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Logically speaking.
The convenience store was on this street. Andrew had no reason to park on a different block.
But today, one end of the convenience store's street had been closed off due to a road collapse. If he'd approached from the other direction, he would have had to take the overpass and loop around—too far out of the way.
Andrew didn't want to waste gas money.
Of course.
If he really wanted to avoid the detour, he could have driven through a wider alley nearby to reach this street.
But here's the thing.
Despite his rugged appearance—full beard and all—Andrew was actually a man who followed the rules.
Even by Eastern standards of measurement.
Put it this way.
Andrew was the model employee. A workhorse among workhorses—the kind who'd move without the whip, needing nothing more than a carrot dangled in front of him and some hay to keep going.
In short!
Because Andrew followed the rules—refusing to drive through a pedestrian zone—and because he wanted to save gas money and avoid the detour, he'd parked on a street that required cutting through an alley to reach the convenience store.
He had no idea this alley would be where his timeline ended.
After following Andrew out of the convenience store, Hawk watched the man carry his purchases—baby supplies for his son and daughter—with a happy smile on his face. Andrew was walking toward the endpoint of his existence.
Hawk considered calling out to stop him.
But there was no point.
What had already happened in the past was destined to happen.
Even if you changed it, all you'd create was a brand-new parallel timeline.
Put simply.
Modifying the past was copy-paste, not cut-paste.
Still, Hawk now had a pretty good idea why this particular temporal vulnerability couldn't auto-repair and required manual intervention.
The time loop here hadn't closed.
But he'd observed everything up to this point and found no signs of external intrusion.
Besides.
Even if someone had invaded, they should have targeted him—not Andrew.
Hawk thought this through, then watched Andrew walk toward the alley.
The instant Andrew entered, two white men—one tall, one thin—came running from the opposite end. Both looked nervous.
Six eyes met.
"Get out of the way!"
"Fuck!"
Andrew stood frozen, seemingly stunned by the scene.
That moment of hesitation must have been misinterpreted. Without a word, the two men raised their weapons and squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession. The bullets slammed into Andrew's body.
Andrew collapsed, falling into a grimy puddle in the alley. Disbelief filled his eyes, but his arms remained locked around the shopping bag—the gifts for his son and daughter.
The tall one and the thin one stepped over Andrew's fallen body, brushed past Hawk standing at the alley's entrance, and sprinted toward the other end of the street.
At that moment.
Two patrol officers appeared at the alley entrance. They stepped out of their cruiser, saw Andrew lying in a pool of blood, and let out a string of curses as they called for backup and an ambulance.
But it was already too late.
Andrew was dead.
The only mercy was that he hadn't suffered long before the end.
After memorizing the shooters' signatures, Hawk withdrew his gaze from their fleeing forms. He took one last look at Andrew's body, then turned and left with an expressionless face.
Meanwhile.
Atop a high-rise one block away—with a bird's-eye view of the entire alley—
A middle-aged man in a tailored suit and gold-rimmed glasses watched Andrew die and the gunmen flee. His thin lips curved upward in a cold smile.
"Enjoying the show?"
"..."
The man's body jerked at the calm voice behind him. As he spun around—
BOOM!
Three pairs of snow-white wings exploded outward. The instant he spotted Hawk—who had materialized behind him without warning—he threw a punch while his feathers shot toward Hawk like a hail of bullets.
Hawk's right foot stepped forward. In a blink, he seemed to teleport directly in front of the man. His right hand shot out, tiger-grip clamping around the man's throat, hoisting him off the ground in one fluid motion.
The next second.
WHAM—!
The man's back slammed into the wall, instantly cratering it in a human-shaped indent.
"Birdman!"
Hawk studied the three pairs of wings behind the man. His eyes narrowed, murderous intent blazing.
"Jehovah!"
Originally, Hawk had assumed this vulnerability existed because of his subconscious—some deep-seated desire to know who had killed Andrew.
He hadn't even considered the possibility that someone had invaded his timeline.
Because—
If someone invaded his timeline to attack him, they should have targeted him. And he was still very much alive.
But someone had invaded.
