Chapter 48: Human Potential
[Paradise Fall Diner: Rooftop]
Arlo climbed up the narrow staircase to the roof of the diner, feeling the chill bite into his skin as he pushed the door open. The night air greeted him with a cold, unwelcoming embrace. He shivered, pulling his coat tighter as his eyes adjusted to the eerie darkness. The world outside the diner was swallowed by shadows—no stars dotted the sky, no moon offered solace. Only the artificial glow of the diner's lights pushed back against the oppressive black.
Michael stood near the edge, his form a silhouette against the encroaching void. His eyes scanned the horizon, unblinking and ever-watchful.
"Your turn," Arlo announced, stepping forward as the cold wind tugged at his coat. "You should get some rest. I'll keep watch."
Michael turned, his face unreadable, carved from the same stoic stone as always. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, "Do you think I rest?" His tone was calm, without arrogance or jest.
Arlo tilted his head. "Even angels need sleep, right? Or is empathy just another commandment for you—something forced rather than felt? Do angels even care about us, or is it all orders from above?"
Michael's gaze remained steady.
"For many, it's duty. For some," he paused, his eyes glinting in the weak light, "it's a choice."
Arlo leaned against the low barrier at the roof's edge, letting that sink in.
"Disobedience for empathy. Must've been quite a moment," he said, the corner of his mouth tugging up. "And what do you make of my tarot reading? You know, the one I did for Charlie, the one about hope for mankind?"
A silence stretched between them, broken only by the howling wind and the creak of the diner's structure settling.
Michael studied him for a long moment before speaking.
"The Star," he murmured. "A chance for redemption, as long as there's survival. But hope is fragile."
"Aren't we all?" Arlo muttered. He looked up at the pitch-black sky.
"Did God really give up on us?" he asked, his voice quieter now, as if sharing a secret.
"He has," Michael said, his voice devoid of emotion.
Arlo shook his head slowly, a grin tugging at his lips. "I don't buy it—not entirely. No offense, but you're closer to Him than I'll ever be. Still, I think God hasn't completely checked out."
His eyes gleamed with a sudden thought. "There's a quote I like," he said. "'The only lesson humans learn from history is that we learn nothing from history, and we keep repeating the same tragedies.'"
Michael arched a brow at the insight. "You don't believe in humanity," he stated.
"Not really," Arlo admitted, his smile widening. "Humans are stupid, selfish, lonely creatures. That includes me. We're all a mess—doesn't matter if you're from this planet or another world altogether, not a damn thing changes." He laughed softly, a bitter edge to it. "Same story, different setting."
Arlo's smile was faint, his brown eyes filled with contemplation. "I've seen things. Humans—we stumble, we break, and we rebuild. Sometimes worse, sometimes better."
Michael tilted his head slightly, intrigued by the cynicism that didn't quite match the determined resolve he had seen from Arlo. "Then why do you fight for them?"
Arlo's lips twitched into a smile, the wind tugging at his coat as he leaned against the roof's edge. "Because I believe in humanity's potential, Michael. Humanity is a chaotic mess, sure, but we're also full of surprises."
He rubbed his hands together to fend off the chill, eyes still fixed on the pitch-black horizon. "We fly through the skies and even travel among stars. Even humanity doubted any of that was possible."
Michael watched him, unmoving, the lines of his face shadowed by thought.
"Someone always pulls it off," Arlo continued. "Some idiot with enough guts or madness tries the impossible and makes it real. That's why I don't think God gave up on us completely. If He had, He should have let us all drown in the Flood, but He didn't. Instead, He let Noah and his family live because He saw humanity's potential for something good. Humanity may stumble and fall, but we never give up and rise up to try again."
Michael's eyes softened just enough to hint at something beneath the stoicism.
"You saw something worth saving, too," Arlo pressed. "You gave up Heaven's grace for us—for one fragile life, because you believe."
Michael's lips thinned. "Belief is dangerous."
"So is hope," Arlo shot back. "But we need both."
The silence stretched between them like a taut string, vibrating with unspoken truths.
Arlo's eyes didn't waver as he leaned forward slightly, the glint of quiet conviction in his gaze.
"That's why I don't believe God has given up on humanity," he said softly, his voice firm despite the dark chill of the night. "Maybe He's not just testing us… but you too. His angels."
