(3rd Person POV)
A week before Arthur's return from space, Scarlet had been quietly building support for her cinema proposal in Altair Station.
The process had been tedious. Multiple council sessions, endless debates with Mithrael and other influential angels, all under the watchful oversight of High Ranking Officer Philip.
Despite his lower power compared to Mithrael, Philip maintained direct communication with their Lord, which made his opinion carry considerable weight.
Scarlet had gathered allies carefully. Light—holder of the title "Perfect Angel" and nearly as influential as Mithrael himself—had proven instrumental in swaying undecided votes.
The final decision came down to the Judgment Chalice, an ancient artifact that counted votes with absolute accuracy. Each angel sent a single wisp of their essence into the ceremonial wineglass.
The more votes accumulated, the redder the wine became and the brighter the chalice glowed.
Scarlet's proposal had won by a narrow margin. The opposition had fought hard, but the numbers didn't lie.
The Judgment Chalice couldn't be cheated—any angel who tried to send multiple wisps would shatter the vessel instantly, and the wine would curse them, stripping their divinity for decades. No one risked that consequence.
Now, a week later, the Angel Cinema stood completed on Altair Station's main island.
Angels crowded the entrance, their curiosity evident.
This was something new—genuinely new—in a place where centuries could pass without significant change. The building itself looked out of place among the ethereal architecture, its design clearly inspired by mortal construction.
"It's been hundreds of years since we've engaged with mortal entertainment," Philip observed, standing beside Scarlet as angels filed through the cinema's doors. His gaze shifted to her modern business suit—the same style she'd worn since returning from the mortal world, completely abandoning her traditional white robes. "You've changed considerably since that mission. What happened down there?"
He paused, then added more directly, "You requested this cinema as your reward for completing the investigation into High Arbiter Kaishi's Monetary Faith. That's unusual. Why not ask for something more... traditional?"
"Kaiser," Scarlet corrected calmly, her arms crossed. "He prefers Kaiser now."
Philip waved dismissively. "That old deity has used dozens of names over the centuries. Kaishi, Kain, Kaiser—it doesn't matter. Answer my question." His tone grew more pointed. "You used to despise mortals. You complained about every mission I sent you on. So what changed?"
"I learned that mortals aren't entirely without merit," Scarlet replied evenly. "Some of their innovations are worth experiencing."
Her expression remained neutral, controlled. If Philip could read her thoughts at that moment, he would have been shocked by what he found.
The Scarlet he'd known—the one who viewed mortals with contempt and served their Lord without question—no longer existed.
She'd made a choice. A calculated, deliberate choice.
It had happened after Keanu's fight with the Great Lich. Arthur had requested a private meeting, and she'd agreed out of curiosity. What she'd discovered during that conversation had fundamentally altered her perspective.
Arthur wasn't simply a talented filmmaker or ambitious demon noble. He was a deity—young, but already more powerful than her. That revelation alone had been jarring.
But what truly convinced her wasn't his power. It was his reasoning.
Solarus—their Lord, the one she'd served faithfully for centuries—had been absent for hundreds of years.
After conquering this mortal world and establishing the Divine Atmos barrier, he'd simply... left. No guidance, no updates, no presence. The angels maintained his systems, enforced his laws, reviewed souls, and monitored the barriers with no direct leadership.
Meanwhile, Arthur had shown her something during her time observing the mortal world: life with actual variety. Entertainment, creativity, change. Things that made existence feel less like an endless repetitive task.
In Altair Station, angels worked. They reviewed souls, monitored the Divine Atmos separating mortal space from their realm, maintained the Altair Layer that protected the planet from unauthorized Divine Ships. Necessary work, certainly. But exhausting in its monotony.
Arthur's proposal had been simple: introduce entertainment to the angels. Give them something beyond their duties. In exchange, he'd gain access to a new audience and further legitimize his cultural influence.
The arrangement benefited both sides. And unlike Solarus, Arthur was actually present, actually engaged with his plans.
So she'd agreed. Not because she hated Solarus, but because he'd become irrelevant through his own absence.
Even Kaiser didn't know the full truth. He believed Arthur had modified her memories to ensure cooperation—that was the story she'd asked Arthur to tell him. Better to let Kaiser think she'd been coerced than reveal she'd chosen this willingly.
Philip wouldn't understand. None of the traditional angels would. They still waited faithfully for a Lord who might never return.
But Scarlet had stopped waiting.
---
The cinema filled quickly. Mithrael, Light, and dozens of other influential angels settled into their seats among the rows of curious attendees. The screen displayed promotional material for the evening's feature: John Wick.
Most angels had read the premise from the posters outside—a story centered on violence and revenge. Normally, such content would have faced immediate rejection, but curiosity won out. The angels who'd voted for the cinema's establishment seemed particularly eager, many already sampling the strange mortal refreshments.
