Chapter 2: The Arrival of Justice

The night was unnervingly still, a thick, oppressive silence that seemed to carry the weight of the world itself. For miles, the earth lay motionless, its balance undisturbed—for now. But within the swirling chaos of space and time, there was an inevitability: Azrael had awoken, and the world would soon feel his presence.

At the edge of the forgotten wasteland on the outskirts of Metropolis, a storm began to churn in the skies. Dark clouds swirled, parting as an unnatural wind swept through the air. The New Gods—mighty beings that watched over the Earth from the distant corners of the cosmos—felt it first.

Steppenwolf, the harbinger of Apokolips, stood silently at the edge of his forces, his crimson armor gleaming in the moonlight. The warlord of Darkseid, a creature forged in the heat of intergalactic wars, had faced countless battles. But tonight, something far older, far more terrifying stirred in the air. His sharpened senses—infused with the dark power of Apokolips—felt the pulse of a force unlike any he had ever encountered.

"What is this presence?" Steppenwolf murmured, his grip tightening on his weapon. A tremor ran down his spine as he felt it—a presence that exuded death and justice, ancient as the universe itself.

Then, from the horizon, the unmistakable shape of a horse emerged from the darkness—a shadow against the moonlight. The beast was as black as the void, its hooves kicking up clouds of dust as it galloped with an unnatural speed, moving faster than any earthly steed. The figure atop it was a silhouette of terror and authority, dressed in a dark cloak that billowed in the night wind. The gleaming blade at his back gleamed with an otherworldly edge, its aura thick with the power of Justice.

Azrael rode, his posture perfectly straight, his presence like a storm itself—silent, yet undeniable. His cloak billowed behind him as he approached, his horse's hooves beating a steady rhythm against the earth. His face was obscured by a dark, terrifying mask—the Mask of Death, a relic from one of his past lives, the face of Death itself. But it wasn't just the mask that exuded power; it was the weight of his being, the resonance of countless lifetimes fighting for balance, for order.

Azrael's eyes—sharp, piercing, and filled with the knowledge of his ancient role—locked onto Steppenwolf. The warlord's hand trembled slightly, an involuntary reaction to the sheer force of will that Azrael projected. Steppenwolf had faced gods, demons, and titans, yet this being, this ancient Horseman, instilled fear into his very core.

Azrael dismounted from his steed, the ground cracking beneath his boots as if the earth itself recoiled from his presence. He stood tall, a figure of overwhelming authority. His blade—a weapon forged for the Horseman of Justice—remained sheathed at his back, but its energy crackled, waiting for the command to unleash. His very presence seemed to demand that balance be restored, that all who would stand against him face their judgment.

"You feel it, don't you?" Azrael's voice was a cold whisper that seemed to echo across the wasteland, as if time itself bent to accommodate his words. "The weight of judgment is upon you, Steppenwolf. This is not your fight. Your master is the one I seek."

Steppenwolf's eyes narrowed, but his hand trembled as he gripped his axe, his entire body emanating tension. "Who are you?" he growled, his voice strained with the mixture of confusion and dread. "What manner of being dares stand before the might of Darkseid?"

Azrael's lips curled into a faint, grim smile, his voice like the toll of a bell. "I am Azrael. The Horseman of Justice. And your end has come."

The air crackled with power as Azrael's cloak fluttered violently in the wind. For the briefest of moments, time seemed to pause. The very earth beneath them hummed as if recognizing Azrael's claim over the forces of balance. It was a call to all who stood against the forces of peace—no one was safe.

Steppenwolf's eyes widened as the ground beneath him trembled. It was not the approach of an ordinary warrior—it was the arrival of Death itself, the force of inevitable justice that would be dealt to all who stood against it. Azrael's presence radiated an aura of finality—an undeniable force that could not be reasoned with, only confronted.

Before Steppenwolf could react, Azrael's blade was in his hand. The Sword of Justice gleamed with a sharpness that seemed to cut through the very air around it. Azrael did not move, but the weapon's power surged as if it were alive, waiting for Azrael's command to strike.

