Through half-lidded eyes, I gaze across an endless desert that stretches like a frozen ocean beneath a star-strewn sky. The air carries the metallic tang of discharged energy, thick with tension and the remnants of battle. In the distance, jagged mountains tear at the horizon like obsidian teeth, their peaks silhouetted against a blood-red moon.
All around me, the night erupts in a symphony of chaos. Aurons clash in mid-air, their auras painting the darkness in a dazzling array of colors. Each collision sends shockwaves rippling through the sand beneath my prone form, the vibrations thrumming through my bones. Explosions bloom like deadly flowers, their light casting writhing shadows across the dunes.
I try to push myself up, the cool desert air raising goosebumps along my arms. My hands catch my attention - they're encased in unfamiliar gauntlets, their surface drinking in what little light reaches them. Something feels wrong, out of place. My aura flares to life, but instead of its usual orange, it blazes with golden radiance. The sight triggers something in my mind, a memory just out of reach. Ah, yes. Now I remember.
My body moves with liquid grace as I surge to my feet. In the space between heartbeats, I close the distance to my opponent - the one who had knocked me down. Our exchange of blows defies human limits, each strike generating concussive force that makes the very air shudder. I can feel the impacts reverberating through my entire being, raw power threatening to tear reality apart.
Time slips through my fingers like desert sand. An unspoken understanding passes between us, and we leap apart in perfect synchronization. I bring my palms together, feeling multiple streams of energy coalesce between them. The power compresses, warps, forming a sphere of such intense darkness that it seems to devour the starlight. The gravitational force is immense - I can feel it trying to pull my hands together, to crush everything into its infinite depths.
Through the corner of my eye, I see their attack approaching. The words tear from my throat, resonating with power that makes the mountains tremble:
"THEORY OF POWER!"
The black orb detonates, reality itself seeming to bend as blinding light consumes everything...
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Sleeser's eyes snap open, a gasp of pain escaping his lips as consciousness crashes back. The harsh white ceiling of the hospital room spins above him before slowly steadying into focus. Every inch of his body pulses with agony beneath the sweat-soaked bandages that wrap his torso and limbs. The desert dream clings to his thoughts like fine sand, refusing to be brushed away despite his return to waking.
"Just a dream..." he mutters, his voice rough as sandpaper. The words leave a coppery taste in his mouth, making him grimace.
Through the half-open door drift fragments of urgent voices and hurried footsteps, the unmistakable rhythm of a hospital in crisis. Gritting his teeth, Sleeser forces himself to sit up. Pain lances through him like lightning, drawing a sharp hiss as his muscles scream in protest. Cold sweat beads on his forehead from the effort.
He leans forward, peering into the fluorescent-lit hallway. The harsh overhead lights cast deep shadows across his face, making the lines of exhaustion more prominent. A stretcher rushes past in a blur of motion, and Sleeser's heart seems to stop mid-beat. That hair splayed across the pillow – though disheveled and matted with dark blood – is achingly familiar. The same shade he's watched grow from boyhood to youth, the same color as his student Angelo's.
A staff member stands nearby, worry carving deep lines around his eyes as he watches the urgent movements of the medical team. Sleeser reaches out instinctively, his hand trembling not just from his injuries but from rising fear.
"What happened?" The question comes out as barely more than a whisper, his throat too tight to manage more.
The worker startles at the unexpected voice, spinning around. Recognition dawns in his eyes as he takes in Sleeser's bandaged form propped in the doorway. "What? Oh – it's the Angel of Death." He shakes his head, disbelief evident in his expression. "Took on an Evolved Auron, if you can believe it."
The bottom drops out of Sleeser's world. "What—" A violent cough tears through him before he can finish, feeling like shards of glass in his lungs. His eyes remain locked on the distant stretcher as it disappears around a corner, dread clawing at his chest.
"What's his condition?" The words carry unmistakable urgency despite his weakened state, his knuckles white where they grip the doorframe.
The worker's eyes narrow slightly, catching the personal undertone in Sleeser's voice. "He'll make it," he assures, though his guarded expression suggests he's choosing his words carefully. "Got a nasty gash across his torso. Passed out from blood loss, but he's stable."
Relief floods through Sleeser with such force that his knees nearly buckle. He takes an unsteady step toward the operating room's waiting area, but the worker's hand shoots out to block his path.
