Jeremiah ran.
He didn't turn around, didn't falter, didn't even blink. His body was in full rebellion—lungs burning, legs screaming—but he refused to stop. Sweat poured down his face in thick rivulets, splashing onto the dusty path behind him like breadcrumbs for the thing that chased him.
He was being hunted.
"What the hell is going on?!" he shouted — not a question, but a cry for mercy, tossed into the uncaring wind.
Something shifted ahead. In a flash, Jeremiah reached into his oversized coat and hurled a glowing lollipop behind him.
Boom. The explosion gave him lift — launching him through the air like a firecracker as a bar loomed into view.
The rusted sign above it crashed down, revealing one flickering word:
"OPENA."
"Woooaaaah!" Jeremiah cried as he cannonballed through the doorway, face-first into a bar table. Glass shattered. Drinks flew. Patrons roared with laughter.
From behind the counter, someone stood up.
"You alright, kiddo?" said a smooth, resonant voice — melodic enough to make women swoon and men seethe.
Jeremiah coughed, rubbed his head, and looked up.
His eyes widened.
"Gabriel Khan. Second Saint of Floria. The Archangel."
The man grinned beneath a comedy-mask of Thalia, the silver plating hiding half his face — but his legendary charm still shone. His wounded chest, once nearly split open, had fully healed. The Saint of Radiance stood tall and whole.
"Even the children know me?" Gabriel smirked, flexing theatrically. "Guess I'm still relevant."
Jeremiah bounced to his feet, brushing glass off his coat like confetti. His tone shifted — playful, but commanding:
"There's a monster. It took Saraline Grover — your teammate. I evaded it, barely. Now I need the help of someone actually useful."
He pointed a sticky, trembling finger toward the bar's patrons.
"If you don't help me, everyone in here dies. That's not a threat. That's a weather forecast."
The smile on his face didn't match the blood on his collar. It was smug. Cold. Inevitable.
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "You're quite the dramatic little gremlin."
"I've been called worse." Jeremiah smiled wider.
Gabriel sighed, running a hand through his black curls. "Fine. But—"
BOOM.
The wall exploded before he could finish.
A dark figure entered the bar.
The moment it crossed the threshold, its spiritual pressure annihilated everyone inside — everyone but two. The blessed. The chosen.
The rest simply ceased to exist.
The thing crawled. Its form was blasphemous. Arms bent backwards, legs where hands should be, eyes sprouting where ears belonged. Its very presence warped biology — like God had folded the creature in half and stapled it back together.
Bright red eyes glowed in the distortion, piercing through the dust.
Jeremiah smirked. "That's a piece," he said, nudging Gabriel's shoulder. "Should've acted faster, knight."
Gabriel's mask shifted — Thalia vanished, replaced by Melpomene. The face of tragedy. Of death.
His gaze narrowed.
"We kill this piece," he muttered, "then I find out what the hell's going on."
Without another word, they charged.
Jeremiah launched glowing lollipops across the room, each exploding into candy-colored smoke. Twisting his helicopter hat, he spiraled into the air — detonating the ground beneath the monster's limbs.
It tumbled.
Gabriel grabbed a barstool, transmuting it mid-jump into a divine shotgun, the wood blooming into celestial steel. Leaping off debris, he fired a blast straight through the creature's chest — tearing open a hole of radiant light.
"REMEMBER, KID!" Gabriel roared, landing in a crouch. "THIS IS MY DOMAIN — DON'T FUCK IT UP!"
But the beast surged through the smoke — howling, silent — and flung Gabriel straight into his wine collection.
"Not again…" Gabriel muttered mid-air, before shattering into barrels of top-shelf vintage.
Jeremiah cackled, then focused — fingers pressed to his temple.
Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.
That was all he heard.
"No language. No thought. Just murder," Jeremiah shouted. "This thing isn't even sentient — it's a walking apocalypse. Just natural evil! You can kill it!"
The monster grabbed him mid-sentence and hurled him across the room. But before impact, Gabriel transfigured the table into a plush cushion — catching Jeremiah like a game show stunt.
Jeremiah bounced once, then grinned. "Thanks!"
Gabriel got to his feet, eyes wild, blood trickling down his lip. "One strike. Temple. Now."
He raised both arms.
Every wine bottle in the bar began to glow — transmuting into pseudo-nukes, humming with holy fury. Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the cushion beneath Jeremiah ballooned into a glowing safety dome.
The nukes levitated.
Then fired — all at once.
Explosion. Explosion. Explosion.
The air turned to white.
Gabriel laughed like thunder. "I AM THE COOLEST!" he roared, each blast shaking the bar's very foundation. "I KNOW I AM!"
Jeremiah clapped inside the bubble, eyes wide with manic glee.
"THIS IS AWESOME!"
He meant it.
The bar stood restored — intact but empty. The people were gone, erased by divine pressure, but every shattered bottle, chair, and table had reverted to its pristine state. The world pretended nothing happened.
The duo of chaos sat together amid the silence, peering over the monster's maimed remains.
Its skin pulsed with symbols — etched in divine flesh.
A cross-eyed cherry.
A cracked heart.
A skull wreathed in a thorny flame.
Thidos.
Eliza.
Medea.
Guilds. Gods. Hierarchies.
Jeremiah sat comfortably on Gabriel's shoulders, popping a fresh lollipop in his mouth. "You alright, buddy?"
Gabriel's tears slipped from beneath his mask — still Thalia, face of comedy.
"It's been a long time…" he whispered, voice cracking. "Since I've laughed like that."
"You wanna—wait." Jeremiah's pupils shrank. "Check the body again."
He concentrated, tuning into the creature's thoughts.
I failed. May the Lord forgive me. I did not kill all observers. Must return to Saraline's prison.
Jeremiah's voice shot into a scream:
"HOLD THE BASTARD DOWN!"
"Aye aye, Captain!" Gabriel bellowed, still smiling — but his arm had already transfigured. A single divine blade shimmered at his wrist.
With brutal efficiency, he severed every limb, clean and precise.
Jeremiah jumped off his shoulders, kneeling before the head.
He picked it up — not gently — and stared into its flickering eyes.
His voice went cold.
His posture: divine executioner.
"You are going to explain every symbol. Every realm.
Every God, intention, belief, rule, weapon, curse and miracle.
Everything I do not know — you will tell me.
Now.
Or we kill them all."