"There's a city up ahead… So much fog."
Sho dropped onto the grassy outskirts, still cradling Alice in his arms.
"Okay. Shelter. I need to find shelter!"
He bounded forward, landing in front of a quiet inn. The building looked old but intact — warm light flickered behind frosted windows.
"This'll do."
He kicked the door open, retracted his wings, and cast a quick cloaking spell, swapping his armored form for long white robes.
With each step into the dim lobby, Sho took in the scene: wooden floors, a crackling stove, shelves lined with dust and trinkets. Humanity wasn't as backward as they'd made it seem back home.
For a race thought to be primitive… they've built something here. Maybe feeling like this—half-broken, half-human—doesn't have to be bad… right?
"Um… excuse me, sir? Would you like to purchase a room?"
The innkeeper was young, maybe fourteen, with a guarded expression.
She can feel me, even through the cloak…
"Yes. One room."
"It's the dead of night, and we don't get many visitors. I'll let you stay free of charge."
She tossed him a brass key.
"Room two," Sho muttered. He caught the key, then glanced down the hall. If there's no one here, who's in room one…?
"You got a staring problem, don't you, sir?"
Sho snapped back. A small girl with blonde pigtails glared up at him, German accent thick. Her presence was sharp — unsettlingly mature.
"Right. My bad. I just haven't slept in a while," he said, half-laughing.
The innkeeper didn't laugh back. She kept staring.
The infamous German stare… he thought, pushing toward the stairs.
"Wait," she said, stepping out from behind the counter. "What's with the girl? How do you know her?"
Sho hesitated.
This little human knows too much. I might have to knock her unconscious—
"Knock me unconscious?" she echoed.
Sho jumped back. "You can read my thoughts!?"
"Only when you stare too long. It's a German thing," she said coolly. "Now quit dodging. What's your business with that girl?"
"She was injured. I'm just helping her. That's all."
"Is that all the truth?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, already turning toward the stairs. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm off to sleep."
"Fine by me. But you might want to change. People around here don't wear robes like that, Mophead."
Sho clenched his jaw. Are all human kids this bitchy… or is it just her?
This time, no reaction — he was out of her line of sight.
So it only works if I'm visible. Interesting ability…
He entered Room Two, quietly laying Alice on one of the twin beds. He placed the key on the dresser, then noticed the awkwardly placed mirror in the corner.
Do I really dress that weird?
He dispelled the robe, revealing his ceremonial armor — sleek, silver-lined, and battle-worn. His first official patrol gear. A relic of a life that already felt distant.
Probably not the best look in a town like this.
With a sigh, he cloaked himself again and stepped outside. Morning had arrived — or maybe just this side of the world had caught up to the sun.
"This planet's weird," he muttered. "The sun doesn't rise at once. It rolls across like a mood."
Ahead, a woman fiddled with the handle of a shop door. A tailor, from the sign.
Perfect. I wonder if everything's free around here…
He approached. "Excuse me, miss…"
The woman turned — sharp eyes, long auburn hair, fur hand-warmers. She looked him up and down, smiling.
"Well hello, handsome."
Handsome?
"Oh — right. I'm Sho." He reached out, hiding his gauntlet with a light spell.
"Clara." She smiled and removed her hand-warmer to shake his hand in return. Her skin was warm, strong. Intentional.
"Nice to meet you. Sorry to be forward, but… I need clothes. Something more local. I don't have currency for your country."
Clara giggled. "That's fine. But you'll owe me."
Sho paused. "What kind of favor?"
She unlocked the door and waved him in. "Simple. I want your tears."
"…My tears?"
"Yes. Angels only show up during crisis. Your tears are sacred — power for what's coming. For restoration. For survival."
Sho stared. "You… know?"
Clara nodded. "I do. And if I get your tears, I can use them to help Earth recover — once the end hits."
Sho's instinct pulled in two directions. Then, without warning, he said, "Why not make a contract instead? I could protect you whenever you're in danger."
Why did I say that?
Clara's eyes narrowed. "I didn't want to be too forward. But since you're offering…"
She stepped closer. "Sho, would you form a vow of allegiance with me?"
The words came too easily. "Yes."
Light swirled between them, binding. A kiss sealed the pact. Sho blinked, confused.
"What just happened? Why did I—?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Clara said, arms crossed. "I reflected your charm. You tried to charm me for free clothes. Bit rude, no?"