"Where do you think you're going?" The worker's tone leaves no room for argument, firm as a hospital regulation. "In your condition, the only place you're headed is back to bed."
Exhaustion settles over Sleeser like a weighted blanket, his body trembling visibly from just these few moments of standing. After a brief internal struggle that shows in his clenched jaw, he allows himself to be guided back to his room. But as he lies there in the darkness, sleep dances just out of reach. His mind spins between the dream's vivid images and worried thoughts about Angelo, weaving an anxious tapestry that refuses to let him rest.
The night stretches endlessly before him, marked only by the steady electronic beeping of monitors and the distant symphony of a hospital working to save lives. Somewhere in this sterile maze of corridors lies the young man he had trained, now paying the price for walking the path Sleeser had helped set him upon. The thought weighs heavier than any physical pain, keeping him company through the long hours until dawn.
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The morning sun crept through the hospital window like a shy visitor, casting long fingers of golden light across the room's sterile white walls. The air held that distinct hospital smell - a mix of disinfectant and stale coffee that made Sleeser's nose wrinkle. Down the corridor, nurses' shoes squeaked against polished floors and breakfast carts rattled past, their wheels catching on tile seams. Medical equipment created a steady symphony of beeps and hums, the heartbeat of the hospital itself.
Sleeser gripped the metal railing of his bed, muscles trembling as he forced himself upright. Every injury screamed in protest - the cracked ribs from that devastating blow, the deep bruises that painted his torso in shades of purple and black, the dozen smaller wounds that together felt like being hit by a truck. But he had to move. Had to check.
A rough laugh cut through his concentration. "Well, look who thinks they're ready for a marathon."
In the next bed over, Axel watched him with knowing eyes, his signature cocky grin somehow intact despite everything. The man was a study in contrasts - spiky black hair with those rebellious blue-dyed tips that no amount of battle seemed to mess up, face marked with fresh cuts, bandages wrapping his muscular frame like a fighter's hand wraps. Even beaten half to hell, Axel managed to look more amused than injured.
"What's got you moving like your pants are on fire?" Axel asked, shifting to get a better look and immediately wincing as the movement pulled at his wounds.
Sleeser tried for his usual confident smile, but it came out more like a grimace. Every facial expression tugged at the cuts scattered across his features. "Just need to handle something, Axel. Won't take long."
Axel's eyebrow shot up skeptically, reopening a fresh cut above his eye. A drop of blood beaded at the edge. "Must be pretty damn important if you're willing to crawl there."
"Give it a rest, Axel." The gentle rebuke came from across the room, where Force sat propped against a mountain of pillows. His long emerald hair cascaded around his face in tangled waves. Despite his shorter stature, Force's compact frame radiated barely contained power - like a compressed spring or a coiled snake. Those gentle lime-green eyes and perpetual soft smile seemed at odds with his warrior's build as he added, "Though he's not wrong, Sleeser. You're pushing awful hard for someone who could barely move yesterday."
Sleeser turned to face them both, carefully controlling his expression as fire raced along his nerve endings. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead just from standing. "Since when did you two join the worry-warts club?" He tried to inject some humor into his voice, but the underlying tension made it shake. "I'll survive. There's just... someone I need to see."
Before they could protest further, he slipped out into the hallway like a ghost escaping its grave. Each step felt like walking on broken glass, but he forced himself forward. The information desk nurse took one look at his battered face and pointed him in the right direction with sympathetic eyes. He followed the room numbers like breadcrumbs, each one bringing him closer to his goal.
When he finally reached the right door, the sight beyond it stole his breath more effectively than any punch to the gut. Angelo lay motionless on pristine white sheets, looking impossibly young and vulnerable. Cuts and bruises mapped constellations across his face, while stark white bandages peeked out from beneath the thin hospital gown. His skin had taken on the pale, waxy look of someone who'd lost too much blood. Only the steady drip of the IV and the shallow rise and fall of his chest proved he still lived.
The plastic chair by the bed protested loudly as Sleeser lowered himself into it, but he barely noticed the discomfort. All his attention was fixed on his former student's still form.
"Someone's here," Red's voice echoed through their shared consciousness, alert even in sleep.
"A visitor perhaps?" Blue's tone carried measured curiosity.
