Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows of Clara's sitting room, painting the hardwood floors in soft golds and ambers. The nearly daily gathering of Novaria's elite ladies was in full swing, with delicate china teacups and silver trays laden with pastries arranged between them.
Clara practically vibrated with excitement as everyone settled in with their tea. Before anyone could raise another topic, she took a quick sip and burst out:
"Girls! You have no idea who came to pay me a visit yesterday!"
The ladies exchanged amused glances. Maggie's eyes sparkled with mischief as she adjusted her designer dress.
"Oh dear, was it that singer again?" she teased. "The one you swear passed by your shop - what was his name? Joe?"
Laughter rippled through the group. Clara's cheeks flushed pink, but she joined in their amusement.
"I'm telling you, he really did stop by that day!" she protested, then waved her hands dismissively. "But no, this is even better - it was the Angel of Death himself!"
The laughter cut off abruptly. Several teacups clattered against their saucers.
"The Angel of Death?" Maggie leaned forward, nearly spilling her tea. "Clara, you can't just drop something like that! Tell us everything - what was he really like?"
Clara settled back, clearly savoring their rapt attention. "Well, the rumors about his age are true. He's quite young, though that beard of his adds years." She chuckled. "But here's the thing - he's not nearly as frightening as everyone makes him out to be. He had this handsome young officer with him, must have been his underling since the boy kept calling him 'boss' every other word."
"That young and he has an underling?" one of the ladies interjected. "How does that work?"
"Maybe it's one of those special programs," another suggested. "You know how the police have been recruiting more Aurons lately."
The conversation flowed freely now, with theories and questions bouncing back and forth. Only Jill remained silent, her ice-blue eyes fixed on the festival decorations swaying beyond the window. Her untouched tea grew cold beside her.
"Jill?" Maggie's voice carried a note of concern. When no response came, she tried again more firmly. "Jill!"
"Oh?" Jill turned, her movement carrying an unnaturally fluid grace. For a split second, something predatory flickered behind her perfect smile before vanishing beneath her carefully maintained facade. "I'm sorry, darlings. Long night - barely had a wink of sleep."
"You poor thing," Clara cooed. "Was it the heat? These summer nights can be dreadful without proper air conditioning."
"Something like that," Jill murmured, her manicured fingers tapping a slow rhythm against her chair. Her head tilted slightly, like a predator considering its prey. "Though I must say, Clara darling, you've left us hanging on the most intriguing part - why exactly did the infamous Angel of Death grace your shop with his presence?"
"Oh?" Clara blinked, then let out a tinkling laugh. "Oh heavens, you're absolutely right! How could I forget the best part? He was actually investigating that rumor that's been circulating about himself." She waved her hand dismissively. "Just a wild goose chase, if you ask me. The poor dear seemed quite frustrated about the whole thing."
"I suppose this settles it then, it was only just a rumor." One of the ladies said with a playful tone.
Outside, festival lanterns rustled in the strengthening breeze. Inside, the ladies continued their animated discussion, none noticing how intently Jill absorbed every detail - or how her perfect smile masked something far more sinister.
As teacups emptied and conversation waned, the ladies began gathering their belongings with promises to meet again soon. Jill lingered, watching with calculated patience as the others filed out. Only when the last echo of goodbye faded did she approach Clara, who was adjusting her jewelry in front of an antique mirror.
"Darling," Clara caught Jill's reflection as she struggled with an earring, "not that I don't adore these little after-party chats, but I really must dash to the shop soon."
"Speaking of your shop," Jill's voice dripped sweetness like poisoned honey, "I couldn't help but notice your casual mention of our local celebrity making regular appearances. The Angel of Death himself, a regular fixture in your corner of Novaria - how absolutely fascinating."
"Isn't it though?" Clara gave a nervous laugh, her fingers fumbling with the earring. "Who would have thought? Someone with his reputation, walking among us mere mortals, so close you could reach out and..."
Something dark flickered across Jill's face - a split-second fracture in her perfect mask that made Clara's words die in her throat. Jill quickly smoothed her features, replacing the predatory glint with an expression of urgent concern.
"Clara, dear," Jill stepped closer, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper, "I know this may sound terribly odd, but I desperately need a favor. There's something of utmost importance I must discuss with him face to face. These rumors he's investigating - I believe I might have crucial information."
