vanishing into the night.


    Arthur¡¯s group remained standing amidst the aftermath, the echoes of the confrontation settling into the air like lingering embers.


    Then, as if the world itself exhaled, the distant sound of laughter and music from the Night Parade slowly crept back into focus.


    The tension melted away, and for the first time that evening¡ªthey were free to enjoy the festival.

 Chapter 13-To Be Harmed, Never Again

    Beneath the dazzling glow of the Night Parade, hidden deep within the park''s shadows, a lone figure stood¡ªa wretched, starving thing, drowning in a pool of golden ichor. The air reeked of something unnatural, a foul mixture of celestial decay and insatiable hunger.


    The man coughed violently, his frail body shuddering as he hacked up a mouthful of gold-streaked feathers, his breath ragged, almost feral. His white hair was uneven, with patches of baldness, exposing the raw, mottled skin beneath. His beard, thick and tangled beard hung in a wild mess, smeared with golden blood dripping sluggishly from his lips.


    His clothes¡ªonce ordinary, now soaked in divine ichor¡ªclung to his thin frame, the black fabric of his button-up shirt and jeans marred with celestial filth. But the most unsettling part of him was his right arm¡ªcovered in black, pulsating blotches, each one filled with grotesque, unblinking eyes that twitched and rolled, as if observing the world with a hunger of their own.


    In his shaking hand, he clutched a still-beating heart¡ªits once-radiant golden glow dimming with every passing second. A grotesque bite had already been taken from it, revealing the glistening divine tissue inside. Below him, an angel lay sprawled, its chest torn open in a grotesque wound, its body riddled with bite marks, its wings half-devoured, and its throat slashed so deeply that it barely clung to its severed spine.


    The man trembled, his grip tightening around the heart as his hollow, purple eyes flickered with desperation.


    ¡°So¡­ hungry¡­¡± His voice was cracked, hoarse¡ªdevoid of reason, fueled only by a monstrous, unrelenting craving. His body no longer required sustenance¡ªhe was a ghost, a being beyond hunger¡ªyet the emptiness gnawed at him. A starving, unending void.


    He gasped for breath, his jaw quivering as he surveyed the lively Night Parade, the dazzling festival of the dead and the divine unfolding before him. The lights, the laughter, the scents of angelic delicacies¡ªall of it mocked him. He was cursed to hunger eternally.


    But then¡ªhis eyes locked onto something.


    Someone.


    A figure just beyond the festival lights, talking amongst the living and the dead. A boy.


    No¡ªhis son.


    Arthur.


    The child who had killed him.


    For the briefest moment, his hunger was forgotten, replaced by something far more primal¡ªrage.


    His breathing grew ragged, his teeth grinding together as the golden ichor on his lips froze mid-drip, his starving body momentarily paralyzed.


    Then¡ªhe moved.


    His feet dragged through the blood-soaked dirt, his blackened arm twitching, the embedded eyes within his flesh rolling wildly as if sensing his thoughts.


    He took another step¡ªtoward Arthur.


    Toward his son.


    The five of them stood together, the vibrant lights of the Night Parade flickering around them, the joyous laughter of the festival forming a stark contrast to the unease that settled in Arthur¡¯s chest.


    Then¡ªhe saw him.


    A figure, just beyond the festival¡¯s glow. A man¡ªragged, hunched, with eyes that burned with something twisted and vile.


    Arthur¡¯s breath hitched. His body tensed.


    It was him.


    Arthur exhaled slowly, forcing himself to remain calm. ¡°Hey, I¡¯ll be right back,¡± he said, his voice steady but devoid of warmth. ¡°After all of that, I¡¯d like a little time to think by myself.¡±


    Hugo studied him for a moment before nodding. ¡°Yeah, makes sense. We¡¯ve gotten a good amount of information, so we¡¯re just going to enjoy the Night Parade for the rest of the night.¡± He smirked, nudging Arthur slightly. ¡°Hurry back, though. Emelia¡¯ll get sad.¡±


    Arthur hesitated briefly before forcing a small smile. ¡°Y-yeah¡­ of course.¡±


    With measured steps, he turned and walked away, heading toward the secluded darkness of the park. And as expected¡ªhis father followed.


    Emelia¡¯s eyes widened the moment she recognized Oscar. Her breath hitched, her ghostly form trembling. She knew what kind of man he had been. What he had done.


    And she knew what he would do again if given the chance.


    She couldn¡¯t just watch.


    Without thinking, she ran after Arthur, her feet barely touching the ground as she trailed behind him.


    Roxanne, watching the exchange, crossed her arms. ¡°Should we follow them?¡±


    Eliza¡¯s gaze remained locked on Arthur¡¯s retreating form before she shook her head. ¡°No,¡± she said simply. ¡°It¡¯s best we leave them alone.¡±


    Arthur reached the clearing and stopped.


    He didn¡¯t need to turn around. He could feel the burning gaze on his back.


    Heavy. Loathing. Hateful.


    With a quiet breath, Arthur finally turned, his expression unreadable, his hands tucked into his pockets. His eyes, however¡ªthey were sharp, cold. Not filled with fear, but something darker.


    Disdain.


    His father¡ªOscar¡ªstood before him, his wretched form illuminated by the eerie glow of the moon.


    His clothes were stained in celestial filth, golden blood dried on his lips, and his grotesque blackened arm¡ªinfested with watching, twitching eyes¡ªpulsed unnaturally.


    Yet, even in his twisted state, even after devouring an angel, the only thing in those hateful purple eyes was rage.