Sho groaned. "So this was a trick…"
"I'll be fair. I'll only summon you when I need to." She smiled. "Now, as for clothing — you want browns and tans? Victorian style?"
"Yeah. That'd help me blend in."
"Good. Then get lost for now, mister angel. I have work."
In a flash, he was booted from the store and landed just outside the inn. He placed a palm on the wall.
How did I fall for that? A contract… from a charm reflection? Dammit.
He shook it off and stepped back inside.
"As long as she doesn't abuse it… we'll be fine," he muttered.
A voice from the corner made him freeze.
"As long as who doesn't abuse what?"
The innkeeper was now in a nightgown, rocking in a chair, wide awake.
Sho froze as the innkeeper rocked slowly, arms folded in her lap.
"As long as who doesn't abuse what?" she asked, her voice calm — too calm.
Sho kept his tone light. "Just talking to myself. Bad habit."
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "You're a terrible liar."
Sho looked away, pretending to scan the room for threats. "It's late."
"So? Angels don't get tired."
Sho stopped mid-step.
She's not guessing anymore…
The innkeeper leaned forward in her chair, her voice a whisper. "That woman you just made a pact with — Clara — she's not what you think."
Sho turned, sharply. "You're in my head again."
"I saw a flicker. Just enough. Her eyes—her aura—she's tied to something older than you. Careful with that one."
Sho tensed. "Get out of my thoughts."
"You stared too long again," she said. "I don't need your permission."
He felt something—pressure, like soft fingers combing through his mind. Not violent, just… intrusive. Slipping past his natural resistance. He flinched.
"Enough."
He took a step forward, but his legs buckled slightly. Strange. Weakness. A fog in his thoughts.
This… isn't right.
"Sho?" the innkeeper's voice echoed weirdly now. Distant. "Are you—"
Sho didn't answer. He turned without a word and stumbled up the stairs, his limbs heavy, the weight of sleep clawing at him.
Angels don't feel tired.
His hand found the doorknob to Room Two, barely twisting it before he collapsed into darkness.
Warmth. Softness. A dull ache behind his eyes. Sho blinked himself awake.
He was lying on the bed, armor still intact, though his cloak spell had faded. Across from him, Alice lay still, breath shallow but steady.
A damp cloth rested on her forehead. The innkeeper sat beside her, dipping it in a bowl, then wringing it out gently.
Sho sat up. "You've been here long?"
The innkeeper didn't look up. "Since you passed out. You muttered something about 'Clara' in your sleep."
Sho winced.
"She's fine, by the way," the girl added, nodding at Alice. "Stable. But she needs rest. Magic injuries run deeper than they look."
"Thanks," Sho said, standing and stretching his arms.
They exchanged a long glance. Neither trusted the other completely.
"You're helping us… why?" Sho asked.
The girl shrugged. "Maybe I like being nosey. Maybe I don't like seeing kids die. Maybe I want answers."
Sho's hand hovered near his hip.
She grinned. "Relax. I'm not probing."
Sho didn't smile back. "You have a name?"
She paused, then said, "Elsa."
"Elsa." He repeated it slowly. "Alright. You take care of Alice. I'll make sure nothing follows us in."
Elsa nodded. "You're not as slick as you think, you know."
"Neither are you."
Sho walked to the window and looked out. The fog was still thick. Choking the street, curling through alleyways like smoke.
And then — movement.
Something slithered between shadows.
Crouched in a narrow alley, hunched and twitching, was a figure. Pale, emaciated, skin loose and crawling. It shifted — almost melting — as it hovered over a crumpled man on the ground.
A Galco.
Shapeshifter. Parasitic. Always hungry.
Sho's eyes narrowed.
No rest for the holy.
Heir Of Azoth
The diner smelled like burnt coffee and hot oil. People talked, laughed, lived — the kind of simple noise Scott never heard in Pandora. He sat alone in a cracked vinyl booth, his coat damp from the drizzle outside, steam rising from the untouched food in front of him.
A few days had passed since he'd crashed into Eden like a meteor.
His mind hadn't rested since.
He'd tried to lay low. Human towns weren't safe — not for someone with a Nightosphere brand burned into his chest. He didn't even know what the mark fully did yet. Only that it pulsed when he got angry. Or scared. Or hungry for something more.