Steppenwolf swung his axe, but the speed with which Azrael moved was beyond his comprehension. In one fluid motion, Azrael's sword met the blade of the axe, and the force of the strike sent shockwaves through the earth. Sparks flew from the collision as if the very fabric of existence itself was being torn at the seams. Steppenwolf staggered back, his legs shaking as he tried to regain his footing. His heart pounded, not from fear but from recognition—this was not just a warrior. This was a force of the universe, a being that had existed since time immemorial, a Horseman of Justice.

Azrael's eyes bore into him, unblinking, unwavering. "Darkseid will fall," Azrael intoned, his voice carrying the weight of an ancient prophecy. "And you will not stand in the way."

The tension in the air was palpable. Steppenwolf stood his ground, though every fiber of his being screamed at him to retreat. The ground beneath him cracked once more, a powerful reminder of who stood before him.

Azrael raised his sword high, the tip glowing with an ethereal light. "The time of your reign is over."

With one swift motion, Azrael moved forward, his sword cleaving through the air. The battle between the Horseman and the warlord of Apokolips had begun, and only one would walk away from it.

The battle between Azrael and Steppenwolf raged with an intensity that could be felt miles away. The clash of their weapons reverberated across the land like thunder, echoing in the air. As the warlord of Apokolips swung his massive axe, it cleaved through the very earth, while Azrael's sword parried each blow with surgical precision, his movements an extension of the wind itself.

Steppenwolf grunted, every strike a desperate attempt to force Azrael back. But the Horseman of Justice stood his ground, each strike resonating with an undeniable sense of fate. His sword, glowing with an ethereal light, cut through the air like a final verdict, each swing an act of justice meant to purge the world of darkness.

Azrael's focus never wavered. His face, obscured by the Mask of Death, remained cold and expressionless. But inside, the whispers of his past lives echoed—a cacophony of memories and knowledge passed down from the previously split Horsemen. He was more than a warrior; he was the embodiment of balance. And Steppenwolf, in all his strength, was but a tool of chaos that would soon meet its end.

From the distant skies, a ripple of energy surged. Unseen by the combatants below, a beacon of power had been sent up—The Justice League had arrived.

In the far distance, Superman, Wonder Woman, and the rest of the League could feel the tremors of the battle. They had sensed it—an unnatural force far beyond the typical villainous threats that littered the world. The disturbance had caught their attention, and they had arrived in full force to investigate.

Superman's sharp vision was the first to lock onto the conflict below. He saw the massive figure of Steppenwolf, his armor glinting in the dim light, but it was the figure he was battling that held his attention. A man—a warrior—whose presence was unlike any he had ever felt before. He wore a dark cloak, and his sword—almost otherworldly—radiated an aura of justice, purity, and finality.

"What… who is that?" Wonder Woman's voice came through the comms, her eyes narrowing as she analyzed the scene below.

"I don't know," Superman responded, his voice tense. "But something about him feels… ancient. Powerful. We need to investigate."

Batman, always calculating, chimed in. "This is not the work of a typical villain. We don't know what we're dealing with yet. Approach with caution."

The League descended, landing just outside the battlefield. As they touched down, Steppenwolf's enraged voice boomed through the air. He growled, his eyes flaring with the rage of a cornered beast.

"I deny your existence!" Steppenwolf roared, his voice filled with contempt and disbelief. His axe swung once more, narrowly missing Azrael's chest. He looked at the League, his eyes flashing with fury. "I will not be judged by you!"

Azrael, however, remained undisturbed. His focus remained solely on Steppenwolf, who was clearly struggling to comprehend the being before him. Every blow from the Apokoliptian warlord was met with precision and calculated responses from Azrael. His posture was perfect—he did not overexert himself, and yet Steppenwolf's every move felt futile.

But then, a flicker of acknowledgment passed over Azrael's face as he glanced at the arriving League. He did not speak, but his eyes, sharp and focused, swept over the group—Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, Flash, Aquaman—all of them standing as witnesses to the battle that was unfolding. They were powerful, no doubt, but none of them radiated the presence that Azrael did.

