After falling some distance Azazel briskly flapped his wings, catching air and flying back on the platform. The army of demons roared and cried out strange words, some of them daring to hover over the mass of hellish creatures. Wide-eyed in fury, Azazel darted to the spot where he stood earlier but he discovered the archangel was gone with his prey. Azazel sought the area with his demonic senses but there was no avail. He landed on the spot; the demon’s wings shook in frustration and he stomped his foot on the ground, causing a tremor and the breaking of some sigils, whose powers formed a shimmer of stardust at Azazel’s feet.
Azazel howled in anger and frustration, shooting dark beams of energy at random targets as he did in a dangerous stress-relieving spree. After some terrifying seconds in which the remains of Moloch’s house lost a whole wing and the Armies from the Abyss roared, Azazel fell silent. Azrael had showed him the deepest fear in his soul; Azazel had believed no one knew about it but him. This angered and frustrated him, but it also made him confused, for he was now strongly aware that there were things about the secrets held by the Angelic Host he didn’t know of.
Azazel’s wings hung lifelessly to the ground. He turned around with a frown not caring that his long gold feathers brushed against the stone floor; with the heavy metallic sound of his armor clicking with every step, he headed to the onyx throne where Autumn was sat, her auburn hair blazing in the hellish lights. Like a frustrated youth, Azazel rubbed his eyes wet in blood and tears from the damage inflicted by the holy energies and knelt down before Autumn, impulsively resting on her lap. His huge gold wings seemed a strange oniric blanket, covering him, her legs and part of the floor.
“Nasty little angels”, he growled into the silky fabric of her dress. “They annoy me… I will destroy them all!“
Raziel’s sudden death pained Autumn more than she could imagine, striking a deep cord within her soul. There was a strange calm that washed over her, no longer a fear. Just a cold determination and a seething anger. So many years of her life were taken from her by this man and her mother. Now it wasn’t just her life being destroyed, it was the lives of people she had come to care deeply for.
Azrael’s sudden appearance surprised her, and only served to anger her more. Were they all going to come one by one to meet a torturous death at the hands of Azazel? However she didn’t wait for him attack, or even for him to finish his ranting speeches. Azrael immediately projected something… Autumn wasn’t quite sure, but it startled her husband so that he stumbled backwards off the cliffs.
Remember Raziel’s words. were all that she said before disappearing with Belial in tow.
It was a few brief seconds before she realized what she meant. The ring…?
Azazel returned, sulking to her as if he were a scolded child, laying his head in her lap. Autumn got a glimpse of gold on his finger. The wedding ring…? Using her new found anger to bend towards her will, she boldly stroked through the dark locks of his hair and lay her hand on his. If the ring was the key, she would have to take it. But it would take delicacy and charm to avoid her husband’s violent suspicions. “I am sure you will, husband.” There was no trace of fright in her voice now, only an unnerving calm. She almost surprised herself how well she hid her fear. “You shouldn’t think any more of them. They only bring you grief…” Her fingers lightly brushed over the gold band on his ring finger.
Azazel had a small shiver as Autumn ran her fingers through his hair and touched his hand. He wanted her to be like this; he did long for her affections… but somehow he also knew that wasn’t her normal reaction. Azazel snuggled against her, but his muscles were tense, as if he expected her to lash out any minute so he’d have to jerk back.
He waited, but nothing happened. He stayed there, still suspicious at her new demeanor like the wolf in the fable. “I must think about them if I am to defeat them”, he murmured. “I will rule over the world of man and you could have anything you want…” Azazel softly touched her fingers.
It was a strange feeling, as if she were detached from her body and watching the scene from afar. “Anything I want?” Anything she wanted. As if she wanted the world and everyone in it laid bloodied at her feet. Many grotesque image flittered through her mind, only to be replaced with that same blankness she desperately needed to continue with her ruse.
“Everything has always been for you, husband. What I want holds little meaning.” It was the truth, always had been the truth while Lorant Riktophen had been in the picture. It was her duty as a wife to fulfill his wishes. But the rules of matrimony didn’t have in mind an unholy union such as this. She twisted the gold band on his finger as if she were unconsciously doing so.
