The silence in Angelo's small apartment pressed down like a physical weight, broken only by the soft rustling of newspaper pages as Sleeser stood before him. The article's black and white print seemed to burn accusingly in Sleeser's grip. Each word felt like another brick being added to the crushing atmosphere: "The Angel of Death: Enforcer or Vigilante?"

  Sleeser's fingers drummed against the paper, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something harder, more urgent. "I'll ask you again, Angelo," he said, voice cutting through the thick tension like a knife. "Is this article talking about you? Are you this 'Angel of Death' they're writing about?"

  In their shared thoughts Red's voice echoed playfully "I get the feeling he already knows. No point in hiding it, Angie,"

  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, "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.

  "What's wrong, teach?" Red leaned forward, his grin spreading wider across his face like a wolf about to pounce. "We're just following your instructions to the letter! Isn't that what a good student's supposed to do?"

  "As if you've ever qualified as a good student," Blue's voice drifted through their shared mind, precise as a surgeon's cut.

  Sleeser dragged both hands down his face, leaving red marks on his skin. "But this?" He smacked the newspaper with the back of his hand. "This twisted vigilante justice? This isn't what I meant at all! Twenty four confirmed kills because of your methods!"

  "Who told you that?" Angelo's voice dropped dangerously low as he leaned forward, hands gripping his knees. His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

  "Does it matter who told me?" Sleeser threw up his hands. "The point is, this has gone way too far! This whole 'Angel of Death' thing—it needs to stop. Now." He crossed his arms, his usual easy-going expression replaced with stone-cold seriousness.

  "I'm not your little pupil anymore," Angelo shot back, squaring his shoulders as he stood to face his former mentor. "I'm an adult making my own choices. You don't get to burst into my apartment and start barking orders like I'm still twelve."

  "Eighteen barely counts as adult!" Sleeser pointed at him. "You're basically a toddler with a loaded gun and supernatural powers!"

  "That 'toddler' is cleaning up this god forsaken city!" Angelo jabbed a finger toward the window, toward Novaria's skyline. "For the first time, criminals are thinking twice before preying on innocent people. Citizens walk the streets without fear. My methods get results—even if they make you uncomfortable."

  "Results aren't everything, Angelo!" Sleeser stood up so quickly the couch rocked backward. He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. "Is there really nothing I can say to pull you off this self-destructive path? Are you that stubborn?"

  "I..." Angelo's conviction wavered for just a heartbeat, his eyes dropping to the floor before rising again, harder than before. "My mind's made up. Nothing you say will change it."

  "Damn it, Angelo." Sleeser's voice softened, heavy with disappointment. "This dark road you're walking—it doesn't lead where you think. Your heart's in the right place, but the road to hell is paved by good intentions."

  "If I have to burn in hell to fix what's broken in this world," Angelo crossed his arms tightly across his chest, his voice cold and final, "then I'll bring the matches myself."

  Sleeser stared at him for a long moment, searching for something in Angelo's face. Finding nothing but stubborn resolve, he finally nodded grimly and walked to the door, each step heavy with defeat.

  At the threshold, Sleeser paused, one hand on the doorknob. He looked back, his eyes filled with a sadness that made him suddenly look much older. "If my words can't reach you, reality will do it instead. One day something will come along and shatter that black-and-white view of yours." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "I just hope you don't shatter along with it. Take care of yourself, kid."

  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.

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  For the first time since he'd become the Angel of Death, a 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 Blue's form, looking like 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, it's not my place to say 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 ice 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!"

  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.

  Novaira wasn't the only city in Luminia where Angelo's actions were getting noticed. Far away in Luminia's capital, something else was brewing.

  While most of the city's elite had retired to their mansions in the hills, light still burned in one particular office near the top of the most prestigious building in the government district.

  Inside that office, shadows held court like living things, broken only by the ember of a cigarette that painted brief moments of clarity in the darkness.

  The man standing before the massive oak desk tried not to fidget as he clutched his manila folder.

  Everything about this room spoke of power – from the imported carpets that swallowed his footsteps to the floor-to-ceiling windows that transformed the city below into a tapestry of lights.

  But nothing in the room commanded attention like the woman behind the desk, whose very stillness carried more authority than a shouted order.

  He cleared his throat, shuffling through his papers with hands that betrayed the slightest tremor.

  The woman took another long drag from her cigarette, its glow briefly illuminating features that seemed carved from marble by years of impossible decisions.

  She said nothing, merely gesturing for him to proceed with an elegant wave that sent smoke curling through the air between them.

  "The monthly threat assessment, my lady," he began, keeping his voice carefully neutral despite the weight of his news. "We've identified several developments that warrant attention."

  She drew deeply on her cigarette, the ember brightening like a warning light.

  In that brief illumination, her eyes looked ancient and knowing, as if they had witnessed the rise and fall of empires. A stream of smoke escaped her lips, dancing in the air like a living thing.

  "Our intelligence from the Infernian border is... concerning," he continued, papers crinkling softly in his grip.

  "Their military exercises have increased threefold, but more troubling are the reports of unmarked supply convoys moving under cover of darkness. The timing, just months before the New Light Festival..." He let the implications hang heavy in the smoke-filled air.

  The cigarette descended to a crystal ashtray with surgical precision. "Continue."

  His shoulders tensed as he delivered the next piece of news. "Next, one of Them have taken an interest in our activities." The emphasis made the word feel like a curse.

  "It's one of their more... unconventional members, they were spotted circling our facilities. The reports suggest they're not adhering to their usual policy."

  Without missing a beat, she crushed out her cigarette and lit another, the lighter's flame briefly revealing features that seemed untouched by time.

  The contrast made her beauty more unsettling than alluring.

  "And the domestic front?" Her words carried the weight of command even in a whisper.

  "There's a... local matter in Novaria." He shifted his weight, papers rustling.

  "Over the past six months, they've gained something of a vigilante. They're calling him the 'Angel of Death' – an Auron officer who offers criminals a choice between surrender and execution."

  Her hand froze halfway to her lips, smoke trailing forgotten from the cigarette like an abandoned thought. "His capabilities?"

  "After thorough assessment, his threat level appears minimal, my lady."

  The words came faster now, eager to reassure. "Despite his growing reputation, our surveillance suggests his actual power level is... remarkably low. He's mostly after common criminals, and even then, his energy output is consistently 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's edge.

  "And yet you included him in this report. Why?"

  "Because of a certain... connection we've uncovered." His voice dropped until it barely stirred the smoke-laden air. "If he starts asking questions..."

  Her cigarette stopped moving toward the ashtray, hanging suspended as if time itself had paused. "What connection?"

  Without a word, he withdrew a thin file from his folder and placed it on her desk with the careful movements of someone handling explosives.