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The cathedral, with the massive cross at its center—appearing as if countless souls were sealed within—was shrouded in absolute silence, despite its grand and holy appearance. Between the pitch-black stone pillars adorned with the bones of various races, the sanctity and stillness of death suppressed the air in an ominous fashion.
Facing the cross stood a silent figure. With blue eyes reminiscent of a child’s innocence, 'He' gazed upon everything as if with profound mercy.
For a long time, 'He' did not move. 'He' gave not the slightest sign that 'He' noticed the red-haired man sitting in the pews behind 'Him'.
It wasn’t that 'He' didn't realize; no. Nor was 'He' ignoring Him. Simply, 'He' did not care. With the apathy of a God, 'He' preferred to wait and watch what would unfold.
'He' was in no hurry, nor was 'He' tense; 'He' remained utterly silent, making no sound as if the very concept of noise was beneath 'Him'. 'His' blue eyes never strayed from the cross for a single moment. 'He' was patient enough to grant time. 'He' was understanding enough to wait in silence.
It was not out of mercy.
It was divine indifference.
And sometimes, indifference is crueler than hatred itself. Hatred is a bond; being disregarded is nothingness.
The sense of worthlessness felt before the gods manifested most intensely in 'His' presence.
Unfortunately, this was the first human pain Medici had ever experienced in His life. The irony was that Medici was not human. Being ignored by His God should not hurt an Angel.
It should not even bother Him.
Looking back now, across decades, centuries, He wasn't even sure how it all began.
Being a born mythical creature should have meant He couldn't feel human emotions. And indeed, He couldn't—at least, not like humans did; not with that same blinding, suffocating intensity.
Humans loved the word 'emotion.' They repeated it with pride, as if reading the most vital passage of a revelation.
To Medici, it was all hollow. All those flowery concepts, those riddle-like philosophical interpretations, each interpreted differently by different people, were merely stories that served no purpose other than humans praising themselves.
Yet, strangely, the man before Him had become the sole exception to this rule.
Nowadays, 'He' was known as the Ancient Sun God; once, 'He' was the God Almighty.
Now, 'He' was called Adam. Medici had known 'Him' as the one and only Lord.
When had the trajectory of his existence shifted so disastrously? Medici could no longer pinpoint the spark.
Perhaps the catalyst was their very first meeting—the inexplicable tremor of anticipation He felt when the Lord invited him to remain at 'His' side.
Or perhaps, it was during those moments when the Lord’s boundless compassion for humanity bled through 'His' divinity; it was then that something within Medici’s core—something rigid and hunter-like— began to fray and come undone.
Perhaps it was when Medici had to fight against the Lord, who had taught Him the meaning of life.
Perhaps it was when He was betrayed by the Lord.
Though, at that time, Medici didn't even know that Adam and the Lord were the same person. Would anything have changed if He had known? He didn't think so. Medici knew that if the Lord asked Him to die, He would accept without objection.
In a way, if He had known Adam and the Lord were the same, He might have taken His own life with His own hands.
Looking back, it was as if all paths had aligned just to ensure Medici’s fall.
Perhaps it was a reasonable development. Perhaps it was a necessary sacrifice.
The first mistake Medici made was asking Adam about humanity.
The second was believing the answer meant nothing—until that very 'humanity' became the weapon used to unmake Him.
Whatever the reason, the result was Medici’s ruin.
Because the Angel who once stepped forth to claim the world through slaughter had been reduced to a man ready to offer his own throat to ensure his Lord’s divinity remained untainted.
And Medici hated the scent of this submission with every fiber of his being.
— ⟨ ⊙ ⟩ —
Red Angel Medici. The Great God of War; The Symbol of Iron and Blood; The Ruler of Chaos and Strife.
One of the eight King of Angels. A loyal hunter.
A loyal believer.
When 'He' first met Medici, 'He' knew Medici would be useful to 'Him.'
When 'He' first encountered Medici, 'He' didn't just see a warrior; 'He' saw a masterpiece of destruction. Medici was a conflagration given form, a creature whose very breath smelled of ozone and rusted iron. In that singular moment of observation, 'He' peered through the layers of the Red Angel’s spirituality and saw not just a weapon, but a fixed point of absolute, unwavering fervor.