    Arthur tilted his head slightly, his voice devoid of warmth. ¡°Hello, Oscar.¡±


    Not Dad. Not Father.


    Just Oscar.


    The man who had deserved to die long before Arthur had ended him.


    A vein in Oscar¡¯s forehead twitched. His jaw clenched, his disgust and fury boiling over.


    ¡°You worthless brat,¡± Oscar snarled, his voice like gravel, his hands twitching as if barely restraining himself. ¡°You killed me. And now, here you are¡ªdead as well.¡±


    Arthur didn¡¯t flinch. He didn¡¯t even blink. Instead, his lips curled into something between amusement and contempt.


    ¡°I did.¡± His tone was eerily calm. ¡°Can¡¯t say I truly regret it.¡±


    Then, his voice hardened.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°My only regret was not doing it sooner.¡±


    His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms.


    ¡°Not doing it before you could hurt Mom even more.¡±


    His words were sharp, filled with a decade¡¯s worth of rage that had been buried deep inside him.


    For the first time, Oscar faltered.


    But only for a second.


    Then¡ªhe lunged.


    Arthur barely had time to react before Oscar shot forward, his movements erratic but fueled by raw, vicious intent. The hunger in his eyes wasn¡¯t just for flesh¡ªit was for control, for domination.


    But Arthur wasn¡¯t that scared, helpless kid anymore.


    His fist clenched, instincts kicking in¡ªand he swung.


    Arthur¡¯s punch collided with Oscar¡¯s face, sending his father stumbling backward, his body hitting the dirt with a heavy thud.


    Oscar groaned, a snarl ripping from his throat as his hand shot up to clutch his now-bleeding nose.


    Arthur rolled his shoulders, shaking the sting from his knuckles. ¡°So physical weapons like bats can¡¯t hurt ghosts, but our fists can? Good to know.¡±


    He didn¡¯t give Oscar the chance to rise.


    With a sharp kick to the jaw, Arthur sent him sprawling again.


    Oscar hit the ground hard, his head bouncing slightly off the dirt, but¡ªhe only laughed.


    The sound was dry, guttural¡ªmocking.


    ¡°You know¡­¡± Oscar muttered, wiping the golden blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. ¡°You¡¯re just like me.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s foot stilled mid-step.


    Oscar grinned, his violet eyes gleaming with something far worse than hatred.


    Recognition.


    ¡°Scumbag dad?¡± Oscar continued, voice low and taunting. ¡°Check. A nice girlfriend? Check. Hell, even looks-wise¡ªyou¡¯re a spitting image of me back then.¡± He chuckled, tilting his head. ¡°Of course, if you¡¯re my past¡­ that makes me your future.¡±


    Arthur stiffened.


    For a brief second¡ªjust a second¡ªthe words sank in.


    And that second cost him.


    Oscar exploded off the ground, his fist flying forward¡ªand connected.


    Arthur¡¯s head snapped to the side as pain bloomed across his cheek, the force of the punch making him stumble back.


    Oscar sneered, rolling his shoulders as he cracked his knuckles. ¡°Guess it doesn¡¯t matter, though,¡± he mused. ¡°It¡¯s not like the dead have a future anyway.¡±


    Then¡ªhis grin widened.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s better this way,¡± Oscar said, his voice sickly sweet with venom. ¡°Because if you lived, you¡¯d just turn out like me.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s breath caught in his throat.


    ¡°Drunk. Useless. And slapping your precious Emelia around like a rag doll.¡±


    Fists clashed, bodies collided, but the pain was fleeting.


    They couldn¡¯t be harmed.


    They couldn¡¯t feel pain for more than a second.


    But the hatred¡ªthe rage¡ªthat lingered.


    Arthur swung¡ªhis knuckles cracking against Oscar¡¯s jaw.


    His father stumbled back, his grin widening, golden blood dripping from his mouth.


    ¡°Just get out of my life!¡± Arthur roared, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. ¡°I¡¯m not you! I never was, and I never will be!¡±


    Oscar tilted his head, his expression unreadable.


    Arthur took a step forward, his fists clenched. ¡°Unlike you, I actually love Emelia. Unlike you, I won¡¯t drown myself in excuses and self-pity. Unlike you, I¡¯ll learn from my father¡¯s mistakes and make something of myself¡ªI¡¯ll come back to life. I¡¯ll turn my life around, and I¡¯ll leave you behind like the parasite you are!¡±


    Another punch.


    Oscar¡¯s head snapped back, but this time, he didn¡¯t falter.


    Instead, he sighed.


    ¡°Tired. So damn tired.¡± His voice was hoarse, his body trembling as he reached into his pocket. ¡°And so¡­ so hungry.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s breath hitched as Oscar pulled out the half-eaten heart.


    Before Arthur could react, Oscar shoved it into his mouth, tearing into the flesh with sickening ferocity.


    A grotesque squelching noise filled the air as he devoured the last remnants, golden blood dribbling down his chin. His body shuddered violently.


    Then¡ªhe began to change.


    Arthur took a cautious step back as he watched, his heart pounding. The black spots on Oscar¡¯s body spread like a disease, growing, twisting¡ªuntil suddenly, they burst open.


    A sea of writhing, unblinking eyes emerged from the darkness, their gazes all locked onto Arthur.


    The right half of Oscar¡¯s body darkened into a deep, abyssal black, shifting like a living shadow. His flesh hardened into something unnatural, not quite wood, not quite flesh¡ªsomething in between. But it moved, writhing and shifting as if composed of countless maggots crawling beneath the surface.


