003 | Wrath of the Demonic Angel

Arlo couldn't help but feel terrified. Azathan's power was unquestionable. Each flap of his wings shook the thick glass of the dome's ceiling. Every breath he took stirred the silver flames. His strength could even make hell tremble.

Yet, Arlo desired only peace. He deserved it after the kindness and courage he had shown throughout his life. So he raised the sword, feeling its weight trembling in his hands.

In the blink of an eye, Azathan crashed into him. He slammed Arlo against the wall, causing him to cry out. His bones cracked, pleading for mercy, but Azathan gave him no quarter.

As Azathan grasped his body and hurled him onto the granite floor, a face emerged from his memories. The face of a little girl with pinkish-red hair that he could never forget. Her cries and screams as she was forced to leave Arlo alone in battle.

Lunabelle.

Arlo leaned his sword against the floor and forced himself to stand. As Azathan flew towards him again, Arlo's sword was already unsheathed, slicing Azathan's wing and causing the demonic angel to roar in agony.

"WHAT MAKES YOU SO STUBBORN, ARLO?!" he yelled angrily. "I promised you a life after death that only hellish creatures could dream of!"

A bitter smile formed on Arlo's lips. "I want to meet my little sister again in the best version of myself!" he declared loudly. "I don't want her to see me as a heartless, terrifying demon!"

The demonic angel laughed loudly. "Then I'll make sure you never meet her again at all!" he threatened. His sword slowly transformed into a bow, aimed straight at Arlo's chest with an arrow already drawn taut.

"GO INTO OBLIVION, ARLO!"

Arlo knew the arrow wouldn't miss. He closed his eyes, grateful that at least Lunabelle wouldn't witness him selling his soul to the demon.

Strangely, for several seconds, nothing happened. Arlo opened his eyes to find himself staring into a pair of red eyes.

He instinctively recoiled. His elbow rested on soft, plush velvet. The owner of the red eyes stepped back, revealing a beautiful face with fiery red hair.

Morana, he thought with surprise. He glanced around and realized he was in his bedroom at the palace. And there, sitting in the corner of his bed, was his foster father, his old friend.

"Thank you for bringing him back, Morana," Kieran said with sincerity that felt almost excessive. "I don't know how I can repay your kindness."

Morana didn't have a chance to respond. The revenant sorceress collapsed to the floor, her hands still on the bed, prompting Kieran to teleport and kneel before her immediately.

"Are you okay?" Kieran asked, genuinely concerned. Revenants didn't typically falter easily, especially those centuries old.

"For some reason, death didn't want to let go of him," Morana whispered, her voice trembling heavily. "I used all my strength to pull him back to life."

Kieran's eyes, as blue as the night sky, briefly glanced at Arlo. "I think it's because you've brought so many back to life today," he murmured while lifting her. "I'll take you to your bedroom."

A moment later, they disappeared, leaving Arlo bewildered and unsure of what had just happened to him. Nevertheless, his dream of meeting the demonic angel named Azathan in Hell was so vivid that he felt disoriented from the real world.

Ten minutes later, his room was crowded. Julian and Serena took turns embracing him. Meanwhile, Lunabelle sat quietly by his bedside, her swollen eyes still teary.

Arlo gently rubbed his sister's arm. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked softly. He had never felt more grateful to be able to talk to her again.

Lunabelle stared at him as if he were a frog leaping out of a witch's cauldron. "You abandoned me, Arlo!" she exclaimed, full of anger and disbelief. "You left me when you should not! What kind of brother are you?"

"Oh, come on," Arlo rolled his eyes. "I left you to slaughter dead souls that were chasing after you, Lunabelle. What's wrong with that?"

"That's very wrong! You shouldn't have done that! You..."

Lunabelle's voice suddenly faded in his ears as his gaze caught someone standing in the corner of the room.

The man's hands were folded across his chest. His back leaned against the wall, causing his wings to uncomfortably fold. His eyes, the color of fresh blood, locked onto Arlo. Calm and threatening.

Arlo clenched his fists. It turned out, none of it was a dream.