Ahh! Traveler, are you lost

Fwoosh!

The silvery blur tore through the air like a sword unsheathed by the heavens themselves. One moment the cultist was deep in his chant, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy — and in the very next, his body froze mid-motion.

A long, narrow cut split open his shoulders — clean, surgical, so precise that it seemed almost gentle.

The cultist stumbled backward, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened in disbelief, unable to register what had happened.

"W-What…?"

He hadn't even seen the mosquito move.

Ricky hovered mid-air, wings thrumming at a pitch too high for normal ears. His body shimmered faintly with silver-green light, and beneath his carapace, blood pulsed in rhythm with a power far exceeding the limits of Stage 2.

"You talk too much."

His voice didn't carry through the air — it slipped directly into the cultist's mind like a whisper from a god. Cold, calm, final.