Autumn stared down softly at his face, not quite able to hide her stricken expression as she looked at him. She quickly spoke to give a misleading meaning to it. “If you are going to battle, then you must. But I would be heartbroken if you lost your wedding ring in the fray. It is a symbol of us…”
Azazel slowly closed his hand around her fingers, listening to her almost absently. He heard the armies down the cliff and the crepitant sound of the hellish fires whose unholy lights tossed strange shadows into the thick, reddish clouds in the pale night sky, but Autumn’s voice has an unusual charm; a strange magic. Azazel relaxed slightly yet his muscles were still tense, ready to jerk back.
“What you want holds a meaning”, he slowly said. Azazel bit his lip. He did not intend to share the power unless it were convenient for him; perhaps this wife he had would be pleased with a power of her own. Like all humans do. Humans… Azazel bit his lip till a drop of blood appeared on it. Damnable Belial and his Book were momentaneously out of reach – Autumn should last the ages; Azazel would not risk losing her soul! His eyes blazed with infernal fire. “The ring…?” Azazel looked up at her face; he frowned slightly. “I won’t lose it… I can promise you that”, he slowly murmured, touching her cheek.
Autumn didn’t recoil, merely gave him the look she often times seen women give their husbands when they made promises they couldn’t keep. She had little to no experience in such things, but only hoped her observations of people gave her what she needed to be convincing. Laughing with a haughty sound, she gave an uneasy shrug. “Silly man. Perhaps you won’t loose it, but I don’t trust those angels not to lob off your hands and steal it.” Her tone changed to something more sympathetic. “They’re tried to take everything from you… haven’t they…” Autumn took her hands from his to cup his face with a soft caress. “It would be safer with me, husband. Close to my heart where nary a finger will soil it…”
Azazel’s eyes went wider at this development. He watched her as she cupped his face, a small shiver running up his spine at the soft touch of her fragile fingers. Azazel looked at her intently, listening to her. His first reaction would have been to keep the ring – who would dare to try and steal it from his very hand? But he did not wish her to change this new mood. Azazel watched and tried to figure out what to do. Would she change if he gave in to her wishes? Azazel had the vague impression that she would – after all, his mother had always been fickle and his father had known it well.
“But I can take care of it myself”, he softly objected. “See? I’ve not lost it, for it reminds me of you.” Azazel played with a lock of her hair.
She didn’t hide her disappointment, he could breath what ever meaning into it that he wished. He was so determined not to give up that ring, but she knew she needed to retrieve it, if at least to fulfill Raziel’s last wish. However she was at lost how to convince him, short of seduction, but she knew she couldn’t bare to carry it through.
The sudden hopelessness that she couldn’t even perform such a simple task over took her, and Autumn gave in to the tears that had threatened to shed since Lorant Riktophen once again haunted the earth. Let him see her weakness! She couldn’t stand the pressure any more. There was no torture left she couldn’t bare, and death would just be a sweet ending. Autumn pulled away from him, making no effort to wipe away the tears.
Azazel watched her with a blink in confusion, his feathers puffing lightly. He reached up to touch her face but he retrieved his hand before contact. Autumn was crying. She pulled away from him. Azazel was used to see people hopeless before him but this case was different. However, he still did not feel like giving up to her wishes over his own.
“What’s more important: the ring or me?”, he asked in a soft, low voice. “You said the ring is a symbol of us – well, I am here, right now. There’s no need to cry…” Azazel cast her a sideways look.
“Unless you’re not really interested in me.” Azazel rose to his feet. “I guess the angels have spoken ill of me. I would not be surprised.” He folded his wings around his body and waited.
She scoffed harshly, allowing herself to gain control over her sobs. “I’ve never heard a kind word spoken of you, husband.” The tears didn’t stop, but she could feel that anger towards him once again. She was almost hoping her retorts would stir him in to a rage and end this horrible night, but she knew when to hold back. “But I am no angel. I am your wife!” Autumn stood from the onyx throne, her arms like steel bands at her side, tears still streaming down her face. If he could be so infallible, she was determined to one up his stubbornness. “You promise me the world, yet you can not grant me one simple request! What must I do to gain your trust?” Her gaze fell to the cliffs beyond him. “Should I fling myself into the fires of your abyss to please you?” Autumn stormed past him straight towards the edge. Determined to do just that!
