The aftershocks of battle lingered in the air. The scent of burning paint, the faint shimmer of divine energy dissipating into the wind, and the heavy silence of something impossible having just occurred.

  Satisiel stood motionless, his piercing blue eyes locked onto Arthur, his grip tightening on the paintbrush as if expecting reality to correct itself at any moment.

  “How?” His voice was not his usual calm, not the composed musings of the angelic artist, but panicked, rattled. “How? That shouldn’t be possible. How did you, a human, wield my divine relic?” His gaze flickered between Arthur’s hand and the brush as though he expected it to reject him now, as if the impossibility of what had just transpired would suddenly unravel itself.

  Arthur, still gripping his wrist, still feeling the phantom weight of power lingering in his fingers, exhaled sharply. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were calculating, focused.

  “I… I don’t know.” He hesitated, searching for the words to explain something that defied explanation. “I just had a hunch, it would work. And it did.”

  Satisiel’s jaw clenched. “A hunch?” His wings twitched, his composure slipping further. “You risked your life on a hunch?”

  The angel let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair in exasperation before thrusting the paintbrush toward Eliza. “Fine. Then test it. See if it works for her.”

  Eliza blinked. “Wait, what?” But before she could protest, the divine artifact was shoved into her grip.

  With a scowl, she twirled it between her fingers, swinging it in a swift arc, mimicking the way Arthur had wielded it moments ago.

  Nothing.

  No glow. No paint shifting in response. No divine power coursing through her veins.

  Just a brush.

  Eliza scowled harder. “Alright, guess I’m not the chosen one.”

  Satisiel didn’t respond. His brows furrowed as he slowly reached out and plucked the brush back from her fingers, his own grip tight as if confirming it was still real—still his.

  “…How odd.” His voice was lower now, tinged with something bordering on unease. “This makes no sense at all.”

  Arthur flexed his fingers, the lingering energy from the brush still humming faintly beneath his skin. He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to feel like this, if that was something that should worry him.

  Maybe. But he’d think about that later.

  “Alright,” Eliza exhaled, stretching her arms before rolling her shoulders. “We can freak out about this later. Can we get the hell out of here now?”

  Hugo ran a hand down his face, groaning. “Yeah, I’d rather not get dragged into more of this mess. This whole situation has gone to hell. Best we leave right now.”

  Satisiel, seemingly regaining some of his composure, flicked his wrist, twirling the paintbrush absentmindedly. “I can defend you all easily. Where is your base?”

  “In the sewers!” Roxanne chimed in, unnervingly cheerful despite the horrors they had just witnessed. “It’s a really comfy spot!”

  Satisiel blinked.

  Then, a slow, amused smirk curled his lips. “How lovely.” He chuckled softly, tilting his head. “I should bring Cleansia down there. They’d love it.”

  Eliza let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, yeah. Let’s see how long it takes before he tries to ‘purify’ the entire sewer system.”

  Satisiel hummed in thought. “Yes… I would love to watch him suffer.”

  A turquoise barrier of swirling paint surrounded them, shimmering like liquid glass. Any monstrous spirit foolish enough to throw itself against the wall of luminescent color was instantly shredded, blue shards slicing through twisted flesh. The air was thick with the stench of corruption, punctuated by the distant shrieks of spirits still warping into abominations.

  Satisiel, standing at the barrier’s center, guided the group deeper into the chaos. Despite the harsh glow reflecting off his solemn features, his focus never wavered from the task of keeping them all safe.

  But danger found them regardless.

  With a sudden, violent hiss, a serpentine creature lunged through a minuscule gap in the barrier—a man-turned-snake, its elongated body rippling with unholy energy. It slithered with terrifying speed, its human head contorted in a silent snarl.

  Before anyone could react, it snapped its jaws around Satisiel’s arm.

  The limb tore away with a sickening rip, golden ichor mingling with spattering blue paint as the snake wrenched itself free from the barrier, vanishing into the dark with its prize.

  Arthur’s heart thundered. “Satisiel—!”

  Gore dripped from the angel’s shoulder, but his face barely registered pain—only annoyance.

