Chapter 2-Angel Born in Flames

A hush fell over Applecrest as the evening sky bled into shades of violet and gray. Lamplights flickered to life, creating halos of weak illumination along the deserted streets. Markus and Wallace pressed on through the gloom, each step shadowed by the tension of their mission. Their eyes scanned every alley and rooftop, wary of enemies lurking in the deepening twilight.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle sliced the night air. Markus let out a startled grunt as a crossbow bolt sank into his calf. Pain lanced through his leg, forcing him down on one knee. His breath hissed between clenched teeth.

“Dammit…” he muttered, pressing a hand against the wound. “See, Wallace, everything worked out,” he continued, voice laced with strained humor. “Our enemy brought themselves right to us.”

Wallace rolled his eyes behind his thick-framed glasses. “Yes, wonderful plan, get shot in the leg and bleed all over the cobblestones.” He shook his head, already reaching down to yank the bolt free.

Six figures emerged from the shifting shadows. Each wore a black jumpsuit beneath a dark cloak, faces concealed by eerie animal masks—a cow, a pig, a sheep, a lizard, a fox, and a horse. They spread out into a loose circle, brandishing their weapons in the fading light.

Wallace braced one hand over Markus’s wound. A glowing emerald light danced across his fingertips, and in seconds, Markus’s torn flesh knitted back together as though it had never been injured.

“Thanks,” Markus said, grunting as he pushed himself to his feet. He sent a measured glare toward the masked assailants. “Let’s see…two crossbow users, two knife users, and two ax-wielders. They came prepared.”

The masked men closed in, their weapons glinting ominously under the wavering lamp glow. Wallace glanced around, mind already calculating odds and distances—how quickly the two crossbowmen could reload, how the axe-wielders might be slower but more dangerous in close quarters, and whether the knife-wielders would attempt a quick ambush.

Markus’s brow furrowed. “We can’t risk bystanders stumbling onto this.”

Wallace gave a curt nod. “There should be no witnesses. Better seal this space off just to be safe.”

With a snap of his fingers, Markus invoked his power. A translucent barrier shimmered into place around them, bending the air at the edges of the street. The scene appeared empty from the outside, a simple stretch of cobblestone in the soft glow of Applecrest’s lanterns. Within the barrier, however, six masked killers had them surrounded.

Wallace sized up the enemy line once more, speaking quietly to Markus. “Leave one alive. We’ll need information.”

“Kill all but one. Got it,” Markus confirmed, his voice low and resolute.

“Fine, fine,” Wallace sighed, adjusting his glasses. “Just don’t go overboard.”

A faint smirk tugged at Markus’s lips. “I make no promises,” he teased.

In a fluid motion, Wallace reached into the deep pockets of his lab coat and withdrew two sleek pistols, each engraved with the A.E.G.I.S logo, that glinted under the streetlights. Markus, on the other hand, flexed his now-uninjured leg, choosing to fight barehanded. Sparks of raw energy flickered around his clenched fist—an unspoken warning that he, too, commanded a power far deadlier than any blade.

The masked men seemed to exchange glances behind their animal visages. Tension roiled in the air, thick as fog, as each second slowed. Then, in a burst of motion, one of the crossbow wielders fired again, the bolt whistling through the enclosed space.

A sharp crack rang out in the enclosed, illusion-shielded street as Wallace squeezed the trigger of his pistol. The bullet caught a fired crossbow bolt in midair—splintering the wooden shaft—before continuing on to punch through the masked shooter’s skull. The hooded figure, wearing a crude fox mask, collapsed with a thud.

“One down. Try not to fall behind,” Wallace teased, blowing faint wisps of gun smoke from the muzzle of his weapon as he lined up his next shot.

“I won’t let you outdo me, brother,” Markus replied, a wry grin twisting his lips. He clenched his right hand, and a surge of purple energy rippled across his knuckles. In the blink of an eye, he teleported a few yards ahead—reappearing inches away from two axe-wielding attackers.

The purple aura around Markus’s hands shimmered violently in that same instant. Reality itself seemed to fracture, and the space separating him from his targets tore apart. Both men, masked by grotesque cow and pig visages, froze for a heartbeat. Then each fell in half at the waist, blood spraying across the cobblestone as their torsos landed with wet thumps.

“That’s two for me.” Markus laughed, stepping back before the gore could stain his black suit. “I’m in the lead.”

Across the street, the final two knife-wielding enemies—masks of sheep and horse, closed in on Wallace. Their blades caught the weak lamplight in sinister arcs as they slashed at him from opposite sides. Wallace sidestepped their flurry of attacks with fluid grace, responding with two crisp pulls of his triggers. Muzzle flashes lit up the darkened air, and both masked figures slumped to the ground, bullet holes drilled perfectly through their temples.