"This tastes absolutely terrible," one angel muttered, crunching loudly on popcorn. "But I can't stop eating it."
"Typical mortal excess," another agreed, taking a long drink of cola. "No refinement whatsoever."
Despite their complaints, the munching and slurping continued unabated throughout the theater.
Mithrael sat near the back with Light beside him. He took an experimental sip of his cola and his eyebrows rose sharply. "Fascinating. It's aggressively sweet, and there's this... strange tingling sensation." He took another drink, his expression caught between confusion and intrigue. "Almost like tiny explosions on the tongue. Yet somehow... compelling."
Light nodded, his perfect features composed as always, his blonde hair catching the dim theater lighting. "Indeed. And this caramel-flavored popcorn is unexpectedly pleasant despite its obvious lack of nutritional value."
"You two sound like scholars analyzing battlefield tactics," a gruff voice commented from Mithrael's other side.
Mithrael glanced over at Tharux, a tiger-headed angel whose massive frame barely fit in the standard seat. The warrior angel was eating popcorn by the handful.
"We're simply making observations," Mithrael replied mildly.
"You're overthinking snacks," Tharux said flatly. "Just eat the stuff and watch the movie."
"Some of us appreciate analytical—"
"Shh!" Light interrupted gently as the lights began to dim. "It's starting."
The screen illuminated with the Hellfire Studios logo, followed immediately by another name: Fallen Angel Entertainment.
Mithrael's frown was immediate. "Fallen Angel Entertainment?"
Light leaned over with a quiet explanation. "That's the company Scarlet established here in Altair Station. I joined as an investor, actually. Clever name, don't you think?"
Mithrael relaxed slightly. "I suppose."
The opening scene began. Rain poured across the screen. A man stumbled from a wrecked car, blood streaming from wounds across his body. He collapsed against the vehicle, pulling out a phone to watch a video—a woman's face, full of life and warmth.
The contrast was stark. Her vibrant smile against his current broken state.
"Not exactly starting with action," Tharux muttered, though his eyes remained fixed on the screen.
Mithrael found himself leaning forward slightly. "Wait. That actor... why does he look familiar?"
Light studied the face on screen. "I was thinking the same thing. Though I can't place where we might have encountered him."
"We've existed for centuries," Mithrael reasoned. "We've met countless mortals and deities, especially the outer gods from beyond this world. Perhaps we encountered someone with similar features."
"Probably," Light agreed, though uncertainty lingered in his tone.
The story unfolded. John Wick, the protagonist, was revealed as a legendary assassin who'd retired to live peacefully with his wife. After her death from illness, he received one final gift from her—a puppy, meant to help him cope with his grief.
The tender scenes of John Wick slowly bonding with the small dog drew unexpected silence from the angel audience. Several shifted uncomfortably, unused to narratives focused on such simple, mortal concerns.
Then tragedy struck.
Iosef Tarasov, a young thug who'd tried unsuccessfully to buy John Wick's car at a gas station, tracked him down. The break-in was brutal. Iosef and his crew invaded John Wick's home, beat him viciously while he was still weakened and unprepared, then killed his puppy in front of him before stealing his car.
The violence was graphic. The puppy's death was shown with devastating emotional impact.
A collective chill seemed to pass through the theater. Angels who hadn't witnessed genuine mortal suffering in decades sat frozen, some with popcorn halfway to their mouths.
"Such vile behavior," Mithrael said quietly, his usual composure cracking slightly. "Why didn't he fight back? The protagonist is supposedly a legendary assassin. This makes no sense."
"You weren't paying attention," Light replied, his eyes never leaving the screen. "John Wick deliberately sealed his abilities when he retired. He wanted to live as a normal mortal with his dog. During the attack, he didn't have time to break those seals—they ambushed him while he was vulnerable."
"Ah." Mithrael nodded slowly, understanding dawning. "So he chose mortality, and that choice cost him everything."
"Hmm."
The modification from Arthur's original version—adding the detail about sealed powers—gave John Wick's helplessness a deeper resonance. It wasn't simply that he was caught off guard. He'd made a conscious sacrifice of his abilities for love, only to have that peaceful life violently torn away.
Tharux's claws dug slightly into his armrest. "They killed his dog."
"Yes," Light said simply.
"The gift from his dead wife."
"Yes."
"So now he's going to unseal his power and kill them all."
"One would assume."
On screen, John Wick knelt in his basement, prying up floorboards to reveal hidden weapons and resources from his previous life. His face was a mask of cold determination.
The angels leaned forward collectively, anticipation building.
The violence they'd just witnessed had disturbed them. Now they were about to see what happened when someone pushed a legendary assassin past his breaking point.