The tension in Angelo's small apartment felt heavy, suffocating. Sleeser pressed on and repeated himself "Is this article talking about you, Angelo? Are you this 'Angel of Death'?"

In their shared thoughts Red's voice echoed playfully "I get the feeling he already knows. No point in hiding it Angie,"

Angelo's eyes went hard as steel, but he nodded without hesitation. "It is. I'm doing what needs to be done. I'm weeding out those who are beyond redemption."

The words seemed to suck all the air out of the tiny apartment. Sleeser's mind raced, but he kept his voice steady "How does one determine who is beyond redemption though?"

"If staring death in the face doesn't change a man... nothing will." Angelo's answer shot back like a bullet.

The color drained from Sleeser's face. Those words - he'd said them himself, years ago. A memory hit him like a punch to the gut: little Angelo trembling, covered in blood, after that horrible day. He'd said those exact words, trying to comfort a scared kid who'd seen too much. But he never imagined they'd lead to this.

For a moment, Sleeser could only stare at his former student, all his usual confidence gone like smoke in the wind.

"What's wrong teach?" Red leaned forward, his grin spreading wider, more sinister. "We're just doing what you told us, like good students!" He chuckled as if he couldn't say that with a straight face.

"As if you ever cared for the academics." Blue sounded almost offended.

"But this isn't what I meant..." Sleeser whispered, barely loud enough to hear.

"Couldn't catch that?" Red extended his ear as if to magnify Sleeser's voice, making Angelo give him a stern disapproving look.

Guilt pressed down on him like a physical weight, but he pushed it aside. He couldn't deal with that right now. "I never meant for you to take it this far, Angelo. Not like this."

Angelo stood like a statue, unmoved. "You said it yourself, Sleeser. But if I must repeat myself, fine. If the prospect of dying, isn't enough to make someone change their ways. Nothing will. What's the point of letting them go on? To wreak more havoc?"

Sleeser looked away, running fingers through his spiky hair as frustration tied his chest in knots. "I said those words to help you make peace with a hard choice... not to lead you down this path."

Silence filled the room like thick smoke. Sleeser pushed himself up from the chair and walked to the door, each step heavy as lead. His hand stayed on the doorknob as that old memory flashed again - that terrified little boy, shaking, his eyes huge with horror at what he'd had to do.

The sigh that escaped Sleeser seemed to come from his very soul. "I'm sorry, Angelo. I thought I was helping you..."

He let those words hang in the air for a moment. "Be careful. This isn't the kind of strength I wanted for you. One day, you'll understand what I mean."

Then he was gone, leaving nothing but thick, heavy silence behind.

As the door clicked shut, the apartment walls seemed to close in like a shrinking box. Angelo stood frozen, his old teacher's words bouncing around in his head. For the first time since he'd become the Angel of Death, a tiny seed of doubt took root in his mind.

He turned his focus inward, like looking into a dark room where he knew someone was waiting. "Blue," he called out, his voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. "You were awfully quiet during all of that. Why don't you come out and share your opinion on the matter?"

After a moment's pause, blue smoke curled up from nowhere, twisting itself into another grayer copy of Angelo. Blue's steady eyes met Angelo's burning ones without flinching.

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"You've been silent this whole time," Angelo said, accusation creeping into his voice as he paced the room. "I want to hear what you think about all this."

Blue stood perfectly still, calm as a frozen lake compared to Red's wildfire energy. When he spoke, his words came out careful and measured, like someone weighing gold. "Angelo, I can't tell you if what you're doing is right or wrong. The world isn't black and white. What some people think is right might be wrong to others and vice versa. Even if my opinion differed from yours, it wouldn't matter. Who's to say my opinion is right and who's to say yours is wrong?"

Angelo's eyes flashed orange like warning lights. "Enough with your cryptic shit. What are you trying to say?"

Red leaned against the wall, watching them argue like someone enjoying a good show. A trouble-maker's grin spread across his face as his eyes bounced between them like he was watching a tennis match.

Blue didn't back down from Angelo's glowing glare, instead his eyes lit up in kind - piercing blue "What I'm saying is, you must do what You believe is right. Every choice has its consequences. So choose the path whose consequences you can live with."

Angelo stood there thinking for a moment, then his eyes faded back to normal. "Very well. In that case, I stand by my earlier convictions. If I let criminals who are beyond change go, one day they'll just end up hurting people again. Then it's on me. And that's not something I'm willing to live with. If they call me the Angel of Death for that... so be it."

As Blue's form started breaking apart into smoke again, his last words hung in the air: "Just be aware, there will be times that put your convictions to the test."

Angelo squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw set like iron. "I'm sure."

Red's laugh echoed off the walls as his form dissolved too. "You two are just overthinking things. Do what you believe is right, consequences be damned!"

Then Angelo was alone in the quiet apartment, the weight of his choices pressing down on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. The Angel of Death had risen - but the real test of what that meant was just beginning.

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While Angelo was reaffirming his convictions, far away from Novaria's busy streets, in the gleaming capital city of Luminia, something was shifting in the shadows, making them restless . A man stood in one of those fancy offices where powerful people make dangerous decisions. His shoes sank into thick carpets as he gripped a plain folder, trying not to show how nervous he felt. Behind him, huge windows showed the city sparkling below like scattered jewels.

The only light came from a cigarette glowing in the darkness like a tiny red star. Its owner sat behind an expensive desk, smoke curling around her face like ghostly fingers. She had the kind of presence that made people stand straighter without being told. She didn't speak, just waved one hand for the man to get on with it.

He cleared his throat, papers rustling. "The monthly threat assessment, madam," he said, keeping his voice flat and professional. "We've identified several developments that warrant attention."

She took a long drag from her cigarette, the ember brightening like a warning light. In the brief glow, her eyes looked ancient and knowing. She blew out a stream of smoke that danced between them like a living thing.

"Our intelligence from the Infernian border is... concerning." He shifted his weight, papers crinkling in his grip. "Their military exercises have tripled, but what's really troubling are these unmarked supply trucks moving around at night. And with the New Light Festival just weeks away..." He didn't finish the thought. He didn't have to.

The cigarette made a soft tink as she tapped it against a crystal ashtray. "Continue."

"Next, one of Them has started poking around our facilities." His shoulders tensed up like he was expecting a blow. "One of their stranger members. The reports say they're not following their normal rules."

She stabbed out her cigarette and lit another in one smooth motion. The lighter's flame showed her face for a second - beautiful, but hard, like it had been carved from marble by years of making impossible choices.

"Anything in Luminia?" she asked, smoke trailing from her lips.

"There's this... situation in Novaria." He licked his lips nervously. "They've got themselves a vigilante. Goes by the 'Angel of Death' - he's an Auron cop who gives criminals two options: surrender or death."

Her hand froze halfway to her mouth, cigarette forgotten as smoke twisted up like a question mark. "How strong is he?"

"That's the thing, madam - he's actually quite weak. Despite all the scary stories, our watchers say his power level is surprisingly low. He just handles regular street criminals, and even then, his energy output is... underwhelming."

The silence that followed felt like the moment before lightning strikes. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but sharp as a razor. "And yet you thought he was important enough to put in this report. Why?"

"Because we found a... connection, madam." His voice dropped so low she had to lean forward to hear. "If he starts asking certain questions..."

Her cigarette stopped moving toward the ashtray, hanging in the air like time itself had paused. "What connection?"

Without a word, he pulled a thin file from his folder and placed it on her desk as if he was handling a bomb.