Auron Trinity

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Novaria's town square, its golden rays glinting off the police barricades that still cordoned off the epicenter of yesterday's battle. Workers methodically cleared debris while city officials assessed the damage, the sounds of reconstruction mixing with the usual bustle of evening crowds. Between the scaffolding and barriers, crews had begun hanging festive decorations, a determined reminder that the New Light Festival would proceed despite recent events.

Angelo leaned against a worn stone pillar, watching the passing crowds with mild disinterest. The true identity of the Angel of Death remained hidden behind his unremarkable appearance - just another young officer in a sea of faces.

A familiar voice cut through the evening air, making Angelo wince internally.

"The Enlightened Society must fall!" The impassioned cry drew scattered attention. "Their tyranny masquerades as wisdom! Wake up, sheeple!"

"Oh joy," Red's voice dripped with sarcasm in their shared consciousness. "Looks like our resident prophet is delivering today's sermon. Ten bucks says the boys in blue show up in three... two..."

Right on cue, two officers approached Orin with practiced weariness. "Come on, buddy," one sighed, gently taking his arm. "Let's go cool off at the station. Again."

As they led the still-protesting man away, a lanky figure in an oversized uniform emerged from the crowd, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. Bill's face lit up as he spotted Angelo, waving with the kind of energy that made Red groan internally.

"So," Bill bounced on his heels with barely contained enthusiasm, "what are we doing today?"

Angelo's brow furrowed in thought. "Well, they didn't really give me specific instructions about—"

"Fool!" Blue's sharp rebuke cut through his mind. "You can't admit such things to your underling!"

"What?" Angelo's mental voice rose defensively. "Then what am I supposed to—"

"Sir?" Bill's voice seemed distant.

"Maintain your authority!" Blue pressed. "The specifics are irrelevant."

"But the chief literally didn't tell us what to do!" Angelo's internal frustration mounted.

"Boss?"

"He told us what Not to do," Blue reminded him tersely. "Focus on that."

"That's not helpful!" Angelo's mental tone edged toward exasperation.

"Boss!" Bill's raised voice finally penetrated the internal debate.

Angelo snapped back "What?! Oh..." He ran a hand through his hair, embarrassment coloring his features. "Sorry. Blue and I were... discussing something."

Blue materialized beside them, his expression apologetic. "My apologies, Bill. Our internal conversations can become rather... absorbing."

A grin spread across Bill's face. "Happens often, does it?"

"More than I'd like," Angelo admitted with a rueful smile. "Red and Blue have a special talent for being thoroughly distracting."

"Must keep life interesting," Bill observed, fascination evident in his voice.

"Yeah," Angelo sighed. "Never a dull moment..."

Blue's gaze swept the area. "I notice Red has made himself scarce."

"Got bored the moment Blue started lecturing," Red's disembodied voice drawled. "There's only so much nagging a guy can take."

"That was barely a minute into the conversation," Blue noted dryly.

"Yeah. You two are just that boring."

Angelo shook his head. "Never a dull moment indeed."

As they began walking through the square, Bill's curiosity finally got the better of him. "So what exactly is this condition of yours? If you don't mind me asking."

Angelo measured his words carefully. "We're not entirely sure ourselves. But we have a scientist friend who's been studying it, developed a theory about what might be happening."

"Oh? Anyone I might know?"

"Albert Goldstein. I just call him Albert, though."

Bill stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening comically. "Wait - THE Albert Goldstein?"

Now it was Angelo's turn to look surprised. "Wait, do you know Albert?"

"Are you kidding? He's only the most famous scientist in the field!"

Angelo turned to Blue, bewilderment plain on his face. "Is he really that famous?"

Blue considered this. "I was aware of his renown, though perhaps not the full extent of his reputation."

"So what's this theory he came up with?" Bill asked, practically vibrating with excitement.

Angelo shifted uncomfortably. "It's called the, uh... the theory of... Blue?"