‘He’ knew then, with the detached certainty of a Creator, that Medici would be more than useful. He would be necessary. He would be the blade that never chipped, the fire that never needed stoking.
His loyalty was commendable, perhaps even admirable. Amidst all those wars, Medici was the one most eager to fight.
And this wasn't just because of the instincts given by His Pathway.
Medici wanted to fight for His Lord.
Since that first day 'He' opened 'His' eyes in Chernobyl, 'He' knew how fragile the balance was in this twisted world. The slow loss of control over 'His' mind, the presence of enemies who wished to eliminate 'Him', and of course, the angels who had Their eyes on 'His' throne...
Yet, in the midst of all this chaos and variables, Medici had managed to become a fixed figure with His faith and loyalty.
Interesting. Simply... interesting.
Whether He possessed humanity or not did not matter.
'He' had always found Medici intriguing.
He listened to orders. Not because He had a submissive personality, but because His loyalty was so intense. Yet, He had also managed to perfectly maintain that line between obedience and rebellion.
His talent for provocation certainly played a part, but in everything Medici did, even while obeying and bowing, He managed to test the other's patience.
But no matter how much He pushed the limits, He knew not to cross them.
He was ambitious, but not stupid. He loved to fight, but knew when not to. He was proud and arrogant. But He knew when He had to bow.
He was very different from the other angels. Arrogant, but not as much as Aucuses. Fierce, but not as much as Leodero.
He was loyal in a way Herabergen could never be. He was chaotic in a way Ouroboros could never be.
Medici was intriguing.
He was both unbearable and impossible to ignore.
And the Lord wondered.
Could an angel without humanity, a born mythical creature, gain humanity? Could He feel emotions?
It seemed 'His' researcher's spirit had not died, even after everything.
Medici was like a flame attracting moths.
And the Lord had wanted to draw that red flame closer to 'Himself'.
— 🜂 —
The Corpse Cathedral remained in its undisturbed silence. Adam, the Lord, stood in the same place with all the divinity 'He' possessed, aware of the chaos in Medici's mind, yet deliberately silent and unresponsive.
After all, this was 'His' domain. Everything within it seemed to strip away all armor and layers under those eyes overflowing with childlike innocence, presenting itself to him in total nakedness.
Medici was no exception.
However, the years had taught Him to surrender Himself under the Lord’s gaze, stripped of His armor, along with the deepest vulnerabilities in His mind. The Lord’s gaze could be disturbing to some. An all-knowing figure, who could sense even when 'His' name was mentioned, radiated a terrifying and perhaps stifling level of discomfort.
But for Medici, it wasn't like that.
Medici was used to it. The Lord’s eyes could break down any defense. They disregarded every lie, excuse, outer shell, and protection. But at the same time, they evoked a sense of familiarity and safety.
To Medici, the Lord’s presence was a vast, golden ocean—boundless and terrifyingly deep. Standing before Him was like being submerged in a sun-drenched tide. The warmth was undeniable, nearly divine. Yet the weight of the water was absolute.
For Medici, the Lord’s absolute presence—His mind remaining naked like a vulnerable soul before the Lord’s eyes—had become that space He was used to, knew, and felt comfortable in.
Vulnerability was terrifying.
But when that vulnerability remained unviolated, trust began to take root in the silence. It was the terror of standing naked and finding no blade at one's throat. Then, under the guise of loyalty, it forged itself into an unbreakable chain—and that was much more terrifying.
Being a born mythical creature had failed to protect even Medici from these feelings.
Loyalty was a chain that could not be torn away. And Medici had wrapped this chain around His wrists with His own hands.
Perhaps that’s why He couldn't feel it when the chains began to cut into His skin.
Under the heavy air of the cathedral and the gaze of the souls that seemed trapped there, Medici knew that His suffering, like all other insignificant things, was merely a script written and meant to be executed in the eyes of his Lord.
“Causes produce effects,” the Lord had proclaimed once, the weight of His divinity pressing into Medici’s very soul. “But the result remains more vital than the process. Sacrifices made for the preservation of humanity are a noble necessity.”
Perhaps this was what infuriated the War Angel so much. To be merely a necessity, nothing more.
"You discarded me for that madman," Medici said suddenly, tearing through the veil of silence within the cathedral. His voice wasn't accusatory; unexpectedly for Him, He was merely stating a fact. "But you didn't let me die either."
