Green light wrapped around a man as he ran through Novaria's crowded streets. His head kept whipping back and forth like a frightened animal as he pushed past people and darted between honking cars. Every time fear spiked through him, green flames shot from his hands, catching the festival banners overhead. The decorations lit up with an eerie green glow, making people scream and scatter. Finally, he spotted a maze of dark alleys between the old buildings and dove in, hoping to lose whoever was chasing him.
Up above, someone followed him across the rooftops, moving as smoothly as a gymnast. Orange light pulsed around this second figure, who used what looked like glowing smoke ropes to swing and pull himself from building to building, like a spider using its web. With one final jump that seemed to hang in the air forever, he sailed right over the alley where his target had disappeared.
The man with the green light slowed down, trying to catch his breath. Sweat ran down his tired face, making him look older than his thirty-something years. Just as he started to think he'd gotten away, someone dropped down in front of him, landing as quietly as a cat.
Pure panic took over. The man started throwing green fireballs that lit up the whole alley like it was daytime. The heat from each blast felt like opening an oven door, and the weird green light made the shadows on the walls dance and twist.
But his attacker moved through all this like it was some kind of dance, bending and twisting around each fireball like he could see exactly where they'd go before they even got close. The flames passed so near they made his clothes ripple, but none of them hit. Then suddenly, red and blue flashed out of nowhere, and the man throwing fireballs found himself flat on his back, his head spinning like he'd been hit by something he never saw coming.
"Finally caught you, rogue fire Auron," said the man wreathed in orange light, his voice as cold as ice. As his orange glow got brighter, it showed his face clearly - he was young, not very tall, with long dark hair and a short beard that made him look older than he probably was. But what really grabbed your attention were his eyes - they glowed bright orange like burning coals as they stared down at the man on the ground.
The fallen man's hands started flickering with green fire again, heat rippling the air like waves over hot pavement. Before he could do anything, though, a thin beam of orange light shot past his head, hitting the ground behind him with a crack like a whip. The message couldn't have been clearer - the next shot wouldn't miss.
His eyes went wide with recognition, fear making his voice shake. "You-You're him, aren't you?!" he stammered, trying to scramble backwards while still on the ground. "The Angel of Death!"
The orange-eyed man's face twitched slightly at the nickname. He took a step forward, shadows from his glowing aura dancing across the alley walls. "So, you've heard of me," he said, his voice low and controlled. "Then you know what happens if you choose to attack."
"Hey, don't tell him that, Angelo!" Red's voice echoed in his mind, sounding excited like a kid who thinks they might miss out on a fight. "We might lose out on some action!"
Blue cut in, his mental voice sounding like an exasperated parent, "I believe you're missing the point, Red. As always."
The man on the ground didn't hear this internal argument. He pushed himself up to his knees, his voice cracking as he protested, "This...This isn't right! You're supposed to arrest people, not KILL them!"
Angelo took another step forward, his orange aura flaring brighter and making the man flinch back. "You are now staring at the face of death," he said, his voice formal like he was reciting something he'd said many times before. "'If staring death in the face doesn't change a man, nothing will.' I'm offering you a choice - surrender, have a change of heart and reform your ways... or strike at me. But know this: if you choose to attack, you prove yourself beyond redemption."
"Forget this dramatic nonsense," Red urged in Angelo's mind, sounding like he could barely contain his excitement. "Just end him. You know he's beyond saving."
The man on the ground looked like he was having an internal fight of his own. His pride clearly stung from being lectured by someone younger than him, and for a moment, his hands clenched like he might actually attack. Angelo's aura brightened in response, ready for anything. But when their eyes met, something in the man seemed to break. "I... I surrender," he whispered, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Just please... don't kill me."
His green aura flickered and went out like someone had blown out a candle.
Angelo stepped forward carefully, letting his own aura fade along with the orange glow in his eyes, revealing their natural brown. His movements were slow and controlled as he put the handcuffs on, trying not to show how tired he felt. In his mind, this was a victory - the Angel of Death had scared another criminal straight without having to spill blood. These quiet wins meant the most to him.
As the excitement wore off, the normal sounds of Novaria at night started filtering back in. The city was settling into its nighttime rhythm, all lit up like a jewel in Luminia's crown. Modern skyscrapers towered overhead, their windows blazing with light, a strange contrast to the old-style buildings that told stories of the city's long history.
