The sun rose, bathing the world in pale golden light. The oppressive weight of the night’s horrors lifted, though the scars they left behind lingered. The Fallen had vanished with the dawn, retreating into whatever dark abyss they called home. For now, the group could breathe—but only until the next nightfall.

Each member drifted into their own solitude, seeking refuge from the weight of Veritas’s words and the memories they stirred. Roxanne returned to the main hideout, settling into her corner with a stack of manga. The familiar pages and exaggerated stories were a welcome distraction. Hugo, ever the pragmatist, left to arrange repairs for the hole in the wall and to reinforce the hideout’s defenses. Eliza and Emelia withdrew to their rooms in the backup hideout, their doors closed against the world, seeking solace in isolation.

Arthur, however, couldn’t remain confined. The walls felt too close, the silence too heavy. He needed space. Without a word to the others, he floated through the tunnels and emerged into the daylight above.

The world above ground was starkly different from the oppressive darkness of the sewers. The streets were alive with motion and sound, a stark contrast to the desolation he’d grown accustomed to. Cars weaved through traffic, their engines humming. Pedestrians hurried along the sidewalks, their faces buried in phones or engaged in quiet conversations. Life moved on, oblivious to the unseen world Arthur now inhabited.

Arthur couldn’t help but feel detached as he floated above the bustling roads. The people below seemed like ants, scurrying about their lives, unaware of the horrors lurking just out of sight. He drifted aimlessly, watching and observing, wondering if they even realized how fragile their existence was.

Then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, his attention was caught by a figure standing at the edge of a small park. The man was peculiar, to say the least. His messy orange hair caught the sunlight, contrasting sharply with his pale skin. One of his eyes was hidden beneath a pristine white medical eye patch, its stark contrast against his pale skin drawing immediate attention. The other, a startling shade of pink, seemed to gleam with an unsettling intensity, as though it could pierce through to one’s very soul. Just beneath the exposed eye, a small mole adorned his cheek—a subtle imperfection that only served to heighten the strange, magnetic aura surrounding him. He wore black, priest-like robes, the fabric adorned with faint silver embroidery that shimmered in the light. Around his neck hung a pendant—a symbol of some religious order Arthur didn’t recognize. But the most bizarre detail was the weapon strapped to the man’s waist, a chainsaw, its blade gleaming as though freshly sharpened.

Arthur froze mid-air, his curiosity piqued. Nobody should be able to see him. And yet, as if sensing his presence, the man tilted his head upward and waved. His expression was warm, almost friendly, but there was an edge to it—a sharpness that made Arthur hesitate.

“Impossible,” Arthur muttered. He hovered uncertainly for a moment before descending, drawn by the strange man’s unnerving aura.

The man’s smile widened as Arthur landed. Without missing a beat, he pulled out a phone and held it to his ear, as though engaged in a casual call.

“Hello there, lost lamb,” the man said, his voice smooth and rich, yet carrying a playful undertone. “How has the land of the dead been treating you?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. “How can you see me?” he demanded. “I’m dead. This shouldn’t be possible.”

The man lowered the phone, his pink eye sparkling with amusement. “Oh, dear boy,” he said, tucking the phone into his robe with a theatrical flourish. “You’d be surprised what’s possible. Death is a thin veil, and some of us have the… privilege of peeking through it.”

Arthur’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening as he faced the enigmatic man. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The man tapped his chin theatrically, his grin widening as though he relished the tension in the air. “Who am I?” he mused, his voice dripping with mock contemplation. “Well, you can call me Michello.” His grin stretched wider, revealing teeth that were just a touch too perfect, their pristine sharpness unsettling rather than reassuring. “And as for what I want…” He leaned forward slightly, his pink eye gleaming with a dangerous light. “That depends entirely on you.”

Arthur instinctively took a wary step back, his senses screaming that Michello was no ordinary human. Something about the man radiated danger, controlled chaos that made the hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck stand on end. “Why are you talking to me?” Arthur asked, his voice edged with suspicion. “What are you?”

Michello’s expression softened, though his unsettling aura didn’t waver. “Ah, the plight of you lost lambs,” he said with a hint of melancholy, though his tone remained eerily playful. “To be trapped in this prison, wandering aimlessly, burdened by sins that chain you to the darkness. It’s tragic, really. But fear not—my Lady alone holds the key to your salvation.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, frustration bubbling beneath his confusion. “What do you mean? Tell me more.”

Michello straightened, clasping his hands in front of him as if in prayer. “This existence is but a trial,” he said, his voice taking on an almost reverent cadence. “A trial by my Lady, designed to test your worth. To prove yourselves, to cleanse the filth of sin you’ve smeared upon your souls, and to be reborn into her infinite embrace.” He tilted his head, his unsettling grin softening into something almost serene. “Shall we pray together, Arthur? Shall we begin your cleansing?”

Arthur’s patience snapped, his voice cutting through Michello’s cryptic monologue. “You’re not making any sense. What cult are you part of?”

Michello chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down Arthur’s spine. “Cult? Oh, dear boy, you wound me.” He spread his arms wide, the gesture was theatrical and unsettling in equal measure. “We are no mere cult. We are a recognized religion, fully embraced in Japan. Perhaps it’s unsurprising that you Westerners remain blind to such truths… but no matter. My Lady does not sacrifice anyone unworthy of her grace.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Arthur stared, caught between disbelief and unease. Michello’s tone carried an unsettling certainty, as though his faith was an unshakable foundation beneath a structure of madness.

Michello’s grin sharpened again, his tone shifting as he straightened his posture. “I am a proud servant of the Church of the Infinite Gates,” he declared, his voice ringing with conviction. “In your world of the supernatural—a world you are now irrevocably part of—my name is known by another title. My codename is The Executioner.”

