On a rooftop, a single person dwelled, crouched down while spying on a few individuals below.
Their eyes glimmered in the darkness with a yellow hue, like a predator stalking prey it was about to pounce on. He watched them carefully.
But they ended up entering a bar, and he lost sight of them.
'The bastards are out of sight now,' Velen thought, frustrated.
He had spent all day trailing these fools to get to their leader, and when he got his hands on him, he would do what he did best, slay them.
'No worries, I love it when they think they're safe until they're shocked by my presence,' he licked his lips in excitement.
Just like Azrael, spewing blood was an addiction to him.
The thrilling sensation of slicing through flesh with his sword was quite a pleasurable experience to have.
However, unlike his god, he didn't spill the blood of the innocent but instead targeted celestials—especially rogue gods or those who became consumed with more power than they already had.
