A Dark Fantasy Spy

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The sound suddenly comes to a halt.

Like the ground solidifying after a rain, the sudden stillness pulled the tension taut like a knot. It felt as if the knot would snap with the slightest touch, and no one dared move hastily.

Confusion or astonishment. Somewhere in between, glances fell upon an angel. However, the thick darkness did not permit them to gaze upon the angel’s face.

Wandering eyes, unable to grasp a focus, soon scattered and could only dissolve into the darkness.

“….”

I thought finding the angel would solve everything.

Out of the blue, I had to hear about the existence of demons sealed in the Mauritania Continent and secrets I wished I never knew.

And now, I had to fight an angel as well.

A sigh escaped Colonel Frederick involuntarily.

“Veronica. May I ask just one question?”

The silence shattered with the sudden interjection. It was a voice entirely different from the atmosphere that seemed about to burst at any moment.

The saint, who was caressing the wood grip of her checkered revolver, glanced and shifted her gaze.

“Is this question truly necessary right now?”

“Perhaps.”

Her obsidian-like eyes began to roll. The two pairs of eyes crossed in silence, questioning the hidden intention behind the unspoken words.

Click, the safety came off, and Frederick began to answer as his weapon’s stock pressed against his forehead.

“Is attacking an angel a ticket to heaven?”

The taut knot finally snapped. Light and flames began to bloom, signaling the start of a play.

In response, the saint, her finger lingering on the trigger, let out a wry smile.

“I’ll accompany you to the gates of hell, even if that’s where you end up.”

—

Episode 17 – The Tree That Drinks Blood

Light and flames have long been considered symbols of festivals.

Saint Martin’s Day. A traditional event held in Germany on November 11 serves as a good example.

Unlike the marketing gimmicks of a capitalist confectionery company that created the holiday, Germany’s festival has its own historical and traditional significance.

In the cold winter of the 4th century AD, a man named Martin was patrolling the streets at night.

A Roman officer, Martin came across a beggar. Feeling pity for the beggar, who was shivering in rags, he cut his cloak in half with his sword and shared it. That night, Jesus appeared to him in a dream, revealing that the beggar was, in fact, Jesus.

This strongly Christian tale symbolizes Saint Martin’s Day.

To commemorate Martin’s virtuous act after he later became a bishop, the Germans designated November 11 as a festival—not some commercial gimmick for handing out snacks to a crush.

This festival, known as Saint Martin’s Day, has another name: Laternenfest, which translates to ‘Lantern Festival’ in Korean.

The association between light-bearing lanterns and festivals is inseparable. The Thai festival Loy Krathong also highlights lanterns, just as the Lantern Festival celebrated in Chinese communities on the fifteenth day of the lunar month.

If we broaden our perspective on “light” from the limited category of lanterns, many other festivals emerge.

For example, the grand festival of witch hunts in medieval Europe, where several widows were captured to be used as firewood for the rich.

This harmony of light and culture has guided human civilization to ever higher realms in line with the times, with the invention of gunpowder playing a significant role.

Fireworks, which made the air quality worse than that of the People’s Republic of China, served as a great example.

Even though the Chinese Communist Party hates America more than anyone else, one could argue that the fireworks culture of the Chinese community, filled with light in the sky, originates entirely from America, considering the contradictory feelings of party officials who rely on America for their wealth and children’s education.

For instance, the transcendent entertainment of a live performance featuring the most annoying and morally questionable characters from the Western world inspiring the defense ministers and chiefs of staff.

Though a great divide exists between fireworks and 750-pound aerial bombs, this also stood as a crucial case proving the equation of light and flames = festivals (or not).

Someone born and raised in Beijing might scream, “What does the fireworks that existed before the Ming Dynasty have to do with World War II?”

But Internet scholars unanimously agree there can hardly be traditions to uphold, especially when there are no remnants of the past to refer to in a country that demolished Confucius’s tomb to break the feudal remnants.

Anyhow.

Festivals have always been a symphony and orchestra created by light and flames. Therefore, every place where light and flames exist is akin to the scene of a festival.

And here.

Another festival is taking place.

The fabric of the sky stretches wide, shaking off the wind, while the dancing shadows of flickering lanterns jiggle against a backdrop of cloth.

With a blazing instrument, the performance strikes a cheerful tune, and as a sword with a torn cloak sweeps past, sparks fly from the shoulder.

-Clang!

The sword draws a line through the air. It was a massive greatsword.

The greatsword cleaves through the cloak down the center, and devastating power akin to uprooting mountains is opposed by twin swords.

Clang! The sharp metallic sound halts the melody. The evidence of battle remains vivid in the stone chamber. The crossed twin swords block the fierce momentum of the greatsword, reflecting the form of armored figures casting shadows on glimmering blades.

“Nathaniel!”

Fury rattles the helmet while astonishment sends shivers through the air.

Ramiel raises his voice as their blades collide.

“Do you dare aim your weapon at your brother!”

The greatsword begins to press down with the weight of rage. In response, Nathaniel deflects with his twin swords and retorts.

“Who said you were my brother? I do not recognize you as kin.”

