A servant without shape, without a legend. A creature overflowing with darkness even if they had been denied of all magical power and spiritual awareness.
There was indeed one spirit whose true name could awaken that fear in others. The tainted blood within the grail, the legendary curse of all evils.
“If that’s true, if you’re …truly him, then I should end you here.” As the boy swatted the spear, this one returned, with more violence as Lancer tried to push him backwards into a nearby tree. Gáe Bolg held horizontally across his neck like a prison.
“Even where your blood is spilled nothing will grow in centuries. If you’re truly the cursed Angra Manyu then…, your end is nigh.”
The boy raised his hands to block the spear when it came towards him, but Lancer was still stronger. He was pushed without mercy against a tree, fists clenched around Gáe Bolg to try to ease the pressure on his neck.
“Ugh, can you please relax?” He complained, head thrown back to ease his breathing. He had a clearly annoyed expression on his face. His heart started to pump faster, carrying a dark emotion in his veins: hatred.
Die.
“You are taking me for something greater than I am. I am not a god, nor a devil I am nothing. A farce. Look at me; do yo really believe I am a menace to you? Do I look mighty and powerful?”
As self-demeaning his words were, Angra Mainyu’s scorn was directed towards Cú rather than himself. This guy was more thick-headed than Bazett, and he was running out of patience. He really wanted to stab him now, that was bad.
The brat was cornered but it strangely felt otherwise. There was no fear, no concern, the dirty of color of those eyes only smiled back at him.
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’m stuck in a war with a group of bastards.” The irritated frown turned into a glare. Honest and shameless.
“And what else? I’ve probably teamed up with more than what we all remember. Yet none have ever been like you. You’re no hero, not with that face. And I know if that boy turned into a heroic spirit someday he’d never become an Avenger like you. He was stronger than that.” The spear’s tip poked him again.
“Keep talkin’, we have all evening.”
Angra Mainyu’s expression grew annoyed as Lancer just poked at him again with his weapon. That damned man was quite insistent. Bored of it, the Avenger sighed and slapped Gáe Bolg away, as one would do to scare away a fly.
“Fine, fine”, he agreed, reluctantly. He would remember this. “Yes, I am no hero and I’m not Shirou Emiya. Though I was him once”.
He made a pause, to see if his partner was patient enough to listen further. The boy changed his weigh from one feet to the other, weighing up the idea of trying to escape again. But with the cursed lance pointed at his chest it was clear that he wouldn’t make it very far.
“You see, well known people like you have it easy, with your shinny weapons and fancy powers and shit. People like me have to be content with the scraps we have left”. Angra Mainyu pointed at his own face, a smug expression on it, even though his eyes gleamed with some unknown force. “‘I’ am no one. Just a name, a shadow forgotten from history. And to be ‘someone’ i have to become ‘someone else’. Shirou Emiya just happened to be there when I needed him and I kinda grew attached to this form. That’s all there is to it”.
“I asked more than one, and you’ve got only one life. Don’t waste it.” Don’t force me to stain this spear again.
That strange, abhorrent smile in the darkened Shirou’s face was all too disturbing to ignore.
Without another word, Gae Bolg’s tip pricked the boy’s chest. “That name. Sounds familiar.” His own demeanor had changed, shadowed, cold, wary, as if all who entered in contact with the filth of his presence were helplessly twisted.
“Why are you so related to us even if we have never seen you before? Very few bear the curse of the Avengers. If you’re bored, lemme tell you I’m even more bored than you. But there’s a difference. I can kill you and you can’t kill me. Now, spit it out.”
Angra Mainyu almost snorted. Only one life? Ha! If only Lancer knew how many times had he died already. A part of him was even curious to know what would happen if he was killed in this place. He would probably go back to where he had always been, which was honestly not much of a big deal.
“Ouch” he protested anyway when the tip of the lance dug into his skin through his clothes. It was not that painful, but the damned weapon was sharp and unpleasant against the flesh. “You know, maybe if you weren’t threatening to skewer me I would feel more inclined to answer”.
He brought his fingers to Gáe Bolg, tentatively trying to push it away. His eyes, fixated into the lance and who had been painted with a bored expression, turned up to Cú Chulainn, and the glimmer in them changed. That dull, old gold dug into the other like rusty knives.
“We have met. Just that you don’t remember. We even had the same Master for a while, how’s that? We could almost call each other comrades!”
He snikered, as if he had told a joke only he could understand.