  “Are—are you okay?” Arthur stammered, fighting the urge to sprint after the creature. “I thought you couldn’t be harmed by those in the afterlife.”

  Satisiel’s remaining hand twitched, and he let out a restrained sigh. “Temporarily, I’ve placed my body on this side of existence so I can better protect you. Hence, I’m vulnerable as well. But there’s no need to panic…”

  A dull glow enveloped the stump. Arthur watched in disbelief as Satisiel’s arm began to regenerate, sinew and bone re-forming in a matter of seconds, like living paint re-sculpting a body part.

  “All angels have healing capabilities,” the angel explained calmly, flexing his newly formed fingers. “If Veritas’s ability is to freeze an opponent’s movements, then mine is…”—he paused, lips curving into a small, cold smile—“…blood manipulation.”

  With a casual flick of his wrist, Satisiel snapped his fingers.

  Far off in the darkness, the snake-man jerked. The severed limb it had stolen began to pulse and warp with divine energy. In a heartbeat, it exploded—a storm of blades formed from Satisiel’s blood shredding the beast from the inside out.

  An agonized wail echoed through the night as the monstrous serpent collapsed into black smoke.

  Satisfied, Satisiel lowered his arm. “If you truly wish to kill Veritas, you’ll need to lure him into the afterlife—where his body can be harmed, just like mine.”

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  Arthur eyed him warily. “Why are you helping us? Do you want him dead?”

  Satisiel laughed softly, a sound filled with mirthless amusement. “Michello may be psychotic, but he has a good sense for people. I’ve decided to place my bet on you as well, Arthur. And perhaps, in turn, you might place yours on me.”

  Arthur exhaled, the weight of everything pressing down on him. “I don’t get what you all see in me,” he muttered.

  Satisiel only offered a cryptic smile. “Perhaps it is precisely because you do not see it that you remain worthy.”

  The entrance to the sewers loomed before them, a rusted grate marking the threshold between the chaos above and the fragile safety below. The acrid scent of damp stone and stagnant water drifted up from the tunnels, but in comparison to the twisted horrors of the Night Parade, it was almost welcoming.

  Standing at the edge of the alleyway, Satisiel smiled as he turned to face them, the soft glow of his blue paint barrier still flickering in the distance, holding back the tide of corrupted souls.

  “Good luck, my dear friends,” he said, his voice smooth and unshaken despite everything they had witnessed. His blue eyes shimmered in the moonlight, filled with an odd sense of certainty. “I’m positive we’ll meet again.”

  Arthur hesitated for a moment, watching the angel closely before nodding.

  “…Thanks for everything,” he said quietly. Then, without another word, he lowered himself into the sewers, disappearing into the darkness below.

  The others followed swiftly, vanishing one by one, until Satisiel was left alone in the dim, flickering light of the alley.

  A breath of silence settled over him.

  Then—

  A woman’s voice, smooth and tinged with something venomous, cut through the night like a dagger.

  “What a kind angel,” she murmured, amusement laced in her tone. “I’ve always despised you creatures.”

  Satisiel’s expression remained serene, but his body tensed. He did not turn around immediately. Instead, he exhaled softly.

  “I was wondering when you’d show yourself.”

  The air behind him grew heavy—charged with something primal.

  Slowly, Satisiel turned, his gaze falling upon the figure who had materialized just beyond the shadows.

  She was beautiful—terrifyingly so.

  Long red hair cascaded down her back, streaked with strands of pure white, flowing like silk against the fabric of her crimson dress. The gown clung to her, elegant yet sinister, its back completely open, revealing the smooth arch of her spine.

  But it was her eyes—blood-red, sharp, almost fox-like in the way they glowed against the moonlit night. They flickered like embers, alight with hunger and cruelty, filled with an intelligence that saw far too much.

  At her throat, a scar wrapped around her entire neck like a vivid, red noose. It pulsed faintly, glowing against her pale skin—a mark of something unnatural.

  Her nails, long and curved like claws, gleamed in the faint light, as though eager to tear through flesh.

  She smiled.

  And something about it felt wrong.

  Satisiel’s own smile didn’t waver. But the air between them grew tense, electric with unspoken violence.

