If there was a person that held a fraction of the Arbiter’s overwhelming presence, then it was the White Wing. The Angel was adorned in tight, otherworldly military garbs. They folded over her chest, anchored with rows of golden buttons.

She adorned a peaked cap bearing the symbol of three trumpets, and an embellished octagonal badge showcasing an image of a pale wing. Her pants were trimmed with gold, and golden chains dangled from her pockets, each attached to multiple hidden pocket watches, and anchored to an unseen belt.

With a grin that revealed layers of razor-sharp teeth, she dug a hand into her breast pocket and retrieved one of these watches. Mused by an arrow that pointed above, and another somewhere in the direction of the City of Spades, she clicked a button and assumed a pose with one hand firmly held behind her back, and the other wiping her palm across her voluptuous chest.

It was as though she had handled something filthy.

The ticking could not be heard. Rather, it could only be felt. Her golden eyes judged their souls, boring deep like a flesh burrowing worm. It siphoned their will to speak. Robbed them of any chance of resistance. Even the Donors, who were only one rank below their Beholder, found it difficult to breathe within her presence.

And with a small snap of her fingers, their lungs filled with air. They were like dogs begging for permission to breathe with their eyes. L.S smile was wiped away in that instant, desperately clawing at her arms in terror.

Not many were well versed with the White Wing. People often only knew her from oral accounts. But these people were not normal. And while in the public she appeared like a benevolent being sent from the heavens, they knew this couldn’t be further from the truth.

L.S was shocked to find that the White Wing failed to fit her mental image of an innocent Angel.

This Angel looked more akin to a warrior.

“It looks lively. A pair of Liquidators didn’t take too kindly to our arrival. I hope you can overlook our transgression.” The White Wing hummed, replacing her soft gloves, and revealing skin so pure that it appeared near translucent. “Even though we’ve fought together in the past. There’s no sense of comradery. Ah… And there’s an ancient scent in here. I see.”

She inhaled deeply, her golden eyes suddenly falling onto L.S. With an exhale, her face took upon the emotions of both disdain and veneration, like she was unsure of what to think. That being said, she lightly tapped the back of the 3-meter-tall Interpreter, who slithered along, for she was a blue-scaled Lamia; a humanoid race characterized by their snake-like lower half, forked tongue and great size they could achieve depending on their strength.

From the tip of her tail to the ends of her slightly reddish nose she was easily more than 8 meters in length.

“You’ve managed to track them down well. Well done.” The White Wing acknowledged, wiping her glove across her chest again. “’Fate’ finds a way. I’m surprised it still functions this well. This is a prerequisite. Curious. If people knew how the mechanism worked, then I wonder how much faith they’d lose in your Scripts.”

“Wouldn’t that be a thought for thereafter than now?” The Interpreter hissed, tasting the air with her tongue.

She did not speak in the monotone dialect that many of Act X’s members did. Rather, she seemed to be freed from those strings, for she was one of the few who pulled them.

“I adore that your kind understands that much.” The White Wing nearly sang, wearing a mask of innocence as she approached her designated seat. “All for your fated ‘Tenth Act’… Ridiculous. But quite beautiful.”

The clapping of her footsteps was harrowing, and she first passed L.S, sliding a hand over her shoulder. L.S froze. Her blood ran like ice. The hand that dragged along felt like a dissecting blade, yearning to study her.

“Do tell us more about your travels with them.” The White Wing kindly commanded.

Before she sat, she replaced the same glove, drawing the replacement from a tear in space. It was different from the Dimensional Storage, and was a world of nothing but pure darkness.

She inhaled the scent of the ‘dirty’ glove and discarded it like a used handkerchief.

“Go on. Be not afraid. Angels are kindhearted, are they not? Or do you mistake me for the false Angels?” The way she conducted herself was otherworldly.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

The Interpreter kindly took a seat on the rather small chair, but she never allowed herself to stand any taller than the White Wing out of sheer respect. Also, it was to keep her head and body in one piece.

“Meeting under the noses of your Beholders brings back mellow memories. I hope you understand that New World Angels, your healers, are nothing quite like those of the Old. Please, do recount it to the best of your abilities.”

L.S obliged and began from the beginning. Nothing was said during her recollection, and L.S ensured that she covered as many things as she could, all the while speaking with Carpalis directly.

Once everything had been heard, the White Wing asked L.S a simple question.

“Did that Angel have one tail?”

“One tail. Yes. Yes she did.” L.S firmly nodded.

“I wonder if she still remembers the misery she caused.”

The White Wing didn’t further respond, allowing this information to sink in as she subtly smirked.

