Azrael

Ronald raised his hand, and instantly, his crimson aura shifted, morphing into a massive, double-headed greatsword.

CLANG!

The two weapons collided, sending another shockwave blasting through the air. Sparks erupted, and for a moment, they were locked in place, power pushing against power.

But Ronald had the advantage.

With a grunt, he twisted his blade, using the force to redirect the axe's swing. The gargoyle stumbled forward, thrown off balance.

That was all the opening Ronald needed.

In a flash, he twisted his grip, flipping the greatsword around and slashing in a wide, devastating arc.

CRACK!

The blade tore through the gargoyle's side, sending chunks of marble flying. The holy inscriptions on its axe flickered, dimming as it staggered backward.

Meanwhile, Richard had already finished off the rest of the robed figures.

The last one standing desperately swung a blue energy blade at him, but Richard sidestepped effortlessly, twisting behind him. With a flick of his wrist, his own blue energy dagger materialized—pressing against the man's throat.

The fight was over.

Richard sighed, his grip tightening. "We tried being nice."

The robed man trembled, still panting from the battle. "You… you shouldn't be here."

Richard narrowed his glowing blue eyes. "Yeah? Well, too bad."

Before he could say another word, the gargoyle let out a deafening roar.

Ronald, still facing off against it, grinned like a lunatic.

He twirled his greatsword in his hand, eyes gleaming with amusement.

"You put up a good fight, big guy," he muttered, stepping back as the gargoyle snarled and readied its war axe for another swing.

But Ronald was faster.

His blood aura shifted, morphing into crimson chains that shot out from his hands, wrapping tightly around the gargoyle's legs.

The massive creature grunted in surprise as the chains snaked around its stone limbs, tightening like steel bindings.

THUD!

The gargoyle staggered, its balance faltering as the chains pulled it down. It tried to lift its axe, but before it could react...

BOOM!

Ronald had already forged a massive war hammer, its head gleaming with a dark, crimson glow. With one powerful swing, he delivered a devastating uppercut straight to the gargoyle's jaw.

CRACK!

The impact sent shockwaves through the air as the sheer force of the blow lifted the gargoyle off its feet.

It crashed onto its back, the entire square trembling beneath its weight. Dust and debris kicked up in the air, settling over the fallen creature.

And then… it stopped moving.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then, something strange began to happen.

The massive rocky body of the gargoyle shuddered, its glowing golden eyes flickering. Slowly, its gigantic frame began to shrink, its hardened marble skin softening, melting away like wax under a flame.

The once towering behemoth was now reducing in size, the stone crumbling away to reveal something else underneath... something human.

Within seconds, the monstrous gargoyle had completely transformed. And lying there in its place was a woman.

She was unconscious, her chest rising and falling steadily. She wore a black feminine leather chest piece, matching gauntlets, and knee-high armored boots. Her long, dark hair spilled across the ground, and her face, though marked with battle scars, held a strange, ethereal beauty.

Ronald raised an eyebrow. "Huh, Astra?"

Richard, having just finished dealing with the last of the robed figures, walked over and looked down at the unconscious woman.

"You know this Gargoyle?" he asked

Ronald grinned, resting the hammer on his shoulder. "Kind of. We fought side by side in the Holy war,"

Richard sighed. "Interesting, maybe she'll agree to our demands. Now that she's been defeated,"

Ronald chuckled. "Nah, I doubt that. Gargoyles are the most loyal of all the races, they only listen to their leader. We should find..."

"What is going on here?" a sharp feminine voice cut in, it seemed to have come from behind them. Richard and Ronald shifted their gaze towards the direction of the voice.

And standing at the entrance of the basilica, bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun, was a woman whose presence demanded reverence.

She was beautiful... no, divine! And even though she looked to be in her mid 40s, she was still an epitome of beauty.

Her hair was golden, cascading in silken waves down her back, shining as if each strand had been spun from pure sunlight. Her sapphire eyes, deep and piercing, glowed with an intensity that could see into one's very soul. Her skin, pale as moonlight, was flawless, save for the faint battle markings that traced along her arms, a testament to her warrior's past.

She wore an elegant yet battle-ready ensemble, a long, flowing white robe with golden embroidery woven into its fabric. The edges of her attire shimmered like angelic feathers, and though she bore no visible wings, her very aura carried the weight of something celestial. She was Azrael, one of the leaders of the Gargoyle race, a being as feared as she was revered.