He'd noticed something wrong the moment Andrew froze. In that instant, a familiar yet loathsome aura had shrouded Andrew, preventing him from dodging in time—leading directly to his death.
The culprit stood right before him.
But Hawk didn't understand.
This was his timeline. If Jehovah wanted to send an angel through time to kill him, shouldn't they have targeted infant-him still in his crib? Why go after Andrew instead?
What possible benefit could killing Andrew provide?
...Wait.
Hawk suddenly remembered something crucial.
His timeline might have originated in that modest house, but his memories didn't start there. They started at the church doorstep.
That was why he'd always been certain Anya was his biological sister.
Because when he first opened his eyes, he and Anya had been sharing the same swaddling cloth—right there at the church entrance.
Heaven!
Angels!
Church!
Hawk's thoughts raced. A possibility crystallized.
In 2015, he'd destroyed Jehovah's projection. In the Hell Dimension, he'd killed Jehovah's angel Michael.
But Jehovah seemed to admire him—wanted to convert him into a War Angel. So he'd sent this angel through time to change him.
By killing Andrew, Amy would be driven into poverty. She'd have no choice but to leave him and his sister at St. Paul's Church.
That way, they could cultivate Hawk's faith from childhood—build his loyalty to the church.
So—
The time loop closes.
He kills Jehovah. Jehovah sends an angel through time to kill Andrew. Amy leaves him and Anya at the church doorstep...
After all, children raised by the church tended to have pretty solid faith in Heaven.
There was just one small problem.
Hawk wasn't native to this world. The moment he'd landed on that church doorstep, his memories from his previous life had already awakened.
And in his previous life, he'd been from the East—a nation that practiced pragmatic faith.
Put simply!
No miracles, no worship.
So despite his exemplary behavior at the church—despite being a member of the choir, appearing devout—
In reality, Hawk couldn't have cared less.
His thoughts churned.
The birdman in his grip, meanwhile, heard Hawk speak Jehovah's name directly. Rage exploded across his features.
"How DARE you speak the Lord's name! Heathen—"
SLAP!
"Damned heathen—"
SLAP! SLAP!
"I will kill—"
RIIIIIP!
"AAAAAAARGH!"
The angel's scream tore through the air.
Hawk casually tossed aside the wing he'd just ripped from the angel's back. He regarded the shrieking creature with a flat expression.
"What was Jehovah's purpose in sending you?"
SPIT!
The angel spat at Hawk, wearing an expression of defiant martyrdom.
But Hawk's telekinesis intercepted the saliva mid-flight.
Without another word, Hawk's left hand seized another wing and yanked. The wing tore free, trailing a chunk of bloody flesh.
The angel screamed again.
But—
Hawk's grip crushed the angel's throat, choking off the sound before it could fully escape.
Searing agony radiated from his back. The suffocating pressure on his windpipe felt like industrial pliers. The angel's legs kicked uselessly in the air, like a chicken being strangled.
His remaining wings—one on the left, three on the right—flapped frantically.
The scene was as ridiculous as it was pathetic.
Hawk loosened his grip slightly.
"Talk."
"Heathen—"
SPLURCH!
"Talk."
"Never!"
"Fine."
SPLURCH!
SPLURCH—!
Hawk's cold smile never wavered as he methodically ripped out every remaining wing, flesh and all, and tossed them aside.
The moment each wing hit the ground, it dissolved into white mist.
Meanwhile!
As Hawk plucked wing after wing, the blood seeping from the angel's wounds gradually shifted—from golden to crimson.
By the time Hawk tore out the final wing, the blood flowing from the angel was indistinguishable from any mortal's.
Hawk dropped the creature like garbage onto the rooftop floor.
The next moment!
The instant the angel's mangled back hit the ground, another piercing scream erupted. Instinctively, the angel rolled over to keep his ruined back off the surface.
What Hawk saw—
The angel's back had become a cratered, bleeding ruin.
But—
Hawk studied the torn cavities where he'd ripped out the wings. His expression shifted.
The next second.
Hawk forcibly flipped the angel onto his back, planted a foot on his throat, and studied his face intently.
He was trying to envision what this angel would look like... when he grew old.
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~# 70 Advanced Chapters Available on my Patreon!
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