Festival lanterns hung on strings above the streets, swaying gently in the cool night breeze. These weren't just decorations - they meant something important. They announced the coming New Light Festival, when Luminia celebrated breaking free from Infernia. The festival always brought mixed feelings to Novaria. While most people buzzed with excitement about the celebrations, there was also tension in the air, especially near the Infernian border where old hatred still burned hot.
Angelo trudged home after dropping his prisoner at the police station, his boots scuffing against the sidewalk. Most people had gone to bed, but Novaria never really slept, especially with the festival coming up. Music thumped from nearby bars, and drunk laughter echoed down the streets as night owls stumbled between late-night spots without a care in the world.
"I still can't believe you let this guy go. You're getting soft, Angie," Red's voice bounced around in Angelo's head, dripping with mockery.
Blue's response came quick and sharp, like a teacher correcting a problem student: "In what universe does arresting a criminal count as 'letting him go'? Do enlighten us, Red."
Angelo dragged his hand down his face, too exhausted to keep their argument in his head. "Would you two just drop it..." he muttered out loud, making a couple walking past give him odd looks.
Red and Blue kept at it as Angelo climbed the creaky stairs to his apartment, his legs feeling heavier with each step. When he reached his floor, he stopped dead. Someone was leaning against his door - someone whose spiky yellowish-orange hair stuck straight up like it was reaching for the ceiling. The man's brown fur-lined vest and blue shirt looked exactly like Angelo remembered, right down to that weird pendant he'd started wearing after joining the army.
"Sleeser?" Angelo blinked hard, like his old teacher might be a tired hallucination.
Sleeser pushed off from the door, his confident smile as familiar as ever. "From the look on your face, it's as if you didn't want to see me," he said, grinning wider. "I'm hurt. Can't a guy visit his old student every now and then?" Though he was joking, concern flickered in his eyes like a candle flame.
Angelo's mouth opened and closed a few times before words came out. "No, no, nothing like that... It's just, I thought you were still with the army in the eastern provinces."
Sleeser's keys jingled as he spun them around one finger. "Things stabilized quicker than anticipated at the eastern border. And so, here I am!" His casual tone didn't match how carefully he was studying Angelo. "It's been so long, I barely recognized you with that beard. If I hadn't heard you talking out loud to your... companions, I might have mistaken you for a burglar." He winked, making Angelo look away like an embarrassed kid. "Though I must say, that beard makes you look like you're trying too hard to be intimidating. It's cute."
"Ha ha," Red's voice echoed sarcastically through their shared mind.
The difference between Angelo's tiny apartment and the glittering city outside felt like stepping into another world. Just a worn-out couch, a basic kitchen setup, and some old posters of famous Aurons peeling off the walls. Sleeser sprawled across the couch like he owned it, but his relaxed pose couldn't hide how intensely he watched Angelo.
"So, Angelo, you've been with the police for what? Two years now? In that... special program?" Sleeser asked, picking at a loose thread on the couch.
Angelo leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. "Why are you asking? It was your idea in the first place."
"Is that right? Must have slipped my mind," Sleeser chuckled, though his eyes said he hadn't forgotten anything. "And have you improved your skills since I last saw you?"
Pride crept into Angelo's voice as he stood a little straighter. "Of course. I've been working hard on my combat skills, aura control, and energy techniques. I even mastered that energy tendril thing you once mentioned."
Sleeser's eyebrows shot up so fast they nearly disappeared into his spiky hair. "What? That thing? Really? No energy Auron bothers with that. It's too weak for battle, not to mention difficult to master."
"Well... I did it nonetheless," Angelo said, his shoulders tensing defensively.
"Okay, okay, it is a little impressive, I won't lie," Sleeser admitted, holding up his hands in surrender. "I guess you can grab a beer from afar now. Maybe I'll consider mastering it myself."
The playful moment passed as Sleeser's face grew serious, like clouds covering the sun. "Your training wasn't limited to just fancy skills though, right?"
Angelo shifted his weight, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "Of course..." Then his head snapped up like he'd just remembered something important. "Actually, now that you're here - there's something I've been meaning to ask you about. It's been bothering me for a while."
"Oh?" Sleeser sat up straighter, curiosity replacing his stern look.
Angelo paced the small room, his hands jammed in his pockets. "My stamina... something's not right. I get exhausted way too quickly." Frustration made him kick at nothing. "I remember watching you train when I was younger. You could maintain your aura all day without breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, I'm drained after a few hours."
"And why do you think that is?" Sleeser asked, his bright blue eyes following Angelo's movement.
