The world narrowed to the rooftop, the storm, and the hovering, mechanical wasps of war.
The wind from the helicopter blades whipped the rain into a stinging horizontal spray, flattening David and Amayra's clothes against their bodies. The searchlights from the three choppers formed a cage of blinding white, pinning them at the center of the ruined roof.
But Joseph hovered just above them—
A vision of impossible divinity and defiance.
His massive white wings, each feather etched in stark detail by the artificial light, beat slowly, holding him aloft with an effortless grace that defied the dozen crimson laser dots painting his body. One danced over the black-stained wound on his chest. Others marked his temples, his heart, the joints of each wing.
The message was unmistakable — a promise of annihilation written in light.
A crackling, amplified voice boomed from the lead helicopter, slicing through the storm's roar.
"ATTENTION ON THE ROOFTOP! YOU ARE SURROUNDED BY THE GLOBAL SECURITY TASK FORCE! LAND IMMEDIATELY AND SURRENDER YOURSELVES! THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING!"
The voice was cold, mechanical, and devoid of humanity — the tone of authority sharpened by fear.
David, still holding Adam's limp form, shifted his weight as if to step in front of Joseph — a futile, instinctive gesture of protection. Amayra gripped his arm, her knuckles white, her face a mask of pure terror as she stared at the lasers crawling across Joseph's chest.
Joseph didn't flinch.
His gaze — still burning faintly with crimson fury — was fixed beyond the lights, beyond the clouds. He didn't see the gunships; he saw the phantom of a woman with chestnut hair, lost somewhere in shadow.
Surrender?
The word itself was an insult.
It meant chains. Experiments. Dissection.
It meant delay — and delay meant Lopez was lost forever.
The demonic energy within him pulsed in response, a seductive whisper urging him to burn them all.
His wings beat once — a single, defiant blast of power that sent a shockwave of wind across the rooftop.
It was his answer.
The amplified voice returned — sharper, more final.
"FINAL WARNING! YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO COMPLY! FIVE..."
The lasers flared brighter, the red dots trembling like the trigger-fingers behind them.
Far below, the city held its collective breath.
"FOUR..."
David's jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
"Joseph, for God's sake..." he whispered, the words torn away by the storm.
"THREE..."
Amayra's lips trembled. She shut her eyes.
"TWO..."
Joseph's talons flexed. His silver horns gleamed like blades in the light.
He would not bow. He would not—
"—"
And then, the world stopped.
It wasn't a pause.
It was a severance.
The roar of the helicopters vanished, replaced by a silence so absolute it seemed to crush the air itself.
The rain hung motionless mid-fall, a billion liquid diamonds frozen in air.
The searchlights were no longer beams but solid pillars of white.
The crimson dots were now scars of unmoving light on Joseph's chest.
Below, the entire city had gone still — faces lifted skyward, mouths frozen mid-scream or prayer, every camera locked in perfect stillness. The fighter jets hung in the sky like toy models suspended on invisible strings.
Only four figures moved.
Joseph, wings frozen in shock, descended softly onto the gravel.
David and Amayra gasped, spinning around, their minds failing to process what they saw.
"What... what is this?" Amayra's voice cut through the dead silence — loud, fragile, trembling.
From the shadows near the shattered stairwell, two figures emerged.
Smoke rippled, coalescing into the towering, horned silhouette of Azryel, the Demon General. Beside him stood Lazarus, the ancient vampire — his face a thunderstorm barely contained.
Lazarus's usual composure was gone. His expression twisted into a mask of pure fury, eyes burning with a feral red light fixed directly on Joseph.
"You foolish, reckless boy!" Lazarus's voice was a low snarl, vibrating with restrained rage that seemed to shake even the frozen air. He thrust a clawed hand toward the paralyzed world around them. "Look at what you've done!"
Azryel's gaze was calmer, colder — his tone laced with grim amusement.
"Had to hit the world's pause button," he muttered dryly. "Quite the cosmic waste of energy, but someone had to cancel your little rooftop performance before the whole world tuned in."
Lazarus ignored him, his anger sharp and personal.
"We entrusted you with a legacy, Joseph! We hid you, protected you, sent you here to live in shadow — to stay safe!"
His voice rose, echoing against the unmoving storm. "And what do you do?" He pointed toward the suspended choppers and jets. "You paint a target so bright that even the heavens can see it!"
Joseph met his glare, his own fury flickering.
"I was saving a life!" he shot back. His voice cracked under the weight of exhaustion and conviction. "I was ending a threat!"
Lazarus's reply was thunder wrapped in sorrow.
"No! You were announcing your existence to every soul on this planet!" he roared, then stepped forward, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper that carried like a curse.
"And not just to them."
He pointed toward the frozen city below.
"The demons hiding in human skin. The cults that worship them. The ancient enemies that slumber. They all felt that surge. They all know now — the son of the Vampire Lord walks in this human world."
His eyes darkened, the glow in them both furious and mournful.