She laid a perfectly manicured hand on Clara's arm, her grip just a fraction too tight to be friendly. "Would you be an absolute angel and pass along my address? Tell him it's vital we speak."
Clara instinctively tried to step back, though Jill's grip held firm. "Jill, you're starting to worry me. What exactly have you gotten mixed up in? What did you-"
The look Jill gave her could have frozen hell itself. Those ice-blue eyes held volumes of unspoken threats, even as her lips maintained their perfect smile.
"I..." Clara swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Of course. I'll tell him. Just... please tell me you haven't done anything reckless, Jill. These aren't the sort of waters one should wade into lightly."
"Oh, precious," Jill's gratitude seemed genuine, which somehow made it more terrifying. "Let's pray neither of us finds ourselves in over our heads." She finally released Clara's arm. "Thank you, darling. You've been absolutely invaluable."
As Jill's heels clicked away down the hallway, Clara couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just signed something in blood. The festival lanterns outside cast shifting shadows through the windows, and for a moment, they looked almost like prison bars.
Clara rubbed her arm where Jill had gripped it, wondering if she'd just helped arrange a meeting between the Angel of Death and something far worse.
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Novaria's town square pulsed with renewed life, the cordoned section damaged by the Infernian terrorists finally reopened to the public. Workers atop ladders hung fresh festival decorations, their efforts slowly erasing the last visible scars of the attack.
Red's crimson smoke form drifted lazily between passersby, his essence swirling with familiar mischief. "Hey guys, is it just me, or is it weirdly quiet today?" his voice echoed in their shared consciousness.
"What the hell are you on about now?" Angelo's mental tone dripped with exasperation. "The place is practically bursting with noise."
"I'm talking about our daily entertainment!" Red's form performed an elaborate spectral swoon. "No Orin ranting about the Enlightened Society! Without his dramatic performances, how will I ever find meaning in life?"
"Just when I think you couldn't sink any lower," Blue's dry response cut through their mental link, "you manage to surprise me. Though perhaps I shouldn't be surprised anymore."
Angelo spotted Bill approaching through the crowd, bouncing along to whatever played through his earphones. The rookie's curly hair bobbed in time with his steps, his face wearing that same carefree smile that made him look even younger than his years.
"Thank sweet merciful god," Angelo thought privately, grateful for any distraction from his other selves' bickering.
"Hey boss!" Bill's enthusiasm could have powered half the city. He pulled out his earphones, practically vibrating with energy.
"Good to see you're on time," Angelo replied, already starting to walk. "Let's move."
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As they began their patrol, Bill could barely contain himself. "So? Did you find anything about that rumor?"
"Nope," Angelo shrugged, affecting an air of complete disinterest. "Think I'm just gonna let it drop."
"What? Why?" Bill's eyes widened with dismay. "After everything we heard-"
"Look," Angelo cut him off, "if it was something sinister, we'd know by now. Probably just someone's idea of a joke."
They continued their rounds, with Angelo carefully steering conversations away from his Angel of Death persona as Ramirez had ordered. Instead, he focused on sharing what he could remember from police training. Eventually, the discussion turned technical.
"Say," Bill ventured, his eyes lighting up with curiosity, "I've been meaning to ask - that smoky rope technique Red and Blue used to escape the Infernian Force Auron? I've never seen anything like it."
Angelo's expression darkened at the memory of Sleeser's words. "Yeah," he grumbled, "apparently it's not very 'combat viable.'"
"And you worked so hard on it too!" Red's mental voice dripped with mock sympathy. "Such dedication, wasted on glorified beer-fetching!"
"Its utility applications are undeniable," Blue interjected analytically. "It's become one of our most frequently employed techniques. Moreover, simply mastering it demonstrates remarkable control and focus."
"Yeah, if you're looking to become a master bartender," Red snickered.
"Apparently?" Bill prompted, oblivious to the internal exchange.
Angelo sighed heavily. "Yeah, turns out most energy Aurons don't even bother with it. My master neglected to mention that little detail until after I'd already mastered the damn thing."
"But why not?" Bill leaned in, practically radiating curiosity. "It seems incredibly useful!"
"You really want to get into the technical details?" Angelo raised an eyebrow. "You're a wind Auron - what good will this do you?"
Bill's expression softened, taking on an almost wistful quality. "My father always said we can draw inspiration from unexpected sources."
