The Thirteenth Commandment

The drug seller barely had time to scream before the Hunter leader yanked her forward, his iron grip tight around her arm.

"If no one will step forward," he said, voice echoing through the camp, "we will take her as a sacrifice."

The crowd remained frozen—silent, afraid. No one dared challenge the will of Heaven.

No one except Riven.

"Hey, ugly," he called.

The Hunter barely had time to react before Riven surged forward, a rusted dagger clutched in his small hands. He ducked low and drove the blade into the Hunter's ankle.

The man howled, his grip loosening just enough for the drug seller to twist free and stumble backward.

The other Hunters snapped to attention, weapons raised.

Riven stood firm, panting. His dagger dripped with blood, but his small frame trembled. He had no plan, no way to win—just defiance.

Malachai exhaled, watching from the shadows. Foolish.

He felt no urgency, no reason to act. This was human business, human struggle. His kind had never cared for such things.

But his fingers curled around a stone.

A simple rock, half-buried in the dirt.

Why ?

The remnants of divine power within him hummed faintly. A flicker of something long dormant.

Before he could stop himself, he whispered an old blessing.

The stone in his hand glowed for a brief instant—then dimmed, appearing ordinary once more.

With casual ease, Malachai lifted it and threw.

The rock cut through the air—and then through the Hunter leader's skull.

A sickening crack echoed across the camp.

For a brief, stunned moment, no one moved.

The Hunter collapsed, lifeless. Blood pooled beneath his broken helmet.

The remaining Hunters recoiled, disbelief twisting their faces. Their leader had been blessed by the angels—no ordinary human could have killed him.

"Who did this?!" one of them roared.

Their accusing eyes scanned the crowd. No normal person could have committed such an act.

Malachai simply stared at the corpse, his mind oddly blank.

The Hunters hesitated—then, without another word, they grabbed their fallen commander and fled.

The camp exhaled all at once. Some people wept. Others murmured prayers. None of them knew who had struck the killing blow.

Only Riven saw Malachai's expression—distant, as if his body was here, but his mind was far away.

Malachai gazed up at the sky, lost in thought.

Once, I stood above it all.

Once, I was beyond human struggles.

Now, here I am—kneeling in the dirt, mingling, meddling.

Riven, still catching his breath, turned to him and grinned weakly. "So… you hungry?"

Malachai opened his mouth to say something about how angels did not require earthly food—

His stomach growled. Loudly.

Riven blinked. Then he burst into laughter, collapsing onto his back. "Oh, that's hilarious."

Before Malachai could retort, the drug seller approached.

She grabbed Riven's cheeks and pinched hard."You reckless little brat! You could've died!"

"Ahh—ow! Ow! I saved your life, you know—ow!"

She finally let go and sighed. "When all these so-called 'men' just stood there, you actually did something."

She turned to Malachai, giving him a look. "And you, quiet one… I don't know what you did, but I *felt* it. So did they. You're not normal, are you?"

Malachai said nothing.

She snorted. "Hmph. Doesn't matter. You two saved my life, so dinner's on me."

Riven perked up. "Oh, sweet! Wait—you're not cooking, are you?"

The drug seller's eye twitched before she bonked him on the head.

Malachai watched the exchange in silence. His body felt strange, his thoughts scattered.

This was not the path he imagined himself walking.

And yet… here he was.