Before the bodies could settle, Wallace stooped to snatch one of their fallen knives. With a swift pivot, he drove the blade into the thigh of the last surviving attacker—the lizard-masked crossbowman. The man cried out, staggering as hot blood coursed down his leg.

“Listen up,” Wallace hissed, grinding his foot against the wounded man’s mask and pinning him to the gritty pavement. “We don’t have much time, so tell us where Iris Blackwell is. We know you’re here looking for her.”

The masked man’s ragged breathing gave way to a chuckle, low and mocking. “I’ll never tell you,” he spat. “You’ll have to kill me.”

Wallace’s expression darkened, and he pressed the heel of his shoe harder against the mask, causing fresh screams to tear from the captive’s throat. “You think death is your only way out? Healers like me are good for more than just patching wounds. I can keep you alive through a lot… including organ removal.”

The man let out a strangled laugh that died quickly as Wallace’s eyes flickered with a sadistic light. “I’ll take each of your organs in alphabetical order,” Wallace threatened, voice icily calm. “Then I’ll stitch you back together before you die, and start again. Think you can handle open-heart surgery without anesthesia?”

A beat of silence passed. Markus stood behind Wallace, face impassive, the remnants of purple energy still flickering around him. Even though the cool night air drifted between them, the sheer brutality of Wallace’s words suffused the street with a suffocating chill. The pinned man’s labored breathing and the drip of blood on stone were the only sounds within the barrier’s invisible walls.

Wallace’s unblinking gaze bore into the lizard-masked man’s wide, terror-filled eyes. Each ragged breath came shorter than the last. The night air clung to them like a shroud, filled with the lingering stench of gunpowder and fresh blood. Even the flickering streetlights seemed to dim in anticipation of what Wallace would do next.

“Now,” he said quietly, “tell me. Where…is…Iris?”

A strangled whimper tore itself from behind the lizard mask as the man hurriedly spat out the address of Iris Blackwell’s home. The desperation in his voice was unmistakable. “P-please, I told you what you want! Don’t kill me—”

Without hesitation, Wallace yanked the knife free from the man’s thigh and, in one swift movement, plunged it into his head. The dying soldier crumpled to the pavement, blood pooling around his mask. Wallace wiped the blade on the man’s jumpsuit, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever.

“Erase the bodies,” he said flatly, “let’s get going.”

Markus stepped forward, his hands crackling with the faint distortion of his space-manipulating ability. He waved one palm in a slow, sweeping motion, and each corpse vanished as though consumed by a ripple in reality. The barrier flickered briefly, then dissipated, revealing an empty street once more.

Wallace checked his phone. It read 7:45 PM. An uneasy chill settled in his gut. “Fifteen minutes left…” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s move.”

Together, they sprinted into the encroaching darkness, headed for Iris Blackwell’s home. Every footstep echoed like a countdown to the moment the young girl was prophesied to die.

High above the sleeping town, in the decrepit clock tower, Nikolai, Lucia, and Scarlet were preparing for the final phase of their plan. Rusted gears creaked overhead, and every hollow gust of wind rattled the warped wooden beams. A single, timeworn lantern cast dancing shadows across the trio’s faces.

“By now, the rest of our troops have made their way. We should depart,” Lucia urged, her tone betraying the knot of anxiety coiled in her chest.

Nikolai’s face was unreadable, but a glint of anticipation shone in his lime-green eyes. “I agree. Open your gate, Lucia. Let us begin the show. Tonight, Noir will secure the first key—and kill the Reaper in the process.”

Lucia swallowed hard, then raised her arms outward, summoning a swirling lime-green aura. With a trembling gasp, she manifested a door of light that sprang up from the floor, edged with glowing runes. As it swung open, an image of Iris Blackwell’s home flickered into view on the other side.

Stepping through the portal, Nikolai, Lucia, and Scarlet arrived at the edge of Iris’s property. Seven of Noir’s remaining forces were waiting, wearing the same black cloaks and animal masks as those who had faced the Valentine brothers.

Nikolai’s expression darkened. “Where the hell is everyone else?”

A masked soldier, breath uneven, answered in a trembling voice. “S-six of us confronted the Reaper and Saint. They were wiped out…as for the o-other twelve, we have no idea, sir. They just vanished.”

Lightning flared in Nikolai’s gaze, an inferno of rage threatening to break loose. Sweat trickled down the soldier’s brow as he delivered the grim news. Yet Nikolai, with forced composure, channeled his anger into cold command.

