The bustling metropolis of Novaria stretched out beneath the twilight sky, a jewel in the crown of Luminia. As night fell, the city came alive with a dazzling display of lights, illuminating a skyline where sleek modern towers stood alongside more traditional architecture. The air buzzed with energy, both from the city's advanced power grid and the obvious ambition of its inhabitants.

Strings of unlit lanterns crisscrossed the streets, swaying gently in the evening breeze - a stark reminder of the approaching New Light Festival. This annual celebration of Luminia's independence from Infernia always brought a mix of excitement and tension to Novaria. The festival's joy was tempered by the knowledge that it also marked a time of heightened vigilance along the Infernian border, where old grudges still smoldered.

A figure wreathed in green light darted through the crowded streets of Novaria, panic evident in every movement. The man's eyes, wide with fear, kept darting backward as he wove between startled pedestrians and honking vehicles. Eventually, desperation drove him into the maze-like network of dark alleys that threaded through the city's older districts.

Above, another figure moved with incredible agility. Cloaked in a pulsing orange aura, this pursuer leapt from building to building, using what appeared to be smoky orange tendrils as both anchor and propellant. With a final, powerful leap, the orange-lit figure sailed over the alley into which his quarry had fled.

As the man bathed in green light pressed deeper into the shadows, his features became clearer—a man in his 30s, his face etched with lines of fear and exhaustion. He slowed, thinking perhaps he’d lost his pursuer, only to skid to a halt as a figure cloaked in pulsing orange energy landed before him with cat-like grace.

Panic overtook reason. The green-lit man hurled emerald fireballs at his opponent, the flames casting eerie shadows on the alley walls. But his attacker moved with fluid precision, dodging each blast effortlessly. Suddenly, in a flash of red and blue, the fire-wielder found himself sprawled on the ground, dazed and defeated.

"Finally caught you, rogue fire Auron," the figure wreathed in orange light said, his voice cold and steady. As his aura brightened, it revealed his features - a young man, not particularly tall, with dark hair cascading to his shoulders. A short beard added years to his otherwise youthful face, while his expression remained sharp and unyielding. But it was his eyes that truly commanded attention - glowing with the same intense orange as his aura, they narrowed dangerously as they regarded his fallen opponent.

The fire Auron's hands began to flicker with growing flames, heat shimmering in the air around them. But before he could act, a thin beam of orange light sizzled past his head, striking the pavement behind him with a crack. The message was clear - the next shot wouldn't miss.

"Y-You're him, aren't you?!" the fire Auron stammered, recognition and fear warring in his voice. "That Angelo kid, the... the crazy officer I heard about in the news... The Angel of Death!"

Angelo's face twitched slightly at the moniker. "So, you've heard of me," he said, his voice low and controlled. "Then you know what happens if you choose to attack."

"Hey, don't tell him that!" Red's voice echoed in Angelo's mind, brimming with bloodthirsty excitement. "We might lose out on some action!"

Blue's calmer tones followed, "I believe you're missing the point, Red. As always."

Oblivious to the internal dialogue, the fire Auron protested, his voice cracking, "T-This isn't right! You're supposed to arrest people, not snuff them out like candles!"

Angelo's gaze intensified, causing the man to flinch visibly. "You are now staring at the face of death," he said, his voice taking on a formal tone. "'If facing death doesn't make a man change his ways, nothing will.' I'm offering you a choice - surrender, have a change of heart and reform your ways... or strike at me. But know this: if you choose to attack, you prove yourself beyond redemption."

"Forget this dramatic nonsense," Red urged within Angelo's mind, his tone dripping with anticipation. "Just end him. You know he's beyond saving."

Blue's voice followed, measured and detached, "I won't involve myself. Your decisions are your own to make."

The fire Auron seemed to waver, his pride wounded by this lecture from a younger man. For a moment, it appeared he might lash out, and Angelo's aura flared in anticipation. But as their eyes met, the rogue Auron's resolve crumbled. "I... I surrender," he whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just please... don't kill me."

His green aura flickered and died, like a candle snuffed out by a sudden breeze.

Angelo moved forward, his own aura fading as he restrained the criminal. The orange glow receded from his eyes, revealing their natural brown hue. As Angelo secured the handcuffs, his expression remained impassive. Another criminal confronted, another threat neutralized on the streets of Novaria. In his mind, this outcome validated his approach - the Angel of Death had struck fear into the heart of evil, compelling surrender without the need for bloodshed. It was a silent victory, one that strengthened his resolve and reaffirmed the path he had chosen.

As Angelo made his way home from his night shift, the streets of Novaria had quieted, though the owls of the night remained. The city, especially with the New Light Festival approaching, never truly slept.

"I still can't believe you let this guy go. You're getting soft, Angie," Red's voice echoed in Angelo's mind, mockery coloring his tone.

Blue's calmer voice followed, dripping with sarcasm, "In what universe does arresting a criminal count as 'letting him go'? Do enlighten us, Red."

Angelo sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Would you two just drop it..." he muttered aloud, too tired to keep the conversation internal.

