The Fallen advanced, its grotesque body jerking with each uneven step. Its single, glowing eye fixed hungrily on the group, its tentacles thrashing violently. The surrounding air grew colder, the oppressive weight of the creature’s presence suffocating.

But then it stopped.

In one grotesque motion, the creature’s head snapped back, its neck twisting in a full 180 degrees with a sickening crack. Its massive eye flared, shifting from crimson to a brilliant gold. A faint, otherworldly hum filled the air as it turned its entire body, as if something far more enticing had caught its attention.

Illusionary feathers began to fall from above, shimmering faintly as they drifted through the sewer's darkness. Each feather dissolved into faint wisps of light before hitting the ground, their glow casting eerie shadows on the walls. The group froze, their breaths caught in their throats as they felt the shift in the atmosphere. Something—someone—was approaching.

The Fallen’s movements grew frantic, its tentacles writhing wildly as it charged toward the source of the feathers. Whatever it sensed, it was desperate to devour.

A calm, commanding voice echoed through the tunnel, cutting through the chaos like a blade. “The angels’ first sin was allowing that devil to defile our god. The madness of our god drove us out of Nirvana and into this wretched realm, where the world of man tainted our heavenly flesh.”

The voice was calm, yet every word dripped with disdain. Though the speaker remained unseen, the group could feel his presence—an overwhelming aura of danger and power that made even the Fallen seem insignificant.

“And yet,” the voice continued, steady and unyielding, “the humans’ first sin was far simpler. Staying alive. Every day, you disgusting creatures perpetuate this sin. And now, I must walk among you mongrels.”

The Fallen’s eye transformed into its horrifying maw, rows of jagged teeth grinding together as it closed the distance. Its tentacles lashed at the walls, the sound of cracking stone reverberating through the tunnel as it prepared to consume the intruder.

The feathers continued to fall, swirling in a strange, hypnotic pattern as the figure stepped into view.

“There is only one truth in this world,” the voice said, now clear and unmistakable. “The rot must be purged.”

The moment the words were spoken, the Fallen froze mid-lunge. In an instant, its grotesque body was diced into countless pieces. The air rang with the faint, metallic hum of a blade cutting through flesh, though no movement had been seen. The sewer walls were splattered with viscous black blood as the remains of the creature fell to the ground in chunks, twitching weakly before going still.

As the blood pooled around the fallen pieces, the feathers vanished, leaving only the silhouette of a man standing amidst the carnage. Slowly, he stepped forward, his boots splashing lightly in the muck. The faint glow of the sewer’s dim lighting illuminated his figure.

He wore a long black trench coat, its edges frayed and darkened with age. A katana hung at his side, its sheath unremarkable yet emanating an aura of silent menace. His messy white hair fell over his face, framing piercing purple eyes. Deep, dark bags beneath them hinted at sleepless nights—or perhaps an eternity of weariness. Despite his disheveled appearance, his presence was suffocating.

Arthur’s heart sank as he recognized the face—the face he once called his own.

It was him.

Or rather, it was Veritas, the angel who had stolen his body.

“You survived longer than I thought, mutt,” Veritas said, his voice cold and condescending. His gaze swept over the group, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “But don’t get too comfortable. The rot always finds a way to crawl back.”

The group stood frozen, the oppressive silence following his words more deafening than the creature’s shrieks had been.

“Arthur, is that…?” Hugo began, his voice faltering as his gaze locked onto the figure before them.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “It is,” he said, his voice cold and sharp, eyes burning with hatred. “That bastard angel, Veritas.”

Veritas smirked, his purple eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “Running from the Fallen now, are we? What happened to that burning desire to die, Arthur? Or is it that being reunited with your precious dead girlfriend has suddenly made everything peaches and cream?” He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “How touching.”

Arthur’s breath hitched, his grip on Emelia’s hand tightening. But Veritas wasn’t finished.

“Oh, that’s right,” Veritas continued, his tone growing darker. “Do you remember how she died, Arthur? She cried for you, pathetically calling your name as the knife plunged into her again and again. Her blood spilled across the cold pavement, her throat choking on her final wish—that you would save her.”