Her gaze swept across the scene... the unconscious Astra, the defeated robed figures, and the two men standing over them.

"What is going on here?" she repeated, her voice sharp and commanding, yet laced with an unmistakable grace.

Ronald quickly desummoned the large hammer, his crimson aura dissipating like mist. He smirked.

"Long time no see, Azrael. You still look as ravishing as always,"

Her piercing blue eyes locked onto him. "Spare me the compliments, Ronald. Last time you were here, you kidnapped one of us. I'm still furious about that," she said coldly, then turned her gaze to Richard. "And you... Richard."

Richard met her stare, unfazed. "Nice of you to show up. We were starting to think the Vatican was all out of soldiers."

Azrael's expression didn't change, but the air around her grew heavier. The temperature dropped just slightly, an unspoken warning.

"You attacked my people," she said, her voice laced with restrained fury.

Ronald scoffed. "They attacked first."

Richard snickered. "Your paladins were not strong enough to stop me. But don't worry, I didn't kill any of them," he muttered casually

Azrael's gaze flicked to Astra, still lying motionless on the ground, then back to Ronald.

"And Astra?"

Ronald shrugged. "She fought. She lost."

A tense silence followed. Then Azrael took a single step forward, glaring at Ronald

"You shouldn't have come here, I thought I made that clear to you, years ago," she warned, her voice low, almost sorrowful.

Ronald chuckled. "Yeah? Well, sometimes, I don't listen to my elders,"

Azrael's sapphire eyes flashed.

The ground beneath them trembled. It looked like another battle was about to break out.

But then it didn't

Azrael closed her eyes and took a slow, measured breath. The tension in the air eased, the invisible pressure that had made the ground tremble fading away. When she exhaled, it was as if she had pushed away whatever impulse had urged her to strike.

She opened her eyes again, her piercing sapphire gaze settling on Richard and Ronald. Calm, but still wary.

"You two are as reckless as ever," she said, her voice softer now, though the edge of authority remained.

Ronald smirked. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Azrael didn't entertain his jest. Instead, she turned slightly, gesturing toward the entrance of the basilica.

"Come," she said. "Whatever your reason for being here, it must be important. We will speak inside."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Oh? No more theatrics? No righteous fury?"

Azrael gave him a pointed look. "If I wanted you dead, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Ronald chuckled, nudging Richard. "She's got a point,"

With that, the two followed Azrael as she stepped past the threshold of the grand entrance. The invisible barrier that had stopped them before now flickered and disappeared, allowing them to enter freely.

As they walked inside, the heavy doors creaked shut behind them, sealing them within the vast, sacred halls of St. Peter's Basilica.

The moment they stepped inside, the air shifted, not just in temperature, but in feeling. The interior of St. Peter's Basilica was as breathtaking as ever, a vast expanse of towering marble pillars, golden chandeliers, and sprawling frescoes depicting celestial battles and divine ascensions.

The sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows cast an ethereal glow across the polished floors, the colors dancing like liquid fire. The scent of aged parchment, incense, and something faintly metallic lingered in the air.

Richard took a slow look around. "Gotta admit, for a place that preaches humility, they sure do love their gold."

Azrael ignored the comment, leading them deeper into the basilica. The few remaining priests and acolytes that had been present vanished the moment she arrived, slipping away through hidden corridors like shadows avoiding a storm. They knew better than to interfere.

At the far end of the hall stood an ornate altar, flanked by colossal statues of angels, each one carved in exquisite detail; wings spread wide, expressions both serene and sorrowful. However, beneath that grandeur, Richard could feel something else.

Something old. Ancient. Watching.

His dark blue eyes flickered. There were secrets in this place.

Azrael finally came to a stop before the altar, turning to face them. She crossed her arms, golden hair catching the light like spun sunlight, and fixed them with an unreadable stare.

"Now," she said. "Tell me why you're here. And be direct. I have little patience for games."

Ronald exhaled, resting his back on the pillar beside them. "We're looking for someone," he said. "Winter."

Azrael raised a brow. "Your sister, the snow-haired one?" she said to Richard

Richard nodded. "Yes, she's been missing for quite a while now. And we don't exactly know where she might be," he explained

Azrael's expression didn't change, but Richard caught the subtle flicker in her sapphire eyes. Recognition.