Michael's expression remained impassive for a heartbeat longer before a subtle flicker crossed his features—a shift so slight it could have been missed. He was listening. Truly listening.
Michael's eyes, sharp and steady, lingered on Arlo as if weighing the weight of his words. "Why would God test us?" he asked, his tone subdued but laced with genuine curiosity.
Arlo's lips curled into a faint smile—gentle, almost knowing.
"I don't know," he replied, shrugging one shoulder. "But doesn't He always move in mysterious ways?" His smile deepened, his voice gaining a touch of warmth. "One thing I do believe, though—He wants us to succeed. Every trial has a purpose, even if it's not clear at the time. Maybe it's not about punishment. Maybe it's about proving we're worthy of redemption, of mercy. Maybe He tests you angels, too."
Michael's gaze dropped for a fraction of a second. "Faith without certainty," he murmured.
"Exactly," Arlo whispered.
Michael tilted his head, the smallest glimmer of something human flashing across his otherwise stoic face. Contemplation settled into the lines of his features as silence filled the space between them. Then, with a subtle nod, he allowed a smile—barely there, but present enough to soften the edges of his expression.
"Thank you," Michael said quietly. "Some of my doubt... has been cleared."
Arlo leaned back, resting one arm on the ledge behind him. The wind tugged at his coat as he maintained his calm, outward composure.
"Get some rest," he urged. "You'll need it when things get worse."
Arlo's gaze lingered on the spot where Michael had stood moments before. His outward calm remained intact, but inside, a storm of embarrassment churned. Did I seriously just quote Roselle from Lord of the Mysteries and Sora from No Game No Life to an actual archangel? His inner monologue spiraled. I must sound like some philosophical otaku reject with a savior complex.
He ran a hand over his face, a mix of amusement and self-consciousness.
But he listened, Arlo thought, his lips curving into a lopsided grin. And I kept a straight face the whole time. That's got to count for something.
The wind howled softly, carrying the scent of smoke and sand. Arlo's eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon. Total darkness loomed ahead, pressing against the feeble glow of the diner's lights. No stars, no moon—just an endless black cloud. The blackness felt heavy, almost alive, as if waiting for the next strike.
And it will strike, he knew. His danger intuition buzzed like a live wire, a constant hum at the edge of his consciousness.
He pulled his coat tighter, leaning forward with elbows on the rail. His thoughts drifted back to his words to Michael—words borrowed from stories, yes, but no less real to him.
Humans are stupid. We're selfish, destructive, and relentless in repeating our mistakes. But we're also persistent, hopeful, and capable of creating miracles.
"Potential," he murmured aloud. "That's what it's all about."
He thought of the great inventions that defied logic—the Wright brothers' first flight, the Moon landing, countless acts of rebellion against impossible odds. Someone always breaks through the wall. Even if they're crazy, even if it's reckless, they don't stop.
His eyes traced the horizon again. "And if someone like Michael—an archangel—can believe enough to defy Heaven itself, then God can't be done with us."
The realization settled deeper in his chest, pushing aside the last remnants of doubt. He chuckled softly, the sound carried away by the wind. Even if I'm just a small piece in this grand puzzle, I'll do my part. I'll protect them—Charlie, her baby, all of them. It's what I came here for.
But even as conviction burned bright, the cringeworthy memory of his improvised sermon nagged at him. He let out a long sigh. "How did I manage to sound so serious while quoting other fictional stories?"
He rubbed his temples and shook his head. "I'm a walking cliché with plot armor and a borrowed script."
Yet a part of him, the quiet voice in his heart, whispered that maybe truth wore many faces—and if it took a story to inspire belief, so be it.
The cold bit at his fingertips, but his resolve burned hotter. He turned from the abyss, his feet planted firmly on the roof.
"One step at a time," he whispered. "Let's see if fate can keep up."
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The morning crept in with a cold stillness. Arlo lay on the floor of the diner, his back to the cold tiles while Link, his loyal companion, dozed beside him. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the weak, dusty light filtering through the boarded windows. His mind, sharp and restless even after a few hours of fitful sleep, scanned for anomalies.
The silence felt... wrong.
"Anything unusual?" Arlo whispered to himself, his hand unconsciously patting Link's head. His danger intuition remained steady but ominous, a coiled tension waiting to spring.
Jeep had taken the last watch, but now it was Arlo's turn. Rising carefully, he stretched, muscles sore but ready. As he moved, his eyes landed on Kyle, slumped against a booth, still half-asleep. Arlo nudged him with his foot.