Was He grateful for being allowed to survive? Medici wasn't sure. Perhaps Adam already held the answer within 'His' divine calculations, but Medici would not grant 'Him' the satisfaction of the question.
Adam made no movement. 'He' remained a statue of divine patience, an actor on a silent stage, poised for a cue that only 'He' could hear. 'He' listened to Medici’s words as if they were merely pre-ordained lines in a script 'He' had already memorized.
"You knew I was the most loyal to you. But I was also the first person you discarded." Medici paused briefly, his lips stretching into a mocking curl. "No, I almost forgot. The first person you discarded was Adam. The angel you introduced as your son. A tool waiting to be useful when the proper time came."
Medici’s attempt to break the Lord’s silence went unrequited against the density of the cathedral, which felt frozen in time.
It was just a provocation, a hunter’s jagged lure thrown into the depths of a still lake. Medici knew, with a clarity that stung more than any wound, that He had never truly been discarded. He was an integral part of the grand design.
Yet, He spoke these bitter words as if they were accusations, hoping to find a crack in the Lord's porcelain composure. He wanted to see a flicker of guilt, a shadow of hesitation—anything that would prove He was more than just a variable in the script.
But the silence only grew heavier.
However, Medici had gained enough experience to know the meaning of the Lord’s silence.
This silence was not a harbinger of anger, irritation, or a storm waiting to break. The Lord was simply waiting for the jagged shards of Medici’s flaming rage to spill, one by one, onto the cold stones of the cathedral.
"And it worked, didn't it? Adam, the Angel of Imagination, fulfilled the very purpose of His being imagined quite well."
Adam did not offer a response. With 'His' golden hair and simple white robe, 'His' unmoving figure remained anchored in the center of the cathedral.
In the Third Epoch, the Lord had introduced two angels as 'His' sons. One was Amon, a walking, breathing error. He was talkative, curious, active, mischievous, and cunning. Even if He were just an ordinary human, He would be a child whose parents complained of His mischief—and Amon, in addition to His striking personality traits, possessed abilities as twisted and mischievous as His mind. He was the primary reason Medici found the Marauder pathway truly annoying.
The second was Adam. Unlike Amon, He was quiet, perhaps even introverted. He was mature and dignified, calm, polite, thoughtful, and strangely, quite merciful.
Amon was the Lord’s first candidate to become the future Lord of the Mysteries.
Adam was a backup created by the Lord’s imagination, to be used by the Lord for 'His' future resurrection.
But back then, the Lord and the two angels were like a normal family; on the surface, the only difference was the divinity they carried.
Honestly, Medici wasn't sure why the care of these children was given to Him. First of all, neither brother was exactly a 'child'; They weren't even truly in need of care.
Secondly, Medici was not the first name that came to mind when 'childcare' was mentioned. In fact, He probably wouldn't be a name that came to mind in any way, even as a last resort.
The Lord’s other angels didn't exactly set an example in this regard either; Sasris was like the embodiment of gloom, Leodero had a temperament far too heated for His own good, Aucuses was a walking phenomenon of self-praise, Herabergen usually hung on the edge of corruption because of His obsession with knowledge, and Ouroboros' eyes saw no one but the Lord—meaning, He literally saw no one else.
Still, Medici didn't see Himself as the best option.
Yet somehow He found himself in the middle of these two children, between Amon’s absolute chaos from hell and Adam’s soothing peace that seemed to have descended from heaven.
All three angels were strangers to human emotions. Medici simply didn't care. Amon was more than satisfied with His state. But Adam, unlike the other two, was the only one interested in human emotions. With this trait, He was different even from the other angels. However, He too would drift between the hesitation of wanting and not wanting, between being able to feel or not.
The Lord, on the other hand, never hid that 'He' enjoyed watching 'His' two sons wander around Medici.
Medici had asked, "Why me?"
And the Lord had smiled slightly, with tenderness and love. "Because among my angels, they love you the most."
Medici would have laughed mockingly at that moment if He weren't standing before His Lord. Was it love that He became the sole target of child-Amon’s semi-harmless pranks, only for Him to look at Medici with wide eyes as if expecting a praise? Or that child-Adam set aside His introversion to explain everything He discovered to Medici in long, conceptual words?