Angelo ran his hand through his hair, messing it up completely. "Hell if I know. The energy's supposed to be infinite, isn't it? Maybe my connection to it is weaker or something? That would explain the stamina issues."
A small smile tugged at Sleeser's mouth as he stood up. Without warning, his blue eyes blazed orange and power exploded out of him like a miniature sun. The air got so thick with energy it felt like trying to breathe underwater.
"Let me explain something fundamental about being an Auron," Sleeser said, his voice cutting through the light show. "Your stamina depletes steadily just maintaining your aura. Push past your limits, and your stamina drains faster. Push too hard..." His aura went crazy for a moment, like a fire catching then dying down "... And your body will pay the price." He finished with a heavy breath, like he'd just run up several flights of stairs.
"But if the energy is unlimited—"
"That's the irony of being an Auron isn't it," Sleeser cut in, leaning against the wall. "We have access to unlimited energy... but only for a limited time. And that time?" His aura winked out like someone had flipped a switch, his eyes fading back to blue. "That depends entirely on your stamina."
Angelo sank onto the couch, everything finally clicking into place. All those training sessions where he'd hit the wall, all those times he'd wondered why he couldn't keep going - now it made perfect sense.
As Sleeser finished his lecture about stamina, something emerged out of Angelo. Red smoke leaked out like a slow-moving fog, gathering and shaping itself until it solidified into what looked like a grayer copy of Angelo standing there in the cramped apartment.
Red planted himself in front of Sleeser, his face shifting into a trouble-maker's grin. "Well, well, well, if it isn't our old teacher. What, you missed boring us to death with your lectures?"
Sleeser just kept smiling, like a parent used to dealing with a difficult child. "Ah, Red, I see you haven't lost your charm. I was wondering how long you could endure this. I have to say, waiting for the lesson to be over before coming out? Impressive."
Red's grin got sharper as he started pacing the small room like a caged animal. "Yeah, yeah, let's cut to the chase, hm? What really brings you here?"
The playful mood died as Sleeser pulled a crumpled newspaper from his pocket. His fingers smoothed it out carefully as he read: "'The Angel of Death: Hero or Vigilante?' There's an article describing a police officer taking a different approach with criminals. It doesn't name you specifically, but I have to ask. Is this talking about you, Angelo?"
Angelo's eyes went hard as steel, but he nodded without hesitation. "It is. I'm doing what needs to be done. I'm weeding out those who are beyond redemption."
The words seemed to suck all the air out of the tiny apartment. Sleeser's mind raced, but he kept his voice steady as he gripped the back of a kitchen chair. "How does one determine who is beyond redemption though?"
"If staring death in the face doesn't change a man... nothing will." Angelo's answer shot back like a bullet.
The color drained from Sleeser's face. Those words - he'd said them himself, years ago. A memory hit him like a punch to the gut: little Angelo trembling, covered in blood, after that horrible day. He'd said those exact words, trying to comfort a scared kid who'd seen too much. But he never imagined they'd lead to this.
For a moment, Sleeser could only stare at his former student, all his usual confidence gone like smoke in the wind.
"I see," he whispered, barely loud enough to hear. Guilt pressed down on him like a physical weight, but he pushed it aside. He couldn't deal with that right now. "I never meant for you to take it this far, Angelo. Not like this."
Angelo stood like a statue, unmoved. "You said it yourself, Sleeser. Do I need to repeat myself?"
Sleeser looked away, running fingers through his spiky hair as frustration tied his chest in knots. "I said those words to help you make peace with a hard choice... not to lead you down this path."
Silence filled the room like thick smoke. Sleeser pushed himself up from the chair and walked to the door, each step heavy as lead. His hand stayed on the doorknob as that old memory flashed again - that terrified little boy, shaking, his eyes huge with horror at what he'd had to do.
The sigh that escaped Sleeser seemed to come from his very soul. "I'm sorry, Angelo. I thought I was helping you..."
He let those words hang in the air for a moment. "Be careful. This isn't the kind of strength I wanted for you. One day, you'll understand what I mean."
Then he was gone, leaving nothing but thick, heavy silence behind.
As the door clicked shut, the apartment walls seemed to close in like a shrinking box. Angelo stood frozen, his old teacher's words bouncing around in his head. For the first time since he'd become the Angel of Death, a tiny seed of doubt took root in his mind.
He turned his focus inward, like looking into a dark room where he knew someone was waiting. "Blue," he called out, his voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. "You were awfully quiet during all of that. Why don't you come out and share your opinion on the matter?"