"Angelo..." The name escaped Sleeser's lips like a prayer, heavy with guilt and relief.
"Hold on..." Red's mental voice sharpened with recognition. "Sleeser? Is that really him?"
"The timbre matches," Blue confirmed, ever the analyst.
"Hey! Wake up! Our boring old teacher's here!" Red's voice rose to a mental shout that seemed to bounce off the walls of their shared mind. "ANGELO!"
"Have you lost what little sense you possess?" Blue's usually calm voice cracked with irritation. "He needs rest to heal!"
Sleeser watched Angelo's face contort, clearly caught in some internal struggle even while unconscious. It hurt to see him like this - so different from the determined young man he'd trained. "Even unconscious, you can't catch a break, can you?" he murmured, guilt settling on his shoulders like a lead weight. "The universe really does have it out for you, kid..."
"RISE AND SHINE, SLEEPING BEAUTY!" Red's mental voice reached a crescendo.
"I swear by all that's logical—" Blue's protest was cut short.
"WAAAAAKE UUUUUP!" Red's mental scream reverberated through their shared consciousness like a thunderclap.
Angelo's eyes snapped open, body jerking upright on instinct. "WHAT THE—ARGH!" The sudden movement pulled at his wounds, sending visible waves of agony across his face. He doubled over, one hand clutching at his bandaged chest as if trying to hold himself together. "RED! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"You have a guest," Red replied with infuriating casualness. "Just trying to be helpful."
Angelo's head whipped to the side, eyes widening as they landed on his former master. Sleeser sat frozen, his own considerable injuries temporarily forgotten in the face of this explosive awakening.
"Sleeser?" Angelo's voice cracked like thin ice, fingers unconsciously twisting in the cheap hospital sheets. Morning light carved deep shadows under his eyes, highlighting both old scars and fresh cuts across his features.
Sleeser attempted a reassuring smile, but worry made it wobble at the edges. "Quite a night you had, from what I hear." He tried for his usual playful tone, but concern bled through like water through paper. "Taking on an Evolved Auron and living to tell about it? That's something else, kiddo." The forced lightness in his voice couldn't hide the fear etched into the lines around his eyes.
Angelo's gaze dropped to his hands, now clenched into white-knuckled fists atop the blanket. "I..." His voice caught in his throat like something sharp and painful. "I lost him, Sleeser. My trainee. I got him killed." The words fell between them like stones, each one heavy with guilt and grief.
The color drained from Sleeser's face, his own injuries momentarily forgotten in the face of this revelation. "Your what?"
The story poured out of Angelo like a breaking dam - every detail crystal clear despite his exhaustion. He spoke of Bill's earnest smile and unwavering faith, painting a picture of a young man whose enthusiasm for life had been infectious. His voice grew hollow as he described following seemingly harmless rumors through Novaria's streets, only to walk straight into the Grim Reaper's trap. When he reached the deadly dance of combat and Bill's final, devastating sacrifice, his words became clipped and clinical - as if emotional distance was the only way he could bear to relate it. Even describing his evolution, triggered by overwhelming loss and rage, came out like a medical report rather than the life-changing moment it had been.
Sleeser sat motionless in the hard hospital chair as Angelo's story unfolded, his eyes closed against the harsh morning light. Pain etched deep lines in his face that had nothing to do with his physical wounds. Sunlight caught the traces of gray threading through his usually vibrant hair, making him look older and more vulnerable than Angelo had ever seen. When he finally spoke, his voice came out barely above a whisper. "An emotional evolution," he murmured, the words hanging in the antiseptic air like mist. "Those are rare... usually it takes being at death's door to trigger such a change. That's how it happened to me."
Angelo's head snapped up so fast the room spun, his vision swimming with black spots. His eyes went wide as the implications hit him like a physical blow. "You're... you're an Evolved Auron?" The words started as a shocked whisper but rose quickly, disbelief giving way to hot anger that brought color flooding back to his pale cheeks. "Then why weren't you there?! If you'd been investigating the Grim Reaper, Bill would still be—" His voice cracked and shattered like thin ice, the possibilities too painful to voice. The mere thought of how things might have been different felt like reopening a fresh wound.
