The void trembled around him.
Luther stood in darkness, listening to the hollow echo of his own heartbeat. Then, without warning, a radiant beam of light tore through the void and swallowed him whole. His body stiffened, bracing for the suffocating white emptiness he had been thrust into before.
But when his eyes snapped open, the scene before him was not the cold void.
Rows upon rows of roses stretched endlessly, their petals glittering as if woven with fragments of starlight. The fragrance of them was sharp, almost intoxicating. Birds sang faintly in the distance, though there was no sky above—only a strange, pale glow that hung over everything, as if the world itself was lit from within.
And there, in the center of it all, stood the marble statue.
Silent. Unmoving. Arms folded with eternal calm. The same figure he had once found in this very garden.
Luther’s lips pulled into a scowl. "Back here again..." His voice was bitter. He had no desire to be reminded of that so-called hero, a man carved into legend while Luther himself was being dragged like a pawn by gods who never even showed their faces.
The thought hadn’t even settled when a bold, mocking laughter shattered the stillness.
From the top of the statue, a figure leapt.
He descended with unnatural grace, feathers scattering into the air as radiant wings spread wide. When he landed, the wings folded—and then vanished altogether. The man, if he could even be called that, stood tall and smug.
Short blond hair gleamed under the glow, and his robe—white as pure snow—made him seem untouchable. His eyes, however, sparkled with amusement and arrogance as he pointed straight at Luther.
"So this is the one," he sneered, laughter rolling freely from his throat. "This child of scrutiny... the one our father supposedly chose? He doesn’t even look like he could last a day fighting a goblin, let alone a true monster!"
Luther’s jaw clenched, heat surging through his veins. His magic stirred violently, swirling around him like a storm threatening to break loose.
The angel laughed harder. "What a joke! Father Asmethan must be blind to choose something as frail-looking as you. You can’t even—"
The earth shook as Luther’s magic lashed out. In one instant the angel’s smug form was lifted into the air, and in the next he was slammed into the ground with a thunderous crash. Dust and petals burst upward from the impact, showering the garden floor.
The angel groaned, dazed. His head turned just in time to see Luther’s shadow loom over him, eyes narrowed with raw fury.
"Still think I can’t last a day?" Luther hissed. Chapters first released on novel⦿fire.net
The angel threw up a hand, a shimmering shield snapping into existence. It held just in time to block another crushing gust of wind that threatened to bury him into the earth.
"W–wait! Calm down!" the angel sputtered, scrambling backward. "I was only joking!"
"Joking?" Luther’s voice was cold steel.
The roses trembled violently as if they, too, had heard the insult. Their thorns lengthened, twisting unnaturally. From the garden bed, vines burst forth—snaking, curling, alive with wrath. They lashed out like serpents, coiling tightly around the angel’s wrists and ankles. He yelped as they yanked him upright, dangling him like a broken puppet.
His wings flickered into existence again, straining to fight back, but the vines pulled tighter, forcing them shut.
"Unhand me!" the angel demanded, though fear was creeping into his tone. "This is unnecessary—"
"Unnecessary?" Luther stepped forward, eyes burning with barely restrained fury. He leaned closer until their faces nearly touched. His voice was low, dangerous. "Do I look like I’m joking to you?"
The vines obeyed his rage.
With a snap of his fingers, they hurled the angel upward, then slammed him back down. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound of impact echoed across the garden, mingling with the sharp crack of stone pillars splintering.
The angel’s composure shattered. "Stop! Stop! I yield!" His voice cracked with desperation. "I was only teasing! I swear—ah!"
The vines swung him sideways, smashing him against the statue’s base. Rose petals scattered like blood droplets across the ground.
"Teasing?" Luther snarled, raising his hand again. "You dare to mock me in the name of a god who hides behind you?"
The angel’s lip trembled. He tried to laugh weakly, though it came out as a half-sob. "F–Father help me... This lunatic—"
Luther froze. Slowly, his head tilted, and then a sound broke from his throat.
Sharp. Unsettling. Wrong.
The angel’s stomach dropped.
More vines sprouted, crawling across the ground like predators on the hunt. They slithered toward him with hungry intent, wrapping around the broken roses as though feeding off them.
Luther’s eyes gleamed dangerously. His giggle deepened into a manic laugh. "What did you just call me?"
The angel shook his head rapidly. "No—no, you misunderstood, I didn’t—"
"You called me a lunatic."
The vines froze, as though waiting for his command.
Luther spread his arms wide, smile stretching across his face. "Since I’m a lunatic..." His voice was soft, but every syllable vibrated with malice. "Let me show you what that really means."
They shot upward, coiling around the angel’s waist and neck, hoisting him high into the air. He screamed as they whipped him back and forth, spinning him in dizzying circles before slamming him down again.
Luther’s voice cut through his screams, sharp as a blade.
"You know what’s funny?" His tone was calm now, almost conversational. "I didn’t even want to be here. I’ve been dragged into one ridiculous situation after another, shoved into a role I never asked for. And through it all, I’ve been holding in my anger."
He paused, watching the angel struggle helplessly.
"Then along comes you—some freshly plucked idiot who thinks flapping his wings makes him special. And what do you do? You open your mouth and talk nonsense." Luther’s smile widened. "Congratulations. You’ve become the perfect outlet. I get to vent, and you get to learn what happens when people test me."
The vines thrashed violently, tossing the angel higher, spinning him like a child’s toy before slamming him down with bone-rattling force.
"Please! Stop! Father, why did you send me to this madman?!" the angel howled, thrashing helplessly. His voice cracked, desperation raw.
But the vines only grew tighter, wrapping him until he could barely move.
Luther stepped closer, head tilting again, that same eerie smile carved onto his face. "You thought you could mock me? You thought I’d stand here and listen? Wrong."
His hand snapped downward. The vines dragged the angel across the ground, scraping him against stone, tossing him like a ragdoll.
Each scream grew weaker, broken, as though even his pride was being torn apart with every lash.
Luther’s giggle returned, low and mocking. "Oh no, don’t stop now. Didn’t you call me a lunatic? You wanted to see, didn’t you?"
The angel whimpered, panic finally overwhelming arrogance.
Luther raised his hand one final time. The vines twisted, poised like spears ready to strike. The garden seemed to hold its breath.
The angel’s voice cracked into a final, desperate scream—
—and the vines launched.