The house lay cloaked within the shroud of night, its front yard drenched in inky shadows as the gate closed behind him with a muted creak. His eyes were glued to the diamond-studded sky as he walked across the cobblestone path, each twinkling star a reminder of the aspirations that drove him. With an air of practiced importance, he entered the dimly lit foyer, where the rich aroma of aged wood and polished leather filled the air. A chill ran down his spine as he closed the wooden door, the memory of his son's longing gaze — a sea of regret he could never forget — haunting him like a relentless specter.

'... no; they can't be a mistake,' he shook off the thought, his mind attempting to push away the gnawing doubt that continued to claw at the edges of his consciousness; the nobleman clenched his gloved hands, the satin fabric rustling with tension as he made his way through the narrow hallway. 'Everything I did — the deals, the alliances, the sacrifices — all for the betterment of our family's name... for Lechter.'

Step by deliberate step, he moved deeper into the heart of the house, his path guided by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the heavy curtains. His shoes whispered against the hardwood floors as he walked, a clandestine dance choreographed in the name of secrecy. Reaching his hand towards the knob by the hallway's end, he turned the metal with a slow, silent precision. The mechanism yielded only a subtle, restrained click as the door swung open, revealing a world of mahogany and mellowed wisdom.

He surveyed the room, his eyes tracing over the rows of leather-bound books and the antique furniture, all testaments to his aspirations and wealth; a single banner, adorned with the embroidered insignia of his not-quite noble rank, hung proudly upon the paneled wall.

The nobleman allowed a sigh of relief to escape from his lips before he unclasped the ornate brooch holding his coat together, the move revealing the white sapphire-lined vest beneath. He turned his attention toward the cabinet that stood near the window, his steps a measured cadence as he approached its dark, gleaming surface. The sight of amber, shimmering like liquid gold, was a familiar and welcome friend. With a deliberate gesture, he poured himself a glass, the soft gurgle breaking the silence in the stillness of the night; it called out to him with the allure of power and privilege, beckoning him with its promise of escape.

'Soon...' He thought as the glass filled to the brim, his fingers brushing the cool surface; he took a slow, contemplative sip, letting the fiery elixir dance across his tongue — the rich flavors burst forth, awakening his senses as it flowed down his throat. '... soon, everything will fall into place.'

Soft, iridescent light filtered through the fake crystal chandelier above, its translucent fringes casting fractured rainbows across the room as he set the glass down upon the edge of his meticulously arranged desk — the polished surface adorned with documents, contracts, and letters that held the keys to his ambitions. A single portrait of a young boy lay in the corner of his vision; it served as a reminder of what was at stake, a constant source of both motivation and heartache that continued to drive him onward.

Leaning against the desk, the nobleman cast his gaze upon the unfinished letter, its parchment resting neatly beneath the weight of a quill. His mind raced with a torrent of conflicting emotions as he took off his coat, the fabric — a rich tapestry of maroon and silver — sliding off his shoulders before he draped it over the rack by the window, its silken lining catching the meager light like a piece of forgotten glory.

With a heavy exhale, the nobleman proceeded to settle into the plush, burgundy chair, his fingers absently tracing the ornate designs etched into the armrests while its cushion yielded to the contours of his form. His heart raced as he reached for the quill, the feathered tip poised above the parchment as he prepared himself to continue the letter that could very well serve to alter the course of their life.

'Wait for me, Lechter,' his palm brushed the smooth surface of the desk, his fingers trembling slightly as his vision flickered towards the clock hanging on the wall — its brass hands creeping ever closer upon the midnight's realm. 'Come what may, we will both get the respect we deserve...'

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It was... different, he realized — the rifle sounding more like a boom rather than the rapid cracks that he had come to associate with the weapon.

The room began to fill with the choking plumes of smoke as he dove to the side, his knees scraping against the rough wooden floor as he angled his body to slide behind the upturned, tattered couch. Flames danced on the furniture, casting flickering shadows that writhed with every breath, while the wooden beams above groaned in protest, the rafters threatening to collapse at any moment. They added to the chaotic ambiance of the burning house, creating a symphony of destruction that played as the backdrop to their fierce battle.

"You're dead, Boy!" The Jaeger growled, his voice a menacing snarl as the floor creaked beneath his heavy boots. "Do you hear me!? Dead!"

The sound of gunfires rang in his ear, and he could feel each reverberating impact as he gripped at the edge of the curtain that had somehow managed to survive the fire's relentless assault. With a swift, and desperate yank, he tore the fabric from its rusted hooks; dust and splinters exploded into the air, the curtain resting momentarily in his hand before he flung the piece of cloth towards the Jaeger.

