Emerald flames lit up the night like an eerie sunrise. People scattered across the street, screaming as a man wreathed in green light stumbled between them. Sickly fire shot from his trembling hands, turning paper lanterns for the upcoming festival into emerald sparks. The burning bits rained down on the crowd below. Cars screeched to a halt, horns blaring as drivers swerved to avoid the panicked mob.
The man's chest heaved as he ran, cold sweat cutting clean lines through the dirt on his face. His wild eyes darted back and forth until they found a gap between buildings – a maze of dark alleys that might hide him from whatever was hunting him. Without a second thought, he plunged into the shadows.
He never saw the figure moving smoothly across the rooftops above.
Wrapped in soft orange light, his pursuer tracked him like a hawk. Glowing ropes of smoky energy shot from around his body, anchoring to buildings and propelling him forward, letting him swing from rooftop to rooftop. The cool night air rushed past his face as he closed in, staying just out of sight.
The running man finally stopped in a narrow alley, doubling over and gasping for breath. His shoulders slumped momentarily in relief.
"Lost him," he wheezed, wiping his forehead with a shaking hand. "I actually lost him."
A shadow dropped silently behind him.
The man spun around with a strangled yelp, green flames exploding from his hands in wild arcs. The fire turned the narrow alley into a tunnel of emerald light. Heat rippled the air, making each breath feel like drinking from a boiling kettle.
His hunter rushed forward, dodging and twisting away from the fireballs. To avoid the last attack, he shot another smoky rope at the wall and reeled himself in, getting close enough to deliver a solid punch to the green man's face. He jumped back just in time to avoid a retaliatory fireball.
The green man's face twisted with rage. He slammed his hands together, fingers splayed wide.
"Stay away from me!" he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.
A continuous stream of sickly green fire shot forward like a flamethrower. His opponent was already reeling himself upward with his smoky ropes, the flames following him as he rose.
The orange-wreathed man launched an energy blast from above. The green man stopped his flamethrower to launch a massive fireball in response. The two forces collided in midair, resulting in an explosion that lit up the entire alley with blinding light.
Momentarily disoriented, the green man lost track of his attacker. He blinked rapidly, frantically searching from side to side when he heard someone landing behind him.
He spun around, hands already clenched into flaming fists, ready to strike what he thought was his opponent's back—only to find himself suddenly sprawled on the ground, dazed and confused, a flash of red and blue fading from his vision.
"Got you at last, Fire Auron." The voice above him was young but cold as winter midnight.
The orange glow brightened, revealing his captor's face. Though a short beard tried to hide his youth, he couldn't have been more than eighteen. He wasn't particularly tall, but his orange eyes burned like hot coals as they stared down at his fallen prey.
The man's hands flickered with green fire again, heat distorting the air like waves over hot pavement. A thin beam of orange light cracked past his ear, leaving a smoking hole in the ground – a crystal clear warning – the next shot, wouldn't miss.
The green man swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly.
"You are looking at death itself," the young man finally spoke, his voice taking a ritualistic quality. "If staring death in the face doesn't change a man... nothing will."
These words made the older man's heart sink. It couldn't be him.
"I'm giving you one chance," the orange-eyed youth said, his tone measured and final. "Change your heart and find redemption... or strike at me and prove yourself beyond saving."
"Don't tell him that, Angelo! We'll miss all the good stuff!" A wild, excited voice echoed in Angelo's mind, practically salivating at the prospect of violence.
"You are missing the entire point, Red," another voice countered within Angelo's head, this one methodical and precise. "As usual."
Recognition dawned in the fallen man's eyes, turning them wide with terror. He pushed himself backward on his elbows, scraping against the rough pavement.
"No," he gasped, his face draining of color. "You're him, aren't you? The Angel of Death!"
A muscle twitched in Angelo's jaw at the nickname. He stepped forward, his glowing aura casting dancing shadows on the alley walls. The orange light made the hollows of his face look deeper, more menacing.
"So you know of me," Angelo said, each word deliberate and heavy. "Then you understand what happens next. Choose wisely."