  “So,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “The self-proclaimed goddess has decided to grace me with her presence.” His tone was light, almost teasing, but laced with the unmistakable edge of disdain.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed.

  “Hello, you damned devil—Lu—”

  Before he could finish speaking—

  —fire exploded through the alley.

  A sudden, blistering heat seared through the air as a burst of crimson flames ripped through Satisiel’s body.

  His arm was gone before he even registered the pain.

  The sheer force sent him staggering, golden ichor splattering onto the cold pavement as his severed limb landed with a sickening thud.

  The flames licked at the surrounding air, dancing wildly, forming a wreath of burning chains around her form.

  She bowed slightly, the movement graceful, even as the fire raged around her.

  “Do be quiet, angel,” she purred, her tone gentle, yet filled with absolute dominance. “Say my name again, and my temper may get the best of me.”

  Her blood-red eyes gleamed as she straightened, tilting her head slightly.

  “You may only refer to me as Amor, Goddess of Afterlife and Salvation.”

  Satisiel let out a soft, amused breath, looking down at the stump where his arm had been.

  “How annoying,” he sighed. “I’ve lost my arm twice today.”

  A soft glow enveloped his wound as golden ichor swirled, regenerating his lost limb in mere moments.

  He flexed his newly formed fingers, his gaze locking onto Amor’s with thinly veiled contempt.

  “Fine, then—Amor,” he emphasized, the name tasting like poison in his mouth. “What do you want with me?”

  Amor smiled, languidly—as if she already knew she held all the power in this conversation.

  “I’d appreciate it,” she murmured, tracing a delicate claw along her own cheek, “if you would stay away from that child.”

  Her tone was light, casual, but Satisiel could hear the warning beneath it.

  “He is the other half I desire.”

  Her red eyes darkened, filled with something possessive.

  “Though not as elegant as my Michello,” she continued, “I still require him.”

  Satisiel’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “…So I was right,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “That child is the other vessel chosen by my god.”

  He studied her carefully.

  “Tell me,” he asked, voice low, “did you cause this incident?”

  Amor blinked, before letting out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

  “Oh, no,” she mused, her fingers trailing idly along the fabric of her gown. “While manipulating the souls of the dead is my specialty, I had nothing to do with this.”

  Her gaze flickered toward the crimson moon, the eerie glow reflecting in her eyes.

  “I assume the decay of the moon is to blame,” she said smoothly. “Your dear god is dying, Satisiel.”

  Her voice was almost sympathetic—almost.

  “With each passing Blood Moon, this world will sink further into depravity.”

  She smiled, tilting her head.

  “I’d say you have about… ten years at most.”

  Satisiel exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.

  “And you believe the only way to save this world,” he said, “is through the unification of the two vessels? To revive my lord?”

  Amor’s smile vanished.

  A cold, violent hatred flickered across her features.

  “No,” she said flatly.

  Her crimson flames surged higher, flickering dangerously.

  “I do not want that bastard to return.”

  She took a slow step forward, the air warping with heat around her.

  “I worked quite hard—with my ally—to ensure both your god and the Devil God were slain.”

  Her lips curled upward once more, her eyes burning with mad devotion.

  “I will make Michello the new Sun God.”

  She placed a hand over her heart, her entire body trembling with something deep and twisted.

  “He will become this world’s savior.”

  A moment of silence.

  Then—Satisiel laughed.

  It was not a warm sound.

  “How fascinating,” he mused. “With each god scrambling for a successor to carry on their dying legacies. This game gets more absurd by the day.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “I refuse,” he said, voice sharp as glass. “I refuse for my lord’s name to be tainted by association with Michello.”

  He smiled—a sharp, knowing smirk.

  “I’ve chosen to place my bet on Arthur.”

  His voice was steady, certain.

  “I’ll make sure he becomes the one to replace my lord.”

  Amor’s smile finally disappeared.

  The fire around her body flared violently, the air crackling.

  “Then I’ll have to kill you.”

  Her blood-red eyes glowed, the heat of her flames rising into a blazing inferno.

  Satisiel didn’t flinch.

  Instead, he grinned.

  “Well.” He tilted his head, his paintbrush spinning idly between his fingers. “You can certainly try.”