Aron gazed at the girl, her blue eyes matching the ones of the man she called father. It didn't take much guessing to know their relationship.
'Even heathens love… quite the dilemma…' he thought as his gaze softened a bit.
"I will give you a few seconds. What do you want from me, herald of Eve?" he asked, folding his hands.
The middle-aged man sighed in relief, finding some ground to breathe—thanks to his daughter, of course. But the words he needed to speak weren't suitable in front of her.
"…I… I came to say thank you, Slay—… I mean, Mr. Aron. You saved my one and only daughter."
Aron knew he wanted to say more, but that wasn't his problem. He had things to do—important things that could decide the fate of this city in a few days. "If that's it, then I will go. May we never see each other again," he said as he vanished altogether, reappearing out of the alley and back on the pathway.
"…Are you looking for your… friends? Maybe Khorn?" the middle-aged man asked quickly, trying to reach him.
Aron's steps halted as he turned once more. "You know… where he is?" he asked.
"…Of course, most everyone knows about him," he said, pointing at the faraway building—the tallest one, more than three hundred stories high. "…He is the most powerful man in the city. He just bought that building a few months ago…"
Aron gazed at the building, his eyes widening. He hadn't known his herald had that much… liquid. Well, how would he know? He had just been falling from one roof to another and shutting himself away when he lived again.
"He's not here yet, but he will come soon. He bought that building the moment he got a hint that you were here. And the same reason I came here," the man said weakly. "…And now that you are… actually here… the news will spread out even more."
Aron realized he didn't need to think much more. The moment he had looked out the window and smelled the many hints of divinity in the air, he should have guessed. This city, which he had thought was good for escape, was not just loaded—no, packed—with those he had been running from.
"You're right, right indeed," he said.
"It's been years already. Some said you died, some said you went to heaven once more, some said hell called you back," the middle-aged man said.
"I see…" he said with his yearning smile, a bit relieved—a relief of the heart—that they hadn't forgotten him. As he had abandoned them, he had thought they might have stopped looking. He had thought they had stopped caring, but no, they were still there, waiting and searching, forcing his heart to feel light.
With a smile, he faced the middle-aged man properly. "…That's good news. I already know why my heralds would be looking for me, but why would you be? Why would a hera—" He stopped, seeing the daughter behind him, still confused.
"Why would you, a friend of… Eve, be looking for me?" he asked.
"….." There was sudden quietness before the man finally replied. "…Oh, you mustn't have heard about it then. Lady Eve… she is gone, Mr. Aron. It happened around the same time you left. Eve and Adam—both are missing…" he said.
Aron's eyes turned dim. "What?! Gone? If both of them are gone. Who is managing the balance of our world. The karma and the balance of the world were guarded by us!" Then a horrifying thought struck him. If neither Adam and Eve weren't managing....
' indicator.' he thought as the blue screen appeared before him once again.
[Karma Distribution Indicator:
Angels: ⬇️
Demons: ⬆️
Gods: ⬆️⬆️⬆️
Level: Chaotic]
"...Bloody hell!"
The blue windows flared violently in Aron's vision, unbidden and urgent. A sharp ache lanced through his chest, as though the world itself protested the words just spoken.
"Mr. Aron!" the man interjected, side-eyeing his daughter.
"Oh… sorry."
The man turned to his daughter. "Okay, love, go to your mom and head home. I'll be back. This gentleman seems to be my old friend, so we need to catch up a bit…" he told her.
She looked at him, then at the golden-eyed, golden-haired man who looked more mythic than human. She knew something weird was happening, but she also knew she wasn't in a place to ask.
"Okay, Daddy. Be… safe," she said. "And… thank you, Mr…. for saving me…" she added, slowly walking away.
Aron only nodded with a slight smile.
"I think we have a lot to talk about, Lord Aron. Would you like some coffee while we're at it…" he said, trying to be hospitable to one of the original immortals of the world.
The system windows hovered at the edge of his vision, pulsing faintly.
