Mike had heard whispers of the Black Angel—a name spoken in hushed tones among criminals and vigilantes alike. A figure who, despite being feared, remained a mystery, his identity hidden behind a mask of terror and vengeance. Tonight, however, Mike found himself face to face with the man he only knew by reputation.
They met in the dimly lit backroom of a run-down bar. The stench of stale beer and the low hum of conversation faded into nothingness as Mike was drawn to the figure sitting at the far corner. The man’s attire was dark, a hood pulled low over his face, and his posture rigid with purpose. The Black Angel, or so Mike assumed, sat in silence, his presence commanding the space.
Mike approached cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew better than to engage with such dangerous people, but something about this moment felt different. As he slid into the seat across from the figure, their eyes met for the first time.
“You have questions,” the man’s voice was low, measured, devoid of emotion yet laced with authority.
Mike nodded slowly. “I’ve heard about you. The Black Angel. What’s your story?”
The man didn’t flinch. “My story is not for the faint of heart. But if you’re truly interested, you should know that justice is not what they teach you in the books. It’s not about fairness or redemption. It’s about power. About taking control when the world refuses to answer to what is right.”
Mike leaned back, trying to absorb the weight of the words. The Black Angel was different from what he had imagined. There was no madness in his eyes, no chaotic energy in his tone. Instead, it was a cold, unflinching belief in his own form of justice.
“Is that how you justify the killings? The bloodshed?” Mike asked, his tone steady but challenging.
The Black Angel’s lips curled into a slight, almost imperceptible smile. “Justice is not about mercy,” he said. “Mercy is for the weak. I rid the world of those who deserve to die. It’s not vengeance—it’s cleansing.”
Mike sat still, pondering the words. He had heard about the atrocities—the lives taken, the horrors inflicted in the name of justice. But something about the calm conviction in the Black Angel’s voice made it harder to dismiss.
They spoke for hours, diving deeper into the philosophy of justice, of right and wrong. Mike found himself strangely fascinated, even though every part of him screamed that this man was dangerous. Yet, the more they talked, the more he realized that the Black Angel was not merely a killer—he was a man who had built an entire worldview around his actions.
The Black Angel spoke with a clarity that unsettled Mike. He had heard plenty of people justify their actions with half-baked notions of justice, but this man was different. He wasn’t deluded. He didn’t hide behind lofty ideals. There was no pretense. The Black Angel didn’t claim to be a hero. He simply believed that the world needed to be purged of certain individuals—those who had proven themselves beyond redemption. In his eyes, mercy wasn’t an option. And that made the Black Angel's actions seem almost methodical, necessary even.
His words about the nature of justice resonated deeply within Mike. He’d always believed in a strict moral code—an unwavering right and wrong, an idea that justice could only be served if it was fair and balanced. But the Black Angel was telling him something different: justice wasn’t about equality. It was about strength, control, and the brutal enforcement of power. In the world of the Black Angel, there was no place for mercy, no space for weakness. There were only those who took, and those who were taken from.
Mike’s mind reeled as the conversation stretched on. It wasn’t just the things the Black Angel said that disturbed him—it was the quiet certainty behind them. The man had no doubt in his convictions. For him, there was no internal battle over the righteousness of his actions. The world was corrupt, and he, the Black Angel, was the only one who could cleanse it.
At one point, Mike couldn’t help but ask, “Have you ever doubted yourself? Wondered if you’re just another man with too much power, trying to impose your will on others?”
The Black Angel’s gaze hardened. “Doubt is for those who lack purpose. I don’t doubt myself. I know exactly who I am and what I stand for. In this world, only the strong survive. And I will survive by whatever means necessary.”
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Mike felt a chill run through him. There was no hesitation, no struggle within the Black Angel. He was resolute in his beliefs, so confident in his mission that it seemed almost unshakable. For a moment, Mike considered the possibility that the man might actually be right. The world wasn’t fair—Mike had seen it firsthand. He had watched the powerful take what they wanted, crushing the weak in their path. But the Black Angel’s cold logic pushed against everything Mike had been taught to believe. It felt wrong. But it was also undeniably true, in its own brutal way.
