Chapter 20- Soiree Incident Final. PT

Malachi stared at Azazel, his mind swirling with questions about whether this was Azazel's true form or a desperate transformation to endure their battle. Azazel, noticing Malachi's introspective gaze, gave a mocking grin. "What's wrong, Shaka? You look like you have something to say."

Malachi simply shrugged, a smirk playing at his lips. "Nah, just thinking of ways to kill you."

Azazel laughed, his tone dripping with arrogance. "Kill me? I'm a celestial, incapable of being killed. But you, you're just dirt."

Without missing a beat, Malachi shot back, "Yeah, but I was made from dirt in the image and likeness of God."

Azazel yelled, "Silence!" as he zipped toward Malachi with breathtaking speed, cutting a path through the very air with his fury.

Azazel jammed forward, but Malachi deftly grasped his fist and countered with a powerful punch of his own, sending the goat demon staggering backward.

Azazel quickly retaliated, raising his palm toward Malachi as black lightning crackled and shot forward. Malachi dodged at the final moment, energy sizzling past him.

Without missing a beat, Malachi rushed forward, delivering another solid blow to Azazel's stomach.

But Azazel, unyielding, caught Malachi's face in his grasp, his claws slicing viciously across the left side. Blood streamed from the fresh gashes as a sharp pain flared, yet Malachi gritted his teeth and held firm.

In the same breath, Malachi reared back, his fist charging with spiritual energy. He swung a mighty right hook, but Azazel shifted at the last moment, sliding swiftly to the side. The dance of their battle continued, a fierce rhythm that echoed across the lake.

Malachi's thoughts drifted to feelings of gratitude for Deon, Miguel, Maxwell, and the others, and an apology to Vance echoed in his mind—a silent vow to make things right.

In a sudden, brutal twist, Azazel seized Malachi's head, jamming his thumb into Malachi's left eye.

The claw punctured the surface, releasing a stream of blood. Pain flared, sharp but not overwhelming, as Malachi steeled himself. Reacting instinctively, he delivered an explosive one-inch punch that sent Azazel stumbling back, his eyes widening with shock.

Malachi steadied himself, adopting a Muay Thai stance. Determination radiated from him, a warrior ready to face whatever came next.

Before the demon could retaliate, Malachi followed up with another devastating blow, a punch that sent Azazel reeling.

The demon stumbled back, gaining some distance, and shook his head violently, trying to clear the ringing in his ears and the lingering shock that reverberated through his very being.

He stared at Malachi, his gaze lingering on the bloodied wound across the fighter's face, a dawning horror replacing his previous arrogance.

The pain wasn't just physical; it was something far deeper, something that resonated on a level far beyond mere flesh and bone.

"What are you?" Azazel rasped, his voice tinged with a fear he'd long forgotten.

"Those hits... they're not just hurting me; they're breaking me apart. I can feel it—something beyond pain. It's like you're unraveling me, tearing into the essence of what I am, disrupting everything that holds me together. It's... unnatural."

He paused, eyes searching Malachi's for some explanation, some glimpse of understanding behind the force that defied comprehension.

"So, I ask again... what are you?" The question lingered, heavy in the tension-filled air, a plea for clarity against the backdrop of raw power.

Suddenly the air around them wavered as the world was slit between them from the sky to the ground between them, then crumpled away. In an instant, they were back in the ruined parking lot, reality reasserting itself.

As Azazel processed what had happened, a shimmering white blade pierced his chest from behind, its force driving the metal clean through him. Black blood spilled from his mouth as he staggered, eyes wide with disbelief at the blade that impaled him.

She was a girl with braids, her long-sleeved black dress swaying as she moved, face streaked with blood. With calm resolve, she swiped her white marine combat sword upward, cleaving through a shoulder. Blood spattered as she wiped the blade clean against her forearm.

Beside her stood a muscular man with wavy hair, his suit bloodied and marked with slashes.

His eyes, orange, bore into Azazel with fierce intensity, a fresh slash crisscrossing his nose bridge. "Maria, seal this vagabond!" he commanded, his voice booming with authority.

Malachi recognized the braided hair girl, Catherine, as she twirled her sword effortlessly.

Lastly was an brown-skinned woman stood before them, her blonde afro contrasting strikingly against her glowing white eyes.

Clad in a sparkling black dress, she seemed to be around Malachi's age.

Behind her, a purple portal hovered with an ethereal shimmer.In a blur of motion, Catherine darted at Azazel, a flash of white slicing through the chaos as she cleaved his jaw open.

Azazel pulled back, laughter spilling from him as his wound healed swiftly.

Yet Malachi noticed something vital—even as he clutched his bleeding stomach, he saw that while Azazel's jaw had mended, the wound on his stomach remained grievously open.

Azazel sneered, attempting to weaken their spirits with condescending taunts. "Women should be at home, not on the battlefield," he mocked. The women remained unfazed, exchanging knowing glances. One smirked and shot back, "Interesting, considering you can't handle us excelling at both."

The other man, Jordan, nodded to the white-eyes girl. "Maria, do you mind?" he asked.

"Gladly," Maria replied, a sly smile touching her lips as she clapped her hands together. In an instant, giant purple hands materialized in the air, mirroring her action.

They slammed together with force, enveloping Azazel in a shimmering purple orb, trapping him within its mystical confines.

Azazel continued his relentless assault against the walls of his prison. "Let me out!" he roared, his voice a crescendo of futile anger.

"Jordan," Azazel called enticingly, "I know about your son. Secrets await if you free me."

