Chapter 19- Soirée Incident PT.10

Miguel's rock-hewn arm firmly gripped the crater's edge, the ethereal blue flames weaving around him like a protective veil.

Azazel watched, his gaze a captivating mix of disbelief and curious intrigue. With a steady determination, Miguel crawled out of the smoking crater, the mesmerizing flames casting a softly glowing aura around him, illuminating his every movement.

Azazel turned to Miguel, a curious glint in his eye. "Did you absorb all of that?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

Miguel shook his head, coughing blood. Before he could answer, silver light flashed, and Malachi and Deon materialized beside him, flanking Miguel protectively.

Deon's silver scythe rested casually on his shoulder. Facing Azazel, they stood poised and ready. Azazel casually glanced back over his shoulder, a slight smirk playing on his lips as his eyes fell upon Maxwell, a few feet away, his hands locked together in a familiar stance.

"Welcome back, young man," Deon greeted Miguel with a casual nod.

"Man, I thought I was toast," Miguel admitted. Deon said, "Yeah, thank the agent." Malachi jumped in, "Look, great to see you twin, We've got a demon to kill."

The trio assumed fighting stances—Deon with his weapon, Malachi and Miguel fists raised. "Alright, let's do this," Miguel declared.

Azazel sneered, "Kill me? We'll see."

Miguel zipped toward him, unleashing a devastating combo culminating in a fiery fist. The blast pushed Azazel back, but he stood defiant.

"My father should never have created humanity," he roared, "I will purge them from this realm! They're like insects trying to stop a global catastrophe!"

Azazel moved like a phantom, a blur of motion aimed at Miguel. Deon reacted instantly, the scythe's blade meeting Azazel's fist with a shower of sparks.

Before the dust settled, Malachi unleashed a devastating axe kick, pulverizing the earth. Yet, Azazel's fist punched through the debris, connecting with Deon's jaw. Deon reeled back, Miguel's warning barely audible over the roar of the impact.

Miguel pulled Malachi clear as Azazel's roundhouse kick, a whirlwind of claws and fury, whistled past.

"Your feeble attempts amuse me," Azazel taunted. "Your powers are meaningless."

Miguel's response was immediate – a snap of his fingers, a fiery orb arcing through the air, exploding with concussive force.

The blast hurled Malachi into a wrecked car. He staggered out, blood streaming from his face, his eyes blazing with fury.

Malachi saw Azazel blitzing toward Maxwell, the chilling words "Goodbye, you're becoming bothersome" slicing through the air. "No!" Malachi screamed.

Miguel came running, his voice a shout urging Malachi to escape, before unleashing a fiery projectile from his mouth.

The fire projectile seared a deep gash into Azazel's side, eliciting a roar of pain. But before the onlookers could react, the wound vanished, the flesh knitting itself back together.

"Insolent whelp!" Azazel thundered, his gaze fixed on Miguel. The eerie purple cracks in the ground slowly faded, leaving behind only dust and debris. Maxwell crumpled to the ground, his face striking the earth.

Malachi's voice was a groan of disbelief, "You've got to be kidding me."But before Malachi could respond, Miguel rocketed off in a fiery streak. The heat forced Malachi to avert his gaze. Miguel zipped past Azazel, launching a searing fire blast.

Azazel emerged from the flames, regenerating effortlessly, Miguel realized the sheer intensity of the fire was overwhelming him. He couldn't maintain his control over the inferno any longer.

Hovering in the air, Miguel narrowly dodged Azazel's spiked tail. He held both hands toward Azazel, energy building between them, but Azazel vanished.

Suddenly, Azazel appeared behind Miguel, kicking him into a cluster of cars that exploded upon impact.

The nightmare replayed in Malachi's mind: Miguel's desperate attack, the escalating power, Azazel's impossible speed, the devastating collision. But it wasn't the violence that shifted him; it was the sheer impossibility of what he'd witnessed.

The speed, the power, the blatant disregard for the natural order – it was a fracture in the fabric of reality, a fissure that widened, shattering his perceived limitations and releasing something primal within.

In that instant, a torrent of energy flooded him, raw and potent. The crushing weight of his father's death and his uncle's relentless training, once unbearable burdens, now forged a core of unshakeable strength.

Weakness and doubt vanished, replaced by a vibrant, heightened awareness. The world sharpened, colors intensified, revealing details previously unseen. His vision shifted dramatically; once amber, his eyes now glowed with an ethereal blue light.

He sensed the world with a new acuity, perceiving subtle shifts in temperature and density, a symphony of unseen forces.

A silver flash erupted, and Deon appeared, stepping on Azazel's tail with impossible speed. With a fluid motion, his twin batons spun, the central string instantly ensnaring the demon. Poised and tall, he reached out with his heart, calling for Malachi.

In response, Malachi ripped a muffler from a nearby car and struck Azazel with force, shattering the makeshift weapon. Yet, Azazel broke free from the entrapment, spinning with intent as his hand aimed at Malachi.

A beam shot toward Malachi. A streak of silver, Deon materialized before him, a ringing clang echoing as Azazel's fist impacted Deon's shield. "How's my timing?" Deon asked, his voice steady. Malachi grunted, "Hm." Before he could react, Azazel's spiked tail slammed into Deon's leg, a spray of gore marking the brutal impact.