[Proximity Alert: Multiple Divinity Signatures Converging]
[Estimated Arrival: 11 Minutes]
"I will have to deny your request, Mr…?"
"Anderson, Peter Anderson," he replied, fixing his gesture, a bit strained from the blatant refusal. "Why woul—"
Aron turned, his eyes seeing more than one should see. He didn't like what he saw. "Because my bad luck just got worse."
Aron scanned the surroundings. It was evening, the streets alive with a hefty number of people milling about. This kind of confrontation usually happened at night, when fewer humans were around to witness the fallout. But this, happening right now, already showed just how thoroughly the balance was fucked up—chaos spilling into daylight hours without restraint.
"Peter, was it?" he called, his voice cutting through the fading bustle.
"Yes, Mr. Aron. Sir… Lord. Lord Aron," he replied, stumbling over the titles in a rush.
"...We have a situation at hand. As a herald of one of the immortals, you should know what is to be done."
Peter nodded as he felt the tension coil in the air, understanding exactly what that meant as he sensed the surge of power approaching from afar. Without hesitation, he reached into his coat and took out what looked like a smooth white metallic ball, its surface humming faintly with latent divinity.
"Indeed, Lord Aron. I have the blessing of the veil. How much range should I put on it?" he asked, fingers already poised.
Aron had already gauged the power of those incoming. They felt weak collectively, but one amongst them felt....different and with the dense crowd of mortals around, even minor clashes could turn catastrophic. "…Maximum," he said firmly.
"...But…" Peter hesitated, glancing at the ball with a grimace. "My lord, it will only last a few minutes…"
Aron turned to him fully, his golden eyes glaring with that ancient, unyielding intensity. Seeing those eyes, Peter's memories of the alley flooded back in an instant—the raw power, the near-death brush. In that moment He knew what he needed to know.
No more questions. Nodding sharply, he followed orders without another word. He channeled his own divinity into the ball, feeling it warm and pulse in his palm, then hurled it high into the sky.
There was a small, sharp explosion overhead—like a firework muffled by distance—which drew everyone's attention nearby. Heads turned upward, murmurs rippling through the crowd. But what they didn't see—what mortals could never see—was the invisible layer of veil protruding outward, expanding rapidly in a perfect sphere, covering the whole block of streets in a shimmering barrier of altered reality.
Gradually but steadily, the people around started to decrease in number. Pedestrians suddenly remembered urgent errands elsewhere, turning on their heels with vague, compelled expressions.
Vehicles slowed, drivers blinking as if waking from a daze, then veered off toward side streets that pulled at them inexplicably. The people who had been sitting inside the nearby café stood up one by one, leaving half-finished drinks behind as they wandered out and away.
The once-crowded walkway emptied in waves—first thinning, then deserted entirely—until there was no one left. Not a single human remained within the veil's embrace. That was the veil's job: to nudge reality just enough to clear the board, protecting the innocent from what was coming. That was the subtle, terrifying power of divinity—controlling the unnatural without a trace.
[Estimated arrival: 58 seconds]
"i asked you a question before...You didn't answer me then…" Aron said, his eyes fixed on the shimmering edge of the veil, where the world beyond blurred like heat haze.
"Yes, lord…?"
"I asked why you were searching for me."
"....."
[Estimated arrival: 40 seconds]
"Speak. We don't have all day…" Aron growled, the low rumble carrying the weight of eons.
Peter nodded, taking a heavy, steadying breath as the countdown ticked in Aron's vision.
"Lord, after you were gone and didn't return, the world went quiet for a time—unnaturally quiet. Everyone who knew better understood what it meant: the calm before the storm."
[Estimated arrival: 40 seconds]
"We knew what was coming, but… it was worse. It was way worse than we ever thought. I won't get too into this, but… the lives that were lost—it was heavy. Only a few survived, the only ones who adapted," Peter said. "Those willing to stain their hands enough to keep fighting: Ureil, Raphael, a handful of others."
Aron's brows spiked at the name. A flicker of something raw crossed his golden eyes, but he remained silent, forcing himself to listen.