"Angelo..." Sleeser shifted in his chair, the movement cautious and controlled. For the first time, Angelo truly saw the extent of his mentor's injuries - the way he held his torso rigid to protect cracked ribs, the layers of bandages visible beneath his borrowed hospital clothes, the tiny grimaces of pain that flickered across his face with each breath. "I wasn't around. These injuries..." He gestured at his battered body with a wince. "They tell their own story."
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Shame crashed over Angelo like a wave, weighing him down until his hands trembled against the thin hospital blanket. "What do I do, Sleeser?" The question came out as barely more than a breath, raw desperation making his voice shake. "How do I keep going after this?"
Sleeser's stern expression softened, new worry lines etching themselves around his eyes as he chose his next words with visible care. "That's not an easy question to answer, kiddo." He leaned forward despite the pain it clearly caused him. "I can't truly know your pain, but..." His voice caught, thick with emotion. "The thought of losing you? It helps me understand. At least a little."
Angelo looked up sharply, caught off guard by the naked feeling in his usually composed mentor's voice.
"But you have something many others don't," Sleeser continued, his tone growing firmer, more purposeful. "You heard his last words, his final wishes. That's a gift, Angelo, though it might not feel like one right now." He paused, weighing each word like precious stones. "And there's something else - something you need to do, even though it'll be one of the hardest things you've ever faced. You need to visit his mother."
Angelo's breath caught in his throat like a physical thing, his chest tightening around the mere thought.
"I know Chief Ramirez has already been there," Sleeser pressed on gently but firmly, "but she needs to hear from you too. Needs to hear her son's last words from the person who was there. If you don't..." His voice grew softer, understanding tempering the steel. "It'll eat at you, bit by bit, until there's nothing left but regret."
"He speaks wisdom," Blue's measured tones resonated through their shared consciousness like ripples in still water. "Mrs. Dealer deserves to hear how her son died a hero."
Angelo stared at the blank hospital wall, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions that played across his face like shadows. Sleeser watched the internal battle rage before slowly, painfully pushing himself to his feet. "I'll be in room 404 if you need me. After you've spoken with her..." He left the invitation hanging in the air as he made his way to the door, each step careful and measured like a man walking on broken glass.
"He's right," Angelo whispered to the empty room, the words barely stirring the still air. Moving sent spears of pain through his torso, but he forced himself through the motions - removing the IV with practiced care, changing into his street clothes despite protesting muscles. His orange aura flickered to life like a guttering candle, a tendril of smoky energy reaching out to ease the window open. Moments later he found himself on the streets of Novaria, each step a careful negotiation with his injured body.
"This is going to take forever," he thought, frustration mounting as pain forced him to maintain a civilian's slow pace.
"Let us help," Red's voice carried an unusual gentleness that made Angelo pause. "Activate your aura. Give us a chance to recharge, and we'll carry you there."
Angelo's orange aura sprang to life around him like a protective cocoon, though the effort made his wounds throb in protest. They paused in a small park where morning dew still jeweled the grass. Red emerged in a swirl of crimson smoke that coalesced like gathering storm clouds.
"Finally!" Red stretched dramatically, his form seeming to drink in the freedom of materialization. "Being cooped up like that, felt like being trapped in a box for centuries!" His face split into that characteristic wild grin as he turned to Angelo. "But now? Now I get to try something new!"
Red's crimson aura erupted around him like a sunrise, but there was something different about it - something more. The energy writhed and grew until it resembled living flames, raw power radiating from him in waves that made the air itself vibrate.
Angelo's eyes widened as understanding struck. "You can evolve too?"
"It's logical," Blue's analytical voice cut through their shared consciousness like a knife through fog. "Our forms are perfect replicas of yours, sharing even injuries. Evolution should be no different."
"Time for a test drive!" Red's grin turned wicked as a tendril of forged energy - solid and real as any physical thing - wrapped around Angelo's waist like a safety harness. "Buckle up!"
"Wait, this is a terrible ideAAAAH!" Angelo's protest transformed into a startled yelp as Red launched them both skyward, his newly evolved power letting them soar over buildings like birds taking wing.
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The Dealer house stood before them like a mountain Angelo had to climb. Every detail from their last visit stabbed at his heart - the neat flower beds Bill's mother tended with such care, the brass nameplate that had sparked playful jokes just days ago, the green door where they'd last seen her standing as Bill bounded off to what would be his final patrol. The morning light cast the modest home in gentle colors that felt like a mockery of his grief.
