Clap. Clap. Clap.
Lucian didn't think. He reacted.
The instinct to dominate, burned into his mind by the Sin of Pride, took over. He spun around, facing the source of the applause, and unleashed his will.
[SKILL ACTIVATED: KING'S PRESSURE]
A red aura flared around Lucian's body, violent and oppressive, surging toward the stranger in the fog. But the moment the energy touched the man, it didn't crush him. It didn't even ruffle his coat.
Fizz.
The aura vanished into thin air, extinguished like a candle in a hurricane.
"What..." Lucian blinked, confused. The pressure was gone. The weight was gone. It was as if he had never activated the skill at all.
[SYSTEM ERROR]
[Target Authority Exceeds User Capabilities.]
[Constraint Nullified: The gap in Tier is too vast.]
"Pretty convenient system," Lucian muttered, masking his shock with sarcasm. But deep down, a cold knot of tension tightened in his stomach. The System wasn't going to reply, and he was defenseless.
"Calm down, boy," the stranger said, stepping fully into the dim light of the alley. "I am not here to pick a fight."
Lucian finally got a good look at him.
The man was dressed in immaculate darkness. He wore a sharp black tuxedo with a black shirt and a wide-brimmed black hat. Even his hair was a silky, unnatural black, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. In his left hand, he gripped a cane topped with a silver handle—though the symbol carved into it was obscured by his gloved fingers.
It wasn't just his clothes that were unsettling. It was his eyes.
They were crimson red. Not the glow of a monster, but the deep, swirling red of a blood-filled sea.
"My name is Azrael Aziz," the stranger said. He removed his hat with his right hand and placed it over his chest, bowing slightly with theatrical elegance. "Or, you may humbly call me Azrael."
"I'm... Lucian," Lucian replied automatically. He didn't know why he gave his real name. It felt like a reflex, a social compulsion triggered by the man's overwhelming presence.
"A pleasure, Lucian," Azrael smiled. It was a polite smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Now, please don't flash your power at me like that again. I dislike being tested."
The smile vanished instantly, replaced by a neutral, terrifying blankness.
Azrael placed his hat back on his head. He lifted his right hand and, with a casual flick of his wrist, snapped his fingers.
SNAP.
The world didn't fade to black. It fell away.
Lucian wasn't in the London alley anymore. He wasn't even standing on solid ground.
He was floating.
His body felt weightless, translucent, like smoke drifting on a breeze. He looked down and saw his own hands were fading at the edges.
"Where...?"
He looked up. There was no sky. No stars. No smog. Just an endless, suffocating void of darkness. Below him, a river flowed from infinity to infinity. The water wasn't blue; it was gray, silent, and motionless, yet it carried an undeniable current of despair.
A small wooden boat drifted silently toward him across the gray water.
Standing at the prow was a figure cloaked in tattered robes that shifted like shadows. Its face was hidden deep within the hood, but its hands—skeletal, white bone—gripped a massive, rusted scythe.
Lucian's spirit shivered. It wasn't physical cold; it was the primal recognition of the End.
The figure in the boat raised its head. Darkness stared back at Lucian.
"IT IS NOT YOUR TIME."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. It vibrated in Lucian's soul, loud enough to shatter glass, quiet enough to be a secret.
"RETURN."
JOLT.
Lucian gasped, his body jerking violently as if he had fallen from a great height.
Air filled his lungs. The smell of wet bricks and rotting garbage rushed back into his nose. He was back in the alley. He was standing on his feet, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"Where the hell was I?" Lucian tried to think the words, but his mouth moved on its own, speaking them aloud.
Azrael stood exactly where he had been, that polite, terrifying smile back on his face.
"You were in the Afterlife," Azrael said, his voice slow and calm, as if discussing the weather. "You may have seen someone with a scythe? A charming fellow, isn't he?"
Lucian nodded dumbly. His hands were shaking. He felt... afraid. Genuine, paralyzing fear.
Wait.
[PASSIVE TRAIT RE-ACTIVATED: SIN OF PRIDE]
[Fear Suppressed.]
A cooling sensation washed over his brain. The terror of the void receded, locked away behind the mental wall of his Sequence. His hands stopped shaking.
"Phew..." Lucian exhaled, his composure returning. "My power is back."
He looked at Azrael with new eyes. This man wasn't just a Guild recruiter. He was a monster in a tuxedo.
"I know he told you to return," Azrael said, stepping closer. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black card with silver lettering. He held it out to Lucian.
"I am simply here to recruit you into the Guild of Preservation. We are in desperate need of Awakened talent with the war approaching, and I happened to witness your... display... with my own eyes."
Lucian took the card. It was cold to the touch.
"What if I refuse?" Lucian asked, his voice steady.
Azrael's smile faded slowly, like a light dimming in a room. The crimson in his eyes seemed to swirl.
"Then... well..." Azrael leaned in slightly. "You will really see the Afterlife. And next time, there won't be a return ticket. We are quite good at arranging that, you know."
The smile snapped back into place.
"See you tomorrow, Lucian. Come find me at the Bond Street Plaza. We will introduce you to our branch."
Azrael turned, his black coat swirling around him. He waved his right hand over his shoulder without looking back.
"Goodbye."
He walked forward, and the London fog seemed to swallow him whole, leaving Lucian alone in the alley with a black card and the lingering chill of the grave.