“I have no time to be angry. Hurry up and deploy the barrier with the Artifacts I gave you.”

The seven masked soldiers each pulled out a ring inlaid with a dull purple gemstone, etched with intricate runes. One by one, they slipped the rings onto their fingers. Immediately, dark tendrils of shadow burst from the stones and stabbed into the soldiers’ flesh. Their screams filled the night as their bodies twisted and writhed, the rings feasting on their life force. Their skin withered, eyes glazing over in terror until each one collapsed, lifeless husks draining into the ground.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Upon the final soldier’s death, every gemstone shattered, releasing a vortex of black smoke. The wisps swirled around the perimeter of Iris’s home, forming a foreboding barrier suffused with hungry, roiling shadows.

Nikolai lifted his face to the dark sky, a cruel laugh bubbling in his throat. “Your sacrifices will be remembered. Tonight, we claim the first key to divinity and begin toppling the world order A.E.G.I.S. has created.”

Lucia paled, a tremor passing through her as she watched the remnants of the soldiers’ final act swirl across the lawn. “W-would you sacrifice me like that…right, sir?” she asked, voice quaking.

Nikolai fixed her with a cutting stare. “You’re far more useful to me alive, Lucia.”

She exhaled, relief coursing through her trembling limbs. Meanwhile, Scarlet said nothing, her crimson eyes fixed on the barrier’s swirling tendrils with a sort of dark delight. She couldn’t stop the anticipatory smirk from curving her lips. She hungered for the battle soon to come—and for the chance to meet Markus in combat once again.

Meanwhile, Markus and Wallace skidded to a halt at the edge of Iris’s front yard, lungs burning from their grueling sprint. A soft glow from the house’s windows hinted at a warmth within, but the oppressive, inky haze swirling around the property told a very different story. The air felt thick—charged with a malevolent energy that prickled against their skin.

Wallace caught his breath, pressing a hand to his chest. “Anyone unawakened won’t even notice this,” he said in a hoarse whisper, eyes narrowed. “But if they do somehow try to enter…” He carefully touched the barrier swirling before him, and his flesh instantly seared, leaving the faint smell of burnt fabric and singed skin. “They’ll die without ever realizing how.”

Markus frowned, his jaw muscles tightening. The barrier itself appeared semi-translucent—like a membrane of roiling black smoke—but the flickers of violet light sparking across its surface told them it was far more lethal than it looked. Whispers of agony seemed to rise from within the mist, echoing in dissonant cries.

Wallace pressed a trembling hand against the barrier again, more cautiously this time, trying to sense the structure. What he heard made his blood run cold, faint, tortured screams—like souls trapped mid-sentence, eternally begging for release. A half-dozen shadowy hands clawed outward, reaching for him with trembling desperation. When he reflexively reached out to help, his fingertips smoked and sizzled upon contact, forcing him to yank his hand away.

“Dammit,” he hissed, cradling his throbbing fingers. “They used human sacrifices to power this thing… How twisted do you have to be to do that?”

Markus’s glare grew dangerously intense, a fire kindling behind his eyes. “Using people’s lives for a disposable barrier… I’ll make them pay for this.” He curled his hands into fists, the distant hum of his Authority flickering over his knuckles. “No matter what.”

However, a peaceful stillness persisted within the house. Iris Blackwell lay tangled in her bedsheets, tossing fitfully. Her brow creased with nightmares she didn’t understand. Far away in her dreaming world, a gentle voice was calling her, pushing through her restless slumber.

“Iris… Iris, please wake up. You must wake up right now.”

She stirred, eyelids fluttering open. Though she had never heard this voice before, it wrapped her in a comforting warmth, like an old friend. Heart thumping, she sat up, blinking at the shadows in her moonlit room. Her gaze drifted to the small table beside her bed, where her beloved paper-butterfly bookmark seemed to be faintly aglow, casting a golden radiance that pulsed in time with her quickening heartbeat.

The butterfly’s delicate wings moved in slow, almost hypnotic flutters, as though responding to her unspoken fear. Iris swallowed, unsettled and yet oddly reassured. The voice had felt so…familiar—tender and urging her onward. As the last echo of the plea faded from her thoughts, the butterfly’s luminescent glow intensified, and Iris felt an odd resonance in her chest. It was as if the voice, the butterfly, and her own heartbeat were in sync, guiding her toward something she couldn’t yet name.

Unaware of the deadly barrier flickering outside and the ominous forces closing in on her home, Iris rubbed her eyes and slipped off her bed. Her bare feet met the cold floor with a slight shiver. A gentle glow from the moonlit window cast pale stripes across her frilly white dress, heightening the hush that hung in the air.