"D-damned brat; stay still, you little-!" The makeshift shroud billowed within the confined space, obscuring the mercenary's vision as the man fumbled to regain his aim.

'Perfect...'

While the move might not be enough to get him out of his predicament, it had nonetheless bought him the split-second he needed...

His adrenaline fueled instincts took over as he closed the distance, and with a single burst of speed, he lunged towards the Jaeger. The winds parted as he swung his sword in a deadly arc, his bare feet treading upon the charred remnants of a once-loved home — each step sending traces of embers scattering into the air. Metal met metal, the two steel clashing in a shower of sparks as his adversary attempted to parry the assault with his rifle.

Yet... his attempt was not to be.

The young man twisted his body, his muscles straining as he pushed against the Jaeger's weapon; the mercenary's grip wavered, and in that momentary show of weaknesses, the blade found its mark. His sword slid across the Jaeger's rifle, slicing through the barrel and forcing the weapon from the mercenary's grasp. It tumbled to the side, clattering against the burning debris as the man stumbled back.

"F-fuck!"

Nonetheless, the Jaeger was far from defeated; his combat-honed reflexes kicked in, and he swiftly rolled to the side, reaching for the sidearm holstered on his belt. The gun was drawn, and the air was quickly filled with the deafening cracks as shots rang out. Pain seared through his flesh, and the room seemed to shrink around them as the young man began to once again close the distance with a single-minded focus. He could feel the Jaeger's shots grazing his side, the bullets tearing through his clothing and leaving stinging welts in their wake. Still, one shot struck true, causing him to lose his grip on his sword — the weapon clattering to the floor just slightly out of reach.

Before the Jaeger could take another shot, the young man ducked and then delivered a powerful spinning kick, his boot connecting with the Jaeger's wrist. The impact was enough to knock the sidearm from the mercenary's grip, sending the weapon spinning away into the fiery chaos.

Fists and elbows flew, and their bodies collided with brute force. The Jaeger's heavy armor clanked with each movement — giving him a slight advantage in terms of offense and defense — while the young man's speed and agility allowed him the opportunities for quick, precise retaliations. He could feel the heat from the flames licking at his heels as he danced around his adversary, his feet becoming a blur as they landed strikes after strikes against the Jaeger's armored form.

As the fight raged on, the mercenary's frustration grew. He reached for the dagger hidden within his sleeve, and in a desperate attempt to regain the upper hand, he drew the weapon and lunged forward — the edge of the blade leaving a searing trail that welled with crimson. Pain erupted from the gash, and the young man could taste the coppery tang in his mouth as his hand rose to touch the fresh wound.

'Shit... this is bad.'

In truth, he had never been in a fight like this — a fight where the stakes were so high, and every move could mean the difference between life and death...

"Ha! Not so tough now, aren't you, you little punk!?" The man sneered, his wicked grin widening as he twirled the dagger in his hand. "Come on, then; let's finish this..."

His heart pounded in his chest as he dodged another swipe of the Jaeger's blade; the scent of blood and smoke filled his nostrils, and the heat of the burning house bore down upon him like an oppressive weight. He took a step back, his eyes scanning his surroundings for an opportunity to escape, even when deep down, the young man knew that running away had never been an option... not for him and certainly not for the villagers that were being slaughtered outside. Still, that doesn't mean that he's going to go down without a fight. Those two are counting on him, and he was not about to let them down. Not now, not ever...

'... Aidios, be my strength.'

He gritted his teeth and suppressed the sudden trembling in his hands, trying to calm his nerves as he focused on the Jaeger in front of him. The man was large and muscular, with scars criss-crossing his cheek and a wicked grin plastered on his face. If there was any doubt that the man was enjoying himself, then the glint in his eyes and the way he wielded his blade like a toy was evidence enough.

With a sharp intake of breath, he braced himself for another attack, his mind racing to come up with a plan. Should he try to disarm him? Or should he try to play it safe?

"Why won't you just die!?"

His thoughts, however, were interrupted as the Jaeger made his move, lunging forward with his blade aimed straight at his face; the young man's instincts kicked in, and he dove to the side, barely avoiding the blade as it sliced through the air. He rolled onto his feet and sprang into action, his knuckle connecting with the armored plate of the Jaeger as he attempted to retaliate with a quick jab of his own; pain pulsed through his hand as it made contact, and he could feel the shockwaves travel up his arm — his skin breaking under the force of the impact.