    Arthur clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stand his ground despite the ice-cold fear creeping up his spine.


    ¡°You¡¯ve finally done it,¡± Arthur muttered, his voice sharp with forced bravado. ¡°You finally look as ugly as you do on the inside.¡±


    Oscar chuckled¡ªa deep, guttural sound that barely sounded human anymore.


    ¡°My worthless son,¡± he cooed, voice layered with something twisted. ¡°I really should¡¯ve hit you more when you were little. Maybe then you wouldn¡¯t have grown up so damn weak.¡±


    Arthur felt a flicker of rage ignite inside him¡ªbut it was too late.


    Oscar lunged.


    His right arm contorted, stretching grotesquely, his fingers warping into elongated claws. Before Arthur could react, the monstrous limb slammed into his abdomen with unnatural force¡ª


    Sending him flying.


    Arthur¡¯s back collided with a tree, the impact rattling his bones. Bark splintered, leaves shook, and pain erupted through his entire body.


    For a moment, the world blurred.


    Then¡ªhe laughed. A weak, breathless chuckle.


    ¡°Oh, how lovely.¡± Arthur coughed, spitting out phantom blood. ¡°Even during the Night Parade, I can interact with objects.¡±


    His grip tightened against the tree bark as he pulled himself up, his body aching. But his grin never faded.


    Even through the pain¡ªArthur refused to break.


    Oscar¡¯s monstrous form twisted, his many eyes blinking in sick, erratic unison. His grotesque limb reared back, preparing to strike again, a deformed tendril writhing as it coiled for another devastating blow.


    But before he could lunge¡ª


    ¡°I won¡¯t let you hurt him! Not anymore, you bastard!¡±


    Emelia.


    She had rushed from her hiding spot, her ethereal form shimmering under the crimson glow of the Blood Moon. Tears streamed down her face, but her expression was fierce¡ªunyielding. She grabbed at Oscar¡¯s arm, trying to hold him back with all her strength.


    Arthur¡¯s eyes widened in panic. ¡°Emelia, stop! Get off him!¡±


    But she only tightened her grip. ¡°I can¡¯t bear it anymore, Arthur! I won¡¯t stand by and watch him hurt you¡ªnot again!¡± Her voice trembled with raw emotion.


    Her fingers dug into the shifting, pulsating flesh of Oscar¡¯s arm, but she didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°While I was dead, I watched over you. Almost every night, I saw what he did to you. Every time he hit you, every time you cried yourself to sleep, I saw it all. And I couldn¡¯t do anything! I just had to watch! But not anymore¡ªnever again!¡±


    Her grip tightened.


    For a fleeting moment, Oscar hesitated.


    Then¡ªhis lips twisted into a snarl.


    ¡°Get off me, you damn bitch.¡±


    With a vicious swing, Oscar flung her aside.


    Emelia hit the ground hard, her ghostly form flickering as she tumbled across the dirt. A pained gasp left her lips, her hands scraping against the earth as she struggled to rise.


    Arthur¡¯s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding violently.


    Then¡ªhe saw it.


    Oscar¡¯s right arm morphed again, the shifting black mass at his fingertips hardening¡ªsharpening¡ªinto a long, jagged tendril. It coiled like a serpent, preparing to strike.


    Straight for Emelia.


    Arthur¡¯s vision blurred with fury.


    No.


    Not again.


    His body moved before his mind could process it.


    He lunged.


    With every ounce of strength, he slammed into Oscar, using the full weight of his momentum to send his father toppling over. The grotesque tendril missed its mark, stabbing deep into the ground instead¡ªsplitting the earth where Emelia had just been.


    Oscar let out a guttural growl, his twisted form writhing as he hit the dirt, but Arthur didn¡¯t wait.


    He spun.


    He scooped Emelia up in his arms¡ªhis grip secure, his heart pounding against his ribs.


    ¡°Never again.¡±


    His voice was steady¡ªabsolute.


    ¡°Never again will I let you hurt someone I love.¡±


    Then¡ªhe ran.


    He ran like hell.


    Through the glowing lights of the Night Parade, through the drifting feathers and falling confetti¡ªArthur carried Emelia in his arms, holding her close as if she were something sacred.


    Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, her breath shaky against his chest. She clung to him, not out of fear, but because she knew¡ª


    He wouldn¡¯t let go.


    Behind them, Oscar roared in fury.


    ¡°GET BACK HERE, YOU FUCKING BRAT!¡±


    But Arthur didn¡¯t stop.


    He didn¡¯t even look back.

 Chapter 14-Goodbye, Father

    Deep within a hidden facility in Japan, a lone woman sat in the dim glow of flickering pink flames. The room was lavish yet intimate¡ªa sanctuary dedicated to her devotion. The air was heavy with the scent of wax and faint incense, mingling with something more unnatural, something unspoken.


    The bed, adorned in crimson silk sheets, stood at the room¡¯s center, surrounded by numerous tall candles, each flame burning in a haunting shade of pink. Their glow reflected off the hundreds of photographs plastered across the walls, each featuring the same person.


    Michello.


    Some were candid shots, clearly taken without his knowledge¡ªimages of him walking, fighting, even covered in blood. Others were of his rare moments of stillness, his face caught in moments of unreadable contemplation.


    At the center of the display was a handwritten note, framed in ornate gold, preserved like a sacred relic.


