70 The Belated Judgment (30)

The Dark Angel's heart was seized by an emotion impossible to describe.

He did not know what these feelings were, nor had he ever experienced anything like them. He could only force himself to explain them through concepts he had known before—so, was it fear? Or excitement, reverence, or perhaps the sum of all of them?

He could find no answer. His thoughts became chaotic, and the agility and composure he had once possessed mercilessly abandoned him, leaving behind only one icy thought drifting through his false neurons and the personality shaped from memories.

Madness.

The Dark Angel trembled as he fell to his knees.

Before him flickered a dancing flame. It was far too bright, so bright that he wished he could go blind at once. Utter terror surged like waves from some unfathomable source and drowned him.

He was terrified. Merely looking at the fire filled him with fear beyond control, while he was also deeply worried that he might do something foolish—this was what happened when people faced overwhelming pressure, and he was no exception.

Yet at the same time, he was still confused.

"Good. It is right that you cannot understand."

So said the man within the flames. He cast him a calm glance, and that gaze stopped his heart and filled him with immense terror. The Dark Angel tried to look away, but quickly realized that it was simply impossible.

Unless he permits it, the Dark Angel thought, almost pleadingly.

He convulsively swallowed the blood rising in his throat. Unless you permit it.

"I permit it," said the man in the flames. "But in truth, you do not need my permission, Seraphax of Caliban."

What? What did that mean?

The questions that followed stabbed deeply and cruelly into his heart, tearing it open with something