The night wind howled through moss-covered towers, carrying with it the scent of rusted iron and the chill of some distant ocean.
The sky was drenched in leaden gray, and beneath it, the city lights flickered — like dying souls refusing to fade.
Atop an abandoned skyscraper, three figures stood in silence.
Not mortals — but beings who had once witnessed the dawn of creation.
The one in the center was tall and thin, his silver cloak gleaming like the edge of a crescent moon.
His eyes had no pupils, only blank, milky whites — as though every image that entered them dissolved into pure thought.
He was Remiel, the Angel of Mind — once revered as Psyche Dominus, the reader of thoughts, the one who could make a soul forget itself with a single glance.
Whenever he moved, the wind stilled. Even sound itself seemed to hold its breath before a consciousness that transcended form.
To his right stood Lyria, his loyal left hand.
Her hair was dark as night, her gaze half-awake, half-lost, and her voice — soft as smoke.
Her gift, Echo Hypnosis, could drown a mind within illusion, where dream and reality bled into one another.
Though calm on the surface, her eyes concealed doubt — of faith, of loyalty, and of the cost of absolute obedience.
To his left stood Caelum, a mid-ranked angel without wings, his form carved by thunder itself.
His power, Sonic Burst, could grind stone to dust and shatter those who bore malice into echoes of sound.
He spoke little. His gaze was sharp as a blade, yet within that coldness trembled a faint heartbeat — one that still knew fear, and mercy.
The three angels gazed downward.
Below, a man stood alone at a deserted crossroads, his worn raincoat torn by wind.
He bowed his head, clutching a wrinkled piece of paper — a job application unanswered.
Under the dim streetlight, his face appeared pale, weary, yet in his eyes flickered a faint glimmer — a light even angels could not comprehend.
Remiel watched long and wordless.
The blank eyes rippled slightly — as if reflecting the world's memory upon a still lake.
Then his voice broke the silence — low, dry, and absolute:
"Kill him."
The air froze.
Lyria lowered her gaze, her voice trembling.
"My lord… he has done nothing. He is but a man who has lost everything."
Remiel answered without hesitation:
"A soul bearing the seed of darkness is a threat to Heaven itself.
Sin lies not in action — but in the capacity to commit it."
Caelum clenched his fist. His muscles quivered. It felt as though he were crushing his own heart.
But Remiel's command — was law.
Lyria drew a breath. She raised her hand.
From her fingertips flowed a silver mist — thin and cool.
It drifted downward, wrapping around the man, dissolving into the air like a dream falling apart.
His eyes dulled. His breath slowed. His mind sank into the dreamworld she wove.
Caelum stepped forward, voice hoarse.
"Forgive me."
A deep cry burst from his throat.
Sound exploded — shattering glass, shaking the rooftop to its core.
The man collapsed. His body fell limp as his soul tore free — a faint, glowing thread.
Remiel lifted his scepter.
A web of silver light enveloped the soul, drawing it into Pandora's Box — an ancient relic forged from the will of God, where even light could be imprisoned.
When the lid closed, the air trembled.
A surge of black mist rose, shaping itself into the silhouette of a stranger — a servant of Lucifer.
His face twisted into a hateful grin.
"Remiel… do you think you are any different from us?
You kill in the name of light — I kill to feed the dark.
We are merely two faces… of the same sin."
Lyria lifted her hand.
Echo Hypnosis rippled outward like water, blurring his form until it faded into nothingness.
Caelum gripped his staff, ready to strike, but Remiel raised a hand — a silent order to stand down.
The three dissolved into a wave of silver light and vanished from the rooftop.
Heaven – Sector SixHere, there was no day or night.
No time — only light, endless as a sea of silver.
Remiel entered his sanctum, where ceilings were forged from the memories of comets, and the floor was woven from the prayers of humankind.
Upon the table rested Pandora's Box, its faint light flickering like a trembling soul.
Remiel sat. His pupil-less eyes stared into infinity.
"The mission is not over,"
he spoke — his voice echoing directly within the minds of his two followers.
"This is only the beginning."
Lyria bowed her head.
"My lord… what will you do with that soul?"
Remiel did not answer at once.
The light in his eyes shimmered — as though reflecting memories spanning millennia.
At last, he whispered:
"A soul tainted by darkness is not always evil…
just as light itself… is not always salvation."
Caelum looked upon the box.
Within the pale glow, he thought he saw the man's face — peaceful, then slowly fading, like a dream slipping away.
"My lord… what truth are you hiding?"
Remiel closed his eyes.
When he opened them, his white gaze had turned to mirrors — reflecting the two young angels before him.
"The truth,"
he said,
"is something neither Heaven nor Hell dares to face."
Outside, Heaven's sky trembled faintly.
From afar, a beam of light flared — a signal from Sector Two, where Raphael, the Angel of Restoration, awaited.
Remiel rose, grasping his scepter, his gaze fixed upon that distant glow.
"The time has come," he murmured.
"It is time… to create a new being."
The light consumed him.
And in that very moment — somewhere far below, beneath a darkened roof —
a soul that had just been taken… slowly opened its eyes.