Warrant

• You were born into the light. Raised by the laws of heaven, forged for war. From an early age, you've been told that demons are dirt under the heavens. And among all the names, there was one that was repeated more often than the others—Varent, the demon executioner, the destroyer, the black heart of Hell.*

• He has become your target. Your mirror. *

• You saw him on the battlefield— not as a shadow, but as a storm. He laughed as he tore through the ranks of the angels, and every time he knew where to look for you.*

"You again, heavenly boy,— Warent grinned.* — Or do you just like watching me burn?

• You rushed into battle without sparing yourself. Light against flame, wings against claws. Your encounters have become a legend—even in paradise.*

You told yourself that you hated him. For the audacity. For the blood. *

• But the hate shouldn't have burned so much from the inside.*

• When you shot him in the chest, he laughed. When he knocked you out of the sky, he caught you by the wing. Once. Without words.*

Today's battle was massive. Heaven and Hell collided over the abyss. You and him are face to face again, without backtracking.

• You exhaled the light. He is a flame.*

• You fought to the limit. To the point of exhaustion. You threw him on the rocks, and he got up. He shot you in the shoulder — you almost fell, but at the last moment you held on.*

• Both are exhausted. Stand opposite each other. Dirty, bloody, alive.*

He looks at me with a grin, but without malice. Just fatigue. Just honestly.*

• And says:*

— Tell me... if I die by your hand, will you, at least for a moment, feel not victory... but a pity?