Matt remained hidden behind the broken crates, completely still, like a statue the fog had forgotten. His gray eyes absorbed the scene with a calm that was no longer human.
The woman of the Sun Path shone like a small sun in the middle of the alley. Her voice rose clear and pure, a hymn that carried blessings—courage, strength, the banishment of fear. Golden light flowed from her body, filling ten meters around her with the scorching radiance of midday. Two miniature suns burned within her eyes, allowing her to see through the fog as if it were glass.
Every note of her song deepened her obedience to the light and weakened the darkness.
Opposite her, the man of the Hanged Man Path moved like a living nightmare.
He melted into the shadows along the walls, his form turning dark gray and translucent, the world around him blurring. His voice drifted from the starless void, distant and hollow. From the ground he summoned a creature of shadow—a twisted, hungry thing—that lunged at the woman with black claws.
At the same time he manipulated her shadow within the Shadow World, trying to wrap it into a massive black chrysalis.
A shadow curse was already creeping up the woman's legs, degenerating her flesh with a corrosive cold.
The battle was beautiful in its brutality.
Pure light against devouring darkness.
Matt watched without blinking.
Benefits, he thought with that new, perfect coldness that now lived inside him.
If the woman dies, I obtain the characteristic of her Path.
If the man dies, I obtain the characteristic of his Path as well.
Or… both.
I could corrupt them both. Let them destroy each other, then collect what remains.
None of this matters enough to preserve.
They're only fuel.
A fertilizer.
A slow, amused smile spread across his lips.
He decided.
Fast and silent, with the lethal precision of a Criminal who no longer needed to think, Matt moved.
He extended a hand toward the alley floor, exactly where the woman was retreating.
A thin layer of Poisonous Flames slipped from his fingers—almost invisible, black-blue and nearly without heat. The flames spread along the cobblestones like living oil and merged with the puddles of dirty water, forming a corrosive trap.
Any heavy step—or any burst of solar light—would trigger the venom beneath her feet.
Done.
The woman sang louder, trying to reinforce her blessings and disperse the darkness. A beam of Fiery Light shot from her hand, burning part of the shadow chrysalis the man was attempting to close around her.
But when she stepped back to gain distance—
her foot touched the trap.
The venom activated.
A black-blue wave surged up her legs like rotting roots. Her song broke for a moment. The light surrounding her flickered.
Her blessings weakened.
The man of the Hanged Man Path noticed instantly.
He stepped from the shadows with a wide, sick smile, his torso still smoking from the sunlight that had burned him earlier.
"Oh… did your voice fail you, little luminary?" he mocked, his voice wet and distorted. "Is the Eternal Sun not so eternal after all? Look how you tremble. Look how your light fades."
He laughed softly.
"Are you going to beg now? Are you going to sing for me?"
The woman tried to answer with another hymn, but the venomous corruption had already reached her knees. Her night vision faltered. The golden light around her became unstable.
The man laughed again, shaping more shadows into a long black spear.
"How pathetic. I thought the Sun's dogs fought better."
That was when Matt stepped out of the shadows.
He walked forward calmly, silently, until he stood behind the man. The brown priest's robe shifted faintly beneath his dark coat. The distant gas lamps illuminated his pale face and gray eyes.
Both fighters turned toward him at the same time.
Matt raised his right hand.
"Slowness."
The word emerged in the Language of Filth, rough and ancient.
The world slowed.
The shadow spear drifting through the air decelerated. The hymn the woman tried to form stretched into a warped, elongated sound. Even the flames licking the ground became sluggish, nearly still.
Matt walked forward without hurry.
He stopped beside the man of the Hanged Man Path, who stared at him with wide eyes as motion slowly returned.
Matt lifted his left hand and gently placed it on the man's head—like a father blessing his child.
Then he smiled.
A beautiful, calm, terrible smile.
From his palm emerged Poisonous Flames.
There was no explosion.
It was something far more elegant.
The black-blue flames flowed like living roots, delicate and graceful, coiling around the man's head with almost loving slowness. They slipped through his hair, along his ears, across his eyes.
Where they touched, flesh did not burn.
It rotted.
Skin blackened and melted like warm wax. The eyes liquefied, running down his cheeks in dark threads. Within seconds the skull was exposed—white and gleaming—while the flames continued downward along his neck, shoulders, and torso, devouring everything with silent, horrifying beauty.
The man could not scream.
Slowness turned his agony into a mute, slow dance.
Matt kept his hand on the man's head until the end, as if sharing a secret.
When the body finally collapsed, it was nothing more than a smoking black shell. The shadows he once controlled dissipated like harmless mist.
Matt removed his hand.
The poisonous flames extinguished themselves—including those that had touched the woman moments earlier—leaving only a faint scent of sweet rot in the air.
He turned toward her.
She stared at him with wide eyes, still partially caught in the lingering effects of Slowness. The corruption in her legs had already faded.
Matt inclined his head politely.
"Good evening."
His voice was calm.
Almost kind.
And in his gray eyes there was not the slightest trace of mercy.
Only the perfect calm of someone who knew that nothing in this world deserved to be preserved.
The woman struggled against the slowing effect. Her mouth moved, trying to form a desperate hymn.
One single note escaped her lips—trembling, pure, filled with sunlight.
And then it happened.
The scar on Matt's side burned with a green pain so intense that he stepped back.
For the first time since becoming a Wingless Angel, he felt something.
Not fear.
Not guilt.
Something worse.
A wave of toxic heat ran through his entire body, like burning roots trying to bind him from within. The scar pulsed violently with a warning so fierce it blurred his vision for a moment.
The woman stared straight into his eyes.
Matt froze.
The scar burned hotter and hotter, as though something whispered inside his flesh.
His thoughts became erratic. His skin itched as if something inside wanted to break free. When he looked down at his hands, his veins bulged dark and black beneath the skin.
For a moment—
he almost lost control.
Then he forced the thoughts away.
One must nourish. Not waste.
The reminder cut through the chaos like a blade.
Slowly, the burning receded.
The scar calmed.
And his body returned to stillness.