Angelo's raised fist trembled in the cool air, knuckles frozen inches from the door. Behind him, Red bounded away toward a nearby park, his newly evolved power crackling around him like bottled lightning as he sought distraction. The departure left Angelo truly alone with his task, each breath feeling like lifting weights as he finally forced himself to knock. He found himself silently bargaining with the universe, pleading that no one would answer.
The door's hinges creaked softly, the sound echoing through his bones like a funeral bell. Mrs. Dealer stood in the doorway, her appearance a testament to a mother's grief - eyes red and swollen from endless tears, dark shadows beneath them speaking of a night spent in sleepless anguish. The sight hit Angelo harder than any physical blow. She studied him for a long moment, sorrow etched into every line of her face, before stepping aside without a word. The invitation in her gesture was clear as daylight.
Angelo crossed the threshold into a home that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. Family photos lined the hallway walls, while the air carried that indefinable scent of a place filled with love and memories. His heart clenched tighter with each detail his eyes absorbed. When the door clicked shut behind him, it sounded final as a jail cell closing.
"I was hoping you would come," she said, her voice rough like someone who had screamed their grief into pillows until her throat was raw.
"Mrs... Mrs. Dealer, I-" The words caught in his throat, sharp as broken glass.
"Please," she interrupted with unexpected gentleness, "call me Miriam."
That simple kindness shattered something inside him. "I don't understand," he burst out, composure cracking like thin ice. "You should hate me! You should be screaming, throwing things, blaming me! It's my fault that... that..." His voice died as his throat closed around the awful truth.
Without speaking, Miriam pulled out her phone, fingers shaking slightly as they navigated to a saved message. The timestamp showed last night, and Angelo's heart seemed to stop beating entirely.
"Mom... I have to be quick." Bill's voice filled the hallway, slightly tinged with static but unmistakably, heartbreakingly him. Chaos roared in the background - destruction and that awful laughing that raised goosebumps on Angelo's arms. "Me and Angelo, we're in a tight spot. He ordered me to run, but I..." The pause carried the weight of destiny. "I can't leave him to die, Mom! He reminds me so much of Dad, and... he's like the big brother I never had!"
Tears blurred Angelo's vision until the hallway became a watercolor painting. Each word from the recording stabbed deeper than any wound.
"Mom, listen - if something happens to me... you can't blame Angelo for this, I forbid it! And if something does happen... I'm so sorry, Mom... I love you." The message ended with devastating finality, followed by a cascade of increasingly desperate messages from Miriam that would forever go unanswered.
When Angelo managed to lift his gaze, he found Miriam's eyes swimming with an ocean of pain, but completely devoid of the hatred he had expected - had perhaps hoped for, as fitting punishment for his failure.
"My son saw a brother in you," she said, voice steady despite the tears trailing down her cheeks. "To hate you or blame his passing on you would dishonor his sacrifice and go against everything he believed in."
Outside in the park, Red stood unnaturally still, his usual manic energy snuffed out as he listened through their shared connection. His evolved aura flickered and died like a flame in strong wind.
"If you were a brother to him," Miriam continued, eyes closing as fresh tears escaped, "then you are a son to me. Those were his wishes..." Her voice caught like a snag in fabric. "And they are mine as well."
Something deep inside Angelo - some wall he'd built brick by brick around his grief - came crashing down all at once. Tears spilled freely as he covered his eyes with his sleeve, shoulders shaking with the force of silent sobs. In that moment, all his carefully constructed identities fell away - he wasn't the fearsome Angel of Death, wasn't an evolved Auron with newfound power, wasn't even an officer of the law. He was just a lost boy who'd never known a mother's love, drowning in grief for a brother he hadn't realized he needed until it was too late.
Miriam stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, enveloping him in warmth that felt like everything he imagined home should be. The sensation was so foreign, so achingly unfamiliar, that it only made his tears flow faster. They stood there together, two broken hearts finding solace in shared loss, while morning light painted shifting patterns across the floor through their tear-blurred eyes.
"I heard about your evolution," she said softly, still holding him like something precious. "They say emotional evolutions like yours are incredibly rare... that they come from pain so deep the body changes just to survive."