“W-who are you?” she whispered into the dark, heart thumping. “Why did you wake me up?”

No reply came. Instead, the delicate paper butterfly hovering by her side simply fluttered forward, guiding her out of her room. Its wings rustled softly in the silence, as though urging her onward. Intrigued and a little frightened, Iris followed it, trailing through the dim hallway and down the old wooden staircase. Each step echoed in the quiet house, the tension in the air leaving her both curious and uneasy.

The butterfly led her toward the dining hall, where shadows stretched long across the floor. A single lamp on the table revealed a small, neatly wrapped present adorned with a simple note. Iris’s breath caught as she lifted the letter:

“Your birthday is coming up soon, right? I hope you enjoy this gift. Please stay downstairs and open it. May this book guide you through the darkest of times. Trust in your strength and the light within. You are stronger than you know, Iris. Please, no matter what, survive.”

The letter bore no signature, only a small butterfly stamp where a name might have been. A dark, damp spot stained the paper over the word “survive,” as though someone’s tear had fallen there.

A swirl of curiosity and trepidation rose in Iris’s chest. She carefully unwrapped the package, her fingers tingling with anticipation. Inside lay a beautiful red book, its cover plush and velvety, intricately embossed with gold filigree that glinted in the faint lamplight. Captivated by its elegance, she ran her fingertips over the swirling patterns. Even through the fabric of her nightdress, she sensed a gentle warmth radiating from its pages.

As she marvelled at the book, the tiny butterfly drifted down from the air, its shimmering wings fluttering in slow, graceful arcs. It settled neatly on the cover, pulsing with a soft, golden glow. Before her very eyes, it melded back into the form of a simple yet enchanting bookmark, its delicate patterns harmonizing with the ornate gold designs of the book.

Heart pounding, Iris touched the bookmark. A subtle current of energy—comforting yet urgent, seemed to pass from the butterfly into her. She couldn’t explain it, but somewhere deep inside, a spark of resolve was kindled. This gift, so mysterious and unexpected, felt like a beacon of hope lighting the surrounding darkness.

Outside Iris’s home, the moon hung low over the star-speckled sky, illuminating the dense veil of darkness cast by the lethal barrier Noir had erected. Nikolai, Scarlet, and Lucia stood amidst the flickering shadows, finalizing their preparations for the assault. A faint wind tugged at their clothes, carrying the acrid scent of burnt ozone and crackling energy.

Scarlet stood at the front, arms crossed over her crimson dress as she conjured roiling flames around her fingertips. The heat she generated distorted the air, sending waves of shimmering light dancing across the lawn. Nikolai surveyed the barrier’s surface, cold lime-green eyes fixed on a specific point he sensed beyond the swirling blackness—where Markus and Wallace would soon attempt to break through. A few steps away, Lucia trembled, still drained from opening her Gate earlier; beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and her gloved hands gripped one another in quiet anxiety.

“Nikolai,” Scarlet said, quiet confidence lacing her tone, “all I have to do is burn that room upstairs, right?” She lifted a single finger toward Iris’s bedroom window, the faintest of grins curving her lips.

“Yes, that is correct. Use only enough power to set the place ablaze,” Nikolai commanded, his voice edged with impatience. “I don’t want to risk destroying the artifact we seek.”

Scarlet rolled her eyes, though a mischievous smile played at the corners of her mouth. “You’re always so serious, boss. But fine, I understand—you’re more motivated than any of us for this mission to succeed.” Her voice dropped to a purr. “No matter what, I’ll make sure it happens.”

Nikolai inclined his head in agreement, gaze never leaving the barrier. “Once she’s dead, we’ll pluck the key from her heart. Have we identified the location of the other key yet?” he asked, directing the question at Lucia, whose eyes flickered nervously in the shifting light.

Lucia swallowed, struggling to speak calmly. “No, sir. The vice leader said he hasn’t found them yet. There’s… a chance A.E.G.I.S. already has the other key.”

Nikolai’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then we’ll invade their facilities when the time comes. For now, focus on claiming the first key.” He paused, the tension on his scarred forehead deepening. “Waste no more time.”

At Nikolai’s command, Scarlet’s flames condensed into a small, glowing orb the size of her palm. The fiery sphere roiled with volatile power—sparks crackling across its surface like miniature lightning. With a graceful flick of her wrist, she launched the orb at Iris’s window.

It sailed through the air in an arcing blur, colliding with the second-story window in a thunderous burst of heat. For a moment, the orb glowed, almost tranquil. Then the violent expansion erupted with a roar, billowing flames that engulfed the entire upstairs floor in seconds. A fierce wave of heat rippled outward, rattling the glass below and sending up a plume of black smoke that spiraled into the sky.