Medici vaguely remembered a moment when Adam, excitedly sharing His discoveries about humans, said something like, 'Children usually feel a natural attraction toward the people their parents truly love.'
But the Lord loved everyone and the whole world.
Medici had no special position.
Yet, interestingly, these two children and their 'Father' had come to hold a special position for Medici.
— ⟨ ⊙ ⟩ —
"Do you love the Red Angel, Father?"
Child Adam, 'His' eldest son, the Angel of Imagination, had asked this question with great seriousness one day.
Although the choice of words surprised 'Him' at first, Adam was the angel with the most perception of emotions. 'His' special attitude toward Medici had clearly not escaped the Spectator’s eyes.
After all, 'His' humanity wasn't such a lost cause back then. He did not shy away from human interactions. And from Medici, 'He' didn't shy away at all.
"Medici is a loyal angel."
The answer was straight and clear, accompanied by a small smile. But the meaning was evident: only Medici’s loyalty was being rewarded.
Adam seemed to believe it; He didn't ask the same question again.
But as if these words had changed something in His life, from that day on, He became even closer to Medici. He would look for excuses to talk to Medici, as if wanting to find the source of His Father’s interest.
It didn't take long for Amon to get involved as well.
The anger of Medici, who was constantly subjected to the Angel of Time's pranks, would often melt away under the calm speech of the Angel of Imagination.
And the Lord could not deny how much this sight intrigued 'Him'.
Though He complained about his duties often, Medici fulfilled them all.
Medici was like a wild sword, ownerless and sharp.
Sometimes He cut, sometimes He protected.
But He was always there. His presence was loud. But His absence was very silent.
Over time, the Lord realized that Medici’s noise was a noise 'He' did not mind hearing.
It was intriguing.
Medici had not tasted humanity. But perhaps Adam, with the knowledge He possessed, could teach Him humanity. Perhaps Amon could truly make Him feel something.
The Lord wondered.
If Medici had humanity, which emotion would suit Him best?
— 🜂 —
The cathedral maintained its silence for a long time. Candles flickered, shadows moved as if wanting to swallow all light, and the souls trapped within the skeletons were swallowed into the stillness.
Only then did Adam’s voice respond slowly, with a deep resonance.
"You are mistaken."
A deep tone, not as if spreading through the air, but almost seeping into the mind.
Medici’s brows furrowed; letting out a cold laugh. He didn't take his eyes off the back of the motionless figure of the blond man, the Lord, before Him. "Am I mistaken?"
"I never discarded you."
Medici couldn't speak for a short moment. The heavy silence that followed was not empty; it was filled entirely by Adam’s presence, as if a golden ocean had finally breached the cathedral's walls.
“Had you truly been discarded," Adam continued, his tone as level as a horizon, "the story would have ended for you long ago.”
Adam’s words were not an attempt to justify 'His' actions, nor were they a comfort offered to a wounded soldier. 'He' was not seeking forgiveness or even understanding. 'He' was simply stating a fundamental law of his script—a cold, structural fact of the world 'He' had envisioned.
After overcoming His shock, Medici laughed, exhaling through His nose.
Yes, it was true. If Adam had truly wanted Him to die, Medici could not have survived. His living was entirely thanks to Adam’s arrangements.
"So my role for you isn't over yet? I'm honored."
Adam did not answer Medici’s sarcasm; 'He' merely tilted 'His' head slightly to the side—if that could be counted as an answer.
Silence fell upon the cathedral again.
Medici was familiar with this silence that formed in the Lord’s presence.
It wasn't that the Lord didn't like to speak—Medici wasn't sure, maybe 'He' didn't—but the Lord preferred to speak little but meaningfully with 'His' angels. Instead of explaining things, 'He' had a silence that encouraged 'His' angels to figure things out. Instead of asking questions, 'He' would wait for 'His' angels to confess. Instead of commenting, 'He' would ensure his facial expression showed a few fragments of emotion that would be revealed to a careful eye.
The Lord’s silence was familiar.
In the past, it was comforting.
Now, it was suffocating.
The Corpse Cathedral’s unique, eerie but somehow comforting atmosphere strangely didn't seem to be working now. Perhaps Adam had actively wanted to ensure Medici unraveled.
Medici wasn't sure. Trying to decipher the Lord’s movements mostly resulted in failure.