Angelo could only nod against her shoulder, not trusting his voice to hold steady.
"He must have meant so much to you," she whispered, the words gentle as a lullaby.
"He did," Angelo managed, voice rough as sandpaper as they finally separated. "I'd never met anyone like him before. His positivity, his courage, his energy... No one had ever..." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "He really was like a little brother to me."
Gathering what remained of his composure like scattered autumn leaves, Angelo straightened his spine. "Mrs. Deal-- Miriam... I need to tell you his final words. It wouldn't be right if you didn't hear them."
She went perfectly still, giving a small nod of permission, bracing herself like someone preparing for a physical blow.
Angelo drew in a shaky breath that made his injured ribs protest. "He... he thought of you, even then. Knew how much this would hurt you. But he was still himself until the end - said you were 'gonna kill him' for this." They shared a smile that held more pain than joy. "Then he told me I wasn't bound by my limits, that I could reach the top - wanted me to compete in the Arch Tournament, I think." Miriam's hand flew to her mouth as fresh tears spilled over her fingers. "He told me to show everyone what the Angel of Death truly means... said he believed in me..."
She took a moment to compose herself, though tears still traced silent paths down her cheeks like rain on a window. "Thank you, Angelo," she said softly, then hesitated. "Could... could I ask you for a favor?"
"Of course," Angelo replied, nervous energy making him shift his weight from foot to foot. "Anything."
"Your evolved aura - would you show me?" The request hung in the air, seemingly at odds with the heavy emotion of the moment.
Angelo blinked in surprise but nodded. "S-sure..." He stepped out into the morning light, each movement still carrying the stiffness of his injuries. Drawing a deep breath that made his wounds throb, he called forth his aura. The orange energy flickered around him like a living flame, growing more intense as he channeled more power. With a final grunt of effort that pulled at his healing wounds, he transformed - his evolved state casting dancing shadows across the front yard like a miniature sunrise.
"I'm an energy Auron," he explained, forming a sphere of pure power between his palms. "My evolved ability lets me do this..." The energy shifted visibly, its fundamental nature changing before their eyes. The glow remained constant, but something about it altered in a way that defied easy description. "It's called 'Forged Energy' - it becomes tangible, like solidified energy..." He demonstrated by reshaping it into a shield on his arm, feeling awkward under her intense scrutiny.
To his alarm, Miriam burst into fresh tears.
"What's wrong?" Angelo asked, panic rising in his chest like a tide. "Did I-"
"Don't you see?" she interrupted, voice thick with emotion. "This forged energy... it's Bill." Her words struck him like summer lightning. "He's become your shield, protecting you wherever you go..."
Angelo stared at the crystallized energy on his arm, understanding dawning in his eyes as a bittersweet smile spread across his face. "Yeah... I think you're right."
"One last thing," Miriam said, wiping at her tears with the edge of her sleeve. "When they ask to interview you - and they will - please say yes. Tell everyone about Bill's heroism. Let his memory and legacy live on in their hearts."
Angelo nodded solemnly, the weight of this new responsibility settling across his shoulders like a mantle. "I will. I promise."
As he turned to leave, her hand caught his arm with gentle urgency. "Please visit sometimes," she said softly, her voice carrying hope beneath the grief. "You could... you could even live here if you wanted. Chief Ramirez told me about your family. This way..." her voice wavered like a candle flame. "This way neither of us would have to be alone."
The offer hit Angelo like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs. His sparse apartment - the only home he'd known since leaving the orphanage - flashed through his mind. The concept of family had been nothing more than a distant dream for so long, something that happened to other people. Now here it was, being offered freely, and he didn't know how to process it.
"That's..." Words scattered like startled birds, leaving him grasping at empty air.
"You don't need to answer now," she assured him, managing a watery smile that held echoes of Bill's warmth. "Just think about it. I know you blame yourself, but... my door is always open for you."
"Thank you, Miriam," he managed, the simple words feeling hopelessly inadequate against the magnitude of her offer. "I'll consider it."
As he walked away to meet Red in the park, his heart felt like it was being pulled in opposite directions - lighter from a forgiveness he hadn't dared hope for, heavier with the responsibility of honoring Bill's memory and the unexpected gift of a potential home. The morning sun stretched his shadow long across the dewy grass, but for the first time since Bill's death, that darkness trailing behind him didn't feel like an accusation. Instead, it felt almost like a companion, walking with him into whatever came next.