Scott stared at his reflection in the window. His eyes looked more like Azoth's each day — hard, narrow, and built to intimidate.
He still remembered watching his father die. Ymar hadn't even hesitated. Just split him open like paper, right in front of him.
"You're weak because you still care."
That's what Ymar said before chasing him through the ruin of Pandora.
Scott clenched his jaw, forcing the memory down — until the TV above the counter buzzed to life.
"—breaking news from Grenswich. Footage captured earlier this morning shows unidentified flying figures above the town. Residents claim to have seen glowing wings—"
The diner quieted.
Scott looked up. His breath caught in his throat.
Two figures hovered in the footage. One radiated like polished bronze — Garas. The angel who crushed Alice. The one who was supposed to be dead long ago.
The other… hard to make out. Not Alice. Not anyone he recognized.
Suddenly, pain spiked through his chest. The Nightosphere sigil lit up under his shirt, searing like iron.
It was calling.
Then he heard them:
"They've breached Eden. Hunt. Test. Consume."
His cup shattered in his grip.
The waitress flinched behind the counter. "Everything alright, hon?"
Scott bolted through the door.
Outside, twilight had turned to blood.
Over the rooftops, shadows stirred. The wind carried the sound of metallic wings.
Zena Squad.
Shadow Knights. Ruthless. Precision-made. The only unit available since the split with the Shadow Mother — the one Alice had once served. Their numbers were small, but they were still lethal.
They were here for him.
Scott took off running, cutting down side streets. His boots splashed through puddles, heart hammering. A voice echoed in his head again — but this time, not the sigil.
"You want acceptance? Power? You'll have to bleed for it."
Then a knight dropped from the sky in front of him — black-plated, featureless, sword gleaming.
Scott didn't hesitate. He drew his own weapon in one fluid motion.
The sigil flared. A strange, dark pressure spilled off him like smoke.
The knight said nothing. They didn't need to.
Because the hunt had begun.
Sho narrowed his eyes.
Across the foggy street, a figure hunched in the alley, unmoving.
A single lamp buzzed weakly above it, barely cutting the haze. Sho activated his astral sight — the world dimmed around him as his pupils thinned, trying to trace the soulprint of the thing. But instead of clarity, static filled his vision.
A sharp sting in his head.
"What…?"
His abilities, dulled. As if something had just sapped his edge.
He blinked hard, vision reverting to normal. The figure was gone. All that remained was a shifting blur of shadow.
"I need air," Sho muttered. He turned toward the innkeeper, who watched him from the rocker near the fireplace, silent and still.
"I'm going out. Food run," he said flatly.
She didn't stop him. But her eyes didn't leave his back.
The fog swallowed him as he stepped outside, boots pressing into dew-wet stone.
He crossed the street, the air still. Not silent — still. Like the world was holding its breath.
He turned into the alley.
A pile of steaming goop sizzled against the bricks. Organic. Wet. Something that had been alive… recently. Beside it, a storm drain cover rattled once. Then stopped.
Sho crouched down, running his fingers near the edge — warm.
"I could follow it…" he thought.
Then—
"Welcome back, Sho."
The world shifted.
He blinked. The alley vanished.
Soft light. Warmth. The scent of lavender and parchment.
Clara's shop.
He staggered slightly from the sudden teleportation, hand still outstretched from where he'd touched the drain. Her presence washed over him like a fog of its own — not oppressive, but soothing. Every suspicion, every sharpened edge of caution dulled as he stood there.
"Your suit's ready," Clara said brightly, holding up the tailored outfit: brown and tan with subtle stitching — discreet enough to blend in, but with weight and craft that screamed luxury.
Sho cleared his throat, catching himself. "Right. The clothes…"
She walked toward him, the cloth folded over one arm. "Don't look so grim. You're in good hands."
Clara helped him slide into the vest, smoothing it over his chest with precise fingers.
Sho felt her aura gently numbing the noise in his head — the spiraling questions about Alice, the goop, the shapeshifter.
Was this magic?
Or just her?
"How's the girl?" Clara asked, adjusting his collar.
"Still out. The innkeeper's watching her," Sho replied.
"She'll be alright. You brought her here for a reason. You're the protective type."
Sho gave a small scoff. "You read minds too?"