“D’ah, I wish you were just a kid playing with the wrong toy.” Without another word, the tip of his foot kicked the spear’s end, sending it into the air twirling before effortlessly capturing into his fist.
The spear was twirled again, and stopped dryly, the blade’s end inches from the strange boy’s heart.
“Seems you won’t talk unless cornered. I’m fine with that.” Those beast-like eyes narrowed, judging Angra Manyu. The scene was painfully familiar if it wasn’t for the glowing snow around them and the bright evening above them. If it wasn’t for the pungent darkness radiating from the boy.
“I’ll ask again. What are you? Why you have that kid’s face. Why is your body covered in curses?”
Once that the discomfort ceased, Angra Mainyu could stand straight again, only to have the point of the lance he had previously stolen pointed over his heart. Call that an unexpected turn of events. And also quite ironic if he had to say so.
There was no fear in his eyes as he looked back at Cú, as if the the threat to his life was of no importance. He almost looked bored now that the hunt was over, completely uninterested in the outcome of that encounter.
“Cut to the chase, are we?” He said, nonchalantly, as he scratched the nape of his neck. “Fair enough. You caught me, so I guess I can answer one of your questions”.
His lips formed a smile. If Lancer was familiar with Shirou Emiya, he would know that such a twisted expression would never appear on that boy’s face.
“The name’s Angra Mainyu. Or Avenger. Up to you”. He shrugged. “As to why I have this face and body is a long story. Boring and irrelevant. We could be here all day and night until morning if I tried to explain it to you”.
“You’re not him, that’s obvious!” By the time he glanced up, the other was already back in the snow. Oh, that lil’ cretin running like a rat. He was surprisingly and annoyingly fast. And was worst, he was taking his precious Gáe Bolg with him.
“Come ‘ere, bastard!” he called fruitlessly as he allowed himself to drop from the rooftop, chasing the shadow into the forest. Something about that stranger infuriated him, his very presence reminded him of an enemy or a threat. He needed answers and it looked like one of those time where he’d had to let his fists do the talking.
The frozen woods split ahead, a passage between the trees and the whisper of a river. He knew that way, he had chased a boar (or had been chased by a boar), not too far away from that glade.
There was a short-cut, a way around the large boulder the boy would soon find in his path. Cú took the circumventing path, above the branches like a blue arrow.
Until he landed, right before the boy, without a word, a knee was sent to Angra’s gut.
“Enough of this.”
The Lancer called him. Fool, as if he was going to turn back at let himself be killed like that.
Gáe Bolg burdened him as he run through the forest, not used to carrying any other weapons besides his daggers. Perhaps he should have left the lance behind, but... Nah, despite the danger this was fun. There was a strange joy in his heart, certainly as if he had just met and old friend. Ha, such bullshit.
The Avenger moved swiftly, surprisingly so for someone who usually showed quite a lazy and uninterested demeanor. He moved forward with the same instinct of a beast, to the point where he wasn’t even focusing on his surroundings. His body moved on its own, heart pumping fast and strongly and he felt the blood at the tip of his fingers...
Until one hit to the stomach snatched all the air from his lungs.
Angra Mainyu was fast, but not fast enough to deflect that surprise blow. He was sent backwards with a gasp, stumbling and finally falling on his knees over the snow. Gaé Bolg slipped from his fingers and fell too, almost like crystalized blood on that frozen land.
“Hah... you... caught me...” the boy said between coughs, holding his stomach. Despite the blow a pained smile twisted his lips. “Shit... guess I’m still... not good, huh?”
today–today, your shoulders are loose for the first time. you hadn’t realized how tight the muscles were coiled there, knotted from stress and rage both at the base of your neck, until the tension started to go out of them, and then they began to ache. ah, what a hassle; not the soreness, but the fact that you’ve let yourself settle long enough to feel it. even in the greatest days of the holy city, there was never this level of rest.
a king always has something to attend to, until he doesn’t. and then what? can he still call himself a king?
there is a different weight bearing down on you, now, and you recognize it only from memories of the looks in the eyes of your knights. not the loyal ones, the gifted ones, the beloved handful who stayed by your side. the rest, knelt in sand and dust, red blood and white bone. kay. he’d looked at you with such sorrow in his eyes, hadn’t you? resignation, defeat, pity. it stings to remember–so you distract yourself.
and the distraction for today is a journey of discovery. nothing grand; just a walk from the center of town to the greenhouse, half desperate for the sight of something more than white on white on white. alone, as you’d planned it. only–someone seems to have decided otherwise for you–and you would ignore them, the soft shuffle of their feet through snow, the careful way they match their pace to yours, except that inside the cage of your ribs saber is singing.