Their bickering continued as Angelo climbed the stairs to his modest apartment. As he reached his floor, he froze. A familiar figure leaned against his door, arms crossed, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"Sleeser?" Angelo blinked in surprise.

His former master straightened, his appearance as distinctive as ever. Sleeser's spiky, upswept hair of yellowish-orange hue seemed to defy gravity, matching his confident demeanor. He wore his usual attire: a brown vest with fur lining over a blue shirt, paired with black pants adorned with multiple horizontal stripes.

"From the look on your face, it's as if you didn't want to see me," Sleeser said, his smile widening. "I'm hurt. Can't a guy visit his old student every now and then?" Despite the lightness in his tone, a hint of concern lurked in his eyes.

Angelo fumbled for words. "No, no, nothing like that... It's just, I thought you were still with the army in the eastern provinces."

"Things stabilized quicker than anticipated at the eastern border. So, here I am!" Sleeser's tone was amused, but his gaze was examining. "It's been so long, I barely recognized you with that beard. If I hadn't heard you talking out loud to your... companions, I might have mistaken you for a burglar." He winked, causing Angelo to look away, embarrassed. "Though I must say, that beard makes you look like you're trying too hard to be intimidating. It's cute."

"Ha ha," Red's voice echoed mockingly in Angelo's mind.

As they entered Angelo's apartment, the contrast between the modest living space and the impressive city outside was stark. The small room was sparsely furnished, with a worn sofa, a simple kitchenette, and walls adorned with a few faded posters of Auron legends.

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Sleeser stretched out on the sofa, his casual posture at odds with the intensity of his gaze. "So, Angelo, you've been with the police for two years now, right? In that... special program?"

Angelo's annoyance was clear. "Why are you asking? It was your idea in the first place."

"Oh yeah? Well, how about that," Sleeser chuckled. "And have you improved your skills since I last saw you?"

Pride crept into Angelo's voice. "Of course. I've been working hard on my combat skills, aura control, and energy techniques. I even mastered that energy tendril thing you once mentioned."

Sleeser's eyebrows shot up mixed with a grin. "What? That thing? Really? No energy Auron bothers with that. It's too weak for battle, not to mention difficult to master."

"Well... I did it nonetheless," Angelo replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

"Okay, okay, it is a little impressive, I won't lie," Sleeser conceded. "I guess you can grab a beer from afar now. Maybe I'll consider mastering it myself."

Sleeser's tone turned stern, his easy smile fading. "What about the theoretical side, Angelo? I hope you haven't neglected that part." His blue eyes, sharp and knowing, bored into his former student.

Angelo shifted in his seat. "I... Understand the theoretical just enough to get by. And I’m doing pretty well out there."

"Show me." Sleeser's eyes gleamed. "Explain how our powers work then."

"Fine." Angelo crossed his arms. "Aurons connect to this cosmic power source, right? It’s supposed to be infinite, but sometimes I get tired faster than I should. It’s probably because the connection is weaker in certain places. That would explain why my stamina drops off."

A small smile played across Sleeser's lips. Without warning, his blue eyes glowed orange as his orange aura exploded to life, bathing the room in brilliant light. The sheer pressure of his power made the air feel thick, heavy.

"If that’s the case, tell me, Angelo," his voice cut through the display. "How is it that I can maintain this all day, while you get exhausted after a few hours of training?"

Angelo's confidence wavered. "That's—" he started, then faltered. "Maybe Your connection is more... stable?"

Sleeser's aura dimmed, but his expression grew more serious. "Let me start from the beginning. What we call 'energy connections' exist all around us - invisible channels where energy flows from one point to another, like rivers cutting through reality itself. Through rigorous physical and mental training, we Aurons learn to attune ourselves to these channels. We learn to sense them, to tap into them. When we do, that connection manifests as our aura.

"Oh joy," Red's voice dripped with sarcasm in Angelo's mind. "Another lecture about cosmic mumbo-jumbo."

He held out his palm, and a sphere of orange energy materialized above it. "Watch carefully." The sphere began to grow larger. "Every Auron has a limit to how much energy they can control at once." The sphere swelled to the size of a basketball, then suddenly destabilized, dissipating into sparks. "Try to control too much..." He let the implication hang.

"But that doesn't explain—" Angelo began.

Sleeser raised his other hand. Two new spheres appeared, one above each palm. They began to pulse rhythmically, growing and shrinking. "We also have a limit to how quickly we can draw energy." The spheres' pulsing accelerated until they too destabilized. "Push that limit, and your body pays the price."

"At least he's making pretty light shows this time," Red muttered internally.

"Think of it like this," Sleeser continued. "Imagine a vast ocean - that's the universe's energy. Near it stands a swimming pool, connected by a pipe. The ocean is infinite, but the pool can only hold so much - that's your control limit. And the pipe? That's how quickly you can draw energy."

Understanding began to dawn in Angelo's eyes. "So, when I get exhausted..."