The fallen man pushed himself to his knees, voice cracking as he tried to salvage his pride.
"This isn't right! You're supposed to arrest criminals, not execute them!" His hands trembled as he spoke, giving away his fear despite his attempt to sound defiant.
Angelo's aura flared brighter, his gaze intensifying until the man flinched away from the sheer pressure of it.
"Just end it already!" Red urged in Angelo's mind, his voice gleeful and impatient. "This waste of space isn't worth another second!"
The man's hands clenched into fists, pride warring with fear on his face. For a moment, it looked like he might actually attack. Angelo's muscles tensed, ready to move at the slightest provocation.
For an instant, their gazes locked, and something in the man's eyes broke. His shoulders slumped like a puppet with cut strings.
"I... I surrender," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the city. "Please just... don't kill me."
His green aura flickered out like a candle in the wind.
Angelo approached carefully, letting his own aura fade until his eyes returned to their natural brown. With slow, deliberate movements, he secured the handcuffs.
As the tension eased, Novaria's nighttime sounds filtered back in – distant traffic, music from late-night clubs, the rustle of festival banners in the cool breeze. Modern skyscrapers towered overhead like glass giants, their windows blazing against the dark sky. They looked strange next to the old brick buildings that had stood for centuries, telling stories of the city's long history.
Paper lanterns swayed gently above the streets, getting ready for the New Light Festival – when all of Luminia would celebrate breaking free from Infernia. But here in Novaria, so close to the Infernian border, the festival brought mixed feelings. While most people buzzed with excitement about the upcoming celebrations, others felt the tension in the air, like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Some wounds, it seemed, took more than time to heal.
Angelo trudged home after dropping his prisoner at the police station, his boots scuffing against the sidewalk. Most people had gone to bed, but with them night owls, Novaria never truly slept, especially with the festival approaching. Street vendors were already setting up decorations, their lanterns casting long shadows across the pavement.
"I still can't believe you let that scumbag go," Red's voice bounced around in Angelo's head, practically dripping with disgust. "What happened to the guy who used to have some actual spine? You're getting soft, Angie."
"In what universe does arresting a criminal and delivering him to the proper authorities constitute 'letting him go'? Do enlighten us, Red." Blue's response came quick and sharp, like a teacher correcting a particularly slow student.
Angelo dragged his hand down his face, too exhausted to keep their argument contained in his head. "Could you two just shut up for five minutes..." he muttered out loud, making a young couple walking past give him concerned looks.
Red and Blue kept bickering as Angelo climbed the creaky wooden stairs to his apartment, each step making his legs feel heavier than the last. The day's chase had drained him more than he wanted to admit.
When he reached his floor, Angelo stopped dead in his tracks. 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 odd pendant he'd started wearing after joining the army.
"Sleeser?" Angelo blinked hard, rubbing his eyes as if his old teacher might be some tired hallucination.
Sleeser pushed off from the door, his confident smile as familiar as an old scar.
"From that look on your face, you'd think I was a ghost," he said, grinning wider and spreading his arms. "I'm hurt. Can't a guy drop by to check on his favorite student anymore?" Though he joked, concern flickered in his eyes like a match being struck.
Angelo's mouth opened and closed several times before words finally tumbled out. "No—I mean—it's not that... It's just, I thought you were still with the army at the eastern border."
Sleeser's face twitched almost imperceptibly. "Things calmed down sooner than expected. So, here I am!" His casual tone clashed with how carefully his eyes scanned Angelo from head to toe.
"Been so long I barely recognized you with that beard. If I hadn't heard you talking to your... companions, I might've thought you were some random burglar trying to break in."
He winked, making Angelo look away like a kid caught stealing cookies.
"Though I gotta say, that beard makes you look like you're trying way too hard to be scary. It's actually kind of adorable."
"Ha ha," Red's voice echoed mockingly through their shared mind.
"Ha. Ha." Angelo's dry laugh mimicked Red's as he shouldered past Sleeser and unlocked his door. "Hilarious." He pushed the door open, letting both of them into the cramped space.