(resignation, defeat, pity. which of those feelings are yours, goddess? which of those feelings is saber running through your marrow and disguising as your own?)
and eventually you stop, just outside the glassgreen’s doors, staring through glass and the shadow of your own reflection. you do not turn; your voice carries well enough. “if you have business with me, it would be wise to hurry up and state it. i am not known for my patience.”
Maybe it had been too much to ask that he would go unnoticed. He should have known better, he had told himself that this was not a smart move, and yet...
He cursed under his breath but stepped out, coming into the light. Not doing so might have been seen as an act of hostility, and Angra Mainyu certainly did not want that. His dark figure was a contrast against the pale landscape, not in the same way as the King of Knights. While she exuded radiance, a virtue and glory not even the snow could attain, he was a stain, impure, something that did not belong there.
“There’s no business to discuss, lady”, he said, nonchalantly, hands buried in the pockets of his heavy coat. His heart skipped a bit again once she turned around to look at him and memories of that same face –gentler, warmer– crossed his mind. However, Angra Mainyu understood, maybe better than most, that this was not the same hero he once met, nor was he the same person she encountered in another life.
They were both strangers who shared a past through another’s life. Ha. The world was certainly a strange place.
“I’m simply admiring the view. You can proceed with your life as if nothing, and you’ll get rid of me soon enough. Just don’t mind me at all”.
Generally, Angra Mainyu’s (almost) self-appointed job brought him outside the town. It was fine by him; he did not dislike the company of others, to be surrounded by people who did not care about what he was or where he came from. He did not dislike it, and that, perhaps was the problem.
When your identity is a fickle thing, you search for ways to preserve it as much as you can. For him, it has always been a matter of perspective. Of distance and rationality. Blatant logic that battered his emotions (his hate, his love, everything) into something unimportant. That’s how it should be. And he found it easier in the quietness and solitude of the white wilderness at the other side of Eidolon Town.
In this case though, his task had brought him in the oposite direction: to the docks.
In life, he had never known the sea. He grew up in an arid place near the mountains, and it had only been through his different hosts in the Fuyuki Wars that he had been able to contemplate it for the first time. As he stood now, watching the sea that extended towards the horizon, he remembered Irisviel childish joy at the beach. Her wondrous admiration for something so big and so vast.
Unfortunately, he was not there to daydream, and promptly moved away to do his task. Still, her feelings lingered in his heart.
Of all the things he had done so far, rummaging through moist garbage seemed like the most unpleasant of them all, but he did not even grimace as he collected the Lilium Gellatin with his bare fingers... although this would take a while.
That smile was an ugly one. Just like everything in that small body. He had never attacked without a reason, without an order. It was against his nature, just as like that boy perched on the roof seemed to naturally subvert everything which was natural.
“Who the hell are you?” He demanded despite the obvious futility of his words. That lil’ bastard had stolen his precious Gáe Bolg and wasn’t going to return it without a fight.
“Whatever, I don’t care you have that kiddo’s face.” The boxes piled next to the bunkhouse had formed a stair going up the roof. Only two steps, a leap and another, the snow crumbs fell under his weight but compared to Scáthach’s training, the slippery snow was nothing.
“Whoever you are, it’s bad news. I don’t care, I’ll bring you down” Lancer followed his instincts, stronger than ever. Perhaps mistaken, he didn’t care.
For once that he tried to be nice and it completely backfired.
Lancer did not requite his jovial greeting. He recognised the face, that much he stated, but not even that seemed to awake a spark of sympathy in him.
“Damn, so cold”. Angra Mainyu complained, pouting. When Cú Chulainn got on the roof, he stood up, lance still firmly grasped. “You did not hate Shirou Emiya, as far as I recall. Do you really dislike me so much that you would kill him?”
The answer was quite obvious, if he thought about it. After all, the Hound of Ulster was a man that never let friend or foe stop his weapon, going as far as to kill his own son. He might not dislike Shirou, but the hero had killed him once and would do it again if he thought he should.
Feeling his killing intention so clearly, Angra Mainyu’s ‘fight or flee’ instinct rushed forward. There was no way that he could win over a legendary hero like Cú Chulainn, not now nor even if he had his Servant powers back. Therefore, there was only one answer possible...
