Michael pushed open the door and was met with a gruesome sight. A figure, draped in crimson red robes, stood beside a pale-skinned man, who was tightly bound to a chair. The man's throat had been cruelly slit, and blood gushed out, pooling around the chair's legs.
As Michael entered, he immediately recognized the figure in crimson—the Angel of Death, the same enigmatic being he had encountered at Rainar's temple. There was an eerie familiarity in those crimson eyes.
The Angel of Death greeted Michael with a sinister grin and waved his hand casually, shutting the door behind Michael.
"Welcome, dear John," the angel purred, his voice chilling as death itself.
"What did you do?" Michael demanded, his voice quivering with a mixture of anger and dread.
The Angel of Death chuckled, his crimson eyes glinting with an unsettling amusement. "The manager, you see, has called forth for death. It is only my duty to grant him the sweet release he desires."