"You think you fought a demon tonight? You lit a beacon in the abyss, Joseph. And every predator down there has your scent."
Azryel gave a slow nod, his tone grave.
"He speaks the truth. My kin in the shadows will already be moving. The human armies are the least of your worries now. You've become the most hunted being in two realms."
The words hit Joseph like iron.
Each syllable heavier than the last.
He looked at the frozen world around him — the soldiers, the lasers, the terrified faces of David and Amayra. The enormity of his mistake crept through the adrenaline haze.
He had been so consumed by the need to save one life that he had endangered every single one he cared about.
Lazarus was right — cameras, drones, satellites — someone had captured his face, his wings, his power.
He had broken the veil.
The defiant blaze in his eyes dimmed.
His shoulders sagged, wings drooping low.
He felt the shame, the cold clarity of what he'd done.
Lazarus's voice softened slightly, though still sharp enough to cut.
"You didn't just expose yourself." His crimson gaze pierced Joseph's soul. "You put everyone around you on the stake — Thomas, Amayra, every human who ever stood beside you."
He stepped closer, his tone lower now, yet infinitely heavier.
"You risked not only your own life, but the fragile balance that held this world together."
Joseph's hands clenched, his breath shaking. His wings began to retract, feathers folding, melting back beneath his skin until only the faint scars on his shoulders remained.
The world seemed smaller without them.
Quieter.
Colder.
And yet — deep in his chest — something stubborn, something Joseph still burned.
He looked up, rain frozen in air, meeting Lazarus's glare with tired but steady eyes.
"Maybe you're right," he said at last, voice low but resolute. "Maybe I made everything worse. But if I had to choose again... I'd still save her."
For a long, silent moment, no one spoke.
The only movement was the faint flicker of emotion in Lazarus's eyes — anger, grief, and a flicker of reluctant respect.
Then, the ancient vampire exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.
"Then pray your choice doesn't doom us all."
And with a single gesture of Azryel's, everyone vanished from the roof top of Enigma Tower. Like from start no one was there.
And time began to move again.
The storm resumed its scream.
The helicopters roared back to life.
The world, unaware of the frozen heartbeat it had missed, continued —
But nothing would ever be the same.
Joseph had not just won a battle.
He had started a war — and like he told both Heaven and Hell exactly where to find him.
The commandos aboard the choppers jolted back into motion, stunned.
"Where... where did they go?!" one of them shouted, eyes wide behind his visor.
The squad leader, pale and furious, grabbed the radio.
"All units! Search every corner! They vanished from the rooftop— they couldn't have gone far! Sweep all surrounding sectors immediately!"
The rotors thundered against the storm, beams cutting through the night as the hunt began.
Hours later, the world had already begun to spin new myths from what it had witnessed.
On a flickering TV screen, the chaos replayed in endless loops.
A reporter stood in front of the cordoned ruins of the Enigma Tower, rain glistening on her microphone as emergency lights painted the night in red and blue. Her voice trembled slightly beneath her practiced tone.
"The world has witnessed something that seems torn straight out of a fantasy novel," she said, facing the camera. "Two unidentified beings—both with wings—were seen battling across the city skyline. The scale of destruction is beyond anything we've seen before. Let's hear from those who witnessed this impossible event."
The camera shifted to a shivering old man in his sixties, his umbrella barely holding against the drizzle.
"The fight was enormous," he said, eyes wide. "Like the end of days itself! One looked like an angel, the other... the devil. I tell you—the end of the world is near!"
The reporter nodded gravely and turned to another voice from the crowd.
"And what about the white-winged individual? Some reports claim he saved a falling woman amid the chaos."
Before the old man could respond, a woman in her thirties pushed forward, her voice sharp with fear and anger.
"Even if he saved her—it was his fault in the first place! He brought that destruction here! I'm telling you, these creatures need to be stopped before more people die!"
Her words sparked a murmur through the onlookers.
But another voice rose above it—a young woman, stepping into frame, defiant.
"You're wrong!" she snapped, stepping into view. "He was protecting us! I saw it with my own eyes—he saved that woman's life! Are you so blind that you can't see who the real monster was?"
The crowd began to argue—some fearful, others hopeful. The reporter drew back, trying to maintain composure as chaos bloomed behind her.
"As you can see," she said quickly, "the world is already divided. Some see the white-winged man as a savior... others, as a threat. As of now, no camera footage has captured them clearly enough to identify who—or what—they are."
The camera panned upward, showing the smoldering silhouette of the Enigma Tower against a bruised sky—its top floors caved in, its lights flickering like dying stars.
Then the feed dimmed.
The view pulled back from the television, revealing the quiet expanse of Joseph's mansion.
The storm outside had softened to a gentle drizzle, tapping against the tall windows like faint whispers.
Adam was already transferred to the ICU.
Amayra sat curled on the left sofa, her arms wrapped around herself, staring blankly at the screen.
On the right, David leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands—a man lost in thought, the weight of too many truths pressing on him.