As the night wore on, Mike stood up, ready to leave. He glanced at the figure in front of him, still unsure of who this man truly was. His identity remained a mystery, and Mike felt as though he’d walked away from something much darker than he could fully understand.
“You’re not afraid of me?” the Black Angel asked, his voice a low rumble.
Mike paused for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m not sure what to believe anymore,” he muttered.
With that, he turned and left, the cold night air closing in around him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this encounter had changed something in him. And yet, he didn’t know how. He had just spoken to a man who was nothing like what he had imagined—and yet, was everything he feared.
In the shadows of the alleyway behind the bar, the Black Angel watched him go, his expression unreadable. Mike had no idea who he had just spoken to, nor how much danger was lurking in the shadows of that conversation. But one thing was clear: he had just brushed against the darkness, and it was far closer than he could ever have imagined.
The Black Angel leaned back, his eyes dark with the weight of his convictions as he spoke. His voice was calm, measured, but each word was a dagger of truth, cutting through the fabric of Mike’s understanding.
“Heroes and villains? For human existence, it’s always been black and white,” he began, his gaze unwavering. “But when we look closer, when we shed the illusion of righteousness, we see that it’s really just fifty shades of gray. The truth is, only the ones on top—whether hero or villain—get to decide what’s right and what’s wrong. And the gray area? That’s where anti-heroes and villains live.”
He paused, eyes flicking over Mike with a mixture of pity and understanding, as if Mike were still too naïve to grasp the depth of it all.
“Anti-heroes are heroes without morals, who use brutality to enforce their justice,” he continued. “And anti-villains? They’re villains with good intentions, but they go about it the wrong way. We humans, with all our delusions of grandeur, dare to call ourselves the highest beings of morality. But the truth is, biologically, we’re just animals with higher empathy. Nothing more. We’re not superior beings. We have higher empathy, but we’re still animals beneath all that.”
His voice grew colder, almost clinical, as he spoke of the dark side of humanity.
“Rape, torture, murder—they’re all normal in the animal kingdom. We do it differently, not because we’re morally superior, but because we’ve created this false code of morality to separate us from the animals. But in the end, we’re still just animals with superior traits. We call it ‘morality,’ but it’s just a line we draw to make ourselves feel different from the beasts.”
“Humans were born to kill until we developed empathy, yet we still carry the shadows of our past. The Dark Triad traits reflect the primal instincts that once ensured our survival. As society grows, we craft morals to restrain these impulses, but deep down, the violence still remains within us.”
Mike stood frozen, the weight of the Black Angel’s words sinking in, a cold truth he wasn’t ready to face. In that moment, everything he believed about good and evil, right and wrong, seemed to shatter. The lines between them blurred, leaving him questioning everything he had ever known. It was as if the world he thought he understood had suddenly fallen away, revealing a darker truth beneath. He wanted to argue, to defend the idea of humanity’s inherent goodness. But the Black Angel’s words kept ringing in his ears, and he knew, deep down, there was a certain terrifying truth to them.
His mind churned with the implications. The Black Angel’s words gnawed at him, questioning the very fabric of his existence. He’d grown up believing in the inherent goodness of humanity, that justice was the path to balance, and that right would always prevail over wrong. But here was a man—no, a force—who shattered all of that. The Black Angel wasn’t a villain. He was something far more terrifying: an embodiment of a truth Mike wasn’t sure he was ready to face.
As Mike left the bar that night, his thoughts were a whirlwind of doubt, fear, and confusion. What he had learned from the Black Angel wasn’t just unsettling—it was a challenge to everything he had ever known. The encounter had changed him, forced him to confront the uncomfortable reality that perhaps there was no clear line between hero and villain, no unshakable foundation of morality that would hold up in the face of true darkness. And in the depths of that uncertainty, Mike couldn’t help but wonder: was the Black Angel right? Was he, in the end, the one who had seen the world for what it truly was? Or was he simply a man who had become consumed by his own darkness?
As Mike walked into the night, the weight of the conversation followed him. A lingering unease gnawed at him, pulling him deeper into a realization he wasn’t ready to embrace. The Black Angel had shown him a world where morality was fluid, where strength was the only true measure of justice. Mike wasn’t sure where he stood anymore—but one thing was certain: nothing would ever be the same again.