Joe stumbled backward, his torn leather jacket fluttering in the wind as another barrage of crystalline spikes whistled past his head. They embedded themselves in the crumbling wall behind him with deadly precision, their silver surface gleaming like frozen daggers. His signature yellow aura flickered weakly around him, betraying his exhaustion.

"Come on, keep it together," he muttered through gritted teeth, feeling warm blood trickle down his arm from countless shallow cuts. A few yards away, his ally – a green force Auron – wasn't faring much better against another evolved terrorist.

Frustration burned in Joe's chest as he watched his sound-based attacks bounce harmlessly off the enemy's ice armor. "Hey!" he called out to his fellow defender, desperation creeping into his voice. "Want to switch dance partners?"

The force Auron barely had time to shoot him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding? I'm a force Au—" His words cut off in a sickening thud as a projectile caught him square in the chest. He crumpled to the ground and lay still.

"Shit..." Joe's fingers tightened around his modified guitar, its blade edge catching the light. Despite his rockstar bravado, real fear coiled in his gut. Standing alone against multiple evolved terrorists wasn't how he'd planned to spend his day. Still, he forced his trademark cocky attitude as he raised his instrument. "Alright, you asked for it! Time for Joe Blackstorm's greatest hit!"

He struck a power chord that sent visible ripples through the air, but the ice-armored terrorist just stood there, arms crossed as the sonic attack dissipated harmlessly against their crystalline shield. The deflected energy shattered nearby windows in a cascade of tinkling glass.

High above the devastation, Angelo hovered on wings of pure orange energy, taking in the scene with growing anger. Through their shared consciousness, he felt Red's bloodthirsty anticipation and Blue's analytical assessment of the situation.

"That Auron down there is about to get overwhelmed," Angelo thought, watching Joe's increasingly desperate defense. "We can't take the risk of it being an ally."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Red's mental voice crackled with barely contained violence. "Let's crash this party!"

Blue's more measured tones cut through: "Follow my lead, Red. Precision over chaos."

"Yeah, yeah, just point me at something to hit!"

Angelo's evolved wings caught the sunlight as he positioned them perfectly. "Now!" he commanded. "TWINS MISSILE!"

Red and Blue shot downward like comets of crimson and azure light, their combined energy leaving a spiral trail through the air. When they got close enough to recognize Joe. They veered slightly to avoid him.

They streaked past a startled Joe, whose yelp of surprise made the terrorists briefly drop their guard – a fatal mistake. The twins adjusted their trajectory with devastating grace, slamming into one of the evolved Infernians with explosive force.

As smoke and debris rained down, Joe watched in amazement as two streams of colored smoke spiraled back to Angelo, who landed with predatory grace nearby. Their eyes met, and Joe felt a chill run down his spine at the cold fury burning in the Angel of Death's gaze.

"You..." Joe breathed, recognition dawning as Angelo's evolved aura pulsed around him like contained fire. His wings dissolving and fading away.

The surviving ice-armored terrorist snarled in rage at their companion's defeat. "You'll pay for that!"

"Fancy meeting you here, rock boy," Angelo said to Joe, his voice carrying an edge sharper than any blade. "Having trouble with this trash?"

Despite everything, Joe had to admire the guy's style. He slumped against a broken wall, letting his evolved state fade to conserve stamina. "Yo, Angel. Don't underestimate them. See that guy?" His gaze drifted from Angelo to his foe with a gesture.

"That one's covered in some kind of evolved ice armor," he explained between ragged breaths. "Bounces back any force – including my sound attacks. He's not trying to win though, just protecting his little demolition crew back there."

Angelo's eyes narrowed as he studied the destruction being wreaked by the terrorist's subordinates. Bodies of innocent Luminians – both Auron and civilian – littered the broken streets. His fury built like a gathering storm.

"Rest up," he told Joe, forged energy beginning to coalesce around him. "I'll handle this."

"Don't say I didn't warn ya," Joe warned, sliding down to sit on the debris-strewn ground. "He's tougher than he looks."

