The sight of Seraphina's face, older, hardened, yet undeniably her, was a spiritual blow more devastating than any infernal fire. The life he had died to save. The angel sent to end him.
The shock lasted only a fraction of a second, immediately replaced by the cold, tactical need to evade. He was not ready for this. He was not ready for her.
He plunged deeper into the labyrinthine tunnels, the sounds of his retreat echoing off the damp, concrete walls. Her silver light, piercing and agonising, pursued him relentlessly.
Desperate Retreat.
Seraphina moved with the terrifying grace of a being unburdened by gravity or mortal fear. She descended through the rift, her silver halo casting sharp, ethereal light that burned the very air around Ethan. Every spiritual sensor in his core screamed in agony. The sigil pulsed wildly, instinctively trying to negate the overwhelming purity.
"Infernal, halt!" Her voice, still telepathic, was colder than any winter wind. "You are condemned. Submit."
Ethan didn't respond. He slammed through a rusted gate, twisting his body to avoid a collapsing pipe. He could feel the proximity of her power—a wave of purifying energy that made his internal Hellfire core flicker like a dying ember. This wasn't merely pain; it was the active attempt to unmake him.
A bolt of pure, silver light lanced past his ear, purging a section of the concrete wall with a blinding flash. Angel's Fire. It wasn't destructive; it was cleansing.
He scrambled, the light chasing him. The deeper he went, the thicker the miasma of mortal sin became, offering scant spiritual camouflage. But her light cut through it all.
He reached a dead end—a sheer wall of compacted rock and collapsed earth. Trapped.
Seraphina appeared at the end of the tunnel, her silver blade held aloft, gleaming. "This ends here, creature of the Pit."
Ethan turned, his back to the wall, his own gold-ringed eyes narrowed.
He focused every ounce of his energy, drawing on both Wrath and Gluttony. He manifested an invisible, localised Wrath force-field—pure, compressed fury—and coated it with the Gluttony of immediate absorption.
When Seraphina lunged, her silver blade aimed at his chest, he met her with a violent, non-lethal counter-strike. The blade struck the shield with a deafening CRACK that sheared through the bedrock. The purifying energy was instantly consumed by his Gluttony, and the Wrath shockwave violently recoiled her into the opposite wall.
It wasn't a victory; it was only a momentary reprieve. Seraphina gasped, momentarily disoriented, her halo flickering. The clash had been deafening, a localised spiritual detonation.
Miles away, topside, Kane stopped dead. His spiritual radiation detector screamed, a wailing, undeniable siren.
"Massive flare," he breathed, his eyes wide. "Infernal and Divine. A direct clash."
The signal was enormous, far bigger than the Emissary alone. It indicated an angelic presence, engaged in battle with its target.
"Bingo," Kane growled, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He didn't care who was fighting whom. He only cared that they were concentrated, vulnerable, and broadcasting their exact location. This was his chance to bag both a demon and an angel, a double prize.
He ran faster, a cold, focused engine of destruction, his silver shotgun now ready.
Ethan felt the massive spiritual flare. Seraphina was recovering, her divine aura reigniting. And Kane. He could sense the human hunter's accelerating approach, drawn by the raw energy.
He couldn't fight an angel with a silver blade and an ex-exorcist with a spiritual radiation detector. Not here, not now.
He focused his Gluttony on the chaos, using his unnatural strength and the sheer, overwhelming will of the Emissary to force his way through collapsing pipes and crumbling rock. He didn't activate Gatewalk; he descended. The density of spiritual filth and human waste provided an absolute blanket.
Seraphina reached the dead end just as he vanished into the swirling darkness. Her holy light couldn't penetrate the sheer density of it.
Kane arrived moments later, his scanner flashing wildly, indicating a massive, diffused infernal presence that abruptly vanished into pure, unreadable noise.
The angel and the exorcist stood a stone's throw from each other in the echoing silence of the abandoned tunnel, both staring into the same impenetrable darkness.
Ethan Vale, the Emissary, was gone. But he had not fled. He had merely descended, ready to strategise, to learn, and to prepare for the inevitable three-way war that was now fully ignited beneath the city. He had glimpsed the true face of his past. Now, he needed to survive his future.