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It went without saying how surprised Adam was. Through memories of the past, he knew that he had never been immune to light magic before. In fact, he had nearly been killed by attacks like those countless times. Ghosts of old scars still haunted him, after all, weapons of light were not dangerous only to devils.
Beyond cutting flesh, they burned it to a point far beyond normal recovery. The only reason Adam was not covered in horrific scars was due to his immortal constitution, sustained by his life energy.
Even if he were injured like a normal human, given enough time he would recover. And when he said enough time, he meant that some wounds could take dozens of years to fully heal.
Light-inflicted injuries were among those. Having once survived a slash across his stomach, he had needed over fifty years to completely recover.
Because of that, this was not an unpleasant surprise. Being able to ignore the main trump card of fallen angels was something that, as much as he disliked the word, could not be compared to anything other than a blessing.
It only made him even more curious to understand exactly what was happening to his body.
"I Impossible W What kind of angel are you?" Raynare, watching everything with utter disbelief, stepped back several paces, her spear of light flickering.
Adam did not answer immediately, taking a moment to savor the fallen angel's expression as it slowly filled with despair. A faint smile appeared on his lips as the glow of his golden blade intensified in his hand.
"I am not one."
Silence followed.
Raynare froze, fear and confusion written clearly across her face. She did not understand it at first, wondering how it could be possible for a being that was not an angel to manipulate divine light in such a way.
For a moment, she wondered if she was being deceived, but there was no reason for Adam to lie. After all, he was completely dominating the battle.
But if he was not an angel, then what in the hell was he?
Her mind raced, trying to unravel the enigma of the man standing before her.
Angel or human, she knew something was wrong. Even angels could be harmed by light, so for someone to take direct hits to vital points and simply ignore them was something her three-hundred-year-old mind could not properly process.
Then she realized it. The absence of a question she had ignored until now, back when she believed this man was nothing more than a slightly more capable human.
His name. She did not know it.
Her eyes narrowed, fear still present but partially restrained by curiosity. Her mouth opened, then closed as she searched for the right words, before opening again.
"T Your name. What is your name?"
The question carried tension and curiosity, and even Freed, eager for battle, seemed interested in the answer.
Adam, faced with the question, raised an eyebrow with mild curiosity. For Raynare to ask him this, her options were clearly running out. Desperation was catching up to her, and it seemed she was looking for an excuse for her defeat.
She likely wanted him to be someone important, someone who could justify the gap between them.
Unfortunately for her, Adam could not be that. For most of his immortality, he had been nothing more than a capable human. He could not meet her expectations.
Of course, she did not know that yet.
"My name?" he asked with interest, stepping forward with a faint smile, almost mocking how much weight Raynare placed on the question.
Raynare stepped back, her spear shimmering in her grasp.
Adam found it amusing. He watched their tension with quiet enjoyment for a few seconds before deciding it was enough.
"My name is Adam."
He said it plainly, without mystery. He doubted Raynare would know him. He did not remember her from Eden, nor had he seen her during the Great War. He guessed she was around four hundred years old, a thousand at most. That would explain her rebellious and immature behavior behind Azazel's back. More experienced fallen angels were rarely that reckless.
They were idiots, yes, and they smelled like pigeons, but most were not reckless.
"Adam…" Raynare repeated, her mind racing as she searched her vast memories for any trace of that name.
The tension lingered as she continued thinking.
After nearly two full minutes, with Adam beginning to suspect she was using the time to catch her breath, he was surprised when Raynare finally reacted.
And she reacted in a way that made even Freed uneasy.
Her eyes widened as the blood seemed to drain from her face, her skin turning pale. Terror shone deep within her gaze, and Adam found himself genuinely curious as to what conclusion had led her to react this way.
He was not that frightening, was he?
"Y You are…" She slowly pointed at him, her fingers trembling. "A Adam?"
Adam was about to confirm the obvious. He had just told her his name.
"The first man?"
That sealed his lips. His eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms, genuine curiosity settling in.
"How do you know that?" he asked. "I do not think I became famous enough for my name to spread even among the newer generations of fallen angels."
Raynare stumbled, the light of her spear faltering as she collapsed heavily onto one of the benches.
"What is it?" Freed asked, still confused, turning toward her with irritation. "Who the hell is this guy?"
"A Adam…" she murmured, fear dripping from her voice. "The first man. The Fallen Reaper."
Adam heard the name with interest, slowly understanding what was happening.
Even believing his presence had not instilled fear among the fallen angels, Adam had completely overlooked the fact that he had lived for ten thousand years, older than many of them.
His slaughter had not been limited to a single great war. It had begun with Eve's death, when he started wandering the earth in search of vengeance.
Adam was not supernaturally powerful, nor did he possess any special abilities beyond immortality and having his basic needs sustained by his life energy. And yet…
He killed, mutilated, and butchered every sulfur-reeking or feathered bastard that dared cross his path.
Even when he left battle mortally wounded, to the point where his enemies believed he would die miserably in some cave, ten, twenty, or thirty years later, he returned to hunt them once more.
This did not affect devils much. Back then, they reproduced like rabbits, through a method Adam, for some reason, felt uncomfortable even thinking about.
But for fallen angels, it was different.
Most fallen angels were former angels created by God, and compared to other factions, their numbers were low. Their birth rate was small among themselves and even lower with other races. Creating a single heir could take centuries, and their reluctance to mix with other races only made things worse.
During the Great War, Adam's fallen angel kill count might not have seemed high. But when spread across ten thousand years…
Adam had personally slain over one thousand fallen angels.
Considering their limited numbers, it was a terrifying figure for a single individual.
His count during the Great War itself had not exceeded eighty, but that no longer mattered. It was not the number that instilled fear in his enemies.
It was his consistency.
Even in his rage, even while seeking vengeance, Adam never rushed.
His hunting style was not fast. It was patient. He waited, because he knew he had time.
Even if he failed. Even if he was wounded. Even if his organs were destroyed, his body burned, his arm severed, as long as a spark of life remained within him, fifty, one hundred, or two hundred years could pass.
He would return.
To his enemies, he became a constant.
They could not focus only on their battles. They also had to live with the knowledge that someone was watching, patient and cautious, ready to kill them when they were wounded, tired, or distracted.
That alone was enough to terrify anyone.
Unintentionally and completely unaware, Adam became the boogeyman of the fallen angels. His name was passed down for centuries, whispered as a legend, a cautionary tale. The elders knew more, relieved by the age of peace and grateful they no longer had to fear that name. The younger ones dismissed it as myth, stories of an ancient war, much like human children fearing misbehavior because of a boogeyman.
And now, Raynare stood face to face with that legend. Someone she had grown up believing was nothing more than a myth.
Her fear returned like when she was a child, listening to stories of a shadowy figure who had been cutting down her kind for thousands of years without rest.
Raynare was terrified like she had never been before.