"No," Clara said, tilting her head. "You just look like someone who's never let anyone get close unless you planned to keep them safe."
He didn't reply.
Clara stepped back and turned him toward a mirror.
He looked… normal. Almost. His wings were hidden, armor sealed beneath spell-threaded seams. Just a guy in a foreign town, shopping for clothes.
But the sigil under his skin throbbed faintly — a pulse like thunder in the distance. Someone had done something. Somewhere.
"How was your walk?" Clara asked, casually.
Sho hesitated.
Tell her about the alley? The thing that disappeared? The shadows…?
"It was fine," he lied.
Clara smiled softly. "You don't have to carry everything by yourself, Sho. This world's changing fast. And people like you? You're going to feel it first."
He looked at her then. Really looked.
There was something in her eyes. A weight. A history. As if she knew exactly what he was — and was choosing not to say it.
"Thanks for the clothes," he said finally, voice low.
"You'll want to hold onto them," Clara replied. "Things are about to get loud."
Clara stood near the door, arms crossed lightly.
"Sho," she said as he reached for the handle, now dressed in the tailored outfit, every inch of him carefully hidden. "You're not ready to fight monsters."
He paused. Her voice was calm — too calm.
"What do you mean?" he asked, eyes still on the door.
"You've been under my reverse charm for less than a day," she said. "It softens things. Slows you down. Your instincts. Your reactions. That's how charm magic works when reflected."
He glanced at her over his shoulder. "So what, I'm supposed to wait here until I forget who I am?"
Clara didn't smile. "You're already forgetting. That's the point."
Sho exhaled and opened the door. "I'll be fine."
But she called after him anyway. "It's not the monsters I'm warning you about, Sho. It's yourself."
The town unfolded ahead like a painting with the corners smudged. Sho's boots clicked along uneven cobblestone, the cold mist clinging to his skin through the new fabric. He moved without purpose. Without direction.
"I just needed a walk…"
That's what he told himself.
But with each step, his thoughts slipped further. Memory stuttered.
"How did I get here…? Was I alone…?"
He remembered flying. Fighting. Holding someone—
Alice.
Was that her name?
"Why was I carrying her? Who is she really?"
The questions circled. Loud. Relentless.
Then he stopped. A stall.
An old man sold apples, stacking them in pyramids with gloved fingers. His eyes found Sho's too quickly. Too knowingly.
Sho's stomach growled — loud.
Hunger? Do angels get hungry?
Didn't matter. His hand reached instinctively toward an apple.
"First one's free," the seller said with a nod, as if he'd been waiting for Sho all day.
Sho nodded back, slowly taking a bite. The crunch echoed in his head like a bell.
Too loud.
Then something shifted.
Out the corner of his eye.
There — across the street. Again.
That thing. Lurking near a lamppost. No, behind it. Near a girl.
Sho blinked.
"No. No— I'm just a normal man. What am I supposed to do about that?"
The girl giggled, stepping toward the alley.
Sho's chest twisted. Wrong. It was all wrong.
"Why does it look familiar? Why do I know what it is?"
The fog thickened, choking the air.
The apple slipped from his hand. He ran.
By the time Sho reached the alley, the girl was gone. The shape had vanished too.
But the storm drain was wide open.
Still rattling.
Steam poured up from the gap. Dark and dense and foul-smelling. The kind of steam that shouldn't rise in daylight. It hissed like breath.
Sho stood over it, panting.
"Why am I here? Why do I have to follow it?"
He didn't have the answer.
But he lowered himself anyway.
One foot on the ladder.
Then another.
It didn't matter.
There was something down there. And it had taken a child.
And maybe… it had taken parts of him, too.
Sho descended into the dark.
But while his power weakened. That feeling, the other end of the rope gained leeway.
"Oh no," Scott growled, dragging a sword through the ground behind him.
"You don't get to run."
He vanished — reappeared behind the fleeing knight — and bisected him clean down the middle.
The rest tried to regroup. "Evacuate! Call for backup—!"
Too late.
One by one, he ripped through them. His movements weren't wild — they were purposeful, unrelenting. Like he'd trained for this moment his whole life.
Because maybe he had.
The final knight dropped to their knees, injured, raising a hand to shield themselves.
Scott stopped.
Looked down.
And smiled with teeth too sharp to be human.
"You were never the real enemy," he said. "You're just in my way."
Then he ended them.