The Jaeger snarled, grabbing him by the collar and tossing him across the room. His back slammed into the wall, the collision sending a jolt of pain coursing through his body; sweats dripped down his forehead as he tried to push himself onto his feet, the watery beads blurring his vision as he turned his gaze and looked towards his opponent.

'For fu- this is ridiculous!'

With another blood-curdling scream, the man attempted to lunge at him once more — the dagger in his hand glinting in the flickering light of the flames. Still, this time, the young man was ready. He sidestepped the blade and grabbed hold of the Jaeger's arm, using his own body weight to push him off balance; they proceeded to stumble to the floor, rolling and grappling as they fought for control. Their bodies twisted and turned, his muscles straining as they both struggled for dominance, his fingers digging into the Jaeger's wrist in a white-knuckled grip. He could feel the sharp tip of the blade pressing against his throat, the cold metal threatening to end his life in one swift motion — his heart raced in his chest, his mind a blur of fear and desperation as tears of crimson began to trickle down his neck.

In a split-second decision, the young man diverted the attack, twisting his body so hard that the dagger ended up plunging into his left shoulder instead. Pain exploded through his body as the blade sunk in deep, his muscles spasming as he fought to stay conscious; blood spurted from the wound, staining his black shirt red as he used his hand to grab at the offending limb. With a resounding cry, he proceeded to slam his head into the Jaeger's face, his skull colliding against the man's nose with a sickening crunch. The force of the impact sent the Jaeger stumbling backwards, his grip loosening enough for the young man to free himself and stumble to his feet.

He couldn't help but wince as he spared a look at the wound on his shoulder, his hand gripping the hilt of the weapon that was still lodged inside his flesh. Stream of red flowed down his limb as he pulled the dagger out, the liquid pooling beneath his feet as his teeth gritted in a conscious effort to numb out the pain. A feral growl escaped from his lips as he took a step forward, and with the last of his strength, he flung himself towards the now incapacitated man.

The Jaeger — disoriented and reeling from the devastating strike — attempted to recover, yet in the end, it was too late. With a swift and deliberate motion, he thrust the dagger into the gap between the mercenary's armor, the blade sliding across the segmented plates with a deafening scrape. Blood and gore spewed out as the dagger found its mark, puncturing the Jaeger's flank with brutal precision; the agonized screams of his adversary filled the room as the steel pushed past the layers of muscle and sinew, causing a grotesque spray of blood to erupt from the wound, and the metallic stench of the man's life-giving fluid to permeate the air.

More crimson torrents poured out from the mangled gap as he wrenched the weapon free, the liquid drenching the floor and his own trembling hands in a grotesque display of violence. The Jaeger's futile attempts to halt the bleeding only exacerbated the macabre scene; his fingers scrabbled at the shredded remains of his armor, and a guttural, choking sound escaped his throat as his life force began to ebb away. Without hesitation, he slammed his head against the mercenary's face once more — the impact sending the man's skull crashing back onto the floor below. The young man wasted no time in taking advantage of the situation, and with one final thrust, he drove the dagger straight into the Jaeger's exposed jugular — the blade finding its way towards the pliable flesh beneath, puncturing the artery and delivering a fatal wound. Blood bubbled up from the wound, the crimson liquid spilling over the mercenary's lips and chin in a mockery of life, his body convulsing as he tried to grasp for breath.

"Hah... hah... hah..."

The young man couldn't help but to stagger backward, his hands clutching at his chest as he attempted to calm the frenzied beating of his own heart. The carnage around him was gruesome and grisly; he could hear the sound of his own breathing, see the red smear that was spread across the floor… and he could smell the metallic tang of blood in the air.

It was all too much...

The bile that had threatened to rise ever since everything had first began came surging up his throat in a violent nauseatic wave, and he was forced to take a step to the side in order to avoid vomiting onto the body of the Jaeger. His vision swam, and the room spun as he retched, spewing the contents of his stomach onto the already soiled floor; the acrid taste of bile mixed with the metallic stench of death, creating a repugnant cocktail that filled his mouth and nose. He tried to focus on what was happening around him, yet his mind was foggy and his eyes were blurry. All he could see was the red stains on the floor, the pool of crimson growing larger and larger as he continued to heave, his body racked with convulsions.

"Hah... hah... hah... hah... hah..."

He wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand, trying to regain his composure. The adrenaline that had coursed through his veins during the life-or-death struggle was now dissipating, leaving him feeling weak and queasy. He leaned against the wall for support, his body trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and revulsion.