“Isn’t it time to inform them?” She then said to the Interpreter.

“I believe it is.” The Lamia spoke, clapping her hands together. “All of us have gathered here today under two principles. The betrayal of Scarlet Logic, and the return of the White Wing. If you can all recall, the last time she aided us was with the liquidation of Midas Company.”

“We all remember what happened in the Frozen Springs. I’d rather that we forget, but it’s the reason why we are what we are today.” The Brain solemnly spoke, all the while Hearth – the woman – drooled at the memory of the White Wing’s prowess.

“W-Will we be seeing you fight again!? If – aaaaah – If Scarlet Logic’s really all that evil, then will you personally destroy them!?” Her heart painfully twisted.

“… that’s a good question. Are you going to help us, or is there something else you’re here for? In Midas Company, you explicitly went after something in the sky. Everything else was secondary…” Someone within the table spoke, criticizing her. “You barely helped anyone.”

The White Wing grinned in response, as if finding it humorous.

“I don’t intend to help anyone anymore. Angels of the present are pitiful. But don’t speak your lies as though they are truths. If it were not for me, that would have been the very first Paradise Lost event. Yet, I’m honored that Inflow Direct considers me a friend. A shame that your personnel are still wary. You were at the forefront of it after all.”

“… we suffered greatly. The healers did. Beholder E. lost everything to save them. But we’re not here to look retrospectively. We can’t change the past.” The young boy uttered.

For some reason, his last sentence caused the White Wing to smile melancholically.

“Therefore, I will ask on the behalf of everyone here… *Gasp*… Why are you here? You’re not easily swayed with money. So *Gasp* what could have possibly brought you back?”

“I’m here to meet with an old friend, and to skewer a beast. An Advent will be shortly appearing in your skies in…” She pulled out her watch. “4 hours. Keep that Sector vacant. Anyone caught within will be met with extreme prejudice.”

“An Advent!?”

“Advent!?”

“What – You can’t be serious!”

“That’s preposterous!”

“A new Advent!?”

“Could it be that rumor!?”

“Piece of the Fallen Star… Does that even exist?”

Pandemonium immediately broke at the mention of an Advent. For one to appear here of all places instilled panic. It seemed that they all understood the implications behind an Advent’s formal arrival. The eldest of this group of 30, being Elves bearing the wear of Justica Arms, appeared the calmest despite knowing exactly what it entailed.

It was not merely its power, or the wishgranting effect of the rumored Advent of Desire.

But rather, it was a monster that tended to emerge in response.

One such entity emerged in the Frozen Springs – a bird wielding many dozens of eyes and wings; a precursor to the Icon of Judgement that would later arrive.

This entity was formally known as a False Angel, born from the Advent of Wrath.

Or to the White Wing:

“A Faux Angel, born from GEN-06. Caldera, myself, and the Primordial Demons have been trying to find what we collectively call the Advent of Wrath. No luck. But as more Advents begin to emerge, the more pieces will fall into place, even if we must take the more drastic approach. In that way, I adore Beholder Galia. We have an Archetype present to regulate its effects. The Star Child, according to our trusted Interpreter and the Director himself.”

Suddenly, Lievar began to speak silently through his Cognition Transmitter, as did the other Doners. Soon, nearly everyone was speaking to personnel allowed within the inner City of Clubs, who then relayed it to those throughout the outskirts.

A sea of frantic voices was like music to the White Wings ears, and L.S quickly began relaying it all to Carpalis before suddenly, she felt a finger run up her chin.

“You smell so wonderful. That scent of what was always forbidden to us lingers on you like a sweet nectar. We, who were once bees, can never resist such a scent. It’s a shame that we’ve fallen to become wasps.” The White Wing uttered, her face mere inches away from L.S’ as she breathed in her scent, as though smelling a boquette of roses.

In the meantime, the Interpreter consulted Inflow Direct’s upper brass with where exactly to attack and position their personnel. It was through the help of the Director that they were able to gain such an accurate ‘prediction’. Hearing this, the White Wing could not help but laugh as she wrapped L.S tightly with all three of her tails, one constricting her neck.

“Oh how I yearned to take the bite myself. But I contained this greed. I was content with my existence. But her gluttony made her feast on what was forbidden, and for that reason, we suffered through multiple cycles to amend her wrongs… Your pitiful existence. Your ‘corruption’. It’s all that trumpet’s fault.” She hummed, her face contorting in a deranged manner at the thought of claiming what was forbidden.

“Taking a form of a woman, from a man, from something formless… I too want a piece of what was forbidden. Tell that Angel that we’ll be meeting very shortly.”