Steppenwolf, seeing their approach, scoffed. "Fools! Do you dare think you can stand against me?" he shouted, pointing his axe toward the League. But even as he spoke, his eyes darted nervously toward Azrael. It was clear that Steppenwolf, for all his strength, was not entirely certain of what he was facing.

Wonder Woman stepped forward, her sword gleaming in the pale light as she addressed Azrael. "We need to know who you are!" she called out, her voice firm but not hostile.

Azrael's voice, cold and unyielding, finally broke the silence. "I am Azrael. The Horseman of Justice. And you are standing in the way of balance."

The words hit like a hammer. The League fell silent. Even Steppenwolf paused, his expression momentarily flickering with doubt. This was no ordinary foe. This was a being of divine purpose, one whose very presence commanded authority.

Batman's eyes narrowed as he processed the words. His mind, sharp as ever, was already calculating the implications. "Horseman of Justice?" he muttered, analyzing the situation. "This doesn't fit the profile of any known entity. If he's real, then what's his agenda?"

Flash, ever the optimist, shifted on his feet. "He seems like he's not here to destroy the world. Just that guy," he said, nodding toward Steppenwolf.

Azrael did not respond. His eyes were fixed on Steppenwolf, his stance unwavering. He had no interest in explanations or clarifications. Justice was his sole purpose, and Steppenwolf—along with all those who served chaos—would answer for their crimes.

Steppenwolf, clearly growing frustrated, swung his axe in a wide arc, but Azrael parried the blow effortlessly, his sword crackling with divine energy. "I will not be denied," Steppenwolf snarled, but his voice carried the unmistakable ring of desperation.

Azrael's voice was calm, almost detached. "Your resistance is futile, Steppenwolf. I will bring balance to this world, whether you accept it or not."

Before anyone could react, Azrael's sword swung downward, and with a single, calculated strike, Steppenwolf was sent flying backward, crashing into the earth with a deafening impact. His axe clattered to the ground as he lay there, groaning in pain, unable to rise.

The League looked on, stunned by the overwhelming power Azrael had displayed. Even Superman's expression betrayed surprise.

Wonder Woman took a cautious step forward. "We don't know what's going on here, but you're clearly a force to be reckoned with. Are you an ally, or an enemy?"

Azrael didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced briefly at the League, his gaze intense, before speaking. "I am neither. I am the reckoning that comes for those who disturb the balance. I fight for justice, not sides."

Batman's eyes gleamed beneath his cowl. "Then what is your goal?"

Azrael's cold voice carried an edge of finality. "My goal is simple: the elimination of those who threaten this world. Starting with Darkseid and his forces."

The League was silent for a moment, processing his words. The weight of his purpose hung in the air. This was not a threat, but a declaration of a crusade.

Steppenwolf, still lying in the dirt, growled in frustration. "You have no idea what you're facing. Darkseid—"

"Darkseid will fall," Azrael interrupted, his voice cutting through Steppenwolf's words with the cold precision of a blade. He turned his gaze back to the League. "And you... you will either stand aside or help me. Choose wisely."

Superman descended, his powerful form landing between Azrael and Steppenwolf with a thunderous crash. The moment he touched down, he locked eyes with Azrael, sensing the immense power radiating from him.

"You don't belong here," Superman said, his voice calm but firm. "Move aside, Azrael. This is our fight."

Azrael's gaze barely flickered to Superman, his expression unreadable. He had known the Justice League would come—he had prepared for it. His mission, after all, was far larger than this battle. His purpose was inevitable. Still, he did not pause. With a casual flick of his hand, he shoved Superman aside with barely any effort, sending the Man of Steel hurtling backward through the air.

Superman's body sailed a good 50 kilometers, crashing through a mountain with a deafening boom. The shockwave rattled the earth beneath them, but Azrael showed no signs of hesitation as he continued to fight. His ethereal blades gleamed with otherworldly energy as he parried Steppenwolf's next attack, a heavy swing that could cleave through steel.