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Evening shadows crept like cautious cats across the hospital walls when Angelo first heard them - the eager murmur of voices behind his door, feet shuffling against polished floors, camera shutters clicking like mechanical crickets. He'd known this was coming, had been steeling himself for it since his promise to Miriam. Each movement pulled at his healing wounds as he pushed himself up from the bed and approached the door.
The scene beyond hit him like a wall of sound and motion - reporters packed shoulder to shoulder, held back only by the stern-faced nurses who formed a human barrier. Cameras and microphones jutted forward like spears, while notepads fluttered in anxious hands like nervous birds. The moment Angelo appeared in the doorway, silence dropped over the crowd as if someone had thrown a heavy blanket over them all.
Then chaos erupted. Questions burst forth like water from a broken dam, voices climbing over each other until the words melted into meaningless noise. Fluorescent lights caught camera lenses and made them glitter like predators' eyes in the dark, all fixed on him with unwavering focus.
Angelo's eyes flashed orange like signal flares. "Silence," he commanded, his voice carrying a weight that had nothing to do with volume. The effect rippled through the crowd like a stone dropped in still water - reporters falling quiet as one, bodies unconsciously straightening as if called to attention.
When his eyes returned to their natural brown, that same authority remained in his bearing. "I will tell you everything," he said, words cutting cleanly through the hushed corridor. "No questions. Just listen." The reporters exchanged uncertain glances before nodding agreement, microphones tilting toward him with trembling anticipation.
He stood with his back against his door, using it like a shield to hide his room number - one last piece of privacy in this moment of public testimony. Red recording lights winked at him from dozens of cameras like dying stars in the artificial hospital lighting. Yet despite all those eyes pressing in on him, Angelo felt oddly calm. The words rose from somewhere deeper than thought, carried on the strength of his promise to a grieving mother.
"My name is Angelo," he began, each word dropping into the silence like stones into still water. "Some know me as the Angel of Death. Two years ago, at sixteen, I joined the police through a special program for promising Aurons. After training, I earned my place in Novaria's Auron division. Almost a week ago, I was assigned to mentor a new recruit - Bill Dealer." His voice softened on the name like someone handling something precious.
"Neither of us knew we were walking into a trap set by the serial killer known as the Grim Reaper - perhaps chosen as a mockery of my own given title. In the confrontation that followed, Bill lost his life." Angelo paused, eyes closing briefly as if against physical pain. When they opened again, they blazed with fierce pride.
"Bill Dealer was the bravest person I have ever known. He saved my life three times - first against Infernian terrorists, then twice more against the Grim Reaper herself. A sixteen-year-old rookie saved his superior officer without hesitation, without fear." His voice grew stronger with each word, carrying the weight of sworn testimony. "I want every household in Novaria to know what a hero this earnest, enthusiastic young man was. I want his name remembered not for how he died, but for how he lived - with unwavering courage and unshakeable faith."
Angelo's voice softened to something intimate, as if he'd forgotten the cameras entirely and was speaking directly to a ghost. "Bill, I will never forget you or your smile. Thank you for everything, and rest in peace... my brother."
Without another word, he turned and walked away through the parting crowd. Questions exploded behind him like fireworks, but they felt distant and meaningless. His mind was already reaching ahead - to old mysteries about his parents still waiting to be solved, to new promises that demanded keeping.
He had awakened this morning to a reality grimmer than any he'd known, to bitter truths and an abyss of despair that had seemed bottomless. But his conversations with Miriam and Sleeser had given him something unexpected - not just purpose, but permission to live, to grow, to honor the memory of the one who had believed in him until the very end.
Tomorrow would bring new beginnings. Tomorrow, he would start walking the path that Bill had believed he could travel - not just as the Angel of Death, but as something more. Something worthy of a brother's sacrifice and a mother's grace.
As night settled over the hospital like a gentle blanket, Angelo closed his eyes, feeling his evolved power thrumming through his veins like a second heartbeat - Bill's final gift, his eternal protection. Tomorrow would come with its own challenges, but for now, he let himself rest in the knowledge that somewhere, somehow, Bill was still smiling that earnest, unwavering smile.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to light the way forward.