The soft melody of a nursery rhyme drifted through the air, carried by the gentle whistle of a hunter closing in on his prey. It was a familiar ritual for Michello—a quiet tune before the storm. His steps were unhurried, each one deliberate, savoring the moment before the carnage began.

  The warm hum of his chainsaw remained silent at his side, its deadly edge gleaming beneath the glow of the moon. Yet, it wasn’t needed—not yet. A soft, serene smile played across Michello’s lips, but his eyes burned with something far more dangerous. Excitement.

  He approached them slowly—Veritas and the girl who clung to him so desperately, her pink hair stark against the night’s eerie glow. Michello tilted his head slightly, his pink eye gleaming like a predatory beast playing with its food.

  “Hello there, lost lambs,” he greeted, his voice laced with saccharine amusement. “May I assist you in being redeemed for your sins?”

  Maria’s grip on Veritas tightened, her nails digging into his sleeve as she shrank behind him. Her gray eyes darted toward Arthur—toward the ghost watching from a distance. “Who is this creep, Arthur?” she hissed, fear creeping into her voice.

  Veritas, ever composed, met Michello’s gaze with cool detachment. “I’m not sure,” he said, lying effortlessly.

  Michello chuckled, shaking his head. “Not surprising you’re unaware of me,” he mused. “Maria Parker.”

  Maria stiffened.

  “Ah, of course, I know all about you.” Michello’s voice dropped, his tone like velvet, smooth yet hiding razors beneath. “Especially your dirty little secret.”

  A tremor ran through Maria’s frame, her face draining of color. She retreated further behind Veritas, her grip tightening on his arm. “What… what are you talking about?”

  Michello didn’t blink. He didn’t need to. He simply uttered a single name.

  “Emelia.”

  The name was a whisper, yet it might as well have been a gunshot. Maria’s breath hitched.

  Veritas’s expression didn’t change, but his body tensed ever so slightly. “I’d appreciate it if you left, Michello.”

  Michello’s grin widened. “How polite. But you just confirmed that you know exactly who I am.” He let out a small, delighted laugh. “I suppose you’re not interested in the act tonight.”

  His posture shifted, his fingers curling slightly as he raised his right hand. The crimson gemstone embedded in his ring shimmered ominously.

  “So be it. If you refuse redemption through prayer, then let me cleanse you in fire.”

  A surge of flame erupted from his ring, the air igniting in a swirl of crimson light. The blaze roared to life, twisting and writhing like a serpent unleashed from its bonds.

  Veritas reacted instantly, grabbing Maria and leaping back, his speed leaving only the faintest blur in the wake of the flames.

  Michello’s laughter rang through the night, rich and unrestrained. “How adorable,” he purred. “Trying to save her, are you?”

  Veritas landed effortlessly, his grip firm as he set Maria down. His gaze was sharp, unreadable.

  “Get out of here,” he ordered.

  Maria shook her head, her entire body trembling. “A-Arthur, I can’t— that man’s dangerous—”

  “That’s an order,” Veritas said, his voice dropping into something cold and absolute.

  Maria flinched, hesitating for only a heartbeat before she turned and ran, disappearing elsewhere into the park

  Michello exhaled softly, watching her go before turning his attention back to Veritas. His grin had not faded.

  “Now, then,” he murmured, rolling his shoulders. “Shall we begin?”

  The air crackled with angelic energy as large, radiant wings unfurled from Veritas’s back, their feathers shimmering with a soft, ethereal glow. Their sheer presence felt suffocating, an overwhelming force of celestial power pressing down upon the surroundings. With a flicker of light, a katana materialized at his side, its silver blade gleaming with a brilliance that seemed untouched by the night’s crimson hue. As he grasped the hilt, illusionary white feathers began to drift from the sky, dissolving before they could touch the ground.

  Veritas's piercing gaze locked onto Michello, his expression one of absolute contempt. “You,” he spat, his voice laced with deep-seated disgust. “The most deplorable of all humans. Born to be a vessel for our god, only to be seduced by a devil.”

  Michello tilted his head, his pink eye glinting with delight. He slowly rolled his shoulders, the hum of his chainsaw reverberating through the air like an unholy hymn. “To insult my dear goddess in such a way…” His grin widened, his voice carrying the cadence of a man who had long abandoned reason. “You truly must desire death.”

  Without hesitation, Michello vanished, reappearing mere inches from Veritas in an instant. His chainsaw screamed to life, the blade whirling in a vicious arc as he swung with the intent to carve through divine flesh.

  But Veritas was faster.

  He sidestepped the attack effortlessly, his wings barely shifting as he brought his katana up in a swift counter. The moment Michello entered his range, an unseen force constricted around him—it felt as if invisible chains were tightening around his limbs, locking his body in place.