She knew something.

Richard stepped forward, his gaze sharp. "You know where she is, don't you?"

Azrael's expression remained unreadable, but there was no deception in her eyes. Whatever she knew... or didn't know, she wasn't hiding it.

"I don't know where your sister is," she said, her voice steady, unwavering.

Richard exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair. "Figures."

Azrael tilted her head. "But you suspect she's in one of the other realms?"

Richard nodded, his dark blue eyes narrowing. "We don't just suspect, we're certain,"

Azrael's gaze flickered to the ground, before returning to them. "Enlighten me some more."

Richard crossed his arms. "At the site of Winter's disappearance, we traced the energy signatures left behind, and they lead to two culprits. One was demons, and the other was someone else. Something ancient,"

Azrael's golden eyebrows furrowed at that, but she remained silent, listening.

Richard continued. "We believe the demons were merely a distraction, an opening act. Whoever came after them was the real threat. And whatever they are, they took Winter,"

Ronald still leaning against one of the marble pillars, sighed. "But we couldn't Identify what race this person is, it could be anyone. But I doubt it's human,"

Azrael closed her eyes briefly, as if already knowing the answer. When she reopened them, they glowed faintly. "So you intend on checking every realm?"

Richard nodded. "Exactly. That's why we need a portal," he said. "And there's only two ways to access an inter-realm portal from the human realm,"

Azrael sighed. "Well, if you're here. That means you couldn't get access to a portal from Ronald's friends," she stated, then continued. "So you came here because you know that we are in possession of a certain ancient device?"

Richard smirked. "You catch on quick."

Azrael exhaled, rubbing her temple. "You want to use the Obsidian Gate."

Ronald grinned. "Bingo."

Azrael's expression darkened at the mention of the Obsidian Gate.

"That's not a request I can grant so easily," she said, her sapphire eyes locking onto Richard's. "The Obsidian Gate isn't just some convenient doorway.. it's a relic from an age long before yours. Not to mention, it hasn't been used in ages,"

Richard sighed, clearly expecting resistance. "Look, we don't have time for a history lesson. We need to get to Vulkanis, now."

Azrael, however, wasn't moved. "Oh, so you plan on heading to Vulkanis first? And what exactly do you plan to do when you get there? Vulkanis is now a graveyard of forgotten things, a place even the strongest hesitate to tread. Do you even know what you're walking into?"

Ronald chuckled, crossing his arms. "We've fought in wars. We've faced ancient beasts, demons, gods, and worse. A bunch of washed-up cayotes in Vulkanis isn't going to stop us,"

Azrael sighed again but studied them carefully. Despite her caution, there was something in her eyes... a flicker of reluctant agreement.

"Even if I wanted to help you," she said, "the Gate is not here in the Basilica. It's within the Sanctum of the Stoneborn."

Richard frowned. "And where exactly is that?"

Azrael took a slow breath. "Beneath the catacombs of Vatican City."

For the first time since they arrived, Richard hesitated. The Vatican Catacombs were already a place of myth and legend, but a hidden chamber beneath them? That was something else entirely.

Ronald, however, grinned. "Oh, now that's interesting. A secret Gargoyle hideout under the city? How cliché."

Azrael shot him a look. "Mock it all you want, but if you think my people up here are annoying, wait until you meet the ones below."

Richard cracked his knuckles. "Then what are we waiting for?"

Azrael stared at Richard for a long moment, then exhaled in defeat.

"Fine," she said, turning on her heel. "Follow me."

She led them away from the grand hall of St. Peter's Basilica, through a narrow passage that twisted downward beneath the ancient structure. As they descended, the air grew cooler, the scent of damp stone and old parchment filling their noses. The Vatican Catacombs stretched for miles beneath the city, a labyrinth of history, faith, and secrets.

But Richard wasn't concerned with that. His mind was set on Vulkanis, the Werewolf Realm.

Unlike the twisted dimensions of demons or the celestial heights of angels, Vulkanis wasn't some forbidden land of ancient horrors. It was simple, brutal, and primal... a kingdom ruled by the laws of the pack. A place where dominance was everything and weakness meant death.

And Winter might be there. Hopefully.