The location was a midtown park, usually alive with mundane noise and minor human sins. Now, it was a center of terrifying, randomized instability.
Ethan burst from a maintenance vent two blocks away, his body humming with the required energy. The air was electrically charged, vibrating with discordant spiritual noise. The Anima was chaotically altering reality.
A flock of pigeons flew by, suddenly caught in a localized gravity reversal, scattering skyward and then slamming back to the asphalt. A small five-second time loop replayed around a hot dog vendor, compelling him to spill his coffee four times.
The host was a young woman, sitting stunned on a park bench, her eyes glowing with a terrifying, unfocused golden light. The celestial soul—the Anima—was failing to purge itself of mortal flaws and erupted as destructive, unauthorized magic.
Ethan closed the distance, his Wrath core demanding immediate, decisive action. He had to secure the target before the celestial enforcers arrived.
He was too late.
A streak of pure, icy, razor-sharp light descended from the sky, carving a perfect line in the air between Ethan and the Anima. Seraphina Cross materialized in a burst of ozone and crystalline sound, her armor pristine, her silver sword drawn.
Her eyes locked onto him—the raw, undeniable Infernal signature of the Emissary.
"Infernal," she commanded, her voice ringing with amplified authority. "Stand down. You will not claim this soul."
"It's unstable," Ethan projected back, keeping his voice calm despite the scorching proximity of her holy energy. "Your hierarchy lost control. It's my jurisdiction now."
Seraphina didn't respond with words. She attacked.
She moved with the devastating speed of an apex predator, her silver blade slashing to cut the sigil from his chest. The Angel's Fire was agonizingly sharp.
Ethan met the blow with a desperate, precise defense, channeling the Gluttony to absorb the impact and the Wrath to redirect the force. Steel met air, and a spiritual shockwave erupted, sending a blast of wind that tore leaves from the surrounding trees, momentarily stalling the reality glitches.
She was stronger, faster, and fueled by righteous belief. He was driven by necessity and the addictive lure of his power. He fought defensively, using the Wrath to launch flares of dark, spiritual fire, forcing her to block and buying him seconds. The Gluttony absorbed the psychic noise of the nearby reality loops, clearing his mind amidst the chaos.
He saw his chance as the Anima host screamed, causing a section of the park to lift six inches and slam back down. Seraphina glanced toward the collateral damage—a sign her angelic code still prioritized human life.
"You don't want this fight," Ethan grunted, deflecting her sword with a crushing surge of dark energy. "You don't even know who you're fighting."
Seraphina raised her sword for a final, purging strike, her face a mask of cold resolve. "I know the stench of the Pit, creature. That is enough."
Ethan knew the sword would find its mark. He couldn't win the physical confrontation. He had to hit her where she was human, where she was Seraphina, not the Enforcer.
He locked his gaze onto her, and channeled his power not into attack, but into a directed, non-verbal projection. He didn't send a lie or a spell; he sent a raw, unadulterated memory.
He forced into her mind the precise, terrifying sensory memory of his last human moment: the crushing heat of the burning car, the searing pain of the smoke, the smell of burnt gasoline, and the feeling of his last breath as he shoved her small, terrified body through the shattered window.
It was instantaneous. Seraphina staggered, her perfect posture shattering. The terrifying memory of the car crash—her salvation—overwhelmed her celestial focus. Her eyes widened, her holy light violently flickering as she was compelled to face the source of her current existence: Ethan Vale, the man who died for her.
The moment of shock was all he needed.
He moved toward the Anima host, ignoring the Angel. The host was screaming, energy tearing its mortal body apart. This was the moment of execution.
Ethan channeled a new power, one he had prepared since the bargain: Penance Chains. These were not Hellfire, but dark, ethereal bonds of pure Infernal Law.
He didn't destroy the host. He bound the soul.
He slammed his hand onto the Anima host's chest, the sigil roaring with dark light. From his mark, thick, coiling chains of spiritual shadow erupted, wrapping around the Anima soul and forcefully extracting it from the host's body. The host went limp, unconscious.
The raw, contained soul—a shimmering, unstable orb of chaotic golden light—was violently sucked into the Emissary's Sigil. The energy surged; the Infernal Resonance became a massive, triumphant wave of power and order.
Ethan staggered back, the chaotic energy of the Anima now screaming inside his own core, forcing his Wrath and Gluttony into an uneasy, massive balance.
Seraphina recovered, raising her sword for the inevitable purge.
Ethan looked at her—the girl he saved, the woman who would be his executioner—and made his final decision.
He did not strike. He did not defend. He simply looked at her, allowing the terrifying gold rings of his eyes to flare, and let a single, heavy drop of water, mixed with blood from a wound the Angel's Fire had inflicted, splash onto the park ground.
"You'll track me," he said, his voice raw, amplified by the Infernal Resonance. "You know who I am now. But I am not your enemy."
He turned and fled, not in panicked retreat, but with disciplined speed, melting into the stabilized city's chaos. He left behind a terrified, confused, and momentarily paralyzed Seraphina Cross—an Angel forced to face the truth that her designated demon was the face of her own salvation.
He had the prize. He had defied Lucien's demand for immediate execution. He had spared the Angel.