Deon groaned, but even as he swiped upward, a silver light enveloped him; his shield shifting, reforming into an ikakalaka sword.

With a swift, upward slash, he cleaved Azazel's chin, the demon roaring in pain and surprise.

Seizing the opportunity, Azazel ripped his own tail free from Deon's leg and plunged it deep into Deon's shoulder.

Malachi snatched the sword, circling and slicing off Azazel's thrashing tail in a single stroke.

Azazel roared, "Imbecile!" black blood spurting from the wound.

Malachi snatched the sword, circling and slicing off Azazel's thrashing tail in a single, clean stroke.

Azazel roared, "You dare?!" black blood spurting as he spun. Then, everything went black for Malachi.

Malachi opened his eyes to a searing pain in his chest. Azazel stood over him, Deon slumped in his grasp.

Azazel took a long, slow sniff of Deon, his nostrils flaring as a silvery energy flowed visibly from Deon into him.

Malachi surged to his feet, a fist crashing into Azazel's jaw. The demon slid a few feet back.

Malachi caught Deon as he collapsed, cradling him gently. Deon's skin was pale, his eyes closed, his lips cracked and dry. Malachi laid him down carefully.

"Surprised you're alive," Azazel rasped, wiping blood from his mouth. "Must be divine intervention."

Malachi stood, his gaze unwavering. "Is Brooks still in that body?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Azazel erupted in a furious tirade. "It's my body now! Brooks is dead! Gone! Understand?!" His voice cracked with a mixture of rage and something akin to grief.It was then Malachi glanced down, feeling a sharp tug of pain.

He saw four claw marks carved into his chest, tokens of their brutal clash. Yet, even in pain, resolute determination burned within him, an unwavering promise to bring the demon to his knees.

Malachi's skepticism only deepened. If Brooks was truly gone, then what were these radiant souls he perceived? Azazel's words rang hollow, cloaking an uncomfortable truth.

Azazel sneered, "Enough of this chit-chat, boy. It's time I take your soul."

The demon surged forward, a blur of motion cracking the earth beneath him.

Malachi felt his fists ignite with power, the Spiritual Energy surging through him effortlessly. He reared back and struck, his punch slamming into Azazel's chin with a resounding crack.

Azazel's head snapped upward from a powerful uppercut, sending an arc of black blood flying through the air.

With relentless precision, the next strike drove into his stomach, and suddenly his back erupted in a spray of dark ichor, painting the air with the foul essence of the demon's fury.

His strikes were causing more than physical damage, and the realization intrigued him.

The energy from the strike overturned nearby cars and scattered debris. Azazel, off-balance and infuriated, felt a rising apprehension as he faced the formidable power Malachi wielded.

Azazel sneered, "How tedious you are, showing me my losses." Malachi stood up, his form flickering like a mirage in the desert sun.

Instinctively, Azazel stepped back, bracing himself as Malachi reappeared, jabbing with calculated precision.

Azazel caught the strike with both palms, the force rippling through his body like a shockwave, muscles tensing, veins bulging, eyes narrowing as if warding off multiple unseen blows.

Azazel staggered, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Foolish mortal," he hissed, "You have no idea what you've done." A deep, inky shadow detached itself from his form, expanding rapidly to engulf Malachi.

Malachi gasped, trying to fight against the overwhelming force as the shadow pulsed with an unnatural energy, distorting the light and swallowing everything within its reach.

"Welcome to my realm, Shaka," Azazel's voice echoed as Malachi dropped to his knees. He stumbled to his feet, the ground strangely yielding beneath him, like sinking into mud. Black water lapped at his legs.

Above, a red sun bled across a sky the color of dried blood, casting long, distorted shadows from the forest of crimson trees surrounding him.

*A mind trick?* he thought, struggling to reconcile this impossible landscape with anything he'd ever known. *But it feels so real...*

Yet, a resolve flickered within him. Running a hand over his mouth, he braced himself for whatever challenges lurked in the eerie world ahead.

The water rippled ominously as Malachi turned to see Azazel emerge, his expression a mixture of disdain and inevitability.

""I know you're wondering why a god would target your kind," Azazel began, his voice resonant and edged with urgency.

He scooped up a handful of the dark water, the liquid shimmering in the red light as he drank it down in a single, swift gulp.

"But understand, we do this to save ourselves. The power hidden within your souls is the key. With it, we will ignite a second war in heaven."

His form contorted grotesquely. A demonic goat's head loomed, crowned with horns reaching the length of a man's arm.

Coarse black fur covered his body, shifting with his every motion. Hooves hammered the ground with ominous finality, while a serpentine tail flicked behind, cloaked in the same dark fur.

His eyes blazed crimson, casting a malevolent glow. "I shall rectify this divine misstep, removing the stain of your kind."

Malachi held his gaze, thoughts drifting to the good book and its tales of demonic envy.

Now, the reality stood before him, more terrifying than any scripture could convey.

Azazel slammed his hand into the water, sending a spray of droplets cascading around him.

"Eminent One," Azazel praised, his voice low and intense, filled with pride. "It is with great respect that I bestow this title upon you."

"You and your bloodline… you've done what no other mortal has ever accomplished.

You've forced me to reveal the full extent of my power." He paused, a shadow crossing his face.

"Samyaza... he'd laugh, I'm sure. But he wouldn't understand the depth of your ancestor's legacy, the weight of the name I've given you."

To be continued…