The Avenger shrugged with an apologetic smile and then jumped from the roof, landing on the grown covered in snow, running towards the forest like a mouse escaping from a cat.
No matter how many days passed, Angra Mainyu always found it hard to get comfortable with the feeling of his feet sinking into the snow.
He remembered some snowy landscapes from his youth (and some from memories that did not belong to him) but never quite as the seemingly eternal winter of Eidolon. Used to going light on his feet, the thick boots and the heavy snow were a newfound inconvenience.
Still, he had always found a way to adapt and thrive. He grew used to the additional weigh just by simply walking. It was easier in the forest, where the snow was thinner thanks to the shelter provided by the trees.
Sometimes he found other people there, carrying their daily activities. Some where in search of wood and plants, others where hunters following the trail of a pray. Angra Mainyu let them do their job without interfering or letting himself be noticed, carrying on as a simple spectator of that everyday life.
Yet that day he found one he could not leave alone. Would have he recognized Emiya Kiritsugu if it wasn’t for the memories engraved in his soul, making that man’s dark silhouette so familiar? He could almost taste the the despair he once had witnessed, sweet and bitter at the tip of his tongue. He licked his lips.
Playful maliciousness nested in his chest when his steps drove him forward. Silent like a shadow until he was close enough to lounge forward like a beast in human form, claws bared and shrieking with joy.
A part of him was happy to see that man, truly. But the other? The other had lest sweet cravings.
That morning, Angra Mainyu had gone The Crystal to have a full breakfast before he headed to the forest. He had made an habit of it; there was something comforting in a routine that he could not explain. It should not fit him, considering his tendency to do whatever he wanted at any moment, but he found out he liked to have a schedule. Even if it was only as a reminder that he actually had things to do and so he will never be bored.
It had been then when he saw her roaming the frozen streets. That golden hair, that air in which he carried herself; a jewel, almost divine amongst the snow and the common folk. It made his heart skip a beat. He might have been captivated even if he hadn’t recognized the frame of that woman, even if it was different from what he remembered.
The memories came like a torrent in his mind. A girl enjoying a well made dinner with a content smile on her face. A girl playing with children, for a moment forgetting her duties and the heavy burden she always carried on her shoulder. A girl, smiling back at him warmly with her profile outlined against the sunset.
He felt so dizzy that he thought he would spit out his breakfast the way it came.
He had followed her then without a second thought. There was no actual reason for Avenger to do this, and he realized quick enough that it was a waste of his time but he clung to it. To her, to her vision, to those precious memories she awakened with her mere presence. Even if he always told himself to not grow attached, the days he spent as Emiya Shirou filled him with a warm wistfulness.
For the first time since he arrived, Angra Mainyu wished he could turn into a shadow just so he could hide his presence better. He did not want to catch her attention, of that King of Knights that he recognized but was not the one he knew. It was not conversation what he sought, nor recognition, just the memories and the feelings they brought. That was all he needed.
Ah, no, he didn’t like this. Begone, fickle emotions. Before he found himself yearning for things he couldn’t have.
And there he saw it, the black shape cropped against the evening sky. It was like a mixture of a boy and a filthy animal, the mere image was enough to disturb him.
Even if it was a complete stranger, it had sinister familiarity. His clean hands suddenly felt unpleasantly sticky with dark blood, fists clenching reflexively.
As the clouds shifted above, the fragile sunlight fell on that figure creating the illusion is was being absorbed, that skin was like the bottom of a fathomless well, incapable of reflecting light.
“The number of curses…” crisscrossing that young body like stigmas made his soul ache.
The worst part was Lancer felt threatened and he didn’t know why.
“Give it back, bastard!” Cú barked, his whole body tense and unconsciously ready to attack him, even the hair at the back of his head bristled.
Ah, there he was. It seemed that one only needed to speak trouble to call trouble.
Angra Mainyu looked down, taking his attention from the spear just to find that familiar man barking at him. If he had found Gáe Bolg, it was not surprising for Cú Chulainn to appear soon after. Still, he felt a bit relieved it was the wielder he knew and not ‘the other one’.
“Hey, Lancer! Good to see you again all fair and well”, he greeted with a gesture of the hand and a wide smile that might have been welcoming in other circumstances. “I hope the cold has not been too harsh on you”.
