"OUT OF THE WAY!" The desperate scream cut through the night as emerald flames lit up the street like an eerie sunrise. People scattered in panic 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 screaming 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.

  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.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  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.

  "On your feet," Angelo ordered, gripping the criminal's arm firmly. "We're done here."

  As they stepped into Novaria's blinding lights from the alley's shadows, Angelo pulled out his communication device to call for pickup. While waiting, his gaze caught festival decorations hanging overhead. His jaw tightened instantly, eyes hardening as he looked away, refusing to acknowledge them further.

  A police car pulled up beside them. Two officers stepped out, exchanging uneasy glances when they met Angelo's stern expression.

  "Nice work tonight," one officer mumbled, hurrying to secure the criminal in the backseat. "Glad nobody got hurt this time around."

  He cleared his throat nervously. "Need a ride back to the station?"

  "I'll handle myself," Angelo replied flatly, already turning away.

  "Right. Keep up the good work then," the officer said quickly before practically diving back into the driver's seat.

  Angelo trudged home after dropping his prisoner in the police car, 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.

  "In what universe does arresting a criminal 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.

  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.

  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.

  "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.

  "Though I gotta say, that beard makes you look like you're trying way too hard to be scary. It's cute."

  "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. 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, making the couch squeak under him. "What about your stamina training? You keeping that up?" He raised one eyebrow. "That was always your weak spot."

  "What's with this guy? Showing up outta nowhere this late, just to ask about your training?" Red's voice bounced around their shared mind like an angry ping pong ball. "I don't buy it!"

  Angelo sighed so deeply it seemed to come from his very soul. "Don't worry about it, I'm good." He waved his hand like he was shooing away a fly.

  Sleeser's easy smile cracked a bit at the edges, like a mask starting to slip.

  Before anyone could say more, red smoke began leaking out of Angelo. It swirled together and stretched until it took shape, materializing into Red who looked like a gray tinted copy of Angelo.

  Red planted himself right in front of Sleeser, his face breaking 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 speeches?"

  Sleeser kept smiling, like a parent dealing with a difficult child. "Ah, Red, haven't lost your charm I see. Was wondering how long you could sit still in there. Making it this far without popping out? I'm impressed."

  Red's grin turned sharp, all teeth and no warmth. "Cut the crap. Let's get to why you're really here. No way you tracked us down just to catch up. Time to spill the beans!" His eyes flashing mischievously.

  The playful mood in the room shattered. Sleeser paused, then pulled a crumpled newspaper from his pocket. His fingers carefully smoothed out the wrinkles, the paper crinkling under his touch.

  "'The Angel of Death: Enforcer or Vigilante?'" he read, his tone serious. "Interesting article. Tells of a young officer who gives criminals a choice – surrender and live, or resist and face execution."

  His eyes locked onto Angelo's, hard as stone. "This article is talking about you, isn't it?"

  Angelo's jaw tightened until a muscle jumped in his cheek. "You came all this way just for that?" The room suddenly felt ice-cold as they stared at each other, neither one willing to look away first.