He had tried many times in the past.
But both the Lord, and Adam after the well-known catastrophe, were mysteries whose movements could not be solved.
There would be a smile on the Lord’s face whenever 'He' made moves as if 'He' were about to checkmate in a grand game of chess.
Medici had stopped trying to understand the Lord.
But this acceptance had caused the Lord to rise to an even more central position in His own eyes.
He wasn't trying to understand the Lord. But He had wanted to feel Him.
What Medici wanted to understand wasn't the Lord’s mind.
Medici had wanted to understand why He felt a weight in His chest when standing before the Lord. Why His heart rhythm changed...
During the Fourth Epoch, He had thought about how similar the Lord and Adam were. Both produced the same effect on Him.
The same pressure. The same intensity. The same curiosity. The same loyalty.
Adam was different from the Lord, of course. Unlike the Lord, who exhibited human traits albeit rarely, Adam had a divine lack of response.
Still, Medici saw those blue eyes with childlike purity everywhere He went.
It wasn't like a god watching the boring creatures standing below 'Him'. It was more... like 'He' was interested. Like a scientist wanting to observe, like a questioning researcher, like a screenwriter re-watching his favorite scene.
"Adam is interested in you,"Amon had said once, during a particularly annoying period of time where His presence felt like a persistent itch under Medici's armor.
In response to the semi-angry, semi-questioning look Medici threw Him, He had adjusted His crystal monocle then asked with that punchable grin and a quite innocent facial expression: "Don't humans take an interest in the things they love?"
In response, Medici had only laughed coldly and thrown a spear of flame to chase Amon away.
Even while the laughter of the fleeing little raven could still be heard from afar, His words continued to echo in His mind.
Because strangely, those words had made Medici’s breath tremble. His heart had beaten in a different rhythm, with a strange weight.
Adam didn't love Him, at least not in human ways.
If Medici were to make a risky guess, He would say Adam only saw Him as an interesting experiment.
But according to Amon, this was Adam’s love language.
According to Medici, the little raven merely enjoyed stirring things up.
— ⟨ ⊙ ⟩ —
To know everything was sometimes to know what should not be known.
Medici was a born mythical creature and certainly did not have human emotions. But it seemed humanity was something that could be gained. He couldn't feel like real humans, but He could at least approach it.
Medici could not fall in love.
But emotions had different definitions for different beings.
Medici felt loyalty.
And the Lord had understood that an angel’s loyalty was equal to a human’s love, probably even before Medici himself did.
For the Lord, this wasn't a big problem. After all, even Medici knew when not to cross the limits.
For the Lord, this was intriguing.
When loyalty and love came together, how far could it go?
But the reaction 'His' remaining human side gave to this matter was in a way even the Lord hadn't expected.
In 'His' own dictionary, finding something 'intriguing' was apparently the same as 'loving' something.
In that period where 'His' divinity and humanity clashed, 'He' hadn't been able to give this matter importance. It was dangerous and risky...
And later, when 'He' was completely rid of 'His' humanity, when 'He' became Adam, 'He' knew 'He' would no longer be able to feel something like 'love.'
But even as someone with the uniqueness of the Visionary pathway, there was something 'He' couldn't make sense of.
"I wonder what makes Medici so special. You always treat Him with favoritism."
Amon loved to mock, but Adam could read the subtext.
"Is it that vivid shade of red that captures your imagination so," Amon continued, His voice tilting into a melodic, infuriating drawl. "Or perhaps His insatiable hunger for war?" Amon tilted his head, the glass of his monocle glinting with a cold, artificial light. "Though, these days," He paused, a thin, sharp smile stretching across his face. "..it seems He has found something to be far more passionate about than the mere battlefield."
Adam remained mostly silent, 'His' expression a calm, unreadable sea. A thin, faint smile played on 'His' lips, the only acknowledgement of Amon’s jab.
"Medici," Adam replied, 'His' voice dismissing the mockery with divine ease, "is a character of profound significance to the tragedy of this era."
That was all. A dismissal that felt more like a crowning.
'His' answers to these insinuations never contained the truth. Because at that time, Adam didn't know either.
Divine or human. Emotions were a complex labyrinth.