    ¡°For my Lady Shrine Maiden, With Devotion ¨C Michello¡±


    A soft sigh escaped the woman''s lips as she approached the wall, her long, manicured fingers tracing the edges of one particular photo¡ªone of Michello mid-battle, drenched in the blood of his enemies, a grin of unfiltered joy stretched across his face.


    Her deep orange eyes, speckled with golden flecks, glimmered with adoration as she blew a gentle kiss to the image.


    She wore a long red dress, the fabric clinging to her graceful form like flowing blood. Freckles dusted her pale complexion, though they were slightly obscured by the soft shadows cast by the candlelight.


    Her hair, a cascading wave of white streaked with red, fell down her back like painted silk. Two white ribbon-like earrings adorned her ears, delicate yet strangely ominous in their resemblance to ceremonial bindings.


    And then, there was her scar¡ªa thin, precise line running around her head like a crown of old wounds.


    With a final, affectionate glance at the photo, she stepped away from her shrine, her expression shifting from wistful longing to serene authority.


    She pushed open the door, stepping into the dimly lit corridor, where a meeting chamber awaited her.


    Inside, her Cardinals stood in disciplined silence, waiting for her arrival.


    The moment she entered, all five of them bowed in unison.


    ¡°We greet you, Madame Shrine Maiden,¡± they intoned in perfect synchronization, their voices a harmonious blend of reverence and devotion.


    But the woman¡ªLucille¡ªonly chuckled lightly, waving her hand with a fond, almost playful dismissal.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to lower yourselves,¡± she said, her voice warm, yet carrying an undertone of quiet power. Her gaze softened as she turned to one Cardinal in particular. ¡°Especially not you, my dear Michello.¡±


    Michello stood at the center of the group, his grin widening as he straightened his posture, the others still remaining in their respectful stance.


    ¡°What seems to be the issue, my Lady?¡± Michello asked, tilting his head slightly, curiosity glinting in his pink eye.


    Lucille stepped forward gracefully, her hands clasped together in a manner that mirrored a prayer¡ªbut was something far more dangerous.


    ¡°The world of the dead is about to change greatly,¡± she said, her tone carrying the weight of something inevitable. ¡°Our goddess has foreseen it. The balance is shifting, and soon, those who have perished with wicked hearts shall bear the reflection of their corruption upon their very forms.¡±


    Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight.


    ¡°Many of the dead will suffer.¡±


    A hush fell over the room, the weight of her words sinking into each of the Cardinals. Even the ever-carefree Mio lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the portable console in her hands.


    Michello, however, only exhaled softly, his amusement dimming, replaced by something far sharper.


    ¡°My Lady, as someone who can freely interact with the dead, what shall I do?¡± he asked, his voice unwavering.


    Lucille smiled, though there was something almost sorrowful in the way she looked at him.


    ¡°I hear you¡¯ve become acquainted with a particular group,¡± she said, her voice laced with knowing. ¡°Do your best to defend them.¡±


    Michello blinked, before a chuckle rumbled from his throat. ¡°You mean the lost lambs?¡± he mused. ¡°A strange assignment, but I suppose I enjoy the occasional act of charity.¡±


    Lucille¡¯s smile remained, but there was something deeper in her gaze¡ªsomething unreadable.


    ¡°That is your mission,¡± she said softly. ¡°You will be spending more time in the United States from now on.¡±


    Lucille¡¯s head tilted slightly, her long, silken hair cascading over her shoulder as she let out a breath, a mixture of affection and disappointment entwined.


    Lucille exhaled softly, her fingers trailing against the polished wood of the table before her. The candlelight flickered around her, casting long, elegant shadows that made her presence feel all the more ethereal¡ªalmost dreamlike.


    ¡°It¡¯s truly a shame, we will forced to be separated¡± she murmured, her voice laced with a distant lament, as though she were mourning something not yet lost, but slipping away nonetheless.


    Her smile remained, but it carried the weight of sorrow.


    As though she was sending away something she cherished.


    Michello, for once, did not grin.


    Instead, he took a knee before her, the fabric of his coat pooling around him as he bowed his head in reverence. The usual mischief that danced in his pink eye was gone¡ªreplaced by something solemn. Devoted. Absolute.


    ¡°Of course, my lady,¡± he intoned, his voice unwavering. ¡°Whatever you desire, I will carry it out. Use me as your chess piece in whatever move you wish¡ªwhether I must be sacrificed for your victory, or be the one to slay the king on your behalf.¡±


    He looked up at her then, his expression one of fierce loyalty, unwavering faith.


    ¡°I will accomplish your will.¡±


    Lucille tilted her head, watching him with something between amusement and genuine fondness.


    Then, she leaned in slightly, lowering herself just enough for her breath to ghost against the top of his bowed head.


    ¡°You truly are my most loyal follower¡­¡± she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, after a brief pause¡ª¡°Can I get a kiss before you go?¡±


    Michello stiffened, his entire body freezing in place.


    ¡°My¡ªMy lady, I could never¡ª¡±


    A violent flush spread across his face, his usual confidence crumbling in an instant. He scrambled to compose himself, gripping his knees as if physically restraining his own embarrassment.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Lucille let out a soft, musical laugh, her deep orange eyes gleaming with mirth.


    ¡°So easy to tease,¡± she cooed, straightening as she placed a finger against her lips in playful contemplation.


    The air shifted then¡ªlighthearted amusement giving way to cold, calculated authority.


    Her expression sobered, and when she next spoke, her voice carried the weight of an empress, not a woman teasing her favored knight.


