"I exist, that's all, and I find it extremely unpleasant."
The boy's existence boiled down to those words, yet he didn't know what that feeling was.
The cold didn't matter. The void did.
–Human, your soul is impure. I'm going to make this quick– the angel declared, its body glowing with the light of judgment.
Little by little, he felt the air leaving his lungs. A blade of light descended toward his neck—sharp and swift, the instrument of punishment.
Every breath hurt.
Crack
A flaming arrow pierced the angel's skull with violence. Golden blood spattered onto Luck; the blade halted mere centimeters from his left eye. For an instant, he brushed death.
He didn't know whether he trembled from the cold or from having death so close. It wasn't the first time he'd seen someone die… but it was the first time death had nearly claimed him.
The angel writhed in midair, exhaling its last breath. Its body crumbled.
–You shouldn't have turned your back on those hungry demons– Luck whispered to the angel as they plummeted.
This is going to hurt.
The air reeked of iron. He felt the wind pummel his body as he fell.
Luck landed hard; the snow gave way under him. A dry crack wrung out a scream.
–Ah… shit! I think a rib gave out before I did…
He lay still, gasping, golden blood trickling down his cheek.
In that eternal second, Luck rose and shook the snow off his face, then looked at the dead angel's body. It had lost all its color, shifting from a once‑radiant gold to a metallic white.
–Thanks for dying just in time… you asshole– he joked, gritting his teeth.
He strode toward the angel's sword, ignoring the chaos all around.
The screams sounded like distant echoes.
He ripped the weapon from the corpse and lifted it. He was surprised—it felt so light, as if forged from some enchanted metal.
A shiver ran down his spine. He spun around.
–Hey, I feel sorry for you. Did you like my aim?– it was the swindled imp, his expression betraying his intent.
–If we make it out alive, you owe me money,– the imp replied without breaking eye contact.
But Luck's attention was elsewhere: a dying angel fought on, refusing to surrender. It staggered toward the imp.
He gripped the hilt and leaped, plunging the blade into the demon.
–Hey, what the hell…!– the imp stammered.
Luck didn't answer. He didn't even know why he'd done it. He only knew that if he hesitated another second, someone else would die. Maybe even him.
He drove the sword through the angel's chest. The imp and the horde gaped in shock.
–I didn't even feel it go through…– Luck thought, adrenaline masking the pain. He couldn't believe it—after all, angels were supposed to be disgustingly tough...
–Their weapons! Their weakness.
Silence reigned for a second. Then all hell broke loose. Luck thought this knowledge might turn the tide—quite the opposite happened.
–Give me that spear!
–I saw it first!
–Why didn't we think of this sooner?
Demons pounced on the angel corpses, fighting over their weapons.
–Nice try, con man, but you still owe me cash,– the imp murmured, greed in his eyes.
Luck raised the sword slowly.
–I saved your ass; I don't tip.
His vision blurred with sweat.
His palms were slick—he knew how dangerous this was.
He thrust the blade into the imp's neck, grazing its thin skin.
The demon averted its gaze.
–You gonna kill me? My magic's faster.
Luck barely lowered the sword, feeling the pulse beneath the steel.
–I don't want to kill… but I won't hesitate.
The sky exploded in light. A scythe of pure radiance swept the field, cleaving demons in two. The battle fell silent.
A figure descended, unstoppable. It vanished and reappeared in flashes; with each apparition, dozens of demons fell.
Hovering high above, the figure paused its advance and squeezed the throat of a towering demon.
It was Thanatos, general of the Averno.
The demon's body hung limp; the light burned its flesh.
–D‑damn it! An archangel here…?– someone stammered, trembling.
An archangel is a high‑rank angel—after centuries of existence they shed mortal form to ascend the hierarchy, gaining a pure, spiritual body. They wield light itself, unleashing holy magic at will.
Within seconds, demonic morale collapsed. The angels seized the opportunity to finish them: heads rolled, blood rained; the Averno's hope vanished.
This wasn't war. It was a massacre.
The air crackled under the march of demons and angels, filled with dust and ash. The once‑pristine snow sank into dark red pools. Every breath Luck took hurt more than the last; his body's condition only declined.
Shaking, he grabbed the imp by the shoulders.
–Quick: take this sword, use your magic, free the general.
The imp blinked, stunned. His gaze flicked between the sword and the dying general. Without hesitation, he spun on his heels and ran.
–I'm not an idiot. My magic is strong—I've honed it all my life… but let me tell you, that thing over there is beyond my… capabilities.
His hooves thundered over the crystalline snow, flinging red droplets that stained the frozen ground. In whispers of terror and fury, he sought shelter behind piles of corpses and shattered armor, as if fleeing not only angels but his own guilt for failing his race.
A thunderous roar shook the place. The archangel unleashed a searing flash; Thanatos began to turn to ash.
–Pathetic.
Luck froze, unsure what to do. He looked around: demons and angels fell alike.
An angelic archer raised its bow, aiming at Luck.
Stealthily, he dashed and hid behind a corpse, using it as a shield.
The arrow struck; the body disintegrated into purple dust, vanishing into the air.
The archer notched another, but Luck was already gone.
Silence reigned complete: the angels gathered around the archangel. Why? He didn't know…
Every muscle burned; every heartbeat slammed against his chest. He'd survived traps and betrayals before, but never felt the chill of death so close.
Luck's pulse thundered in his ears.
–This is a massacre. They've lost 90% of their ranks… But you won't escape.
The archangel's voice rang out:
–My name is Mastema. Let's play: you all against me. Your great leader? He's fallen. And when I'm done with you, we'll purify the eeeentire~ city…– Mastema declared, pointing with his slender finger toward the distant city.
The world spun. Luck opened his eyes and saw a dark wasteland. Everything had changed.
It wasn't just a new place—it was a realm without time or sound. The air was thick, and every shadow seemed to watch. This wasn't a battlefield. It was a cell without bars.
–Did they teleport me?