  Michello’s grin faltered, his muscles locked in unnatural rigidity, as if bound by the very fabric of reality itself. For the briefest of moments, he felt what it was like to be truly helpless.

  Veritas moved, his katana flashing with divine judgment, poised to cleave Michello in half.

  But the priest vanished in a blink, teleporting a short distance away, escaping the attack by mere inches. The divine chains shattered the moment he reappeared, but the sensation still lingered—a phantom restraint that sent a thrill of irritation through him.

  Michello clicked his tongue, his fingers flexing as he regained control of his movement.

  “How annoying,” Veritas muttered, his brows knitting in slight frustration as he lowered his katana. His voice carried no arrogance, only cool assessment. “I can bind your movements, but not your ability… truly, what an irritating beast.”

  Michello’s expression darkened, his usual amusement thinning for the first time. “What a dirty tactic,” he hissed, rolling his neck before raising his hand. The crimson gemstone on his ring ignited, flames roaring to life as they coiled around his fingers, twisting like living serpents hungry for flesh.

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  “Allow me to cleanse you, O worthless sinner,” Michello intoned, his voice reverent yet mocking, as if reciting a prayer twisted beyond recognition.

  Veritas didn’t hesitate. His wings flared outward, a single powerful flap launching him skyward, just as torrents of crimson flame exploded from Michello’s hand, engulfing the space where he had stood.

  The air shimmered with heat as Michello’s crimson flames coiled and surged, licking at the edges of Veritas’s divine radiance. Sparks ignited mid-air, the collision of holy light and infernal fire casting the battlefield in a mesmerizing yet deadly dance of opposing forces.

  Veritas hovered in the air, wings unfurled like a celestial decree. His katana gleamed, the very air around it vibrating with divine authority. His sharp gaze locked onto Michello with an unwavering focus, his expression untouched by rage or emotion—only cold, merciless judgment.

  “Short-distance teleportation and an artifact capable of conjuring fire at will,” Veritas mused, tilting his head slightly. “You truly are a threat. Allow me to send you to that ‘goddess’ you worship so dearly— in the afterlife.”

  With a single powerful beat of his wings, he surged downward, his katana poised in a devastating arc aimed directly at Michello’s skull.

  Michello raised his chainsaw, the blade roaring to life with an almost giddy scream, intercepting the weapon with a force that sent shockwaves rippling through the air. Sparks rained down as their weapons clashed, steel grinding against steel, divine might battling relentless defiance.

  Michello grinned, his pink eye gleaming with excitement as he flicked his wrist, unleashing a torrent of fire aimed directly at Veritas. The angel twisted mid-air, dodging the flames with effortless grace before retaliating with a blinding arc of silver light.

  The battle escalated—Michello teleporting in bursts, his flames licking at Veritas’s heels; Veritas weaving through the inferno, his katana striking like a falling star. Blow after blow, they moved like two opposing forces of nature, unstoppable destruction against unyielding judgment.

  Then, in an instant, Veritas shot upward, his wings spreading wide as his form became a streak of radiant energy against the darkened sky. With terrifying speed, he descended in a blinding dive, katana poised for a final, decisive strike—

  Only for his blade to be caught.

  A slim, pale hand wrapped effortlessly around the sword’s edge, stopping its momentum completely.

  Veritas’s eyes widened slightly, his descent forcibly halted as an unexpected force entered the fray.

  “Michello,” a calm, almost lilting voice murmured, “it seems your vacation will need to be cut short.”

  The figure that held his blade smiled softly, her fingers gripping the steel as though it were nothing more than an afterthought.

  Freya stood before them, unbothered, untouched.

  Her long, light pink hair cascaded down her back, adorned with delicate blue flowers that contrasted the harsh scar stretching across her face. Half of her skin, on the right side, looked almost dead, decayed, as if frozen in time, a haunting testament to something long past. She wore a black dress with an open back, the fabric flowing like liquid shadow around her.

  Michello’s grin widened the moment he saw her. “Oh? Freya, my dear! This is rare. None of the other cardinals ever bother joining me on my vacations.”

  Freya simply flicked her wrist, effortlessly pushing Veritas backward, sending the angel skidding across the air. She smiled at Michello, unbothered by the divine radiance still clinging to her fingertips.

  Before Michello could say more, another presence materialized behind him, stepping out of nothingness with a casual sigh.

  “It’s an emergency,” a voice drawled, filled with irritation. “The Shrine Maiden has summoned all five of us, and yes, that includes you.”

  Kai had arrived.