— 🜂 —
"Interesting." When Amon repeated the same word He said every time He saw Medici around Adam—as if His vocabulary were limited—for the umpteenth time, this time Medici couldn't take it and exploded.
"What are you muttering about?"
"You're not aware."
"Of what?"
"He’s not aware either."
When Medici looked at Him silently but with obvious killing intent, Amon only laughed. "You're both funny."
Used to Amon’s abnormalities, Medici hadn't focused too much on what the little raven said. But time, let’s say, loved to make funny things happen.
And Medici too, in time, had understood what that thing He was 'not aware of' was.
"I once asked you what humanity was," Medici said slowly, finally standing up from where He sat. As if expressing that after hours of remaining motionless to quell the activity in His mind, the part of focusing on His thoughts was now over. "Loyalty, trust, responsibility, sacrifice... you said love."
Medici still remembered that day.
It was after He was sent to a war by His Lord to protect humanity—or rather, to protect the people in a small town.
The number of people saved wasn't high. They weren't important people. The town had no significance. In short, there was no need to go to war at all.
But for the Lord, it was important enough to send both Medici and Ouroboros.
"Why," Medici had said. "Is it worth it?"
And the Lord had only smiled, with great mercy. "For humanity."
For Medici, sentimentality, sacrifice, and even all those 'human' displays were a weakness.
Humanity, on the other hand, was weakness dressed in aesthetics.
And the Lord was enchanted by this pattern.
For reasons He didn't understand at the time, Medici wanted to possess this aesthetic.
Not because He was enchanted like the Lord.
But for the Lord.
The moment He realized this, Medici also realized that everything was at an irreversible point.
Because it was then that He first wrapped those chains around His wrists and handed them over to the Lord, to Adam.
With the traces of memories in His mind, He stepped toward the motionless figure of Adam, who possessed more than just his loyalty.
"I wanted to experience that humanity you love so much; I trusted, I remained loyal, I made sacrifices, I took responsibilities. And I loved. You, even." Medici continued, undisturbed by the Visionary’s silence, but the grin on his face lacked its usual arrogance. "But you, who spoke of love, never mentioned betrayal."
"It was a necessary sacrifice," Adam said, breaking his long silence. Not as if defending himself, but as if explaining a problem with an obvious answer to a child.
"It was never necessary," Medici said.
For Him, the problem was never the 'betrayal' itself. Nor was it the attempt on His life; after all, He was still breathing, still burning. The true, jagged blade in His heart was the realization that to Adam, to the Lord, He had never been more than a necessary piece of script—a stroke of a pen on a manuscript.
Betrayal was merely the only excuse Medici had left to voice a disappointment that ran far deeper than any wound.
"If you wanted a sacrifice, you could have just asked," Medici said, His voice dropping to a dangerous, flickering low. "You didn't need a script, and you certainly didn't need a conspiracy. I would have burned the world for you, my Lord. I would have stepped into the flames myself if you had only signaled that it was your wish."
He took a step closer, the scent of iron and charred sulfur momentarily overpowering the stagnant air of the cathedral.
"But you didn't ask. You arranged."
Adam did not flinch. 'He' did not offer the comfort of guilt, nor did 'He' recoil from the heat of Medici’s proximity. Instead, 'He' turned 'His' head just enough for the dim candlelight to catch the crystalline clarity of 'His' blue eyes.
"I know. That is precisely why it had to be an arrangement, and not a request." Adam replied. 'His' voice was a calm, resonant weight that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of Medici’s bones. "A requested sacrifice is a gift; an arranged sacrifice is a necessity.”
Medici fell silent, stifling a jagged, cynical laugh. So that was all it was? Everything reduced to necessities and developments.
"The Lord I once served understood humanity and emotions," Medici said, tilting His head slightly as if speaking more to Himself than to the God before Him. "The one speaking to me now understands only the fragments."
Adam tilted 'His' head in return, a faint, almost imperceptible smile gracing 'His' features. 'He' remained utterly unperturbed by Medici's words, as if they were merely an expected line in a play.
"Emotions are experienced in momentary bursts," Adam replied softly. "When the explosion fades, the fragments left behind are the only things that endure."
Medici let out a soft, dry laugh, as if He had just heard a particularly amusing joke.
"A true Spectator, aren't you?" Medici sneered, the fire in his eyes dancing with a bitter mockery. "You know all the recipes by heart, yet you have no inkling of how they actually taste. You analyze the flame, you calculate its heat, but you have never been burned."