Angelo said nothing as his signature Death Angel robes materialized, the hood casting deep shadows across his face that made his glowing orange eyes seem to burn even brighter. Wings of solid energy spread from his shoulders while a halo of pure power formed above his head. In his hands, a massive double-scythe of forged energy hummed with barely contained destruction.

He rose into the air, his appearance drawing confused looks from the terrorists. Even their ice-armored leader seemed taken aback by this theatrical display.

"Oh boy, here it comes!" Red couldn't quite hide his amusement, even in such dire circumstances.

"You now gaze upon the messenger of justice," Angelo declared, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "The Angel of Death!"

To everyone's surprise, Joe suddenly leapt up with renewed energy. "Oh shit... That's RAD!" He grabbed his guitar and began playing a heavy metal riff, from his very soul, that somehow made the moment even more intense.

Now Angelo just felt silly, but he couldn't let up, committed now to his performance. "For your crimes against the people of Luminia," he continued as Joe's music provided the perfect backdrop, "you shall pay the ultimate price! I hereby sentence you to DEATH!"

The ice-armored terrorist stared for a long moment before letting out a bark of laughter. "Very threatening. What are you idiots waiting for?" he called to his men. "Keep showing Luminia what's coming!"

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"I think not," Angelo's voice dropped to something dangerous.

"Oh yeah? Then come down here and stop us!"

A hint of a predatory smile tugged at Angelo's lips as he closed his eyes. "That won't be necessary." When he opened them again, they burned with cold blooded anticipation. "I have the perfect bloodhound for dealing with that fodder." Through their mental link, he gave the command: "Red... Sic 'em"

Red's excitement exploded through their shared consciousness. "For real? I can actually let loose? Do whatever I want?"

"Whatever you want." Angelo's tone promised violence as he prepared to show these terrorists exactly why they called him the Angel of Death.

Angelo hovered above the broken street, his evolved wings spread wide as eight tiny beams of orange energy kept him perfectly stable. The sight alone would have been impressive enough, but what happened next made even the battle-hardened terrorists pause.

Crimson smoke began to pour from Angelo's body like blood dripping from an open wound. It spiraled through the air with unnatural grace before pooling on the ground several feet in front of where Joe crouched among the rubble. The smoke twisted and solidified, revealing Red in an exaggerated crouch that looked like something from a stage play.

A low chuckle bubbled up from Red's throat, growing into the kind of laugh that made everyone – friend and foe alike – take an instinctive step back. He rose with deliberate slowness, his trademark predatory grin somehow even more unsettling than usual as his gaze swept across the gathered Infernians.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he called out, spreading his arms like a ringmaster commanding attention. His voice carried the particular edge of someone enjoying a private joke that usually ended in bloodshed. "Cast your eyes upon this humble stage! For today's performance will be one you'll never forget – assuming you survive it!"

The terrorists exchanged uncertain glances, clearly unsure whether to attack or wait to see where this bizarre display was heading. Red's grin only widened at their confusion.

"Oh, but first!" He spun dramatically, his finger jabbing toward Angelo. "To our dear messenger of justice up there, forever preaching about order and control!" His voice took on a sing-song quality that somehow made it more menacing. "But true order springs from chaos itself! The strong shape their own destiny – and I'm about to reshape all of yours!"

As he spoke, crimson energy began to coalesce around him like living smoke. Unlike Angelo's flowing angelic robes, these twisted themselves into something more suited for a twisted magician.

"What's wrong?" Red taunted as his audience shifted nervously. "No applause? No jeers? You want to laugh? Come on, don't be shy – laughter is music to my ears!" His hands disappeared into his sleeves, emerging covered in what looked like metallic crimson gloves with long razor fingers that clicked together like angry scissors. "After all, what's a performance without a little... mischief?"

The word 'mischief' seemed to hang in the air like a death sentence. Red reached into empty space, crimson energy swirling until it solidified into an ornate mask that gleamed like fresh blood in the sunlight. "For you see," he continued, carefully positioning the mask over his face despite his deadly new appendages, "I am this world's tragic clown – and it's finally time for MY performance!"

When he lowered his clawed hands, the mask's details became clear – a jagged star carved above the left eye socket, through which his crimson iris gleamed with predatory intent, along with a round red nose of a clown that somehow looked more sinister than comical.

