Xoco walked through the streets of Lomedor in his human guise. His cape and white hair blew to one side in the wind, mostly concealing the broadsword that hung at his hip. He had just returned from his fourth painful journey into the Netherworld. He had been able to check the date, and found that it had been mere weeks in the mortal realm since he had been defeated on the Salquedor Grasslands. It had felt like a painful eternity spent in the Netherworld, as it always did. Mending essence was an agonizing, slow process. However, time was not relative between the planes.

He had placed himself in quite a predicament. As he laid on the plains, dying of his many battle wounds, he had threatened Aaris and Alba. He had vowed half-heartedly to kill the fallen angel who had brought him low, and yet, it seemed to him that tracking her down was simply a waste of fifty years that could be better spent. A look of indifference adorned his face as a light snow began to fall on the city. It was the dead of winter now, even colder than when he had arrived for the party in Lomedor Square. The cold did not bother him, and the snow did little to affect his mood, for he was too consumed in his thoughts to even notice.

Technically, if he killed Aaris, then the Chaos Phoenix would simply kill him in return. While it was unlikely that the Chaos Phoenix would be able to effectively destroy him, Xoco knew why he was called “Phoenix.” Even if, by some miracle, Xoco managed to slay the Phoenix, he would simply be re-born and Xoco would effectively run from him forever. Xoco figured that it might be best to try and make amends if he ever ran into the Phoenix again, as a matter of self-preservation. As much as his pride screamed at him to destroy the both of them, he knew he would very well be killed several times in the attempt.

Deciding that perhaps a drink would calm his nerves, Xoco turned and stepped into a quaint little tavern. He ordered himself a pint of lager and slowly sipped on the liquid as he continued to think about what to do. A burning rage of wrong-doing seemed to envelope his mind, and he could see the fallen angel’s face as his blade descended… Xoco shook his head to clear his mind of the thought. Vengeance howled, but survival screamed louder. Setting down the half-empty pint on the counter of the bar, he resolved that it was certainly best to offer an apology to Alba or Aaris, whichever he happened to cross paths with first.

Turning to look out the window, he saw a silhouette of a tall man outside of the pub.