He took a slow, deliberate step forward, His shadow stretching long and jagged across the cold stone floor, reaching toward the hem of Adam’s white robe.
"You watch us from your high pedestal, dissecting our devotions like specimens under a lens. You see the 'loyalty' and you see the 'betrayal,' but to you, they are just ink on a page—predictable, cold, and utterly bloodless."
Medici’s expression shifted, the mockery fading into something far more weary.
"My loyalty to you was just a reasonable development for you." He said finally, voice low and raspy—a sound like the crackle of a dying flame echoing through the vastness of the cathedral. "For me, it was the meaning of life. Now tell me, the Omniscient Lord, is the inability to tear away loyalty even after being betrayed a sign of humanity?"
Naming this feeling He felt was one of the most difficult stages in Medici’s life that had lasted for centuries.
But perhaps thanks to Amon’s never-ending mockery, He hadn't had much trouble accepting it.
The cathedral fell into a silence filled only by divinity again.
And then slowly, with a hypnotic slowness, Adam’s figure turned toward Medici.
When Medici’s eyes finally locked with those blue eyes carrying that childlike innocence, the scene was both very familiar and very alien.
"No."
The answer was short and clear, as burning as flame, as cold as chains.
"That is attachment."
'That was addiction.'
Medici froze for a short moment at the answer He received. It was as if someone had tightened the chains around His neck.
But a few seconds later, He let out a cold laugh.
"Of course. Concepts are important. I'm not surprised." When His laughter died down, He took another step forward and asked in a calmer voice. "And is this 'attachment'... an arrangement of yours?"
Under normal circumstances, Medici would be driven mad with rage while asking this question. Under normal circumstances, He would burn like flame.
Under normal circumstances, Medici was a hunter who conquered everything around Him.
But before Adam, He was like prey slowly unraveling, surrendering, calming down.
Perhaps it was the effect of the cathedral. Perhaps it was a side effect of Adam’s abilities.
Or perhaps it was merely because of Adam. Because of Medici’s heart that was beating with a frantic, human rhythm—quite strangely and annoyingly.
Adam’s gaze held Him. Blue eyes, childlike and serene, pressed like sunlight—warm, blinding, inescapable.
Yet, Medici saw a tiny spark resulting from hesitation beneath this perfectly maintained, fixed facial expression.
Adam’s answer, on the other hand, had the effect of a bucket of ice water in itself.
"No." Adam paused. "This is a path you chose freely."
"Free?"
Medici felt something snap inside him. And perhaps, for the first time, He acted solely on instinct before Adam, His Lord.
The movement was fast and quick. Its effect would be deep and lasting.
Medici’s hands grabbed the collar of Adam’s simple white robe; His face leaned in close, a breath away.
"Does it look... free to you from over there?"
Adam smiled slightly at the question asked in a calm and low voice, independent of Medici’s sudden movement and tight grip. A calm and understanding smile of one who knows the answer and knows the questioner knows the answer too.
Medici was not free. But He had chosen to sacrifice His freedom himself.
Loyalty was a strong chain.
Love, on the other hand, was the lock that fastened that chain forever.
And all this was the War Angel’s own choice.
Medici let out a short, joyless laugh; his grip on the collar tightened even more. Adam hadn't stopped him.
"Is this why you let me live?" Medici’s voice cut through the cathedral’s stillness, sharp and cold. "To use this... 'attachment' of mine to you? Or just to test it?"
"No," Adam said softly.
Medici saw out of the corner of his eye that one of Adam’s hands had risen. Cold fingers then held His chin with a ghostly touch.
He felt as if His breath were hitched.
"Your story progresses without my arrangements; and I, Medici, want to see how the end of the story evolves."
Medici’s grip slowly loosened. He didn't pull back even as a strange emotion enveloped His body. He felt Adam’s fingers slowly descend from His chin toward His neck.
Adam’s grip was neither tight nor loose. Not as if wanting to choke... Not as if claiming ownership either... Simply, as if wanting to remind him of a simple truth.
Adam was different from the Lord Medici knew. The Lord was compassionate, merciful, 'He' loved humans... 'He' was human-like.
Adam, on the other hand, was far from humanity. 'He' was merciless, unfeeling, unresponsive.