His mind was a jumbled mess, a chaotic whirlwind of emotions as the grim reality of what had just transpired finally began to settle in. Taking shaky steps away from the gruesome scene, he reached out in nothing more than an afterthought, his trembling hand snatching the fallen pistol from the floor — the metallic gleam of the weapon reflecting the flickering flames that continued to dance in the corner of his eyes; his fingers fumbled with the firearm, and he checked the remaining ammunition with a quick, and unsteady glance.

"Three rounds left..." He muttered to himself, his voice a weak and quivering whisper as he tried to take stock of the situation, his eyes going towards the mercenary in a vain attempt to locate any spare resources. 'Right... of course; it's just one thing after another.'

Gathering what little strength he had left, he turned to retrieve his sword, his muscles protesting each movement as he picked the weapon up; the blade — scorched from the flames that had engulfed the room — felt heavy in his grip, its weight serving as familiar comfort in the moment of chaos. The pain in his shoulder and the throbbing in his side acting as a constant reminder of the price he had paid for this desperate fight. His clothing was stained with crimson, and his vision occasionally blurred as he stumbled through the smoky haze of the burning house.

'Just a little bit more... Karin... Joshua...'

With a final, pained glance toward the Jaeger who had now become nothing more than a corpse, Leonhardt let out a long, shuddering breath and staggered towards the door — his boots leaving a thick trail of blood in their wake as he made his way out of the burning house.

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His wings sliced through the air, creating a gust of wind that rustled the leaves; their pristine feathers shimmered like stardust, catching the moonlight and refracting it in a dazzling display. The world around him seemed to blur, the moonlight bathing his figure in a resplendent radiance as he made an emergency descent into the depths of the forest. His legs absorbed the impact with a heavy thud, sending a shockwave throughout his body. He remained still for a moment, his chest heaving as his body trembled from exhaustion.

He had pushed himself too far, and the consequences were evident...

Sweat matted his face while his breath came in ragged gasps. An insidious headache throbbed behind his temples, each pulse a relentless reminder of the strain he had subjected himself to. Blood trickled from his nose, the liquid staining his pale lips in a shade of crimson; they proceeded to fall upon the forest floor, every single droplet leaving small, dark splotches amidst the lush underbrush beneath his feet.

'Hmm... well, I am afraid that it is as we had predicted.' The Archangel continued to linger in the corner of his mind, his voice a mere whisper amidst the serenity of the night. 'A direct utilization would be too much, not to mention the fact that you have yet to recover from the time you spent serving as the Great Seal... that, or His lack of presence might have affected us Angels more than I had initially expected.'

'... I'll manage.' With an unsteady hand, he reached up and wiped the blood from his lips, the metallic taste fresh on his tongue as he regained his footing — the pain in his body ignored in favor of focusing on the task at hand.

'Oh, I am certain that you will,' Helel's voice held a knowing resonance — an acknowledgment of the Wild Card's nature... the unwavering resolve and the bonds that had defined his journey. 'Regardless, are you truly fine with leaving them like this?'

'... it won't be a problem.' Minato whispered in his thoughts, his words carrying a sense of trust and conviction; with a slow exhale, he allowed a faint smile to touch his lips, a silent assurance to the Persona — and to himself — that the family would not be left defenseless.

In truth, he had heard enough... what little information he had learned about the mysterious knight had told him that the woman herself had posed no threat; she, too, desired to shield the family from harm, and while the reason behind her actions remained a mystery, he saw no reason to intervene in her particular endeavor, especially when the woman herself seemed to have had no intention in confronting him... though whether that decision would hold true in the long run, remained to be seen.

A slow, deliberate turn of his head brought his attention to the southern horizon, his keen perception dissecting the subtle clues that the night offered. In the silent depths of his thoughts, he considered his next course of action; his eyes — a steady and contemplative beacon amidst the forest's ever-shifting sea of darkness — scanned the distant shadows, past the moon-kissed treetops that swayed in the nocturnal breeze. The forest breathed with life around him, the rustling leaves and the distant hoot of an owl composing a soothing symphony... yet even so, the urgency in the air was undeniable; it weighed heavy upon him, seeping into his very bones — the unmistakable undercurrent of conflict and purpose that pulsed beneath the tranquil facade of the night.

'... and am I correct to assume that you will not be changing your mind?' Helel's question, a shimmering echo in the depths of his mind, stirred him from his contemplation.

It was a question that carried more weight than it should, a query that touched upon the very essence of his existence. Nonetheless, his response was a silent one — a smile, a mere upturn of the corners of his lips.