  Unlike the others, his presence carried a different weight—one of silence, observation. His messy blond hair was barely visible beneath the hood of his black cloak, and a plague doctor’s mask concealed the majority of his face. He wore a white undershirt beneath a black vest, his wired headphones dangling loosely from his ears. Even now, he only bothered to remove one earbud, his other hand stuffed in his pocket as though completely uninterested in the chaos unfolding before him.

  Michello clicked his tongue. “Tch. If it’s an emergency, then tell the Maiden I’ll be along in just a moment. I was in the middle of something important.”

  A soft, apologetic voice chimed in from the side.

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Veritas!” The speaker bowed repeatedly, her hands tightly gripping a black umbrella. “If you don’t mind, could Michello kill you some other time?”

  Aya stood there, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot.

  She wore a black dress with a white collar, the simple yet elegant design clashing with her light blue hair streaked with red highlights. Her heterochromatic eyes—one light blue, the other deep purple—darted between Veritas and Michello anxiously. A red flower was pinned into her hair, the petals trembling slightly as she continued muttering apologies under her breath.

  “Enough of this, let’s go already.”

  Another presence kicked Michello in the shin.

  He barely flinched, more out of amusement than anything else, as Mio stood beside him, arms crossed, her expression filled with annoyance.

  “I’d like to go back to my room and finish my game, so can we wrap this up already, you pest?”

  Mio was as distinct as ever. Her long lime-green hair was tied into pigtails, her yellow eyes glimmering with boredom as she barely spared anyone a glance. She wore a black button-up shirt tucked into a short black skirt, a portable game console clutched firmly in her hands.

  But perhaps the most unsettling thing about her was the doll sitting on her shoulder—an eerily perfect miniature version of herself, its eyes closed, its presence an unspoken weight in the air.

  Michello sighed dramatically, rubbing his shin. “Kicking me? Really? Mio, I thought we were closer than that.”

  Mio barely spared Michello a glance, her fingers still tapping away at her game, her focus unshaken. “We’re not,” she muttered, her voice dripping with disinterest.

  Michello sighed, exasperation laced in his tone. “What’s so important that I must be dragged from my well-deserved vacation? You’re ruining my enjoyment of the Night Parade!” His tone was light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity beneath his words.

  Kai didn’t even bother acknowledging the conversation, still lost in the loud rock music blasting through his wired headphones. He stared blankly at Veritas, seemingly entertained by the tension still lingering in the air.

  Mio, growing impatient, finally paused her game long enough to glance at Michello. “We’ll tell you when we get there, now hurry the hell up, you bastard. Even you have to listen when the Shrine Maiden calls.”

  Then, without warning, she kicked him in the shin again.

  Michello hissed through his teeth, dramatically clutching his leg. “Gah! Mio, really? Again? Have you no respect for me?”

  Aya, ever the peacekeeper, bowed repeatedly, her voice apologetic. “I’m very sorry for her outburst. She was forced to wake up from a nap when we were given orders to come collect you.”

  Michello grumbled under his breath, rubbing his leg as he straightened. “You people have no respect for my process. I was about to purify a sinner, and now I’m being rushed like some common errand boy.”

  “May we leave now, Michello?” Freya stepped forward gracefully, her voice as smooth as silk. “It is rude to keep our dear Shrine Maiden waiting.” She extended her hand towards him, her icy blue gaze steady, unwavering.

  Michello sighed heavily, his shoulders dramatically sagging in defeat. “Fine. Let’s go. But only because the Lady herself has requested it.”

  As he reached out to take Freya’s hand, her cheeks flushed the faintest shade of pink, but she maintained her composure. With a firm yet delicate grip, she laced her fingers around his, leading him away from the battlefield.

  Mio’s sharp yellow eyes flicked around the air, her expression souring. She sniffed, her nose crinkling. “Hey, bastard. Just how much destruction did you cause? The whole damn area reeks of smoke.”

  Michello’s grin returned, this time tinged with satisfaction. “Oh, nothing major. Just ordered a few A.E.G.I.S. bases to be blown up.”

  Aya sighed, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “And this is why they try to assassinate you once a week.”

  Veritas watched them with growing frustration, his wings still spread, his grip tight on his katana. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

  Freya turned her head slightly, her icy gaze locking onto Veritas. A small, knowing smile curved her lips, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “I would recommend you accept this mercy, angel.”

  Her voice was calm yet edged with quiet menace.

  “You may have managed to hold your own against Michello.” She let that hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “But against all five of us? You would die. And it would not be a pleasant death.”

  The air grew heavy with the weight of her words.

  Michello chuckled, tossing a mocking wave over his shoulder as the five Cardinals turned their backs and vanished into the night, their presence lingering like the aftermath of a storm.