[Estimated arrival: 15 seconds]
"Ureil holds what little line remains, Lord Aron," Peter continued. "She coordinates what forces she can—heralds, mortals, anyone not yet crushed by the imbalance."
"…And you?" Aron asked. "Why come yourself?"
Peter exhaled slowly, then stepped forward—and dropped to one knee.
"She sent me," he said plainly. "The moment rumors reached her that you had returned."
Aron's eyes narrowed.
"But I did not come only as a messenger."
[Estimated arrival: 6 seconds]
Peter lifted his head, meeting Aron's gaze despite the pressure rolling off him.
"I came because….I wish to serve you," he said. "Not as Eve's herald. Not as a watcher standing at the edge of history."
His voice steadied.
"I wish to be your herald."
Silence fell between them, thick and heavy.
[Estimated arrival: 3 seconds]
Aron stared down at him, unreadable, terrifyingly calm.
"You know what serving me costs," Aron said quietly. "You know what follows where I walk."
"I do," Peter replied without hesitation. "That is why I came."
Aron's hand came to rest atop Peter's head, firm and deliberate—the weight of judgment and promise alike.
"…Then stand," Aron said.
"I am here now."
His golden eyes lifted toward the unseen threat closing in.
"…And the world will remember balance."
[Estimated arrival: 0 seconds]
The blue timer screen dissolved.
Beyond the veil, three shadows lingered—waiting.The first stepped through as if answering a silent invitation. Casual business clothes, a plain coat and slacks, the face of a young Asian man in his twenties—perfectly ordinary. Perfectly forgettable.
Then he smiled.
Skin split at the corners of his mouth, not tearing violently, but opening, stretching wider than flesh should allow. The smile did not belong to joy or hunger—it belonged to recognition.
"Oh," he murmured, eyes gliding over the warped edge of the veil as though reading fine print reality had tried to hide. "Two leaks of divinity instead of one."
He inhaled slowly. Appreciatively. "How… fortunate."
The second stepped through a heartbeat later. Same face. Same clothes. Same shape. But wrong in subtler ways—his movements lagged, joints correcting themselves half a second too late, as though his body hadn't fully agreed to exist yet.
"Huh…" he muttered, brow furrowing as he glanced at the device in his hand. "Was my scanner—"
Slap.
The sound cracked sharp and dry. The rookie staggered, blinking in confusion.
"What the hell—"
"Idiot," the first snapped, irritation bleeding through the pleasant tone. He rolled his neck once, bones popping too loudly. "There's another presence. Smaller. Tucked away at the corner."
His eyes flicked—not toward Peter, but through him. "Can't you feel it?" he sneered. "Or did Hell start handing out bodies before brains?"
The rookie swallowed and hurriedly raised the sleek device—smooth, metallic, etched with sigils no angel had ever sanctioned. It hummed as it swept the space, chirping eagerly at the rich pulse of divinity ahead.
Then the scan reached Aron.The screen spasmed.
Bang!
The device sparked violently, smoke curling from its seams.
"Oh," the rookie muttered weakly, staring at the ruined scanner. "Was this thing broken from the start…?"
The leader didn't answer. His smile widened further, skin pulling thin, eyes lighting with something sharp and predatory. The broken scanner meant nothing to him.
"Take the smaller one," he whispered, voice dropping into something intimate, almost reverent.
His gaze locked onto Aron. "The gold one…" A slow breath. "…is mine."
Seeing even the cunts from hell using devices, Aron sighed. "…Oh, now even imps are evolving… great," he growled. What stood before him were no humans. His nose had prickled the moment they entered the veil, assaulted by the stench of corruption and the hint of sulfur. He didn't even need to ask who hid within the masks of men—it was already obvious enough.
[Mission Alert]
[Intense Hellish Aura Detected.]
[Defeat the devils within the time limit.]