Catherine advanced, weapon poised for a decisive strike. "Don't trust a word he says!" Her voice was as sharp as her blade. "A demon twists truth into chains that bind us."

Maria's voice cut through the chaos, urgent and strained. "I can't hold him any longer! You need to call it in now!" As she spoke, blood began to trickle from her nose and mouth, underscoring the desperation of her plea.

As Azazel unleashed a furious scream, Malachi caught Catherine's eye. He recognized her stance instantly—a lethal readiness he had come to know all too well.

He gripped her hand in quiet support, a shared moment of resolve. Catherine nodded, her gaze a steadying beacon as she turned to Jordan. Her look spoke volumes, a silent bulwark against the chaos.

Jordan, bolstered by their unspoken pact, lifted his wrist device. "We've got him. Do it, do it now!" he declared, his voice firm.

"Copy," came the quick response, as Azazel's fate was sealed, their unity and strength woven into every action and word.

Suddenly, multiple beams of light descended from the sky. One struck Azazel directly, engulfing him in a brilliant flash, while others streaked across the city, lighting up the horizon with their distant impacts.

As Azazel was consumed by the radiant force, two piercing screams echoed through the air—one unmistakably Azazel's, filled with fury and agony, and the other a human cry, raw and terrified. With a final, resounding crack, Azazel shattered and vanished, leaving only a faint afterglow behind.

Malachi shielded his face from the blinding light, peering through his fingers as he wondered if it finally killed Azazel.

After the dust settled and the chaos subsided, the city lay still, its skyline dotted with fading lights from the strike.

In the aftermath, Catherine embraced Jordan, offering solace amidst the ruins of battle. As she hugged him, her eyes met Malachi's, whose crescent eye shifted to a warm amber brown. Malachi touched his scarred face and winced, staring at the blood on his fingers. "Is that all it took to kill him?" he asked, his voice a mix of hope and skepticism.

Maria shook her head with a weary sigh. "I wish," she replied. "No, we just sent him back to hell.".

She stepped back, sorrow in her eyes as she saw his damaged eye. "I'm sorry I didn't arrive sooner," she whispered, pulling him back into a comforting embrace.

Malachi reassured her, "It's alright. We survived. And from the looks of things, we weren't alone in facing a demon."

Concern flickered on her face. "What about Miguel?"

He looked around the chaos. "I think he's alive, at least I hope," he confessed, a trace of guilt in his voice. "I feel like it's my fault."

She met his gaze, gentle and understanding. "Why do you think that?" she asked, ready to share the weight of his guilt as always.

Malachi shrugged, playing it cool. Jordan approached, sincerity etched on his face. "I'm serious, Malachi. You holding your ground made all the difference for us. We owe you." His words carried the weight of genuine gratitude.

"By God's grace, I'm still standing," Malachi said, nodding gratefully to his comrades.

Maria nodded. "Amen to that."

Jordan asked about the agents, and Malachi's response was grim. "They did, but they're all dead."

Jordan sighed. "What about Inspector Vance?"

A shadow flickered across Malachi's face as he shook his head. Catherine's expression crumpled, tears welling as she covered her mouth.

"I'm so sorry," Maria whispered to Malachi and Catherine.

Maria approached Malachi, asking softly, "Mind if I?" He nodded. As her hand touched his bleeding stomach, the wound healed, and Malachi realized he'd never noticed the cut.

As Maria held her hand there, warmth spread, and the wounds healed, leaving faint scars. "Sorry," she said tiredly. "If I wasn't so drained, I could've healed them completely."

The pain, the searing agony behind his left eye, receded like a tide going out. He marveled at her touch, a feeling of profound relief washing over him. "Whoa," he breathed, but then he noticed something.

The deep claw marks that had gouged his flesh and taken his sight weren't healing. They remained as stark reminders of the fight and Azazel's power. The pain had faded, but the scars lingered.

A purple light flickered briefly before sputtering out. Startled by this unexpected failure, Malachi pulled away, still grateful for the healing she had achieved.

Maria stared at her palm, puzzled. "I can't heal it," she said, disbelief in her voice.

Jordan frowned, confused. "What do you mean you can't heal it?"

The bruised sun rose over the highway carnage. Malachi leaned against a battered ambulance, his left eye a swollen mess beneath hastily applied bandages. Each touch from the paramedic sent jolts of pain.

He accepted fresh bandages, mumbled a thank you, and watched her move on to tend to others, the rising sun offering little solace.

Climbing into the back of the ambulance, Malachi sat next to Miguel, who lay on a stretcher, his arms folded across his chest as he stared at the roof of the vehicle.

Miguel glanced at Malachi's bandaged eye and smirked, "You look a mess."

Malachi chuckled, "You don't look so bad yourself."

Miguel raised his bandaged hand, grimacing. "Yeah, my arm's turned to rock, and I have no idea why—I'm all love."

His statement drew laughter from Malachi, and they shared a moment of camaraderie before Miguel folded his arms, both of them reflecting on the night's events.

Malachi surveyed the destroyed parking lot and the half-standing hotel. Amidst the chaos, he found a glimmer of hope. "Well, at least we made it through," he remarked.

Their conversation took a serious turn as Miguel sighed and apologized. "I'm sorry I wasn't much help tonight."

"What are you talking about?" Malachi said. "You absorbed that… fire ring thing… and saved us all. I might not fully get where you're coming from, but I'm with you. Next time, it's you and me handling it."

Grasping Miguel's hand, Malachi made his vow. Miguel met his gaze and said, "No matter what happens, you're my brother for life."

To be continued...