He was the Painkiller. Not because he brought relief, but because he was the only thing capable of ending the agony of an immortal war.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Catherine was supposed to be in the light, and he was supposed to be with her. Instead, the crash had cleaved them apart—not just by death, but by the weight of their souls. To see her again, he had to become a butcher for the Heavens.

The gothic architecture of Purgatory didn’t just loom; it exhaled. Every jagged spire and blood-stained cobblestone felt like a physical manifestation of Daniel Garner’s own regret. He stood at the threshold of a world caught between a scream and a whisper, clutching a weapon that defied the laws of both man and God.