But it was the mouth that drew everyone's attention – a twisted grin that stretched impossibly wide, filled with teeth that looked sharp enough to tear reality itself.

"Remember this face, my dear audience!" Red's voice echoed with theatrical menace. "For I am Chaos, and this..." he raised his claws as crimson energy crackled around him like bottled lightning, "this is where the real show begins!"

Joe, still crouched among the rubble, found himself unconsciously gripping his guitar tighter. He'd seen some dramatic performances in his time, but this? This was something else entirely. The terrorists seemed to agree – several had actually taken steps backward, their earlier confidence crumbling in the face of Red's unhinged display.

Even the ice-armored leader's voice carried a slight tremor as he raised his hand to order an attack. But before he could speak, Red's horrible laughter filled the air again, promising that whatever came next would be equal parts performance and nightmare.

The stage was set. The audience was captive. And the curtain was about to rise on a very different kind of show.

The street fell silent as Red's laughter died away, that horrible mask's grin somehow seeming wider in the midday light. The ice-armored terrorist raised his fists, crystalline armor gleaming as he prepared to intercept Red's charge. But Red had other plans.

He shot past the leader like a crimson bullet, moving so fast he left afterimages in the air. The ice-covered Auron spun in confusion, only to freeze as horrible realization dawned – Red wasn't after him at all. He was going for the others.

The first victim never saw it coming. Red's claws punched through the terrorist's face with wet precision, the razor fingers emerging from the back of his skull in a spray of red that matched his aura. Before the body could even start falling, forged energy tendrils erupted from Red's back like living whips. Eight, then ten crimson constructs writhed through the air, each one finding a different target.

Some tendrils punched clean through hearts and throats, granting merciful deaths. Others... others deliberately struck shoulders, legs, stomachs – leaving their victims screaming on the broken pavement. Red's mask twisted toward the sound, and though they couldn't see his face, everyone felt his satisfaction.

Through Angelo's elevated view, Red saw the ice-armored leader circling behind him, silver water already forming into a deadly blade. His laughter never faltered as he flipped backward with gymnastic grace, the attack carving a deep groove in the street where he'd stood moments before.

More terrorists charged forward, desperation making them reckless. Red's response was pure nightmare fuel – he manifested a disc of crimson energy that spun faster and faster until it became a buzzsaw of pure destruction. The weapon screamed through the air before biting into someone's shoulder, spraying blood and bone fragments across the ruined street as the victim's scream joined the horrible chorus Red was creating.

"Run! Dear god, RUN!" One of the terrorists shouted as his companions finally broke. They scattered like leaves in a storm, but Red pursued with predatory grace. His claws left red trails in the air as he bounded between them, each strike precise and terrible. Blood painted abstract patterns across broken walls and shattered windows while that horrible mask's grin seemed to drink it all in.

"This ends now!" The ice-armored leader's roar carried genuine fear as he formed twin blades of silver ice. He launched himself at Red's back, crystalline weapons promising swift death – only to screech to a halt as Angelo's massive scythe embedded itself in the ground before him, blocking his path like a gate of orange fire.

Angelo landed beside his weapon with deadly grace, his robes flowing around him as he grasped the scythe's handle. When he looked up, his eyes blazed beneath his hood with fury hot enough to melt steel yet somehow colder than the terrorist's ice.

"Your fight," Angelo's voice promised violence, "is with me."

Behind them, Red's rampage continued. His mask caught the light as he spun between victims, each movement precise despite its savagery. Crimson tendrils danced through the air like angry serpents while his claws opened throats and punctured vital organs with surgical accuracy. The street had become his stage.

"Monster..." The ice-armored terrorist breathed, watching his men fall one by one to Red's deadly performance.

"No," Angelo's response carried dark satisfaction as he raised his scythe. "Its the divine retribution you deserve – taking form."

Red's laughter echoed off broken buildings as he continued his dance of death, each step bringing him closer to his scattered prey. The afternoon sun caught rivers of blood running between broken cobblestones while that terrible mask's grin promised there would be no escape from this performance.

The curtain was falling on this act, and Red was determined to paint it crimson.