The difference between Angelo's tiny apartment and the glittering city outside felt like stepping into another world. A worn-out couch with stuffing poking through the cushions faced a small TV. The kitchen consisted of little more than a hot plate and mini-fridge. Old posters of famous Aurons peeled off the walls, their corners curling inward like dying leaves.
Sleeser sprawled across the couch like he owned it, his relaxed pose a perfect mask for how intensely he watched Angelo's every move.
"So, you've been with the police for what now? Two years? In that... special program?" Sleeser asked, picking at a loose thread on the couch arm.
Angelo leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Why are you asking? It was your idea I join in the first place."
"Was it? Must have slipped my mind," Sleeser chuckled, though his eyes said he hadn't forgotten a single detail. "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 everything – combat skills, aura control, energy techniques. I even mastered those energy tendrils you once mentioned."
Sleeser's eyebrows shot up so fast they nearly disappeared into his spiky hair. "What? Those things? Really?" His smile couldn't hide his genuine surprise. "No energy Auron actually bothers with that technique. Too weak for real combat, not to mention ridiculously difficult to master."
"Well... I mastered it anyway," Angelo said, looking away as his shoulders tensed defensively.
"Okay, okay," Sleeser laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. His eyes crinkled with amusement. "It is pretty impressive, I won't lie. Guess you can grab a beer from across the room now without getting up. Maybe I'll even learn it myself someday." He settled back in his seat with an easy smile that didn't quite hide how closely he was studying Angelo's reactions.
"I must object to this dismissive characterization," Blue's voice cut through their shared mind like an icy knife. "The energy tendril technique has proven invaluable for both utility and mobility. You utilize it with such natural proficiency that it's practically second nature. To diminish its significance merely serves to—"
"Seriously, Blue?" Angelo interrupted, mental voice heavy with exasperation. "You're actually doing this? Right now?"
Blue's dignified mental huff felt like someone straightening an imaginary tie. The room fell into an awkward silence, broken only by the distant sounds of occasional traffic floating up through Angelo's cracked window.
Sleeser leaned forward, the couch creaking beneath him as his expression grew serious. "What about your stamina training? You're keeping that up, right?" He raised an eyebrow. "Or do I need to remind you why that's so crucial?"
"First professor blueberry, and now this guy wants to bore us to death with HIS lectures?" Red's voice bounced around their shared consciousness like an angry ping pong ball. "Like we haven't heard this crap a thousand times already!"
Angelo let out a sigh that seemed to come from his toes. "No thanks, I'm good." He waved off the incoming lecture like swatting away a persistent fly. "Unlimited energy for a limited time. I know." The words came out practiced, like a student reciting lines they'd written on the chalkboard a hundred times.
Sleeser's easy smile cracked just a bit at the edges, like a mask starting to slip.
Before anyone could say more, red smoke began leaking out of Angelo like fog rolling under a door. It gathered and swirled until it took shape, solidifying into what looked like a grayer, more washed-out copy of Angelo standing there in the cramped apartment.
Red planted himself directly in front of Sleeser, his face shifting into a troublemaker's grin. "Well, well, well, if it isn't our old teacher. What's wrong, you missed boring us half to death with your endless lectures about 'discipline' and 'control'?"
Sleeser kept smiling, like a parent dealing with a difficult child. "Ah, Red, still charming as ever. I was wondering how long you could sit still in there. Making it this far without popping out? I'm impressed."
Red's grin sharpened, all teeth and no warmth. "Yeah, yeah, cut the crap. Let's get to why you're really here. No way you tracked us down just to catch up on old times."
The playful mood shattered as Sleeser paused, then pulled a crumpled newspaper from his pocket. His fingers smoothed out the wrinkles with calculated precision, the paper crinkling under his touch.
"'The Angel of Death: Enforcer or Vigilante?'" he read, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Fascinating article. Tells of a young officer who gives criminals a choice – surrender and live, or resist and face execution. No trial, no nothing."
His eyes locked onto Angelo's, hard as flint. "Tell me this isn't you."