Angelo's retort died in his throat. How could he argue with that? Especially given everything Bill's father had sacrificed.
"Fine," he conceded with another sigh. "But I'm keeping this brief. The energy tendril technique works by creating particles so small they don't have the capacity to detonate. You press these particles against objects and since they stick to each other, that lets you manipulate things. That's what lets me use them for mobility too."
"That's amazing!" Bill's genuine enthusiasm made Angelo uncomfortable. "So why do you seem so frustrated by it?"
"Two reasons," Angelo held up fingers. "First, they're incredibly fragile. Any real resistance shatters them instantly. Second," his expression grew more complex, "controlling multiple tendrils requires constant focus-switching. Something I only learned because of my... unique situation."
"Incredible!" Bill was practically bouncing again. "Have you developed any other techniques yourself?"
"W-Well, yes," Angelo shifted uncomfortably, "but I rarely get to use it..."
"What?" Bill grabbed his arm in excitement. "You're only telling me this now? Is it some kind of ultimate technique? Something too powerful to use casually?"
"His fanboying is getting painful to watch," Red commented as he eavesdropped on nearby conversations.
"Cease your invasion of privacy," Blue's disapproving tone carried through their link.
Angelo ignored them both. "It never came up before. Besides, I don't use it much since I usually fight alongside Red and Blue."
Bill's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I don't understand."
"It's called 'Aura Area,'" Angelo explained reluctantly. "Similar principle to the tendrils, but I spread the particles around my body. Makes it look like my aura's expanding. Anything that touches those particles, I can sense - gives me perfect 360-degree awareness in combat. In that area at least."
Understanding dawned on Bill's face. "But with Red and Blue watching your back-"
"Exactly why it rarely sees use," Angelo finished. "Just something I developed after mastering tendrils. The foundation was already there, so..." He trailed off with a shrug.
An awkward silence descended between them, broken only by the bustling sounds of the square and the distant echo of festival preparations.
They were passing the gift shop when the door burst open with enough force to rattle the window display.
"Wait!"
The shout sent Bill nearly jumping out of his skin. They turned to find the shop owner rushing toward them, her impressive afro bouncing with each hurried step, threatening to achieve orbit.
"Can we help you, ma'am?" Angelo asked, watching her catch her breath.
She bent over, hands on her knees, taking a moment to collect herself. "It's... it's about what you asked yesterday. I think I can help you after all."
Angelo and Bill exchanged puzzled looks. "What exactly changed between then and now?" Angelo's tone carried a hint of suspicion.
"I told my friends about our encounter," she straightened up, wringing her hands. "One of them... she says she knows something about the rumor. Says she needs to tell you in person." Clara's voice dropped. "She seemed really worried. I've never seen her like that."
"What do you think?" Angelo directed inward. "Worth looking into?"
"I find myself supremely indifferent to the matter," Blue's detachment could have frozen helium.
"Hey, beats walking in circles all day," Red's essence swirled with mild interest. "Maybe we'll get lucky and something exciting will happen."
Bill watched Angelo's distant expression with knowing patience, having grown used to these momentary pauses when his mentor consulted his other selves.
"Alright," Angelo finally nodded. "I'll meet with your friend."
Clara's hands trembled slightly as she pulled out a piece of paper. "This is her address. Her name is Jill..." She seemed unable to meet his eyes.
"Something's got you spooked, ma'am," Angelo observed, studying her anxious movements. "What aren't you telling us?"
"I just..." she wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm worried she's mixed up in something dangerous. And now the Angel of Death is going to her house..." She shuddered. "I can't shake this awful feeling."
"It's just a conversation," Angelo assured her, keeping his voice steady. "I'll ask my questions and be on my way."
They turned to leave, but Clara's hand shot out, catching Angelo's sleeve. "Please," her voice cracked. "Be gentle with her. She... she lost her son last year. He was about..." Her eyes drifted to Bill. "About his age."
She collected herself, "I know she puts a brave front, but I know how hurt she is inside. I can't help worrying..."
"Don't worry," Bill stepped in, offering his most reassuring smile. "I'll make sure the boss behaves himself." He cast a nervous glance at Angelo, who responded with an amused smirk that did nothing to settle Clara's nerves.
"Right then, rookie," Angelo's orange aura flared to life as he pulled out his phone, entering the address. "Let's move - it's getting late. Try to keep up."
