THE QUEEN'S BURDEN

Azrail's heart hammered in her chest, the pull of the creature's dark energy strong enough to nearly tear her apart. The rift in the floor was widening, blackened energy swirling like a storm in the void. The air tasted bitter, thick with the scent of sulfur, like the burning of a distant fire that she could almost feel licking at her skin.

She had to decide.

Azrail's eyes flicked between the creature's waiting form and Asmodeus, who was still gripping her wrist with a force that almost hurt. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—they burned with an intensity she could feel deep within her bones.

The creature had called her Queen, and for the first time, the title felt like it belonged to her. The word rolled through her mind, echoing with a resonance that both terrified and enthralled her.

No.

She couldn't. She wasn't that person. She couldn't be that person.

The memories flooding her mind—the battlefields, the throne, the promises made—were still too fresh, too overwhelming. They felt like they were hers, yet distant. A past that was lost, a life that she couldn't remember but was suddenly being thrust into her mind, demanding to be acknowledged. She wasn't a queen. She wasn't royalty. She was just Azrail.

And yet, the pull—the undeniable call—was stronger than anything she'd ever felt.

The force inside her surged again, demanding her attention. She could feel it, the ancient power, coiling beneath her skin, thrumming through her veins like a living thing. It was rising, clawing to break free. The creature had been waiting for her, and in some way, she had been waiting for this moment, too.

Her gaze flicked back to Asmodeus. His hand was still tight around her wrist, the warmth of his grip contrasting sharply with the cold void opening before them.

He knew.

Of course, he knew. Asmodeus, the Demon King, knew what she was capable of—knew who she was—and yet, he had kept the truth from her. He had kept her in the dark.

Azrail's jaw clenched. The anger surged within her, and for a moment, it clouded her mind. He had lied to her. He had kept the truth hidden, and now it was too late to change what had already begun. But still, she couldn't ignore the choice in front of her.

Go with the creature.

Follow the path that was always meant to be hers.

Or...

Stay with him.

Her chest tightened. Asmodeus was more than just a demon to her—he was more than a guide, more than an ally. She had trusted him in a way she hadn't trusted anyone else, and now, in the face of all this chaos, the truth of what he had known all along crashed over her.

"Azrail," he said softly, his voice rough with something she couldn't quite place. "You don't understand. This isn't your fight. You don't have to do this. We don't need this."

But his words were hollow now. She knew that. She had felt the shift inside herself, felt the raw, untamed power that wanted to escape, wanted to claim what was hers by right.

"Then what?" she hissed, pulling her wrist out of his grasp, her voice trembling. "What was all of this for? You lied to me, Asmodeus. You've been hiding the truth from me for who knows how long—everything I've been through... all of it... it's for nothing?"

His expression faltered, the wall he had built around himself cracking just for a second. His eyes darkened, but his grip on her loosened, the conflict in him clear.

But the creature didn't wait.

Azrail felt the pressure, the invisible weight of the rift threatening to crush her under its force. It was still there—urging her to step forward, to take that final step into the void. She could almost hear it calling to her, the promise of power, of purpose.

"It is time, My Queen."

The words ignited something deep within her, something that called to her blood, to her soul. She knew, with an undeniable certainty, that this was what she had been meant for. The memories of the throne, of the battlefields drenched in blood—those were hers. That power, that legacy—it was hers.

Azrail turned sharply, her decision made.

With a final, heavy breath, she stepped toward the rift. The air parted in front of her, swirling around her like a vortex, pulling her into the unknown. The coldness of the void wrapped around her like a cloak, and for a brief moment, the world around her seemed to fall away.

Asmodeus didn't stop her.

He didn't speak.

But his eyes—those crimson eyes—followed her as she moved, as she crossed the threshold. And in them, she saw something she hadn't expected: regret.

She had made her choice

The creature stood just inside the rift, waiting, watching. The world outside this chamber was gone now—everything but the endless void that stretched before her. It was dark, but it wasn't cold. It was a space that seemed to hum with a rhythm she couldn't name, a rhythm that resonated in her very bones.

The creature's ember eyes flickered with approval as Azrail approached.

"Come," it said, the words a soft command. "The throne awaits."

The voice was gentle, but the weight of it—the authority that dripped from it—settled deep inside her chest, pushing her forward. The creature extended a hand toward her, its form still shifting and flickering, but its presence solid, undeniable.

Azrail hesitated for only a second, the truth of what she was about to do crashing over her like a wave. But then, something inside her pushed it aside. The creature wasn't just some demon—no, it was a part of her past. A part of the person she had been, and the person she was becoming. This was the path she had always been meant to walk.

With a final step, she closed the distance between them and reached for its hand.

The moment her fingers brushed against its dark, shifting form, the world around her cracked open.

Azrail's senses exploded. She could feel the rift growing wider, pulling her deeper into its depths. The shadows blurred, rushing at her with an intensity that threatened to swallow her whole. The force inside her—her own power—pulsed in time with the beat of the void, growing stronger, sharper.

This was it.

She was leaving everything behind.

Asmodeus.

The demon realm.

Her old self.

And in its place, she was taking on something new—something old, something long forgotten.

She was stepping into her birthright.

The creature's voice echoed again, louder this time.

"The throne awaits, My Queen."

Azrail's world spun, and with it, her destiny.