Azazel cast her a skeptical look. “You won’t survive if you jump”, he emphatically said. “You can’t… fly…” Azazel eyed her as she continued on her way to the edge of the cliff. Azazel felt like running after her, but his own stubbornness and his need to get his way pinned his feet to the ground.
“Autumn!”, he angrily hissed as she didn’t stop. “Are you defying me?!” Azazel bit his lip nervously but still didn’t move. His wings rose instinctively as if ready to take off.
Autumn stopped as she reached the cliff, looking down only to see flames and shadow. It would be an endless fall before she ever reached the bottom. Precariously perched on the edge, she turned around to face him equally as determined as he to have her way. Be it death or taking the ring, she was going to have her way. “Do you not defy me, refusing to grant my one and only wish? Forcing me to take such dire lengths to prove myself worthy of your trust?” Autumn found it ironic she had to take such pains to prove her worth to a man that she would betray. A man that would give no second thought to taking her life the minute she proved to be useless. She took a step backwards, one foot half hanging over the edge. “Will you grant me my only request, husband…?”
Azazel watched her with a blink. He couldn’t believe how daring and stubborn she was – it was strange she’d want to die for a simple ring. Azazel didn’t want her to die but he resisted the idea of giving in to her wishes. After all…
Would she really jump? Azazel was mischievously curious now. He rubbed his eyes slightly; by now his eyes had got better and the annoying bleeding had stopped.
“I don’t know”, Azazel lazily declared. He cast her an annoyed, sideways look. “I think you are overreacting, Autumn. For a one and only wish, it’s a strange choice you’ve taken.”
Samael flinched as a raven flew overhead. Accursed, evil birds, he thought bitterly. It was an ill omen. There would be death tonight the likes of which no living being had ever seen.
“Johnathon!” the doctor hissed, being careful not to raise his voice. “You foolish boy, Johnathon, where have you gone?”
He rounded the next corner, and nearly stepped into oblivion. The elegant manor suddenly ended in a sharp drop into the abyss! Standing at the edge, though, was the man he had been searching for. “There you are!” Samael snapped. “You could have gotten killed! What were you thinking, coming all the way out here? We were supposed to wait!”
“I cannot wait any longer,” Johnathon replied, setting down the sack with Samael’s book in it. “Take this, and do whatever you need to do. I’m going to the top of that platform.”
Johnathon turned his attention to one of the elegant suits of armor inside the manor. Throwing aside the metal gauntlets, he picked the worn sword up, and hefted it in his hands. It was heavier than it looked.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Samael muttered breathlessly. “You can’t face that… that monster all by yourself!”
“I don’t have to. The angels are coming. I can feel it,” Johnathon said, sliding the nicked blade into his belt.
Samael snorted in obvious disapproval. “Well, your courage is laudable, even if it is mostly stupid bravado. But all the bravery in the world won’t give you wings, Morris. How do you plan on getting up there? There are no paths, and no relic or spell either of us have will make you fly that far.”
“Then I will have to do it the hard way,” Johnathon answered.
Taking off in a sudden sprint, Johnathon dashed towards the edge of the manor, and jumped off the edge. For a moment, he seemed to hang in the air, suspended by a thread as he looked down, and suddenly became aware of what he was jumping into. He could see the armies of Hell below, cheering and bellowing at their master far above. Then, much to his brief yet sudden regret, he began to fall.
Johnathon’s hands reflexively wrapped around the first protruding stone that they came across as he dropped alongside the tall stone tower. His shoulder and elbow popped painfully as his rapid descent came to a sudden halt. The young occultist hung for a moment, a bit stunned from everything he had just done. Johnathon looked up; Samael was looking back down at him, shaking his head and muttering something to himself. He refused to look the way he had been going a moment before. Taking a deep breath, Johnathon reached up with his free hand, and grabbed hold of the next rock in the rising tower, and began his slow climb upwards.