"Red, time to move." Angelo shot at Red internally.
"Yeah, yeah, I heard ya." Red shot back. Rushing to Angelo's location.
Energy tendrils erupted from his body, latching onto nearby rooftops. They pulled taut, launching him skyward with practiced ease. Bill followed close behind, his wind aura giving him natural advantages in speed and altitude. Together they bounded across Novaria's rooftops, leaving a very worried shop owner staring after them.
As Clara watched them disappear into the growing dusk, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just set something terrible in motion. The festival lanterns swayed in the evening breeze, casting strange shadows that seemed to whisper warnings she couldn't quite hear.
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They landed softly before the designated address, their auras dissipating like morning mist. Angelo's finger had barely touched the doorbell when the door opened, revealing a woman whose beauty seemed almost crafted - blonde hair catching the last rays of sunset, ice-blue eyes that somehow managed to be both welcoming and unnervingly intense.
"Good evening," her voice carried the softness of silk hiding steel. "Are you..." She left the question hanging delicately.
"The Angel of Death," Angelo finished, trying to keep his tone casual. "Though Angelo works just fine."
"Angelo..." She repeated his name as if tasting it, her mind clearly somewhere else.
Angelo and Bill exchanged glances, a wordless conversation passing between mentor and student.
"I'm Jill," she finally continued, her voice finding firmer ground as she offered them a smile sweet enough to cause cavities.
"Something's wrong," Red's voice carried an unusual edge of warning. "Every instinct I have is screaming danger."
Angelo pushed the warning aside. "I understand you have information about the rumor that's been circulating?"
"I..." Jill's eyes darted nervously. "I'm not sure I should be discussing this..."
"Are you kidding me?" Red's voice practically vibrated with frustration. "She asks us here then plays coy? This reeks worse than month-old cheese!"
"Stop it, Red," Angelo snapped internally before addressing Jill. "Whatever it is, you can tell us. We're here to help."
She met his gaze with perfectly crafted vulnerability. "Okay..." her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm telling you, she's bad news incarnate!" Red insisted.
"Enough, Red," Blue's analytical tone cut in. "She's clearly just a distressed civilian. Is this your idea of entertainment?"
"Does this sound like my usual bullshit, you oversized blueberry?!" Red snarled. "When have I ever been this serious about a warning?"
"Blue's right," Angelo intervened. "This isn't like you at all, Red. Since when are you the voice of caution?"
Jill's confession spilled out like rehearsed poetry. "I'm responsible for the rumor... Someone paid me to spread it. It seemed harmless enough at the time, I didn't see the point, but the money..." She managed to look both guilty and innocent simultaneously.
"Who was it?" Bill burst out, earning a sideways glance from Angelo.
Jill shook her head, guilt etched in every perfect feature. "They were masked. I can only tell you where we met, though I doubt it matters now. They're long gone."
"Please," Angelo urged, "any detail could help. Even the smallest clue..."
"You're walking right into her web, you absolute moron!" Red's voice dripped venom.
"What is your problem? Got something against housewives?" Angelo demanded internally.
"It's not about her being a housewife, you fucking idiot! It's HER specifically that sets off every alarm bell I have!"
Her voice cut through their internal argument like a blade through silk. "It was Wine Street - that abandoned construction project from four years ago. The one they never finished..."
Angelo nodded silently, already pulling out his phone. His orange aura flared to life as Bill's wind aura stirred around him.
"Boss," Bill ventured as they prepared to leave, "it's nearly 8 PM. Visibility will be terrible."
"True," Angelo acknowledged, "but evidence doesn't age well. I've got a flashlight, and our auras can provide decent illumination - Blue's especially, though Red's is about as useful as a black light at a funeral. Head home if you're concerned about getting back late, you're officially off duty."
Bill's grin could have lit up the street by itself. "Not a chance! I'm with you all the way!"
As they bounded across rooftops toward Wine Street, Red's voice echoed one final time: "I've got a real bad feeling about this. That woman... something's seriously wrong there."
But his warning went unheeded as they raced through the deepening twilight.
The festival lanterns throughout Novaria flickered to life as night fell, their cheerful glow a stark contrast to the darkness gathering in the shadows of Wine Street - shadows that waited hungrily for the Angel of Death's arrival.