The Justice League had arrived, but they were cautious. Wonder Woman, Batman, Flash, and even Green Lantern hovered on the periphery, watching closely as Azrael and Steppenwolf engaged in their relentless battle. Each member knew better than to rush in without understanding Azrael's true strength. They needed to observe, analyze his moves, and wait for their moment.

"That's… not normal," Flash muttered, his tone serious as he watched Azrael effortlessly send Superman flying. "He's not even breaking a sweat."

Batman studied Azrael from the shadows, his mind racing through every possible scenario. "He's powerful—too powerful. He knows we're here. But his focus isn't on us. It's on Steppenwolf." Batman's voice was low and thoughtful. "If we're going to do anything, we need to make sure we don't get in his way."

Wonder Woman narrowed her eyes. "He may be an ally, but if he's willing to throw Superman around like that, we can't risk getting caught up in his fight. We wait until we know what he truly wants."

Azrael, his golden eyes unwavering, shifted his focus back to Steppenwolf. With a voice that resonated with a cosmic power, he spoke. "Step aside, warlord. You will fall, as all tyrants do."

Steppenwolf sneered, growling in fury as he swung his axe again. This time, Azrael leapt into the air, twisting in mid-flight and bringing his ethereal sword down with a flash of divine energy. The blow struck Steppenwolf's armor, leaving a deep gouge across the warlord's chest. Steppenwolf howled in pain but quickly countered with a furious swing, forcing Azrael to roll out of the way.

The Parademons, ever-watchful, attempted to swarm the Justice League, but Green Lantern raised his ring and sent out an array of energy constructs—force fields, battering rams, and energy whips—knocking the Parademons aside. "Keep them busy!" he shouted. "We need to keep Steppenwolf distracted until we know what Azrael's really here for!"

Azrael, still locked in combat with Steppenwolf, was unstoppable. Each of his strikes seemed to tear through the air itself, and his every move was perfectly calculated. He was a being out of time, a force that had seen millennia pass and was now here to fulfill his own, inscrutable purpose.

"I told you," Azrael's voice rang out, cutting through the sounds of battle. "This is not your fight, Steppenwolf. It's too late for you."

With a sudden burst of power, Azrael pressed his attack, his sword glowing brighter than ever before. Steppenwolf grunted as he tried to fend off the assault, but it was no use. Azrael's celestial blades cut through the warlord's defenses like they were nothing more than paper.

"You will not—!" Steppenwolf started, but his words were cut short as Azrael's sword connected with his chest once again, this time leaving a massive wound. Steppenwolf staggered back, his breath labored.

Azrael's eyes flared with divine energy. "Enough," he said coldly. "Your master will not claim Earth. The balance must be maintained."

With a final surge of power, Azrael raised his sword above Steppenwolf, a divine light emanating from the blade, burning with the intensity of the universe itself. The Justice League watched in stunned silence, unsure of whether to act or to let this play out.

Azrael struck with devastating precision, the blow severing Steppenwolf's body from his soul. Time seemed to slow as the energy from Azrael's sword spread outward, erasing Steppenwolf completely from existence. The warlord's form crumbled into dust, his body disintegrating into nothingness, as if he had never been there at all.

All that remained of Steppenwolf was a faint memory—a faint, flickering image of his battle-hardened visage, trapped within Azrael's divine power, fading slowly into the ether.

The battlefield fell silent, save for the wind carrying the remnants of the battle. The Parademons, now without a leader, scattered in terror, retreating back into the darkness from whence they came. The Justice League remained still, watching as Azrael, victorious, stood alone in the wake of the destruction.

Azrael's gaze shifted to the League, his eyes narrowing as he sensed their growing suspicion. "You have no need to intervene," he spoke, his voice cold but not unkind. "The warlord is gone. His master's plans will falter, and balance will be restored."

Superman slowly pushed himself to his feet, dusting off the debris from his crash. His gaze was filled with both awe and caution as he approached Azrael. "What do you want, Azrael? Why are you here?"

Azrael's golden eyes softened ever so slightly. "My purpose is far greater than this battle, Kryptonian. I have come to ensure that Earth remains in balance—that its future is preserved. But that is not your concern. My mission is inevitable."