“Wisdom has turned into arrogance. And you, can you still proclaim yourself the steward of the cycle?”

Klang! The two blades cry out fiercely. Nathaniel, having swatted aside the twin swords, grins mockingly.

“You wouldn’t grasp it with your foolishness. I didn’t expect you to understand, anyway.”

Clank! As the gauntlet pulses, a roar follows. The greatsword thrashes wildly in sync with its master’s fury.

“What has changed you? Was it the fall of humanity as you claim, or was it the death of Anael!”

“Shut up!”

The three swords clash, generating a backlash.

Like the wreckage left behind from an airstrike, wind bursts out, scattering countless scars across the stone chamber.

Amid numerous sword traces, two swords begin to dance. Their brutally vivid and beautiful performance seems capable of snuffing out the lifespan of any onlooker.

The extended twin swords brush against the side of the armor, and Nathaniel, recovering his misplaced weapon, smirks coldly.

“Even in a weakened state, you still pretend to be righteous.”

The engraved scars vanish along with the armor as Ramiel pivots and adopts a defensive stance.

“Do not speak carelessly. I still walk the path.”

“You’ll find it’s an endless darkness.”

The great blade cloaks itself in armor, while the knight blocking the way responds quietly.

“No matter how deep the darkness, a path always exists. It is the truth.”

“….”

“It seems arrogance has blinded your eyes.”

With a whirl, the twin swords revolved, landing perfectly in hand.

Holding the twin swords, Nathaniel drew in a breath and spoke.

“Perhaps only you are intoxicated in false hopes.”

The conversation was at an end. Ramiel finally acknowledged the futility of persuasion. Communication relies not on one side, but requires an exchange between both.

If one decides to keep silence, only combat remains.

There’s only one conversation that can occur when swords are in hand, throughout all ages.

The twin swords crossed, and the greatsword swung down.

It was late summer.

The history of tragedy was about to return once more.

—

When a person is so shocked and flustered, words do not even come out.

Just like the United States president upon hearing reports of airplanes crashing into twin towers. Enjoying destruction and chaos, he had been organizing a splendid festival with the Middle Eastern dictator amidst the fervent support of the people, which was referred to as the Iraq War.

At that time, I remember the war between the United States and Iraq didn’t have much influence on me. As a student focused on studies, I saw the tragedies in America and the wars in the Middle East as stories from another world.

I only cursed the American friends who left behind a mess when I was deployed to the Middle East after joining. Of course, I never voiced it out loud—just a bit of internal grumbling. After all, it’s the 70-year Korea-U.S. alliance.

Here and now, the feelings I experienced decades ago began to resurface.

Wow, geez. Now angels are even stabbing each other with swords.

“It’s the end times, it’s the end times.”

“If you have time for jokes, why not just fight?”

Bang! The voice of Veronica shouting at the top of her lungs snapped me out of my daze. I quickly tossed her the pouch I had grabbed.

It looked like an expensive leather pouch. As it floated through the air, it landed with a soft thud into her grasp. Inside were silver bullets that glimmered faintly. Veronica pulled out six of them and loaded them into the cylinder.

With a whirr, the cylinder spun gracefully. The thumb that had held the lock quickly released it.

Kneeling on one knee, Veronica aimed the revolver with both hands. As the aligned sights captured their target, the trigger clicked.

-Bang!

The gunshot reverberated through the stone chamber in an instant. The bullet, soaring straight, collided with its target moments later.

Flames erupted from where the sword sought to penetrate the armor, and the recoiling blade came to rest amidst the dust that had accumulated beneath.

“…Oh no.”

Seeing his sword being lost to the distance, Nathaniel muttered softly.

Just as the hooded gaze aimed at the saint—

Click! As the revolver struck the trigger, a thunderous gunshot erupted, flames blossoming forth as the round was fired.

“Take this!”

After the fight between angels commenced, Veronica, who had been dazed, regained her focus and plunged into the fray.

Although it was uncertain if the silver bullets, claimed to have shot down demons, would affect anything other than demons, looking back now, bringing her along was undoubtedly a divine decision.

The bullets forged from relics stored in the Lateran Cathedral were a sufficient threat even against beings other than demons. Just watching the angel wielding twin swords prioritize evasion over defense sufficed to confirm that notion.

Several shots rang out in succession.

Nathaniel dashed between columns, evading Veronica’s attacks.

The shining gunfire slithered around like a slippery fish, avoiding the angel, who slid gracefully across the ground, and as the distance between them diminished rapidly,

“G’huarkkk-!”

Akande spat a strange battle cry, leaping between the angel and the swords.

The hefty Akande landed with the impact of a meteorite, stirring up clouds of dust. Tattoos shimmered as he unleashed a devastating punch.

-Bang!

His blow flattened the ground like tofu. The previously intact stone bricks splintered, and as Nathaniel barely dodged, he snatched the fallen sword.

Eager not to let this opportunity pass, Akande swung a punch at Nathaniel, who intercepted with the hilt of his sword.

In the split second their weapon and fist collided,

A cloud of debris and dust erupted into the air, clouding the stone chamber.