The cloudy sky slowly began to clear, revealing the faint, hazy stars and a half-moon behind the scattered clouds.
Tap! Tap! Tap! — — — — —
Accompanied by the sound of footsteps, a figure covered in thick, rain-soaked clothing—concealing him entirely from head to toe—stopped in front of an old, two-story building.
From behind the thin veil of clouds, moonlight rained down from the sky, casting its pale glow upon the dilapidated structure, making it resemble a haunted house.
The figure stared at the old building with deep purple eyes and took a step forward, stopping before the closed wooden door.
Turning his gaze to the side, he raised his hand and pressed one of the bricks a few centimeters above the lock. He moved his finger across it in a strange pattern, as if drawing a symbol or unlocking a hidden seal.
A few seconds later, his hand stopped moving, and the sound of a lock clicking echoed through the silent night.
The man gently pushed the door open, and despite the building’s ruined appearance, the door swung open smoothly.
He stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him.
The moment he entered, the lights turned on automatically, illuminating the entire house.
He didn’t move at first. Instead, he took off his wet clothes, revealing a body covered in scars and long hair still stained with remnants of blood.
Holding his soaked garments, he was about to take a step forward when he suddenly paused, as if remembering something.
Pulling his raised foot back, he looked around the empty hall—containing only a sofa, a chair, and a few miscellaneous items—and closed his eyes for a brief moment.
There was still no expression on his face, like that of a lifeless puppet or machine.
When he opened his eyes again, they were as emotionless as before, but a slight stiffness in his facial muscles revealed he was trying to make some sort of expression, but failed miserably.
"I’m home," He said, attempting to sound cheerful. But even then, his voice remained flat, devoid of any warmth.
No one responded, but he didn’t seem to mind. After speaking, he finally stepped forward and headed toward the bathroom.
He tossed the wet clothes into the laundry bucket outside the bathroom door and walked in.
Turning on the shower, he let the cold water pour down his body and closed his eyes.
As the water flowed over his scarred face and down his battered body, faint traces of dried blood began to wash away, slowly disappearing down the drain.
It took him nearly an hour to clean himself and when he stepped out after drying his long hair, it was already 11:30, approaching midnight.
Noticing the time, the man remembered something and looked toward the laundry bucket.
Walking over, he sifted through the clothes and pulled out a wrinkled envelope.
It was the envelope No. 1 and No. 4 had given him before they left.
"Birthday..." Azrael muttered in a flat voice, staring at it. "This word lost its meaning for all of us long ago. Now it’s nothing more than a reminder of the day we came into this world only to be thrown into that hellhole."
With those words, he crushed the envelope in his hand.
"Why are they still hung up on these useless things?"
He threw the envelope into the dustbin. As it landed, the paper inside slid out slightly. There was nothing written on it—just a simple drawing of a smiley face.
Azrael glanced at the crude smiley, shook his head, and turned away.
Crossing the living room, he entered his bedroom. After changing into a fresh set of clothes, he looked at the bed briefly, then walked out again and headed for the staircase leading upward.
As he ascended, he passed by a small picture hanging on the wall.
It was a photograph of an old woman, her face full of wrinkles, her hair a thick mop of curly white, wearing a simple white dress and smiling warmly into the camera.
Azrael stared at the picture. For the briefest of moments, a ripple of emotion flickered through his puppet-like eyes.
But it quickly faded, and the blank, lifeless look returned.
Passing the photograph, he climbed to the top and soon reached the rooftop.
The rooftop was still slightly damp from the earlier rain, and the cold wind swept across the city in steady waves.
As the breeze brushed against his body, Azrael felt a strange sense of comfort and exhaled lightly. f .r e\ewebnov(e)(l).c om
He spread an old, worn-out mat over the damp floor and lay down, feeling the cold, hard surface pressing against his back.
Though the rooftop was rough and uncomfortable by any normal standard, Azrael didn’t mind as he had slept in places far worse than this—thousands of times worse.
Lying there, he stared silently at the dim stars, half-obscured by the wispy clouds, and slowly began to feel drowsy.
’It seems the effect of removing those chips is greater than I thought...’ He murmured inwardly, unconcerned, as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
But just as he closed his eyes—
A loud ringing sound startled him awake.
Azrael frowned and opened his eyes, turning to see his old Nokia phone ringing loudly beside him.
He stared at the phone in confusion, wondering how it was ringing—since there was no SIM card inside.
Grabbing it, he looked at the screen and realized it wasn’t a call, but a reminder.
[Happy Birthday, you thief. Remember to bring a gift for me.]
"...That old woman," He muttered and with a low growl, slammed his hand against the ground. The concrete floor caved slightly, and the phone sank halfway into the cracked rooftop.
Yet, true to its legendary durability, the old Nokia—though now cracked—continued ringing like a banshee, its sound almost mocking.
Azrael ignored it and stared at the sky, a vacant expression overtaking his face...And for the second time in his life, he felt a deep, lingering sense of loss.
As he stared upward, a shooting star suddenly pierced through the scattering clouds.
Azrael narrowed his eyes, noticing something strange—
The star wasn’t just streaking through the sky. It was falling. Directly toward him.
Even as the glowing object descended, nearing his house, Azrael’s expression didn’t change and he simply continued watching it, his body unmoving.
As the shooting star closed in, the sky above his home lit up in blinding light—and in the very next moment—
A voice echoed in his mind, and Azrael’s vision began to blur.
The world around him cracked, then shattered into countless fragments.
Before losing consciousness, Azrael saw everything break apart—
The city, the stars, the rooftop beneath him—falling away like shattered glass into darkness.