"The Components of Pure Energy Theory," Blue supplied smoothly, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"That's the one," Angelo nodded, while Red's mental groan echoed in their consciousness.

"And what does it say?" Bill pressed, his eyes bright with curiosity.

Blue stepped in, his tone taking on a scholarly quality. "In essence, pure energy's composition includes three components: Neutral energy comprising fifty percent, with Positive and Negative energies each making up twenty-five percent. The professor theorizes that the energy composing Angelo's body somehow split along these lines."

"Allegedly," Red's skeptical voice cut through their shared mind.

"Something wrong, boss?" Bill asked, noting Angelo's darkening expression.

Angelo's gaze drifted to the distant horizon. "This theory... it confirmed something we'd long suspected. Something... unpleasant."

"What do you mean?"

"My physical form," Angelo's voice grew tight, "it's always operating at half strength. This condition... it's been holding me back all along."

Bill's face lit up unexpectedly. "But that means you've just got to work twice as hard! The universe's energy is infinite, right? So you can still reach any height - it'll just take twice the effort!"

Blue shook his head gently. "I'm afraid it's more complex than that. The mathematics suggest a fourfold disadvantage, not merely double."

Both Bill and Angelo turned to him, confusion evident on their faces.

"Consider this logically," Blue explained, his voice carrying that precise, analytical tone he was known for. "When you factor in both base capabilities and aura enhancement, the mathematics begin to make sense. The aura's power multiplier is halved, yes, but so are Angelo's baseline physical attributes. The compounding effect means he's actually operating at approximately twenty-five percent efficiency - a reduction closer to seventy-five percent when compared to a standard Auron."

Angelo's shoulders slumped as the full implications sank in.

"Well..." Bill's voice wavered slightly, "four times isn't that much more work, right? Just means you need to train a bit harder, that's all..."

The weak attempt at optimism fell flat as Angelo's expression grew more defeated.

But then something shifted in Bill's demeanor. His voice grew stronger, more certain. "No, you know what? This is actually amazing! Think about it - everything you've accomplished, every criminal you've faced, every victory you've achieved - you did it all while working at a quarter of normal capacity! Think about it, The Angel of Death's reputation? You built that with both hands tied behind your back while hopping on one leg!"

Angelo looked up, startled by this perspective.

"And you're not doing it alone," Bill continued, his enthusiasm building. "You've got Red and Blue. Yesterday proved what you can accomplish together! Who needs raw power when you've got partners who literally share your thoughts? Maybe this condition isn't a weakness at all - maybe it's what makes you special!"

A profound silence fell over the group. Even Red's usually quick sarcasm was nowhere to be found.

Blue's smile held a hint of pride. "You know, Bill, you have a remarkably refreshing way of looking at things."

As the setting sun painted the sky in brilliant oranges and purples, its light catching the half-hung festival decorations, Angelo found himself considering Bill's words. Perhaps what he'd always seen as a limitation was actually the source of his greatest strength. The Angel of Death might be feared throughout Novaria, but his true power lay not in raw force, but in the unique bond he shared with his other selves.

The revelation settled over him like a warm cloak as they continued their patrol, the bustling square a testament to the city's resilience - and perhaps, to his own as well.

In a different part of Novaria, where the evening shadows grew longer and the festive preparations seemed a world away, Chief Ramirez sat behind his desk, surrounded by the weight of mounting concerns. The lamp on his desk cast harsh shadows across the stack of files before him, each one a grim reminder of the growing darkness in his city.

"Let's go over all of the incidents again, Detective," Ramirez said, his voice heavy with the burden of unsolved cases. "Perhaps we've missed something..."

Detective Plare stood by the window, his weathered face reflected in the darkening glass. He turned to face the chief, exhaustion evident in every line of his features. "Fine," he sighed, the word carrying years of cynicism. "Though I doubt another review will suddenly illuminate what we've missed in the previous dozen."