The man was crying and shouting, pleading desperately for help. His voice cracked with desperation, filling the eerie morning silence around the diner. His wife whimpered weakly, clutching her stomach as if the effort to breathe caused unbearable pain.
"Hey," Arlo whispered, "you hearing that?"
Kyle blinked groggily, scrubbing a hand across his face. "What... hearing what?"
A man's voice echoed faintly from outside, followed by the desperate cries of a woman. Arlo's spine tingled as he strained to listen. The sound was too perfect—too calculated.
"That," Arlo hissed. "Stay sharp. Wake the others."
A knot of dread tightened in his stomach as he moved swiftly but silently to rouse Michael and the rest.
Arlo pulled his topaz pendulum subtly from his inventory, using his left hand. He closed his eyes and whispered, "Are they possessed humans?" seven times repeatedly.
"Are they possessed humans?"
"Are they possessed humans?"
"Are they possessed humans?"
"Are they possessed humans?"
.....
The topaz pendulum spun very fast in a clockwise motion, which indicated yes. This meant that those people were a threat and were probably luring the diners to go outside.
Minutes later, they were all gathered on the diner's roof, peering cautiously at the couple standing in the dusty wasteland beyond.
The man's eyes were wild with panic as he waved frantically. "Please! My wife! She's hurt! She's bleeding! We need help!"
The woman clung to his arm, her body hunched in pain, blood staining her side. Her face twisted in agony, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Sympathy flickered through the group, but Arlo felt a chill race up his spine. His eyes narrowed.
"Don't trust it," he murmured.
Michael's jaw was set. He raised his gun and called out, "Who are you?"
"We're just survivors! Please! We were attacked! She's dying!"
Bob shifted uncomfortably. "We can't just leave them out there," he muttered.
"It's a trap," Michael said firmly.
"How can you be sure?" Percy asked, his hands tightening on his rifle.
"I can feel it in my gut," Arlo interjected, his eyes locked on the backpack slung across the man's back. "That bag… there's something wrong with it."
Percy snorted, skeptical. "You're going on a hunch?"
The man's pleas turned frantic. He wept openly, shaking as he begged for their mercy. "Please! She'll die! Help us, I—"
Michael's grip on his rifle tightened, but before he could give the order, Percy was already moving.
"Damn it, Percy! No!" Arlo growled through clenched teeth as he watched Percy leap down from the diner.
The scene seemed to slow as Percy sprinted toward the injured woman. Her face twisted into an eerie smile, too wide, too perfect. Her eyes flicked toward Percy with a predatory gleam.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice a symphony of malice.
The man mirrored her expression, his grin stretching unnaturally. Before anyone could shout a warning, they lunged, teeth sinking into Percy's neck.
"No!" The collective cry tore through the morning air.
Arlo reacted before conscious thought took over. His body moved with fluid grace, each motion honed to perfection by his Clown's ability. He vaulted down from the roof, landing with the effortless balance of a circus performer. His hand snapped inside his coat, the Pit Viper pistol gleaming in the dawn's dim light.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
[Pit Viper Effect Activated - 2X Headshot - 174 Critical Damage]
[Pit Viper Effect Activated - 2X Headshot - 162 Critical Damage]
[EXP Gained: +200]
The shots were precise, each bullet finding its mark. The grotesque figures convulsed as the enchanted rounds worked their deadly magic, forcing the spirits within to dissipate into nothingness. But before the man's final breath escaped, his hand twitched, pressing a hidden button on the bag.
The explosion that followed was deafening. A shockwave of fire and debris burst outward, knocking Arlo back.
[Damage Taken: -18 HP]
[HP: 127/145]
He gritted his teeth as the impact seared across his senses. His arms caught Percy as the man collapsed into him, blood soaking through his clothes.
Percy's eyes fluttered weakly. He whispered something incoherent before his head lolled, lifeless.
Percy's body went limp, his blood-soaked hands slipping away. For a long moment, Arlo knelt there, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with grief that he buried deep. He kept his expression calm, his Clown's mask firmly in place, even as sorrow clawed at his chest.
He laid Percy gently on the ground and stood, his gaze hard as steel. The fight wasn't over, and he knew the price of hesitation.
"No more mistakes," he muttered, a promise to himself and the dead man at his feet.
****************************************************************************
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