    ¡°The rest of you,¡± she addressed the Cardinals, her gaze sweeping over them like an unshakable decree, ¡°continue our operations within Japan. The country is nearly under our control. We¡¯ve worked too hard for any disruptions.¡±


    She turned slightly, her red dress flowing with the motion. A queen commanding her court.


    ¡°Once we have completed our hold here¡­ we will begin expanding our influence to the rest of the world.¡±


    The room fell into silence.


    Then¡ª


    ¡°Yes, my lady,¡± the Cardinals answered in perfect unison, bowing once more.


    Their voices were not those of mere followers¡ªbut of a choir dedicated to her divine will.


    The Night Parade had always been a sanctuary¡ªa fleeting reprieve for the dead, a single night where they could exist free from the terror of the Fallen. It was the one time of the year where they were safe.


    But that night¡ªthat fragile peace was shattered.


    Across the world, the wicked dead began to twist.


    Those whose souls had been blackened in life morphed into monstrosities, their spiritual bodies unraveling and reforming into grotesque, abhorrent shapes.


    The sky itself seemed to darken, the once-celebratory crimson glow of the Blood Moon now casting a shadow more ominous than festive.


    And within the heart of the Night Parade, where music and laughter had filled the air only moments ago, a nightmare unfolded.


    Satisiel¡¯s brush froze mid-stroke, the unfinished painting before him forgotten. His piercing blue eyes flickered toward the disturbance, his gaze locking onto the scene unfolding in the distance.


    There¡ªrunning through the chaos¡ªhe saw Arthur and Emelia.


    And behind them, a monstrous entity that had once been a man.


    Arthur¡¯s father¡ªOscar¡ªhis body now twisted, his flesh a writhing nightmare of pulsating eyes and shifting, living wood, chasing after his son with unrelenting hunger.


    Satisiel exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment before turning toward the others.


    Hugo, Eliza, and Roxanne had noticed the chaos as well.


    ¡°What the hell is going on?!¡± Hugo shouted, his voice rising in panic as the world spiraled into madness around them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Arthur yelled back, his breath ragged as he clutched Emelia close. But we need to run!


    His grip tightened around her as he whispered, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve got you, Emelia. Just don¡¯t let go.¡±


    And then¡ªthe world fell apart.


    All around them, the dead began to change.


    Their spiritual forms warped and fractured, shifting like grotesque sculptures melting and reshaping¡ªsome growing additional limbs, others losing their human features altogether.


    Torsos split open to reveal rows of jagged teeth, fingers elongated into claws, and hollowed-out eyes glowed with an unnatural, malignant light.


    A twisted symphony of agonized wails and guttural growls filled the air, drowning out the once-festive sounds of the Night Parade.


    Satisiel¡¯s expression darkened as he took in the scene. ¡°What a horrid sight,¡± he murmured. His fingers twitched slightly as he gripped his paintbrush, the blue paint glowing faintly in response.


    ¡°I knew it was possible for the dead to become monsters¡ªbut only under very specific conditions.¡± His sharp gaze flickered across the chaos, analyzing, calculating. ¡°This¡­ this is unnatural.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Roxanne asked, panic creeping into her voice. Her fingers curled into trembling fists. ¡°Am I going to become a monster too?!¡±


    Satisiel hummed thoughtfully, as if considering the possibility. ¡°No, of course not¡­¡± He paused. ¡°I hope.¡±


    Roxanne¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You hope?!¡±


    Satisiel sighed. ¡°If a ghost haunts a specific location long enough, they can be warped by rumors¡ªtheir bodies shifting to match the stories told about them. However, outside of Japan, such things are extremely rare.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± he added, even though monsters were actively devouring the Night Parade behind him.


    Eliza clicked her tongue, visibly trying to suppress the growing anxiety in her chest. ¡°Less talking, more moving,¡± she snapped. ¡°Can you defend us, angel?¡±


    Satisiel let out a breathy chuckle, the usual serenity returning to his face. ¡°Of course.¡± He twirled his paintbrush between his fingers, his lips curving into a playful smirk. ¡°You dare doubt me?¡±


    Arthur suddenly stopped running.


    Carefully, he lowered Emelia to the ground.


    ¡°Arthur?¡± Emelia¡¯s voice wavered, her eyes widening in concern.


    Arthur¡¯s hands curled into fists.


    ¡°¡­I have to be the one to end this.¡±


    Eliza whipped around, eyes blazing with fury. ¡°That¡¯s suicide, you idiot!¡±


    Arthur didn¡¯t look at her. His shoulders were rigid, his breath steady.


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be the first time.¡±


    His voice was quiet¡ªbut it carried the weight of something final.


    Arthur lifted his gaze, staring at the monstrous figure of his father.


    ¡°I have to do this,¡± he said.


    ¡°That¡¯s my father.¡±


    His eyes burned with something fierce.


    ¡°I will be the one to end the cycle of pain he¡¯s caused.¡±


    And before anyone could stop him¡ª


    Arthur reached out and snatched Satisiel¡¯s paintbrush.


    Satisiel blinked.


    ¡°¡­What?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t just use my paintbrush,¡± Satisiel said, his expression flickering with mild confusion. ¡°You¡¯re human¡ªit won¡¯t work.¡±


    Arthur smiled.


    It was small¡ªsubtle¡ªbut filled with unshaken certainty.


    ¡°¡­I have a feeling it will.¡±


    And with that¡ªhe stepped forward.


    Toward the monster.


    Toward his father.


    Toward the end of the cycle.


    Arthur strode forward, his footsteps steady despite the chaos unraveling around him.