Then, as if he had forgotten he had been holding it all this time –or stolen it in the first place– Angra Mainyu stared back at the spear in his hands.
“Ah, you might have been looking for this. My bad, I just couldn’t help myself. You should guard your things better, mate”.
Still he made no sign or returning Gáe Bold, tapping its tip against the roof teasingly.
This is a starter call, mostly to give myself the opportunity to write with characters that are not castmates. If you’d like to write with this feral but deep down nice little dude, just hit the like button! Will cap at 3.
Gáe Bolg couldn’t simply move on its own, at least, not as long as he didn’t recover his inherent abilities as a servant, the dreadful spear was nothing more than a stick. A red, veiny stick carved out of Currid’s skull.
How could it be?
He had searched the Bunkhouse and turned everything upside-down for the sake of his quest. And once again, found nothing. Cú stopped in the middle of that room like the debris of a storm. He’d take care of that later. Surely Link and the others would survive.
He couldn’t accept losing Gáe Bolg. That only left one possible answer. Someone or something had borrowed it. Probably the damned faeries, the mythical pranksters. This wouldn’t be the first nor the last time a Celtic warrior was to slaughter a couple of them to assure the message was delivered.
Cú grunted, irritation and anger transparent in him as he stormed out of the Bunkhouse. He’d find those tiny bastards and pin their corpses in the frontyard as a warning.
And then, outside, the cold tide of winter aid surrounded him, carrying the acrid smell of wet rat and battlefield. It couldn’t be a good omen.
Angra Mainyu twirled the spear in his hands, having found a comfortable place over a house’s roof. Perched like a bird of prey, he inspected the infamous weapon with a keen eye. An habit of a past life. He was not familiar with the shape of the lance, so his movements were a bit out of pace, but they still showed the dexterity of someone used to wielding weapons.
He had graved it on a whim. Left there unattended, obviously meant to be picked up latter, and he couldn’t help himself. Bam, snatched. The red spear had caught his attention like the light attracted the moth. Angra Mainyu could recognize Gáe Bolg anywhere just because of its significance. He had died to it once. Or at least, his last self did.
It had killed his Master once too. Would Ireland’s Child of Light remember that? Probably not. That fake Holy Grail was meant to be forgotten.
He stopped his movements and held the spear horizontally in front of him. The surface, the intricate engravings that decorated it... He couldn’t help but admire them; it was one irritating trait he had inherited from Emiya Shirou. Curse that boy and his obsession with weapons.
Avenger grimaced and applied pressure, as if he wanted to break Gáe Bolg in half. He couldn’t, of course. Even if it had been stripped from its powers, that was still a spear of legends. Angra Mainyu had not the strength to break it, not even if he retained his stats as a Servant –which were actually not that higher than he was now, if he had to be honest.
He was not eager to demonstrate how weak he was, so perhaps he should return it before he got into trouble, although it was, probably, too late for that. Oh, well.
Angra Mainyu liked to listen to the sound of his feet sinking in the snow. It was not something conscious nor did he have any ulterior reason for it; it was simply satisfying, the crunching as millions of ice crystals were smashed under his feet.
He spent most of his days on the snow now. Waking up early and venturing outside of the village and only coming back when he was too tired or bored to continue exploring the frozen wilderness. He had become familiar with the surrounding forest and the nearby caves, his survival skills sharp enough to avoid any possible danger –who knew if it was a matter of knowledge rather than the feral instinct in him.
There was a lot of materials that Eidolon needed from the outside, and as long as he gained something from it, Angra Mainyu was delighted to provide. It was as he was harvesting some of the luminescent moss that grew in the caves that he found something else that picked his attention.
It was not strange to see things scattered there and under the ice, remnants of an old civilization long gone and for which he held no sympathy or curiosity whatsoever. But this was different. What he found lying on the ground, almost swallowed by the moss, was a polished fragment of obsidian.
The stone was no bigger than his fist and had been polished into an oval shape, with a hole carved in the centre. Once cleaned a bit, the surface reflected the light with ease, as if the darkness stored at the inside didn’t let any of it in.
Avenger found it interesting. It certainly didn’t seem to held any use nowadays, but it was so peculiar that it would be a shame to let it there. Safely storing the treasure and with a decent quantity of moss in his backpack, he jogged back to the village, a dark figure over the pale snow.
He played with the stone in his pocked along the way, wondering what he might do with it. He had picked it up on a whim, and he really had no desire to keep it, so he might as well give it. Something black, polished like a jewel, that rejected any light...