“Stop,” Emelia whispered, her voice trembling as tears welled in her eyes.

Veritas’s smirk deepened, ignoring her plea. “And where were you, Arthur? Let me refresh your memory. You were being smacked around like a piñata by your dear old dad. Funny how you couldn’t even save yourself, let alone her.”

The words hit like a sledgehammer, each syllable digging into Arthur’s soul. His breathing grew ragged, his vision blurring with rage. Without thinking, he released Emelia’s hand and snatched Hugo’s bat in one swift motion.

“Arthur, wait!” Hugo called, his voice edged with panic.

Arthur didn’t listen. He swung the bat with all his strength, aiming for Veritas’s smug face. The air cracked with the force of the strike—but the bat passed harmlessly through, as if Veritas were made of smoke.

Veritas chuckled, a low, guttural sound that echoed through the tunnel. “Did you really think that would work? While I can interact with you pathetic wretches—and even kill you if I feel so inclined—your worthless hands can no longer touch the mortal realm. You’re nothing but shadows clinging to scraps of a world that no longer belongs to you.”

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Arthur stumbled back, his chest heaving as his grip on the bat tightened. The futility of the situation only fueled his fury, his knuckles whitening as he glared at Veritas.

“Enjoy your miserable existence,” Veritas said mockingly, his voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll survive.”

As if to punctuate his words, Veritas suddenly coughed, a spatter of dark blood escaping his lips. He wiped it away with the back of his sleeve, his smirk faltering slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur spat, his voice venomous. “Choking on your own lies?”

Veritas chuckled again, though weaker this time. “Ah, yes. I forgot to mention… telling lies does come with its drawbacks. A little curse, you might say.” He gestured lazily at the bloodstain on his sleeve, his smirk returning. “But who needs lies when the truth cuts so much deeper?”

Arthur’s rage boiled over, his vision tunneling on the angel wearing his face. But before he could act again, Emelia stepped between them, her tear-streaked face resolute. “Arthur, stop,” she said firmly, her voice trembling but steady. “He’s not worth it.”

Veritas raised an eyebrow, his smirk curving into something darker, more sinister. “Listen to her, Arthur. The little ghost still believes in you. How sweet.”

“Get out,” Hugo yelled, gripping his taser with a trembling hand. Despite the steel in his voice, the faint quiver betrayed his unease. “Now.”

Veritas regarded Hugo with a look of mild amusement, tilting his head as though considering the demand. “But I’m not done,” he said, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. He gestured lazily toward Hugo. “Honestly, you’re the most fascinating one here. How does it feel to go from hunting the supernatural to becoming the supernatural?”

“That story was real?” Roxanne blurted, her wide eyes darting to Hugo.

“Of course it was,” Veritas said with a chuckle, as if the answer should have been obvious. “He served an organization called A.E.G.I.S. A secretive little group with big ambitions. Most of its members have supernatural abilities themselves. Funny, really, considering how they like to pretend they’re the heroes.” His eyes flicked to Roxanne, his grin widening. “Oh, and the two dashing gentlemen you encountered the night you died? Agents of A.E.G.I.S as well. Small world, isn’t it?”

Roxanne’s jaw dropped, the pieces clicking together in her mind. “Wait, what?”

“Enough,” Hugo growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ve had your fun. I suggest you leave.”

Veritas let out a soft laugh, ignoring the threat entirely. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m almost done.” He turned his gaze to Eliza, who had been hiding silently behind Hugo, her trembling form clutching at his arm like a lifeline. “But before I go, how about poor little Eliza? She’s been cowering behind you, hoping you’d protect her. How quaint.”

Hugo moved to shield Eliza further, his shoulders squaring as he glared at Veritas. “Don’t.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Hugo. It’s not fair if we don’t share her story, is it? Everyone here’s had their dirty little secrets dragged into the light. Why should she be any different?” Veritas’s voice was honeyed venom, sweet and sharp, calculated to cut.

Eliza shook her head violently, her eyes welling with tears. “Stop it. Please stop talking,” she begged, her voice breaking.