The heat of the surrounding abyss floated up like a dense fog. The fabric of her clothing felt damp and sticky from perspiration against her skin, giving a momentary distraction for her focus. Taking a single breath was a struggle in the thick suffocating heat. Autumn hesitated gauging his reactions. He was impossible to read, impossible to decide what he could be thinking. At one point he looked as if he would stop her, the next it was as if he wanted her to jump. It would be a leap of faith. Something she didn’t think she had anymore…
“Overreacting or not, it is my wish and you have made you choice.” Autumn took in a deep breath and stepped backwards, allowing herself to fall.
Only the briefest of thoughts crossed her mind as she fell. It feeling as if time itself had stopped and she was only floating through the air, suspended. The faint memory of Raziel flying her to safety flittered through her head. It seemed so distant, as if it happened a decade ago and not just a few mere days…
.”…!” Azazel ‘s eyes went wide open as Autumn fell from the cliff. Azazel ran to the edge, then stopped, watching her fall.
It was a curious thought, but he noticed she was falling faster than a demon would. Azazel hesitated. She had openly defied him; didn’t she deserve a painful death? Autumn was falling like a stone, the armies roaring below. Azazel snorted at the sight. “Stubborn woman!”, he hissed. He motioned to jump after her, then stopped.
Azazel dived down after Autumn. With his wings folded close to his body, the demon plummeted down at terrible speed, then opened his wings to stop his fall once he maneuvered to get below her, catching her in mid fall. Azazel frowned and hissed through his teeth as he flew up, back to the platform with Autumn in his arms.
Azazel landed, folding his wings on his back; he felt like flinging Autumn back with better aim into the Gate of Hell but he placed her on the throne instead. Azazel cast her a cold glance filled with displeasure.
“You are crazy. I don’t even know why I married you!” Azazel thought over his own words and shook his head, annoyed. “A ring is all you want?! It’s ridiculous! I have offered you… anything your imagination could conceive and you insult me with such lack of ambition!” Azazel’s eyes flashed.
“Very well”, he angrily muttered. “Women are hard to content. You want the ring? That’s okay, then. I’ll give you the ring – but stop performing those stunts. At least till I get Belial’s book.”
Autumn was momentarily stunned in to silence. It only took seconds for the fall and the catch… she hadn’t even expected him to come after her. Despite her mixed feelings of being alive, she didn’t hide her pleasure in knowing she could have the ring. Once having it, she wasn’t quite sure what she would do with it. But she would keep it in her possession as long as she possibly could.
Azazel didn’t give her the ring immediately, but chided her for her ‘crazy actions’. Autumn even doubted her own sanity, but still chose her replies carefully. “You are right husband… It is such an insignificant request. But what more could I ask for… I already have you.” She waited silently and patiently, not want to rush him or seem to eager for him to hand over the ring, despite her brash actions before. She wouldn’t want him to change his mind.
Azazel was not too happy at granting the ring to her; he turned the ring around his finger. Autumn’s words pleased him to an extent but he still was not sure about her sudden devotion to him. Azazel folded his wings at his back, watching his wife; there was a subdued air to her, but he could perceive she was waiting for him to keep his word. Azazel however needed further proof of her devotion. He frowned slightly.
“Well…”, he murmured. “Your wish is mine. I’ll give you the ring.” Azazel took her hand and helped her to get back on her feet, then took her in his arms to kiss her. Azazel held her against him but he suddenly perceived a presence coming near. It was not an angel, but a human. A human? It seemed highly unlikely, but yes the presence was coming closer and it was not unknown to him. Azazel caressed his wife’s hair and let go of her; he walked to the opposite edge of the platform and peered down.
“Oh Mister Morris”, he sardonically greeted the man who was climbing the cliff to the platform. “What an unexpected visitor. Do you need any assistance? You could have asked for it.” Azazel’s eyes blazed like infernal carbuncles as he muttered a spell. The dark winds around the platform blew upon Morris, pushing him up till tossing him onto the platform at some distance from Azazel with a sickening thud. The Demon turned to his wife.