Despite Plare's reluctance, Ramirez's steady gaze compelled him to continue. With practiced movements, the detective retrieved his folder, its edges worn from frequent handling.

"First incident," Plare began, his voice falling into the familiar cadence of report-giving. "Officer Mike, lightning Auron. Found dead in a dark alley. Multiple slash wounds, accompanied by injuries consistent with high-voltage discharge."

Ramirez's eye twitched at the details, though he'd heard them many times before.

"Second victim - Officer Diana, fire Auron." Plare's finger traced down the page. "Body discovered in a secluded area of Oliver's Park. Slash marks again, with severe burn trauma." He paused, his expression darkening. "This was where the cards started appearing. Each one bearing the same message: 'Another putrid soul claimed by the Grim Reaper.'"

The words hung in the air like a curse. Ramirez winced visibly.

"Third victim - Officer Jackie, water Auron. Construction site. Same pattern of slash marks. Body thoroughly saturated, and of course..." Plare's voice trailed off, the presence of another calling card going without saying.

Suddenly, the detective slammed the folder shut. "For heaven's sake, Ramirez! The pattern couldn't be more obvious if it was painted on the precinct walls!" He pulled out a cigarette with slightly trembling fingers, the flame of his lighter briefly illuminating his frustrated features. "One thing's crystal clear - we're dealing with an Evolved Auron."

"We can't be certain!" Ramirez shot back, his voice rising. "This could be the work of multiple Aurons, each targeting—"

"A group job?" Plare took a long drag, the smoke curling around him like specters. "Sure, it's possible. A team of killers, each matching their victim's aura type to muddy the waters. Make us think it's one Evolved Auron with some kind of throwback ability..." He exhaled slowly, watching Ramirez's hopeful expression. "It's not a terrible theory, Chief. But it doesn't fit."

"But why—" Ramirez began, only to be cut off by Plare's words.

"Because groups leave traces," the detective said, his voice carrying the weight of decades of experience. "More people mean more chances for mistakes, more loose ends, more potential weak links. This..." he gestured at the folder with his cigarette, "this has all the hallmarks of a lone operator. The precision, the consistency, the careful selection of isolated targets."

Ramirez slumped in his chair. "If you're right, if this is an Evolved Auron, our job just got ten times harder. I've already spoken with District Chief Lyla - they can't spare any Evolved officers at present."

"Then we catch them with their aura down," Plare said grimly. "It's our only shot."

"That would require knowing their identity first!" Ramirez's fist struck his desk. "And we're no closer to that than we were when this nightmare began!"

A distant look crossed Plare's face. "Times like these, we could use Detective David Thron..."

The name sent a visible shock through Ramirez. "Now there's a ghost from the past. Whatever became of him?"

"Nobody knows for certain," Plare took another contemplative drag. "My gut says he dug too deep, got too close to those... ghosts." His eyes narrowed. "If this were a group operation, they'd have to be operating like those phantoms did..."

"N-nonsense!" The tremor in Ramirez's voice betrayed his fear. "It couldn't be them!"

Plare fixed the chief with a weary stare. "Then we're back to our Evolved Auron theory."

Conflict played across Ramirez's features as he wrestled with which scenario frightened him more. Finally, he exploded, "First the Angel of Death, now this Grim Reaper - what kind of circus has my city become?"

Plare crushed out his cigarette with deliberate slowness, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense office. "There's always the bait approach," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Risky, sure. Could go sideways fast. But it might be our last card to play." He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "That Angel of Death of yours - he'd make perfect bait. Someone with his reputation? The Reaper wouldn't be able to resist."

The suggestion struck Ramirez like a physical blow, leaving him speechless in his chair.

"You know where to find me when you make up your mind," Plare said, offering a casual wave without turning back. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Ramirez alone with his thoughts and the growing shadows.

The chief sat motionless, his mind racing between impossible choices. Outside his window, the last rays of sunlight faded from Novaria's skyline, as if the city itself was being claimed by an encroaching darkness.