Veritas’s smirk deepened, his words slower, deliberate. “You see, Eliza was quite the challenge for my dear comrade Devotiel. Such a strong will. Such defiance. She had to work extra hard to sweet-talk her into ending it all.” He sighed theatrically, shaking his head. “You were tricky, weren’t you, Eliza?”

“Shut up,” she whimpered, her hands covering her ears as if they could block out his words. “I don’t want to remember. Please don’t make me remember.”

Arthur and Emelia exchanged worried glances, their anger at Veritas eclipsed by the sight of Eliza—so strong, so unflinching—reduced to this state. For the first time since Arthur had met her, her eyes weren’t filled with sharp wit or anger but pure, unbridled fear.

“Ah, but that’s the fun part, isn’t it?” Veritas said, his tone mockingly light. He leaned forward slightly, his purple eyes locking onto hers. “Reliving that night. The panic. The despair. You can feel it, can’t you? Crawling up your spine, whispering in your ear, reminding you how helpless you were.”

“Stop it!” Eliza screamed, her voice raw with pain, tears streaming freely down her face. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, trembling violently.

Veritas straightened, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his coat with an air of practiced indifference. “Fine. I’ll leave the poor girl to her nightmares. For now.” He turned his gaze back to the group, his smirk sharp enough to cut. “Well, this has been delightful. I’ll see you all soon, I’m sure.”

But just as he began to turn away, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes gleamed with malicious delight as he added, “Though, before I go, I suppose it’s only fair to tell you how she died. Eliza hung herself… while the corpses of her parents lay on the floor, her fingerprints smeared all over the knife embedded in their chests. I did say she had to work extra hard.”

His words hung in the air like a poison cloud, suffocating and vile. Eliza’s breath hitched audibly, her body trembling as tears streamed down her face. She sank to her knees, her hands clutching her stomach as if trying to hold herself together.

Veritas turned fully this time, his voice light and cheerful, as though he were discussing the weather. “Ah, the lengths some souls will go to escape the weight of their sins. Truly admirable.” With that, he turned on his heel, his black trench coat billowing behind him as he disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel, his laughter echoing faintly in the distance.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Eliza’s gasps as she struggled to contain the tidal wave of emotions crashing over her. Her eyes, usually sharp and filled with defiance, were now vacant, hollow. She wanted to scream, to vomit, to vanish, but her body betrayed her. She was trapped in the suffocating grip of her memories, the horror Veritas had dredged up consuming her entirely.

Arthur clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. His gaze remained fixed on the spot where Veritas had disappeared, his body trembling with a mix of rage and helplessness. “Bastard,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.

Roxanne shifted uncomfortably, her usual levity nowhere to be found. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. Even Hugo, the steady anchor of the group, seemed momentarily lost in thought.

Finally, it was Hugo who broke the silence, his voice steady but carrying a weight of exhaustion. “There’s no point in standing around. Come on. The other hideout is up ahead.”

Without waiting for a response, he knelt beside Eliza, scooping her up in his arms as gently as if she were made of glass. She didn’t resist. Her head rested limply against his shoulder, her tear-streaked face turned away from the others. Her lips trembled, but no sound came out.

The group began moving again, their footsteps echoing through the cold, damp tunnel. The oppressive air seemed even heavier now, weighed down by the ghost of Veritas’s words.

After a few moments of silence, Eliza’s voice broke through, barely a whisper. “Hugo… do you think the ghosts of the people we’ve killed will appear in this hell?”

Her question lingered in the air, a quiet plea for absolution wrapped in fear.

Hugo glanced down at her, his expression softening despite the gravity of the situation. His reply came after a beat, calm but tinged with the honesty she likely didn’t want to hear. “I don’t know. Many of us end up eaten by the Fallen each night. Even if the souls of the people we’ve wronged appear here… I don’t know if they’d still exist after this place takes them.”

Eliza closed her eyes tightly, as though trying to shut out the world, her tears soaking into Hugo’s shirt. “I… I don’t want to see them,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

Hugo said nothing, his steady presence the only comfort he could offer. The rest of the group remained silent as well, the weight of what had transpired pressing down on them like a lead blanket. Each step forward felt heavier, the tunnel stretching endlessly ahead.