“Friend of yours?”, he coldly asked.
Johnathon’s unnecessarily sarcastic remark was, thankfully, lost to him as Azazel’s sudden spell blew him the rest of the way up the tower, until he landed unceremoniously in front of the demon. Momentarily stunned, Johnathon pushed himself off the ground, and spat out the cloud of dust he had swallowed when he landed.
“I’ll thank you in advance, not to do me any more favors,” he said after a moment, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs inside. Johnathon glanced back over his shoulder for a moment; Samael had scurried for cover, it seemed. Good. He wouldn’t be able to do this without him. “It’s a bit upsetting that we must meet under such trying circumstances,” he continued, turning back to Azazel, “but as long as you plan on slaughtering innocents, killing angels, kidnapping defenseless women, and being a general pain in the neck, I’m afraid you will never be rid of me.”
Nice, he thought smugly. A poker face that would fool anyone, and tough words to boot. As long as he was going to die, he figured he’d go out with style.
“No friend of mine.” Autumn said coolly, adeptly hiding her surprise at seeing Mister Morris. She could imagine how her managed to get here, or even why he would put himself in so much danger. If an angel was so easily murdered by Azazel, surely a human wouldn’t stand a chance. She brushed her hands along her skirt to smooth it, before linking her arm with Azazel’s. She lifted her chin in a cool defiance, deeply regretting the harsh words she was going to have to throw at Johnathon Morris. But if she were going to ease her husbands distrustful mind and save the life of the foolish man, she was going to have to wound him as much as possible.
“I would appreciate it, Mister Morris, if you would show my husband respect.” She stared him directly in the eyes, willing her thoughts to him, knowing he couldn’t hear. “Anyone who does not follow my husband, has no right to life. I suggest you take your leave, if you do not wish to meet that fate.” Please, just leave so no one else has to die…
Azazel was quite surprised; the Demon watched his wife with a blink, then blinked again when she linked her arm with his. Azazel quickly got even with the events, placing his hand on hers, yet he was still quite amazed.
“Yes… my wife is right!”, Azazel said after a pause. He flashed a cocky smile. “You are certainly not welcome here, Mister Morris – and indeed you deserve death for being so imprudent.”
Azazel rose his hand and a fiery orb formed upon his open palm, flames bursting from it and tossing hellish lights on Autumn’s blazing hair; Azazel’s eyes shone malevolently, but he still wanted to play with the man’s despair before killing him with the orb of fire. He proudly held his wife’s arm as she stayed with her arm linked to his.
“My wife has been clear, hasn’t she? Your life is about to end. Or maybe you would like to offer me your services?” Azazel smirked. “I might be kind enough to listen to your pleas.”
Johnathon didn’t flinch. That is, until he heard Autumn tell him to leave her husband alone. His jaw nearly hit the floor when she snaked her arms around his. Had she gone absolutely crackers?
“I don’t suppose I need to tell you this, but you do know who that is, right?” Johnathon asked, pointing to Azazel. “That is THE Ruler of the Planes of the Abyss. There is practically nothing and nobody in all of Creation that is more evil, twisted, and filled with hate than this man here. I mean, you can see wh–”
Azazel’s hand began to burn with hellfire. Johnathon sighed dejectedly. “Well, I don’t suppose there’s much accounting for other people’s tastes,” he mumbled.
“Honestly! A Morris in service of the powers of darkness!” he announced, reaching into his jacket. “Absurd! Preposterous! Unheard of! I would sooner tear my own flesh from my bones before I would bow to you, Son of the Morning Star! Behold!” Johnathon removed a chain of rosary beads from his coat, and wrapped them carefully around his wrist. This was something he definitely did not want to lose. “The Lightning Beads of St. Augustine. I see your fire, demon, and raise you the power of the storm!”
Azazel watched Johnathon with a malevolent air, a dark mirth and mockery showing in his blazing eyes. The orb of fire floated on his palm, dancing flames of infernal light. Azazel’s lip curled into a smirk full of evil and disdain, yet it was evident the Demon was darkly amused.