And between them, Joseph sat motionless.
His head rested on the back of the couch; face tilted toward the ceiling. His eyes were closed, but his mind was anything but still. The dim chandelier light traced the edges of his tired face, highlighting the dark bruises beneath his eyes, the faint tremor in his fingers.
After a long silence, he opened his eyes and rose.
David looked up immediately.
"Joseph?"
Joseph's voice was quiet, rough.
"I'm going out," Joseph replied, quietly. "Need some fresh air."
Neither of them stopped him. They knew words wouldn't reach him now.
He stepped out of the mansion's grand doors into the cool night. The air smelled of rain and distant smoke. The city beyond was restless—sirens in the distance, murmurs of fear echoing through the streets.
Joseph walked until he reached a small park nearby, the kind that felt untouched by the chaos—a simple patch of grass, a few benches, streetlights flickering through the mist. He sat down on one of the benches, exhaling slowly, his right hand covering his upper face.
The world had changed. And maybe, so had he.
Lopez. Lazarus's words. The city's eyes upon him. They all tangled inside his thoughts like storm clouds refusing to clear.
He tried to ignore the faint sounds of children nearby, but their voices broke through the quiet.
"You're still defending that monster?"
"We'll teach you a lesson for it!"
A dull thud followed.
Joseph's hand dropped from his face. His eyes narrowed.
Three children stood by the playground—two pinning another to the ground. One sat on the smaller boy's chest while the others held his arms.
Joseph sighed—heavy, weary—and pushed himself to his feet.
As he approached, the two holding the boy's arms noticed him first. The sight of his towering form, the silent intensity in his eyes, sent them fleeing without a word.
Joseph stopped beside the last boy still sitting atop the pinned child.
"Move away. Now." he said—quietly, but with the kind of authority that didn't need to be raised.
The boy scrambled up and ran after the others.
Joseph crouched and helped the boy to his feet, brushing the dirt from his sleeve.
His voice was low, almost weary.
"Why were they hitting you?" Joseph asked softly. "You could've just said you didn't care about that winged man. They wouldn't have hurt you."
The boy's lower lip trembled. His eyes glistened with tears that refused to fall, holding the stubborn pride of someone far too young to understand cruelty.
He stared at Joseph—really stared—as if searching his face for something unseen.
Then, with a trembling voice, he said,
"No... he can't be a bad guy."
The words were soft, fragile—and yet, somehow, unshakable.
Joseph's breath caught. He hadn't expected that answer.
"How can you be so sure?" he asked, his tone gentle, but his heart already uneasy, as if it knew what was coming.
A single tear broke loose, sliding down the boy's cheek.
His small voice cracked as he whispered,
"Because... he saved my mom. When she was falling from the tower."
He swallowed hard, his shoulders trembling.
"If he hadn't caught her... she'd be gone. He saved her. He's not bad."
Joseph froze.
For a heartbeat, everything around him—the breeze, the faint hum of the streetlights, the distant murmur of the city—just stopped.
The boy's words struck him like a divine blow.
That woman... the one he saved in the storm.
This was her child.
His chest tightened, not from guilt, but from something far deeper—a raw, overwhelming wave of emotion that shattered through the haze of anger and exhaustion that had clouded his soul for days.
He saw it then—the reflection of everything he'd lost, everything he still had to protect—shining through the eyes of a trembling child.
Joseph's throat constricted. For the first time in what felt like centuries, his eyes grew wet overwhelmed with emotion.
He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and pulled the boy into his arms.
The child gasped softly, then clung to him, burying his face against Joseph's chest.
Joseph's voice came out rough, almost broken.
"Yeah..." he whispered. "You're right."
He pulled back just enough to look at the boy's tear-streaked face, his hand gently resting on the child's head.
"He's a good person," Joseph said, the words heavy with a strange conviction that felt like both confession and promise.
"And he'll protect people like he did today. Always. No matter what."
The boy sniffled, nodding, his small hands gripping Joseph's coat tighter—as if believing that one sentence could make the world safe again.
Joseph stood slowly, the boy's faith echoing in his mind like a vow carved into his soul.
He looked toward the horizon—toward the city skyline still scarred by the battle. The sky was a bruised canvas of fading storm clouds, streaked with silver light.
His crimson eyes, once filled with chaos, now burned with something far purer.
RESOLVE.
The darkness within him was still there—alive, whispering—but it no longer ruled him.
He finally understood.
He wasn't born to avenge.
He was born to protect.
And from this moment on, no demon—no matter how ancient or powerful—would ever harm this world again.
The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of rain and smoke, the echoes of a world trembling between fear and hope.
Joseph closed his eyes briefly, whispering into the quiet night—perhaps to himself, perhaps to Lopez, perhaps to something greater.
"If I have to become the monster to destroy monsters... then so be it."
As he opened his eyes again, the crimson glow within them steadied—not wild, not corrupted—but focused.
The hunt wasn't over.
It was only beginning.
To be Continued...