After a moment's pause, blue smoke curled up from nowhere, twisting itself into another grayer copy of Angelo. Blue's steady eyes met Angelo's burning ones without flinching.
"You've been silent this whole time," Angelo said, accusation creeping into his voice as he paced the room. "I want to hear what you think about all this."
Blue stood perfectly still, calm as a frozen lake compared to Red's wildfire energy. When he spoke, his words came out careful and measured, like someone weighing gold. "Angelo, I can't tell you if what you're doing is right or wrong. The world isn't black and white. What some people think is right might be wrong to others and vice versa. Even if my opinion differed from yours, it wouldn't matter. Who's to say my opinion is right and who's to say yours is wrong?"
Angelo's eyes flashed orange like warning lights. "Enough with your cryptic shit. What are you trying to say?"
Red leaned against the wall, watching them argue like someone enjoying a good show. A trouble-maker's grin spread across his face as his eyes bounced between them like he was watching a tennis match.
Blue didn't back down from Angelo's glowing glare, instead his eyes lit up in kind - piercing blue "What I'm saying is, you must do what You believe is right. Every choice has its consequences. So choose the path whose consequences you can live with."
Angelo stood there thinking for a moment, then his eyes faded back to normal. "Very well. In that case, I stand by my earlier convictions. If I let criminals who are beyond change go, one day they'll just end up hurting people again. Then it's on me. And that's not something I'm willing to live with. If they call me the Angel of Death for that... so be it."
As Blue's form started breaking apart into smoke again, his last words hung in the air: "Just be aware, there will be times that put your convictions to the test."
Angelo squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw set like iron. "I'm sure."
Red's laugh echoed off the walls as his form dissolved too. "You two are just overthinking things. Do what you believe is right, consequences be damned!"
Then Angelo was alone in the quiet apartment, the weight of his choices pressing down on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. The Angel of Death had risen - but the real test of what that meant was just beginning.
Far away from Novaria's busy streets, in the gleaming capital city of Luminia, something important was happening in the shadows. A man stood in one of those fancy offices where powerful people make dangerous decisions. His shoes sank into thick carpets as he gripped a plain folder, trying not to show how nervous he felt. Behind him, huge windows showed the city sparkling below like scattered jewels.
The only light came from a cigarette glowing in the darkness like a tiny red star. Its owner sat behind an expensive desk, smoke curling around her face like ghostly fingers. She had the kind of presence that made people stand straighter without being told. She didn't speak, just waved one hand for the man to get on with it.
He cleared his throat, papers rustling. "The monthly threat assessment, madam," he said, keeping his voice flat and professional. "We've identified several developments that warrant attention."
She took a long drag from her cigarette, the ember brightening like a warning light. In the brief glow, her eyes looked ancient and knowing. She blew out a stream of smoke that danced between them like a living thing.
"Our intelligence from the Infernian border is... concerning." He shifted his weight, papers crinkling in his grip. "Their military exercises have tripled, but what's really troubling are these unmarked supply trucks moving around at night. And with the New Light Festival just weeks away..." He didn't finish the thought. He didn't have to.
The cigarette made a soft tink as she tapped it against a crystal ashtray. "Continue."
"Next, one of Them has started poking around our facilities." His shoulders tensed up like he was expecting a blow. "One of their stranger members. The reports say they're not following their normal rules."
She stabbed out her cigarette and lit another in one smooth motion. The lighter's flame showed her face for a second - beautiful, but hard, like it had been carved from marble by years of making impossible choices.
"Anything in Luminia?" she asked, smoke trailing from her lips.
"There's this... situation in Novaria." He licked his lips nervously. "They've got themselves a vigilante. Goes by the 'Angel of Death' - he's an Auron cop who gives criminals two options: give up or die."
Her hand froze halfway to her mouth, cigarette forgotten as smoke twisted up like a question mark. "How strong is he?"
"That's the thing, madam - he's actually quite weak. Despite all the scary stories, our watchers say his power level is surprisingly low. He just handles regular street criminals, and even then, his energy output is... underwhelming."
The silence that followed felt like the moment before lightning strikes. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but sharp as a razor. "And yet you thought he was important enough to put in this report. Why?"
"Because we found a... connection, madam." His voice dropped so low she had to lean forward to hear. "If he starts asking certain questions..."
Her cigarette stopped moving toward the ashtray, hanging in the air like time itself had paused. "What connection?"
Without a word, he pulled a thin file from his folder and placed it on her desk like he was handling a bomb.