    His father¡ªno, the monster that had once been his father¡ªstood before him, a grotesque monument of corruption, shifting and writhing with every step. A mass of twisting, unblinking eyes, his flesh resembling something between rotting wood and the writhing bodies of maggots.


    Arthur twirled Satisiel¡¯s paintbrush in his fingers, feeling the weight of it, the power it contained. It pulsed in his grasp, glowing faintly¡ªan artifact meant only for the hands of an angel. A divine treasure.


    And yet¡ªit obeyed him.


    Arthur gazed at his father with nothing but cold disdain.


    A manipulative drunk.


    A parasite.


    A bastard who had done nothing but destroy.


    His grip tightened.


    The soft glow of the paintbrush shifted¡ªfrom tranquil blue to a violent, searing red.


    The color of rage.


    The color of retribution.


    Arthur¡¯s breath was even, controlled. His voice, however, was cold.


    ¡°Goodbye¡­¡±


    He barely whispered it¡ª


    ¡°Father.¡±


    Oscar lunged.


    A monstrous blur of shifting, pulsating horror launched itself at him, tendrils of twisted flesh stretching forward, claws reaching, mouths within the mass gnashing hungrily.


    Arthur didn¡¯t flinch.


    With a single, precise stroke of the paintbrush¡ª


    Crimson blades erupted forth.


    A storm of violent, burning red.


    The paint slashed through Oscar¡¯s monstrous form, each stroke severing and tearing away chunks of his body, the divine energy burning away the corruption like acid against diseased flesh.


    Oscar screamed.


    A guttural, rage-filled, dying wail.


    His limbs shredded apart, his writhing, grotesque form collapsing inward, breaking piece by piece.


    And still¡ªArthur didn¡¯t stop.


    Another stroke. Another. Another.


    Each painting a cut into existence, each severing another piece of the monster who had once haunted him.


    By the end of it¡ªthere was barely anything left.


    Oscar collapsed, his body a broken mess of slashed corruption, his many eyes wide, filled with something strange¡ªnot fear. Not sorrow. Just¡­ emptiness.


    His grotesque form began to disintegrate, black smoke curling from his wounds, consuming what little remained of him.


    Arthur stepped forward, his expression unmoving.


    He stood over what was left of his father, watching the last shreds of his body fade into nothingness.


    Arthur exhaled softly, his voice barely above a whisper.


    ¡°Goodnight.¡±


    His eyes darkened.


    ¡°Wherever you¡¯re going¡ªI hope you suffer for all your sins.¡±


    Then¡ªwithout hesitation, without remorse¡ª


    Arthur stomped on his fading skull.


    The last piece of Oscar disintegrated, vanishing into a wisp of black smoke.


    And just like that¡ª


    It was over.

 Chapter 15-I Place My Bet On You

    The aftershocks of battle lingered in the air. The scent of burning paint, the faint shimmer of divine energy dissipating into the wind, and the heavy silence of something impossible having just occurred.


    Satisiel stood motionless, his piercing blue eyes locked onto Arthur, his grip tightening on the paintbrush as if expecting reality to correct itself at any moment.


    ¡°How?¡± His voice was not his usual calm, not the composed musings of the angelic artist, but panicked, rattled. ¡°How? That shouldn¡¯t be possible. How did you, a human, wield my divine relic?¡± His gaze flickered between Arthur¡¯s hand and the brush as though he expected it to reject him now, as if the impossibility of what had just transpired would suddenly unravel itself.


    Arthur, still gripping his wrist, still feeling the phantom weight of power lingering in his fingers, exhaled sharply. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were calculating, focused.


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡± He hesitated, searching for the words to explain something that defied explanation. ¡°I just had a hunch, it would work. And it did.¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡°A hunch?¡± His wings twitched, his composure slipping further. ¡°You risked your life on a hunch?¡±


    The angel let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair in exasperation before thrusting the paintbrush toward Eliza. ¡°Fine. Then test it. See if it works for her.¡±


    Eliza blinked. ¡°Wait, what?¡± But before she could protest, the divine artifact was shoved into her grip.


    With a scowl, she twirled it between her fingers, swinging it in a swift arc, mimicking the way Arthur had wielded it moments ago.


    Nothing.


    No glow. No paint shifting in response. No divine power coursing through her veins.


    Just a brush.


    Eliza scowled harder. ¡°Alright, guess I¡¯m not the chosen one.¡±


    Satisiel didn¡¯t respond. His brows furrowed as he slowly reached out and plucked the brush back from her fingers, his own grip tight as if confirming it was still real¡ªstill his.


    ¡°¡­How odd.¡± His voice was lower now, tinged with something bordering on unease. ¡°This makes no sense at all.¡±


    Arthur flexed his fingers, the lingering energy from the brush still humming faintly beneath his skin. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was supposed to feel like this, if that was something that should worry him.


    Maybe. But he¡¯d think about that later.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Eliza exhaled, stretching her arms before rolling her shoulders. ¡°We can freak out about this later. Can we get the hell out of here now?¡±


    Hugo ran a hand down his face, groaning. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯d rather not get dragged into more of this mess. This whole situation has gone to hell. Best we leave right now.¡±


    Satisiel, seemingly regaining some of his composure, flicked his wrist, twirling the paintbrush absentmindedly. ¡°I can defend you all easily. Where is your base?¡±


    ¡°In the sewers!¡± Roxanne chimed in, unnervingly cheerful despite the horrors they had just witnessed. ¡°It¡¯s a really comfy spot!¡±


    Satisiel blinked.