Arthur’s stomach twisted at the name, the weight of it heavy with implications he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand. He took another step back, his instincts screaming that this man was as dangerous as any Fallen he had encountered. “Executioner?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Michello’s grin grew wolfish, his pink eye narrowing with dangerous glee. “Ah, I see you’re catching on. Good. It makes this far more interesting.”

Arthur’s voice wavered as he forced himself to speak. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Michello laughed lightly, the sound casual yet laced with menace. “Oh, just passing the time,” he said, his tone deceptively airy. “Waiting for A.E.G.I.S to make another delightful attempt on my life. It’s something of a sport at this point, you see. I’m their top priority kill target, after all.” He paused, his head tilting slightly as his nose twitched. His expression shifted, a predatory gleam lighting his pink eye. “But you, Arthur… you’re far more interesting.”

Arthur stiffened as Michello stepped closer, his movements deliberate and unnervingly predatory, like a lion circling its prey. Each step felt calculated, his presence suffocating. Michello’s nostrils flared slightly, as though catching a faint, tantalizing scent. His pink eye glimmered with a mixture of curiosity and menace.

“You smell like an angel,” Michello murmured, his voice low and dangerously smooth, each word dripping with intrigue.

Arthur’s blood ran cold. It wasn’t just that Michello could see him—he was studying him, breaking him down piece by piece. Every glance, every slight twitch of Michello’s features, felt like a scalpel carving into Arthur’s very essence.

“So,” Michello continued, his grin sharpening, “which of those ten bastards manipulated you into forsaking your oh-so-precious life?”

Arthur hesitated, the words catching in his throat before he forced them out. “It was Veritas—”

“Ah,” Michello interrupted, his grin widening into something almost feral. “The bastard of Truth.” He spat the name like venom. “Such heathens are the enemies of my Lady and the Church. Their lies, ironically cloaked as truths—are blasphemies of the highest order.” He paused, his gaze narrowing in thought before a bright smile returned to his face. “I’ve decided. I’ll remain in the U.S. for a while. For you, my dear young lamb. To help you recover your body and return to the land of the living.”

Arthur blinked, stunned by the abrupt offer. “You can… wait—could you help me hunt two more angels, too?” His voice was hesitant but laced with determination.

Michello froze, his expression shifting into one of euphoric delight. “Not one, but three?” His hands clasped together, his pink eye gleaming like a child presented with an unexpected gift. “Oh, you beautiful lamb! You’ve blessed me with such an opportunity. Thank you. Truly, thank you. To guide you and your friends into my Lady’s embrace will be a divine mission, one I shall cherish.”

Arthur’s mind raced at Michello’s words, hope flickering faintly in the chaos. “Tell me,” he asked, his voice soft but insistent, “is it possible to revive someone already dead?”

Michello’s smile faltered for a brief moment, his expression growing thoughtful. “Possible?” he echoed, his tone almost reverent. “Yes, young lamb. But certainty? No. The path is fraught with trials few could overcome. Rumor has it that A.E.G.I.S has unearthed half of the equation for resurrection, but the other half remains shrouded in mystery. To return the departed to life, one would need authority over both the realm of the living and the domain of souls. It is doable, my boy, but it teeters on the edge of the impossible.”

Arthur nodded, the weight of Michello’s words settling heavily on his shoulders. Still, a faint glimmer of determination lit his eyes. “That’s all I needed to know. Thank you so much.”

Michello’s grin returned, though now tinged with an unsettling edge. “You’re quite welcome, my dear lamb,” he said, his tone almost affectionate. “But now, I must take my leave. I can sense the rats closing in on my location.” His gaze flicked to the horizon, his smile curving into something far more vicious. “It seems the hunt has come to me.”

Without another word, Michello turned, his robes billowing behind him as he dashed into the distance, his movements impossibly swift and eerily fluid. The faint sound of his laughter echoed in the air, a blend of exhilaration and bloodlust that sent shivers down Arthur’s spine.

As the man vanished into the distance, Arthur remained frozen, his mind racing. The unsettling encounter left a lingering weight in the air like a storm waiting to break. Whoever—or whatever—Michello was, one thing was certain: Arthur had just made a dangerous acquaintance. The man’s words, his unsettling smile, and the eerie mix of menace and zeal left an impression that Arthur couldn’t shake.

With the daylight beginning to wane, Arthur decided not to risk staying out any longer. The memory of the Fallen and Veritas’s taunts still loomed large in his mind. He turned and made his way back to the hideout, his thoughts swirling with confusion and unease.

As he descended into the tunnels, he found Hugo leaning against the wall near the entrance, a cigarette in hand. The faint glow of its ember barely lit his face, but his sharp eyes immediately locked onto Arthur.

“Back so soon?” Hugo asked, exhaling a thin plume of smoke.

Arthur hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Hey, Hugo… do you know a man named Michello? His codename is Executioner.”

The cigarette stopped halfway to Hugo’s lips. His expression darkened, his usual calm giving way to a look of wary disbelief. “The Priest of Half Insanity?” he muttered, his voice laced with a mixture of contempt and grim amusement. “Of course, I’ve heard of him. That psycho is so dangerous that A.E.G.I.S. would rather risk an all-out war with Japan—and the cult that controls it, then let him continue to exist unchecked. And even then, we still can’t kill him. Why the hell are you bringing him up?”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his gaze avoiding Hugo’s piercing stare. “Uh… I might’ve accidentally… befriended him. He said he’d hunt down the angels for us. Actually, he seemed really excited about it.”

Hugo froze for a moment, then let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Good luck, kid. You’ve gone and made friends with one of the greatest criminals in the country—hell, maybe the world.”