“How flattering”, he said in sarcasm. “Your praising overwhelms me.” Azazel let out a heavy snigger that quickly evolved into laughter, venomous and evil.
“I won’t deny you are right, Mister Morris.” Azazel’s aura rose around Autumn and he, a sphere of flames with the couple as center as the aura nearly became a physical force forming a shield, the sigils at Johnathon’s feet coming into a sickly life. “I am the Warlord – I will rule your World like I rule the Abyss. My power has no comparison – all will bow to me.”
Azazel released the orb of fire, which shot at Johnathon in a curve, spinning around him. The orb unwound into a wire of fire, spinning around the man and quickly closing more with every turn, closer to him by the second like a live cage that shrinks to crush the prisoner.
“I’ll take your suggestion”, Azazel darkly said. “Your flesh will be torn from your bones… if you refuse to serve me.”
Johnathon flinched back as the fire grew closer. This was certainly unexpected. Oh, well… it was his fault, for underestimating a being who was wise in the ways of war back when humans were young.
“Clever! I must admit, everything I have seen of you makes you worthy of the title ‘Warlord’,” Johnathon shouted. “But I have a few tricks of my own, demon!” Reaching into his pocket, Johnathon brandished a glass vial of clear, sparkling water, marked with an ornate cross. Muttering a prayer under his breath, he uncorked the lid, and splashed the water around himself in a circle. When it was completed, the water began to give off a bright silver-white glow, and halted the hellfire before it could crush Johnathon, though it was not dispelled. “I am not some mere bookworm to be trifled with!” Johnathon snapped. “I am a Morris, and we have been battling your kind for over a thousand years! I will not fall to you, monster!”
Phew…rather glad that worked…
Azazel was certainly not pleased at Johnathon’s deed; specially because his wife was there watching. Azazel flicked his hand and the swirling wire of fire cracked like a whip, ceasing in its whirling; the end of the fire whip closed around Johnathon’s ankle, sweeping him off his feet and raising him into the air. Azazel flicked his hand again, making the human spin suspended by the burning wire.
“I won’t waste my precious time dealing with you”, he hissed. “Go paying your respects to your ancestors in the pits of Hell!”
Azazel motioned to the Hell Gate, down the cliff. The whip released Johnathon in its spinning motion, sending him in a wide arc over the platform and into the chasm where the Armies awaited, roaring around the Hell Gate.
Coming from the sky like a falling star, Michael tore through the clouds and dropped down into the Abyss, snatching Johnathon’s hand as he flew by, and unleashing a torrent of white light and blazing fire into the ranks of the damned. Screams of pain and outrage echoed up the vast chasm, spilling out into the otherwise calm London evening. It would take some deft footwork on the part of the police to explain this entire mess.
Working his great wings, Michael rose up out of the pit, and approached the stone tower, dropping Johnathon back onto it with another painful thud. The look on his face was priceless. Something he’d remember for the few minutes he had left to live.
The angel hefted Ezurewrath in his hands, and brought it to bear before Azazel. The human looked shaken, but otherwise all right. It was better than he deserved, coming all the way out here like an idiot. “Some nemesis you’ve chosen, Azazel,” Michael said smugly, glancing at Johnathon. “Did Raziel give you too much trouble? Or how about your ex-lapdog, Belial? You two just aren’t getting along like you used to. Such a harsh time we live in… can’t trust anyone these days, can you?”
Azazel’s smile disappeared but a distinct flame of hatred came to life in his blazing bronze eyes; deep as the deepest pit of his realm, old as the World. Azazel clenched his teeth, his jaw set. His mighty wings rose on his back. Without replying to Michael yet and turning from him with apparent disdain, Azazel gently freed himself from Autumn’s grip. Her face was nearly gray in the dark resplendence of his fiery aura, her hair blazing like a red flame. Azazel coolly led her back to the onyx throne and had her sit on it.
“I will take care of this in a minute, then I’ll go back to you”, he muttered. “As I promised…” Azazel slowly removed the ring from his hand and gave it to his wife. “Keep this for me, Autumn. I swear over this object you treasure I’ll come back to you.”