[Timer: 2 minutes]
[Reward: 100+ Karma]
Seeing the system prompt, Aron felt a faint, private flicker of amusement deep in his chest. He let the feeling linger for half a heartbeat, then stepped forward. His hands uncurled slowly, deliberately, opening wide as if to embrace the inevitable. He knew the veil was already fraying; two minutes, perhaps less, before it shattered and exposed them all. One last glance over his shoulder. Peter met his eyes—wide, steady, trusting despite the fact they had just met.
Peter returned the nod, quiet and resolute. Then he stepped forward too, lips moving in a low, steady chant as divinity stirred within him. Each footfall grew softer, his form fading like mist under dawn light—first translucent, edges blurring, then entirely gone.
No eye could trace him now. No sense could mark his presence. Yet he saw everything—no, he saw beyond everything. He saw blood, gazing at them and their devilish grins as he recognized who he was dealing with, and his blood boiled even more.
Aron walked forward first as the so-called leader came nearer. The scent of familiar sulfur grew stronger; he couldn't help but snort, his face muscles twitching with disgust, as he spat on the floor. His fist clenched tight.
But he was grateful, though—the one before him didn't recognize him. Not even a single bit. Maybe the devil was that weak, which was good, perhaps—his streak of bad luck wheeling toward something useful. He didn't want them to be scared. Oh no. He would hate that.
He stopped, and so did the devil in human skin. Face to face, Aron couldn't help but look slightly up. The bastard had morphed his body to be taller and broader while walking toward him. His coat was slightly ripped at the seams.
Aron clicked his tongue against his cheek. "You lot still think bigger is stronger, huh…"
The devil, now with extra pounds on him, growled like his hunger was slipping its leash. His human mouth gradually lost all resemblance to humanity, his tongue spiraling out as yellow liquid drooled from the edge of his mouth down his chin and onto his suit.
Sniff… sniffff…
"Ohhhhhh, you smell… so wonddeerfullll up close. I almost ate youuu right up," he growled. Aron's scent invigorated him like never before. No—that was an understatement. He had never in his whole hellish life encountered a smell this delicious.
"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this," he said, both hands reaching for Aron's shoulders. "Just stay still, yeaaahh, just like that."
The devil stretched his hands out, but something felt off. He wanted to reach, but he couldn't. And before he knew it, both of his hands were sliced away. He stared at his severed arms in shock.
"Don't even breathe near me, you filth," Aron said. His leg rose high and higher until he softly placed it on the devil's forehead while the creature was still reeling.
"Kneel," Aron commanded, pressing just a bit. That was it—that was enough. The devil felt the force, the overwhelming force—no divinity, no magic, no enhancement. Pure, natural pressure pounded him down onto the ground, splashing blood everywhere.
The prickle of red, steaming blood latched onto his shoes and foot, some even smearing his face.
"Wh… what?" the devil gasped, Aron's foot still on his half-squashed head. "This power… it's… it's impossible…" he growled, his jaw and head already misplaced. He tried to rise, to stand up, but…
Aron pressed his leg further into the mush of meat under his foot, the skull and brain already squashed even more.
'No, this shouldn't be possible. I am a high-rank devil. I shouldn't…' the devil thought, his sinful heart coiling deep. His hunger suddenly turned to pathetic despair. And in this dark despair, he realized something. He had felt the same overwhelming powerlessness before as well—it was a hundred years ago.
"…Yo…u're… Aron… th…e Sla…yer."
"Indeed," Aron said, smashing the head so hard that the impact echoed, the highway cracking under it.
He turned and saw Peter already pinning the other devil down, ready to kill him.
"Wait… he's useful alive," he said.
Clap!
Clap!
Clap!
The sound came from beyond the veil—the last of the three, something, someone Aron couldn't identify.
"Indeed…" he said, his tone echoing. "You are indeed the Slayer. I thought it was a mistake, but no one takes care of devils that fast except an immortal—and an immortal with golden hair—that only leaves Aron, the mighty Slayer."
Aron came closer. He couldn't see the man because of the veil, but he wanted to get near enough to smell him. But the presence of the unknown was already fading as his final words echoed.
"Welcome back, Slayer. This is going to be fun… much, much fun." And the presence was gone.