A smile crossed his face when he thought on the perfect candidate and decided made a stop on Bunkhouse 17 before going to deliver the moss. He did not ask for permission to enter, getting inside as if he was at his own home, shaking his head violently to get rid of the snow remnants on his hair.
Slightly wet but enthusiastic, Angra Mainyu went to the common area of the bunkhouse (all those buildings were the same, so it was easy to get there), but froze on his steps, like a startled animal, when he noticed someone else was there.
Now, he wouldn’t have let that bother him under normal circumstances –if anything, it was other people who didn’t know how to act in his presence–, but he knew the tall man that he found there. He knew him so well. From a time that felt more like feverish nightmare than memory now, when he was all hatred, all evil, and this man was the only one to lend his hand willingly.
“Father”, he called, with an amusement that didn’t show in his expression. Kotomine Kirei. All his excitement was gone, replaced with something more sinister. Something less innocent. “Do you know where I can find Avenger?”
Every time Angra Mainyu was conscious of waking up, there’s a question he has been repeating, like some sort of ritual.
“Who am I?”
The answer hasn’t always been easy to give. Sometimes the line between him and somebody else had been blurry, and sometimes he hadn’t been able to even see himself at all.
That’s why, when he took his first breath (cold, unfamiliar, antiseptic scent on the air) he had to ask: “Who am I?”
His self gave only two names: Angra Mainyu. Avenger. No Shirou Emiya, no Einzbern lady, no Holy Grail. No other presence he had to tangle and dance with this time to be called someone. Weird.
He sat up on the bed and took a deep breath. He looked at his hands; their shape was one he had grown used to and comfortable with. This was the body of Shirou Emiya for sure (changed after his influence), yet there wasn’t any Shirou Emiya in him. Just like in Chaldea but different. More solid. He didn’t have the sensation that he was going to vanish if he was pushed the wrong way.
He felt something build up inside him. Joy, perhaps, so intense that made him shake but in his case emotions tended to mix up –everything always intertwined with hatred.
“Ah, no. No, calm down”, he told himself. He didn’t want to burst that newfound body yet. It would be such a shame, totally not worth it to lose himself for a spark.
He got on his feet then, never one to stay resting in one place. He was hungry. Very hungry. Starving, if he had to say so himself.
It didn’t take him long to find the kitchen and assault the fridge like a ravenous wolf, not paying much attention to what sort of nourishment he brought to his mouth, nor giving in to the thought that the food might have an owner. Some minutes later, satisfied but not full, he sat in the floor, licking his fingers as he thought on this strange circumstances.
It was strange for Angra Mainyu to not have the answers, but he wasn’t especially concerned by finding himself in this strange place, no Master in sight. Eidolon offered him freedom and entertainment, and he would take them without questions.
Curiosity was what picked him next, making him wonder how it was outside –if it was as cold as it felt. One step out of the bunkhouse made him realize that, indeed, he would freeze to death in seconds if he even dared to venture away with nothing but the clothes he was wearing.
Going back to the shared room, he put on the clothes laying on his bed, their white color an unusual contrast on him but the warmth was welcome. He eyed Tawrich, its dark and misshapen edge an ugly form against the sheets, but decided against taking it with him. He didn’t want to show himself as someone dangerous, not for the moment. He was not out for the hunt today.
The harshness he saw on the environment once he stepped outside, roaming the streets of Eidolon, reminded Angra Mainyu of the village where he grew up. It was not only the snow, but the sensation of being completely forsaken beyond the ice. Stuck between civilization and the wilderness, doing everything necessary to survive.
Even the bonfires had a certain reminiscence in them. Fire was said to scare away monsters, acting both as a protective and destructive element. As he watched the people reunited around the flames, sheltered under the shades of nearby buildings, Angra Mainyu wondered if in that place they saw it that way too. And if so, what they were trying to protect themselves against? What evil were they trying to keep away?
Trying to find those answers he found something else instead. At first he thought it might have been a mirage, an illusion caused by the brightness of the flames. But on a second glance, getting a little bit closer, he discovered he had not been wrong. No, it was impossible that he didn’t recognize that man from the start.
He chuckled to himself and approached. “I knew that you liked to watch things burn, but I thought you were a picky guy”. He had a smile on his face that was all teeth. “Hey! Nice to meet you again, Avenger!”