    Then, a slow, amused smirk curled his lips. ¡°How lovely.¡± He chuckled softly, tilting his head. ¡°I should bring Cleansia down there. They¡¯d love it.¡±


    Eliza let out a dry, humorless laugh. ¡°Oh, yeah. Let¡¯s see how long it takes before he tries to ¡®purify¡¯ the entire sewer system.¡±


    Satisiel hummed in thought. ¡°Yes¡­ I would love to watch him suffer.¡±


    A turquoise barrier of swirling paint surrounded them, shimmering like liquid glass. Any monstrous spirit foolish enough to throw itself against the wall of luminescent color was instantly shredded, blue shards slicing through twisted flesh. The air was thick with the stench of corruption, punctuated by the distant shrieks of spirits still warping into abominations.


    Satisiel, standing at the barrier¡¯s center, guided the group deeper into the chaos. Despite the harsh glow reflecting off his solemn features, his focus never wavered from the task of keeping them all safe.


    But danger found them regardless.


    With a sudden, violent hiss, a serpentine creature lunged through a minuscule gap in the barrier¡ªa man-turned-snake, its elongated body rippling with unholy energy. It slithered with terrifying speed, its human head contorted in a silent snarl.


    Before anyone could react, it snapped its jaws around Satisiel¡¯s arm.


    The limb tore away with a sickening rip, golden ichor mingling with spattering blue paint as the snake wrenched itself free from the barrier, vanishing into the dark with its prize.


    Arthur¡¯s heart thundered. ¡°Satisiel¡ª!¡±


    Gore dripped from the angel¡¯s shoulder, but his face barely registered pain¡ªonly annoyance.


    ¡°Are¡ªare you okay?¡± Arthur stammered, fighting the urge to sprint after the creature. ¡°I thought you couldn¡¯t be harmed by those in the afterlife.¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s remaining hand twitched, and he let out a restrained sigh. ¡°Temporarily, I¡¯ve placed my body on this side of existence so I can better protect you. Hence, I¡¯m vulnerable as well. But there¡¯s no need to panic¡­¡±


    A dull glow enveloped the stump. Arthur watched in disbelief as Satisiel¡¯s arm began to regenerate, sinew and bone re-forming in a matter of seconds, like living paint re-sculpting a body part.


    ¡°All angels have healing capabilities,¡± the angel explained calmly, flexing his newly formed fingers. ¡°If Veritas¡¯s ability is to freeze an opponent¡¯s movements, then mine is¡­¡±¡ªhe paused, lips curving into a small, cold smile¡ª¡°¡­blood manipulation.¡±


    With a casual flick of his wrist, Satisiel snapped his fingers.


    Far off in the darkness, the snake-man jerked. The severed limb it had stolen began to pulse and warp with divine energy. In a heartbeat, it exploded¡ªa storm of blades formed from Satisiel¡¯s blood shredding the beast from the inside out.


    An agonized wail echoed through the night as the monstrous serpent collapsed into black smoke.


    Satisfied, Satisiel lowered his arm. ¡°If you truly wish to kill Veritas, you¡¯ll need to lure him into the afterlife¡ªwhere his body can be harmed, just like mine.¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    Arthur eyed him warily. ¡°Why are you helping us? Do you want him dead?¡±


    Satisiel laughed softly, a sound filled with mirthless amusement. ¡°Michello may be psychotic, but he has a good sense for people. I¡¯ve decided to place my bet on you as well, Arthur. And perhaps, in turn, you might place yours on me.¡±


    Arthur exhaled, the weight of everything pressing down on him. ¡°I don¡¯t get what you all see in me,¡± he muttered.


    Satisiel only offered a cryptic smile. ¡°Perhaps it is precisely because you do not see it that you remain worthy.¡±


    The entrance to the sewers loomed before them, a rusted grate marking the threshold between the chaos above and the fragile safety below. The acrid scent of damp stone and stagnant water drifted up from the tunnels, but in comparison to the twisted horrors of the Night Parade, it was almost welcoming.


    Standing at the edge of the alleyway, Satisiel smiled as he turned to face them, the soft glow of his blue paint barrier still flickering in the distance, holding back the tide of corrupted souls.


    ¡°Good luck, my dear friends,¡± he said, his voice smooth and unshaken despite everything they had witnessed. His blue eyes shimmered in the moonlight, filled with an odd sense of certainty. ¡°I¡¯m positive we¡¯ll meet again.¡±


    Arthur hesitated for a moment, watching the angel closely before nodding.


    ¡°¡­Thanks for everything,¡± he said quietly. Then, without another word, he lowered himself into the sewers, disappearing into the darkness below.


    The others followed swiftly, vanishing one by one, until Satisiel was left alone in the dim, flickering light of the alley.


    A breath of silence settled over him.


    Then¡ª


    A woman¡¯s voice, smooth and tinged with something venomous, cut through the night like a dagger.


    ¡°What a kind angel,¡± she murmured, amusement laced in her tone. ¡°I¡¯ve always despised you creatures.¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s expression remained serene, but his body tensed. He did not turn around immediately. Instead, he exhaled softly.


    ¡°I was wondering when you¡¯d show yourself.¡±


    The air behind him grew heavy¡ªcharged with something primal.


    Slowly, Satisiel turned, his gaze falling upon the figure who had materialized just beyond the shadows.


    She was beautiful¡ªterrifyingly so.


    Long red hair cascaded down her back, streaked with strands of pure white, flowing like silk against the fabric of her crimson dress. The gown clung to her, elegant yet sinister, its back completely open, revealing the smooth arch of her spine.


