Heaven never announced hunts.
They declared mandates.
Across the upper strata of existence, far above choirs and thrones and the geometry of faith, a process unfolded that had not been used in a very long time. Not since the last time a variable had refused both submission and annihilation.
Designation was logged.
Scope authorized.
Assets reassigned.
Not angels.
Instruments.
Delta felt it not as fear, but as relevance. The way the air changes just before a blade finishes clearing its sheath.
"Here it comes," Nyx murmured.
They stood on the edge of a mortal world — not hovering above it, not intruding. Just present enough to watch. Below them, nations shifted, unaware that the ground beneath their politics had been quietly hollowed out.
Delta did not look away.
Heaven had abandoned subtlety.
Not in action — but in intent.
The first agent moved without wings.
That alone mattered.
No radiance.
No celestial signature.
No divine authority burning in the soul.
Instead: compliance.
A mortal stepped onto a balcony somewhere three worlds away, adjusted their collar, and spoke words they fully believed were their own.
> "We must act. Neutrality has become dangerous."
Delta felt the thread snap into place.
"Ah," he said quietly. "Clever."
Nyx tilted her head. "What did they do?"
"They stopped trying to reach me," Delta replied. "And started shaping the environment around me."
Heaven wasn't hunting him directly.
It was making the universe hunt itself.
Across realms, small movements aligned:
– A council voted differently than expected
– A temple redirected influence
– A treaty failed by a single abstention
None of it divine.
All of it guided.
"You always knew they'd use mortals," Nyx said. "Why does this feel different?"
Delta exhaled slowly.
"Because they aren't using them as pawns," he said. "They're using them as proof."
Proof that restraint causes instability.
Proof that absence creates danger.
Proof that someone must act.
And eventually—
Proof that someone must be stopped.
The second agent revealed itself not by intervention, but by resistance.
Delta reached quietly, instinctively — not to prevent disaster, but to soften a convergence he felt forming around a coastal city. Probability bent slightly.
Then stopped.
Not pushed back.
Blocked.
Delta frowned.
"That's new."
Nyx felt it too — the subtle resistance where no resistance should exist. Like a hand placed casually in the way of inevitability.
"Someone countered you," she said.
"Yes," Delta replied. "And they did it without escalation."
Which meant they'd learned.
The third sign came as a name.
Not spoken.
Written.
On a page that should not have survived.
Delta felt the words before he saw them — carved into a document passed quietly between institutions, translated and retranslated until its meaning softened just enough to pass unnoticed.
> PROJECT: HOUND
Nyx blinked. "They're naming it?"
"Not me," Delta said.
"That makes it worse."
Hounds were not weapons.
They were trackers.
Heaven wasn't trying to destroy Delta.
It was trying to contain him socially.
The system had adapted again.
Agents were no longer singular entities. They were roles that could be inhabited by anyone sufficiently aligned.
A general who refused escalation — until pressured by public opinion.
A scholar who reframed interference as destabilization.
A hero who arrived just late enough that Delta's restraint could be blamed.
Delta watched it assemble like a storm that pretended to be weather.
"They're externalizing causation," he said quietly. "Every failure becomes my silence."
Nyx's eyes burned. "You can shut this down."
"Yes," Delta agreed.
He didn't move.
"Why aren't you?" she asked sharply.
"Because this is the line," Delta replied. "If I break it, everything I've done becomes irrelevant."
Below them, the coastal city shuddered as politics tipped. Aid delayed. Defenses underfunded. Not a disaster yet.
Just… potential.
Heaven wasn't forcing outcomes anymore.
It was allowing consequences to stack.
Delta felt the chains tighten.
Not demanding action.
Demanding definition.
This hunt wasn't for his body.
It was for his threshold.
Nyx clenched her fists. "They want to know what you'll protect."
"Yes," Delta said. "And what I won't."
The fourth agent arrived without disguise.
A figure stepped into being at the edge of the world they watched — not celestial, not demonic.
Human.
No distortion. No power flare.
Just presence.
Delta's eyes sharpened.
That… was deliberate.
The figure looked up — not randomly.
Directly at him.
Even Nyx stiffened. "They can see you."
"No," Delta said quietly. "They know where to look."
The mortal raised a hand — not in greeting.
In challenge.
Delta felt it then, unmistakably.
This wasn't bait.
This was the first active pursuit.
Heaven had stopped watching.
It had started testing collisions.
Delta took one step forward, chains humming softly.
"Alright," he murmured.
The hunt had begun.
And this time —
He wasn't the one setting the pace.