Somewhere within that chaos, a clock in Iris’s room fell from the wall and shattered against the floor, its broken hands forever frozen at 8:00—the hour of her prophesied doom.

Inside the house, Iris sat at the dining table, her new red book resting gently on her lap. The air downstairs had been silent, almost serene, until a sudden, thunderous crash from above made her flinch. Her gaze snapped to the ceiling, where flames were already licking across the wooden beams. Smoke began to drift downward in curling wisps, transforming her once-cozy home into a claustrophobic inferno.

A jolt of terror coursed through her veins, but she clutched the book tightly, its warmth seeping into her trembling fingers. Just then, a soft voice—comforting and calm—brushed the edges of her consciousness.

“Don’t worry,” it whispered, like a gentle breeze in her mind. “I promise it will be alright.”

Iris hid under the dining room table, curling into a trembling ball, tears sliding down her flushed cheeks, she tried to stay brave, hoping the voice was right. The heat pressed in from every side, walls, and floors alike groaning under the onslaught of roaring flames. Smoke coiled into the air, filling her lungs with each ragged breath.

All around her, escape routes seemed sealed off by scorching beams or tumbling debris. Fear gnawed at her stomach, her heart hammering with a frantic plea for help. Then, from the tattered red book clutched to her chest, a voice—urgent, distinctly female—cut through her panic

“Open me, you have to open me,” the book demanded.

Its tone bore no trace of the soothing butterfly’s earlier whispers. Instead, it was sharp and decisive, like a hand reaching out in the darkness. Driven by desperation, Iris obeyed, trembling fingers easing the cover open. Instantly, a brilliant golden radiance flared from the pages, wrapping her in a protective glow so intense the blazing fire recoiled, curling away like a living thing forced back by something greater.

Spellbound, Iris watched as the book’s pages turned of their own accord, coming to rest on an illustration of a butterfly wreathed in flames. Her fingertips followed the inked lines, and an electrifying jolt coursed up her arm—a surge of unknown power that filled her with both awe and an inexplicable sense of rightness. She heard the voice speak again, muffled yet achingly familiar, stirring something deep within her soul.

A gale of tiny butterflies, glittering with the same warm, golden light, spiraled up from the book’s open pages. They fluttered in mesmerizing patterns before forming a protective barrier around Iris, each translucent wing refracting the lurid glow of the inferno. Flames that had been so eager to devour her now sputtered and lessened, barred from closing in any further.

Outside, less than a hundred feet away, Markus and Wallace stood before the malevolent shadow barrier Noir had erected. Each attempt at tearing it down only regenerated itself with terrifying speed, and the barrier’s writhing darkness lashed out at them like grasping claws.

Wallace’s pulse thundered in his ears. “We’re running out of time, Markus. This damned thing—it’s pulling at us with every strike!”

Markus’s eyes narrowed, sweat pouring down his temples. “Wallace, you’re going to hate me for this… but I have a plan.”

Before Wallace could respond, Markus threw himself at the barrier. Shadows sprawled over his arms, slicing into his flesh like invisible razors. A choked cry tore from his lips as skin and muscle shredded beneath the assault.

“Markus, you idiot, stop it!” Wallace shouted, voice cracking with desperation. He lunged forward, but his steps faltered in the face of the barrier’s lethal grip.

Pain racked Markus’s body with every step, his vision blurring at the edges. Still, he refused to yield, pressing his bloodied hands against the barrier’s surface.

“I’ve always had… a high compatibility with death-type artifacts…” he snarled through clenched teeth. “That’s… how I got this stupid codename… Reaper. Trust me… I won’t be done in by a shoddy construct like this.”

Summoning all his resolve, Markus poured his Authority into the barrier, forcing a temporary rift—just wide enough for two bodies to slip through. Wallace didn’t hesitate; he darted after his brother, each heartbeat echoing his fear that they might lose the narrow opening.

Once inside, Markus let out a ragged gasp, momentarily sagging against Wallace for support. The barrier snapped back behind them with a deafening crack, but they were through. Wallace’s fury and relief flared simultaneously.

“You stupid idiot,” he rasped, voice shaking. “If you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll—”

His threat died in his throat as his gaze drifted beyond the barrier’s confines to Iris’s home, now engulfed in towering flames—and to the silhouettes of Nikolai and Scarlet, standing arrogantly beneath the flickering glow. Shadows coiled at Nikolai’s feet, and the heat of Scarlet’s power radiated across the yard, marking them as the architects of the blazing inferno.