    But it was her eyes¡ªblood-red, sharp, almost fox-like in the way they glowed against the moonlit night. They flickered like embers, alight with hunger and cruelty, filled with an intelligence that saw far too much.


    At her throat, a scar wrapped around her entire neck like a vivid, red noose. It pulsed faintly, glowing against her pale skin¡ªa mark of something unnatural.


    Her nails, long and curved like claws, gleamed in the faint light, as though eager to tear through flesh.


    She smiled.


    And something about it felt wrong.


    Satisiel¡¯s own smile didn¡¯t waver. But the air between them grew tense, electric with unspoken violence.


    ¡°So,¡± he mused, tilting his head slightly. ¡°The self-proclaimed goddess has decided to grace me with her presence.¡± His tone was light, almost teasing, but laced with the unmistakable edge of disdain.


    The woman¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Hello, you damned devil¡ªLu¡ª¡±


    Before he could finish speaking¡ª


    ¡ªfire exploded through the alley.


    A sudden, blistering heat seared through the air as a burst of crimson flames ripped through Satisiel¡¯s body.


    His arm was gone before he even registered the pain.


    The sheer force sent him staggering, golden ichor splattering onto the cold pavement as his severed limb landed with a sickening thud.


    The flames licked at the surrounding air, dancing wildly, forming a wreath of burning chains around her form.


    She bowed slightly, the movement graceful, even as the fire raged around her.


    ¡°Do be quiet, angel,¡± she purred, her tone gentle, yet filled with absolute dominance. ¡°Say my name again, and my temper may get the best of me.¡±


    Her blood-red eyes gleamed as she straightened, tilting her head slightly.


    ¡°You may only refer to me as Amor, Goddess of Afterlife and Salvation.¡±


    Satisiel let out a soft, amused breath, looking down at the stump where his arm had been.


    ¡°How annoying,¡± he sighed. ¡°I¡¯ve lost my arm twice today.¡±


    A soft glow enveloped his wound as golden ichor swirled, regenerating his lost limb in mere moments.


    He flexed his newly formed fingers, his gaze locking onto Amor¡¯s with thinly veiled contempt.


    ¡°Fine, then¡ªAmor,¡± he emphasized, the name tasting like poison in his mouth. ¡°What do you want with me?¡±


    Amor smiled, languidly¡ªas if she already knew she held all the power in this conversation.


    ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it,¡± she murmured, tracing a delicate claw along her own cheek, ¡°if you would stay away from that child.¡±


    Her tone was light, casual, but Satisiel could hear the warning beneath it.


    ¡°He is the other half I desire.¡±


    Her red eyes darkened, filled with something possessive.


    ¡°Though not as elegant as my Michello,¡± she continued, ¡°I still require him.¡±


    Satisiel¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly.


    ¡°¡­So I was right,¡± he muttered, crossing his arms. ¡°That child is the other vessel chosen by my god.¡±


    He studied her carefully.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± he asked, voice low, ¡°did you cause this incident?¡±


    Amor blinked, before letting out a soft laugh, shaking her head.


    ¡°Oh, no,¡± she mused, her fingers trailing idly along the fabric of her gown. ¡°While manipulating the souls of the dead is my specialty, I had nothing to do with this.¡±


    Her gaze flickered toward the crimson moon, the eerie glow reflecting in her eyes.


    ¡°I assume the decay of the moon is to blame,¡± she said smoothly. ¡°Your dear god is dying, Satisiel.¡±


    Her voice was almost sympathetic¡ªalmost.


    ¡°With each passing Blood Moon, this world will sink further into depravity.¡±


    She smiled, tilting her head.


    ¡°I¡¯d say you have about¡­ ten years at most.¡±


    Satisiel exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.


    ¡°And you believe the only way to save this world,¡± he said, ¡°is through the unification of the two vessels? To revive my lord?¡±


    Amor¡¯s smile vanished.


    A cold, violent hatred flickered across her features.


    ¡°No,¡± she said flatly.


    Her crimson flames surged higher, flickering dangerously.


    ¡°I do not want that bastard to return.¡±


    She took a slow step forward, the air warping with heat around her.


    ¡°I worked quite hard¡ªwith my ally¡ªto ensure both your god and the Devil God were slain.¡±


    Her lips curled upward once more, her eyes burning with mad devotion.


    ¡°I will make Michello the new Sun God.¡±


    She placed a hand over her heart, her entire body trembling with something deep and twisted.


    ¡°He will become this world¡¯s savior.¡±


    A moment of silence.


    Then¡ªSatisiel laughed.


    It was not a warm sound.


    ¡°How fascinating,¡± he mused. ¡°W each god scrambling for a successor to carry on their dying legacies.  This game gets more absurd by the day.¡±


    His gaze sharpened.


    ¡°I refuse,¡± he said, voice sharp as glass. ¡°I refuse for my lord¡¯s name to be tainted by association with Michello.¡±


    He smiled¡ªa sharp, knowing smirk.


    ¡°I¡¯ve chosen to place my bet on Arthur.¡±


    His voice was steady, certain.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure he becomes the one to replace my lord.¡±


    Amor¡¯s smile finally disappeared.


    The fire around her body flared violently, the air crackling.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll have to kill you.¡±


    Her blood-red eyes glowed, the heat of her flames rising into a blazing inferno.


    Satisiel didn¡¯t flinch.


    Instead, he grinned.


    ¡°Well.¡± He tilted his head, his paintbrush spinning idly between his fingers. ¡°You can certainly try.¡±