"Your stamina depletes steadily just maintaining your aura," Sleeser explained. "Push past your limits, and your stamina drains faster. Push too hard... " He flexed his fingers, creating a final sphere that violently burst apart. "Your body forces you to stop."

"That's why training matters," Angelo realized. "We're not increasing the energy - we're improving our ability to handle it."

"Exactly. In essence, an Auron has unlimited energy... for a limited time. And that time?" Sleeser's aura faded completely – his eyes reverting to their usual blue. "That depends entirely on your stamina."

The weight of understanding settled over Angelo. All those hours of training, all those moments of exhaustion - they meant something different now. Something more.

As Sleeser finished his explanation, a wisp of red smoke emerged from Angelo, swirling and forming into a humanoid form. It materialized into what looked like a grayer version of Angelo.

Red's eyes gleamed with mischief as he addressed Sleeser. "Well, well, well, if it isn't our old teacher. What, you missed boring us to death with your lectures?"

Sleeser's smile didn't waver. "Ah, Red, I see you haven't lost your charm. I was wondering how long you could endure this. I have to say, waiting for the lesson to be over before coming out? Impressive."

Red's grin turned sharp. "Yeah, yeah, let's cut to the chase, hm? What really brings you here?" His perceptiveness caught Sleeser off guard.

Sleeser's face turned serious as he pulled out a newspaper clipping. "'The Angel of Death: Hero or Vigilante?'" he read aloud. "There's an article describing a police officer taking a different approach with criminals. It doesn't name you specifically, but I have to ask. Is this talking about you, Angelo?"

Angelo's jaw tightened, but he nodded firmly. "It is. I'm doing what needs to be done. I'm weeding out those who are beyond redemption."

The weight of Angelo's words hung heavy in the air. Sleeser's mind raced, but he kept his voice calm. "How does one determine who is beyond redemption though?"

Angelo’s response came without hesitation. "If facing death doesn't make a man change his ways, nothing will."

Sleeser’s heart sank. Those words—they were his. A memory flashed in his mind, vivid and haunting: young Angelo, trembling, covered in blood, after the chaos of that day so many years ago. He had said those words back then, hoping to bring comfort to a boy who had seen too much. But he hadn’t foreseen this.

For a moment, Sleeser could only stare at Angelo, his usual confidence shattered.

"I see," he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. The weight of his own responsibility pressed heavily on his chest, but he pushed it down. Now wasn’t the time to unpack the full extent of his guilt. "I never meant for you to take it this far, Angelo. Not like this."

Angelo remained resolute, unmoved. "You said it yourself, Sleeser. If they don’t change when death stares them in the face, they’re beyond saving."

Sleeser looked away, his hand running through his hair, frustration tightening his chest. "I said those words to help you make peace with a hard choice... not to lead you down this path."

The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating. Sleeser stood by the door, his fingers lingering on the knob as the memory resurfaced again—the young boy, shaking, his wide eyes haunted by what he had done.

Sleeser sighed, a deep, exhausted sound. "I’m sorry, Angelo. I thought I was helping you... but I see now how wrong I was."

He paused, letting the weight of those words settle. "Be careful, Angelo. This isn’t the kind of strength I wanted for you. One day, you’ll understand what I mean."

Without another word, he slipped out, leaving the room in thick, oppressive silence.

As the door closed behind Sleeser, the apartment seemed to grow smaller, the silence oppressive. Angelo stood motionless, his former master's words echoing in his mind. For the first time since adopting his "Angel of Death" persona, a flicker of doubt crept into his thoughts.

He turned his gaze inward, focusing on the presence he knew was there. "Blue," Angelo called out, his voice cutting through the stillness of the room. "You were awfully quiet during all of that. Why don't you come out and share your opinion on the matter?"

There was a moment of hesitation, then a swirl of blue smoke began to form in front of Angelo. It twisted and stretched, forming into a familiar shape - a grayer version of Angelo himself. Blue's eyes met Angelo's gaze steadily.

"You've been silent this whole time," Angelo said, a hint of accusation in his tone. "I want to hear what you think about all this."

Blue, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Red's fiery presence, spoke with measured, philosophical words. "Angelo, I can't tell you 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, who's to say yours is wrong?"

Angelo's eyes flashed orange, his frustration clear. "Enough with your cryptic shit. What are you trying to say?"

Blue met Angelo's glowing gaze with his own blue-tinged eyes. "What I'm saying is, you must do what YOU believe is right. Whatever you choose, there will be consequences. So make the choice that leads to the consequences you feel comfortable living with."

After a moment of reflection, Angelo's eyes returned to normal. "Very well. Then I stand by my earlier convictions. If I let criminals who are beyond change go, then 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, then so be it."

As Blue retreated, his final words lingered. "Just be aware, there will be times that put your convictions to the test."

Angelo closed his eyes, his resolve hardening. "I'm sure."

Red's laughter echoed as he too retreated. "You two are just overthinking things. Just do what you believe is right, consequences be damned!"

As silence fell over the apartment, Angelo stood alone, the weight of his chosen path heavy on his shoulders. The Angel of Death had risen, but the true test of his resolve was only just beginning.