'Well, now... I suppose I should have expected something like this.' A sigh could be heard within the depths of his thoughts, one that held both exasperation and a touch of fond exasperation. 'Tell me, then... how many do you think you will be able to handle at the same time?'

'... two... maybe three; five would be pushing it.'

'Oh? That is quite the improvement, unfortunate as it is...' Helel's voice — deep and resonant — was laced with a soft chuckle, the Persona's celestial presence shimmering within the depths of his consciousness. 'Still, little Gabriel would be most aggrieved to know that she would not be able to lend you her power in a moment such as this; not to mention the other Personas... though considering the circumstances... well, I suggest you try for someone — or something — whose essence is much more... aligned, with your own.'

'... hmm.' The Wild Card accepted the words with a thoughtful nod, his eyes glancing upward as he began to contemplate his next course of action.

He understood what the Archangel was implying...

Attaining the Universe had granted him an understanding of the vast and diverse manifestations of the human psyche... yet even then, for all the experimentation and trials that he had undertaken in the last few days, he had to concede that harnessing these newfound... 'knowledges', was a complex and daunting task.

The Personas he had at his disposal were a diverse and powerful assortment, each with their own unique abilities and attributes; still, he knew of only four whose essence would resonate in harmony with his current state. One would be too powerful to risk assimilating with, their power so strong that the Wild Card wasn't even certain that he could wield their might with adequate control... at least, not in his present condition. The other two, however — while powerful in their own right — did not possess the attributes required for the task he had in mind.

That left him with only one — an entity whose essence aligned more closely with his own, especially considering his past experience with death.

'Ah... him. Of course; in hindsight, that is to be expected... though do forgive me for saying that I don't particularly like this idea of yours.' Helel remarked, his voice tinged with a faint hint of both reluctance and amusement. 'Nonetheless, I understand your reasoning, even if I have my own reservations regarding your method. Very well, then... since we do not have the luxury of time, I suppose there is not much I could do but to trust in your judgment.'

'...' His breaths slowed, the wind lifting his bangs as he closed his eyes — his features bathed in the moon's silvery glow — a subtle hint of something akin to excitement flashing over his face. 'Come, ▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️.'

Without nary a thought, the Archangel's celestial essence began to recede from his mind, the process leaving behind a half-empty space that was quickly filled with another — one that is much more brutal and visceral in nature; tendrils of shadow rose from the forest floor, their inky darkness coalescing around his form like a living shroud. He could hear the savage, bestial growl emanating from the depths of his consciousness — the primal urge and the all-consuming hunger of the Primordial calling out to him with their chilling, yet oddly comforting intensity.

His clothing, stained with blood and sweat, dissolved into a swirling vortex before reconstituting itself into something entirely different; the long coat billowed as it settled upon his shoulders, its fabric flowing like liquid shadow while gloves of pure white encased his hands — their color a sharp contrast against the obsidian garment. The muck and grime that had stained his shoes faded away as they, too, underwent a transformation, turning from plain black into a pristine white that seemed untouched by the world's filth.

With a swift, and fluid motion, he drew his weapon from its sheath, his fingers brushing against the cold, dark hilt of the blade. It responded to his touch, the subtle hum of its presence reverberating through his very being. The weapon began to shift, its shape changing into something simple yet deceptively effective — its elongated form was as beautiful as it was deadly. A field of flower grew from the ground and began to expand outward, their red petals blooming in a glorious display of color; they swayed gently in the breeze, a veil of scarlet that unfurled beneath him like a sea of crimson silk.

His wings — once the embodiment of the celestial grace — now seemed like a distant memory. They dissolved into the abyss of the night; feathers turned to cold steel, and the air was filled with the eerie sound of metal clinking and clanking together. Four pairs of coffins emerged from his back, each one connected to the other by a series of chains that twisted and writhed, their surfaces adorned with intricate engravings and symbols that moved as though they were alive; they dangled in the air, their links binding the coffins to him in a complex network of ethereal connection.

'Oh, and do try not to let him affect your mind too much...' The Wild Card's face — once exposed and marked by the crimson stains of battle — became encapsulated in a mask of steel as the last remnant of the Archangel's existence retreated. 'After all, the last thing you need is to have his nihilistic philosophy clouding your judgment.'

"... I am thou, and thou art I." He intoned in a voice that seemed to resonate with the very essence of the night. "In the end, we're both one and the same..."

With a final, contemplative look towards the moonlit forest, the Wild Card allowed a wry smile to grace his lips; the mantle of coffins unfurled behind his back, their gentle sway casting long, eerie shadows upon the forest floor as he proceeded to disappear into the dark, starry sky above...