Chapter 77
The sky was wrong.
Not dark, not light—something in between. A bruised violet that bled into ochre at the horizon, as though the heavens themselves had been beaten and left to heal. Beneath it, twelve figures stood in a wide circle, their crimson robes pooling on the cracked earth.
At the center, a figure floated, motionless, suspended in the air as though the ground beneath him was unworthy of his feet.
The silence stretched. His lips parted.
"Blood Paradise."
The words hung in the air, heavy as a death sentence. Around them, the world seemed to exhale—a slow, almost organic pulse rippling outward from the floating man. The domain of Solos, the angel from ages of the past.
He reached up with pale fingers and drew back his hood.
Revealing his face, which was Vabon.