Yet, both were just as much the same.
The Lord’s personality traits had not died. They had evolved.
Caring had turned into ownership.
Protection had turned into control.
Love.. had turned into curiosity.
The Lord had turned into Adam.
And Medici’s loyalty had turned into a sacred, searing devotion—a tether that was as much a sanctuary as it was a cage.
The realization hit Medici like a flood.
And in an instant, Medici’s mind froze. He acted without a single thought, driven by an instinct older than His own soul.
The moment He felt Adam’s fingers press against His pulse, Medici lunged forward, His lips sealing against the lips of the blond man before Him.
It was a kiss far from love in a human context, far from tenderness—a kiss so heated it could be called messy. Perhaps it wasn't out of passion. Perhaps it was just... for a reason as simple as expressing a situation.
It was a violent intrusion into the divine script. By pressing his lips against those of His God, Medici wasn't seeking affection; He was claiming a moment of absolute, unscripted reality. It was His final act of defiance—a Hunter’s ultimate provocation.
With this one chaotic gesture, He dragged the spectator down from 'His' golden pedestal and forced 'Him' to participate in a world of heat, breath, and friction.
Moreover, it was deeply satisfying to notice that tiny, nearly imperceptible flicker in Adam’s eyes—as if a word that didn't belong in 'His' carefully constructed script had suddenly appeared in a paragraph 'He' was writing. Just as satisfying and rewarding as the kiss itself.
It was a silent, burning declaration: ‘You may arrange my fate, you may dictate my tragedy, but you cannot foresee the taste of my rebellion.’
Adam’s fingers first loosened their grip on Medici’s neck, then tightened again.
'He' hadn't returned the kiss.
But 'He' hadn't pulled back.
'His' eyes only observed.
And that was enough reason for Medici to deepen the kiss.
His lips moved harshly over the other's, as if throwing out His anger; His tongue passed between 'His' lips, ignoring where He was, and His hands dove into the blond hair, regardless of who stood before Him.
The anger of years slowly calmed with a kiss whose duration He couldn't even estimate himself.
When He finally broke the kiss, He didn't pull back. A thin string of saliva remained between their lips before breaking.
When He opened His eyes, He saw the shock on Adam’s face had vanished and the old fixed expression had returned. 'He' was as unresponsive as if 'He' hadn't just been drawn into a heated kiss—except for 'His' clothes and hair, which were disheveled because of Medici’s hands.
And this sight was an unforgettable moment for Medici. His eyes wandered over Adam’s face as if wanting to swallow every second and engrave it into His mind.
He wanted more.
"If you're curious about the end of my story..." He whispered, slowly loosening His hands and moving them away from Adam. "Be in that story... my lord. Not its author. Burn with me. Don't just watch."
Adam remained silent for a short moment, then 'His' lips curled into a slight smile. It was a gesture that seemed to thaw the very air of the cathedral, carrying a residual warmth from an era long lost to time.
In that curve of 'His' mouth, the likeness to the Lord was haunting.
And for a fleeting moment, Medici wondered… whether even this rebellion had already been written.
"Indeed... you are an interesting experiment, Medici."
Medici answered with a cold laugh.
"I've known you long enough to understand that words have changed in your dictionary."
He slowly stepped backward; the sound of His footsteps echoed in the cathedral, where the ominous air on its walls seemed to have diminished.
"I am not human, and neither are you. But still, I am bound to you with all my loyalty."
'I am addicted to you.'
Adam did not respond.
Used to His Lord’s silence, Medici didn't even expect an answer.
He was aware that He was wrapping His chains around himself even more.
But if it was his Lord holding the chains, it wasn't a problem.
As Medici’s footsteps echoed in the cathedral, the Red Angel left with a heart pressing against His chest with rapid beats.
Adam, on the other hand, did not move for a long time while silently watching 'His' angel’s departure.
Perhaps Amon was right.
God had studied love as an experiment.
And the angel had turned the experiment into reality.
The Visionary had analyzed love.
The Hunter, on the other hand, had lived that love.
And perhaps these were the different definitions used for 'love' by two beings far from humanity, in a divine sense.
It was the only version of 'love' possible for those lacking in humanity—a cold, divine symmetry that bound the Creator to His most faithful ruin.