Azazel kissed her cheek. He then returned to the spot and Lufernatia appeared in his hand, the whip in his other hand. He summoned his power and cast a cold look into the archangel’s soul.
“The so-called leader of the Heavenly Armies”, he disdainfully spoke. “Where are your Legions? You’ve never had the courage to get involved and allow them to get involved with you; what’s your leadership? You only crave to fight for personal reasons. You come here to fight the Ultimate Evil – your pride makes you think you alone can defeat Azazel the Warlord – and MY Legions.” Azazel laughed, the malevolent sound echoing in the chasm full of ravaging demons.
“You are not better than my father. I am better than both of you” – he triumphantly hissed. Azazel’s aura lit like a fallen sun, a red fire igniting the heavy clouds above them.
Azazel flourished his sword. He’d kill Michael with ease, he promised himself. His power was flowing freely, engulfing Michael’s white light…
Azazel however sensed something was wrong.
“Alone, you will be defeated”, he said. “Here you shall meet your doom.” Azazel shot a beam of dark energies to the Archangel.
“You’re as delusional as you are crazy!” Michael shot back. Ezurewrath swung upwards in a wide arc, parrying Azazel’s blast and sending it screaming into what remained of Moloch’s roof. “You haven’t got a chance against me, you spoiled brat, and I’ll reduce every last shred of your being to ashes to prove it!”
Michael charged, and Ezurewrath flashed with holy fire as he slashed, stabbed, thrust, and swung at Azazel, hitting only open air or the Lufernatia as he attacked. Unearthly metal crashed together as Michael pressed on with his attack; he even lifted off the ground a few feet, to try and get a height advantage.
“The souls of Raziel and Uriel are calling me!” Michael roared as fire flashed against fire. “They’re begging me for justice! Pleading with me to slice you in half and burn your rotten guts, Azazel!” Michael’s bright golden wings erupted into two swaths of blazing flame; so great was the force of his presence, the top of the stone tower began to crack. “There is no hope for you, in this world, or the next!”
Azazel was surprised – Michael was not as powerful in comparison to him! However he had deflected his attack with more ease than expected. Azazel did not let his guard down, blocking and dodging Michael’s attack; Azazel’s whip slid like a snake, winding around the archangel’s foot as Michael’s fury rained over Azazel.
“Ha! You sent the weaker to die before you, coward!” Azazel roared in laughter, suddenly pulling, making Michael lose balance and gaining some space to leap back, hit the ground with his goat hoof and taking the offensive, attacking Michael with ignited Lufernatia, shielding from side attacks with his whip. “Uriel was a weak girl, only a Healer! Raziel was a scholar, not a fighter! The Messenger was nothing but a boy in the Angelic Host! And where was their leader? Hiding, for sure! Raziel had more guts than you, yet I didn’t need much to burn him to a crisp!” The black ignited blade clashed against Michael’s sword, sending eerie lights and lightning around them all over the cliff. The Legions cried battle calls, their voices closer.
“You’re a fool.” Samael wheezed as he ‘appeared’ behind Johnathon. Azazel and Michael were entwined in a heated battle, the humans forgotten completely in the fray. Samael had a devil of a time climbing the jagged rock of the platform to follow after his foolhardy partner. He was breathing heavily still trying to catch his breath. Once his breath was steady he grabbed Johnathon by the shirt tails and dragged him off.
It took all of the self control Autumn had to resist screaming as Azazel knocked Johnathon from the cliff side. It was a bittersweet relief when Michael appeared and dropped him to safety. Her eyes were then so riveted to the battle between demon and angel she barely heard the whisper behind her.
“Ms. Riktophen!” Samael hissed from behind, he and Johnathon hidden from sight by the massive onyx throne. “Morris and I require your help.. Don’t-” he interrupted as she tried to turn around to see him, “-turn around. It is very important that you warn us if the battle takes a turn for the worst.”
Autumn nodded slowly, a barely noticeable movement. “What are you planning to do?” she whispered over her shoulder. She could hear faint shuffles behind the ebony stone.
“Creating a seal to send Azazel back to hell where he belongs…”