A CHOICE BETWEEN TWO FATES

The world collapsed into chaos.

Azrail's breath hitched, the very air around her vibrating with an energy that didn't belong. The ground beneath her feet shook violently, cracks spider-webbing across the stone, deep and jagged. The walls seemed to buckle, as if the weight of some ancient force was pushing down on the room. Every breath she took felt heavier, like the atmosphere itself was being stretched thin, as though it could snap at any second.

In the center of it all stood the rift, its darkness swallowing everything in its path. The creature—once kneeling, now rising—was fully immersed in the black void. Its ember-like eyes glowed with an eerie, malevolent light, its form flickering like a mirage. But now, it was solid. Real. Almost tangible.

"Come, my Queen," the creature's voice echoed, rich and dark, vibrating through the air.

Azrail's heart raced. But she couldn't move. Her legs felt like lead, heavy and uncooperative. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run, to flee, but she couldn't.

Not with Asmodeus standing there.

His crimson eyes—sharp and intense—were locked on her, unblinking. His grip on her wrist was unyielding, a physical reminder of the control he had over her. The Demon King, with his cold, calculating gaze, held her like a prisoner. No, not a prisoner—a hostage.

"You are not leaving," he growled, his voice low and almost dangerous.

Azrail swallowed hard, her throat dry. She tried to pull away, but his hand was like iron, tightening around her wrist with every desperate attempt she made to break free.

She could feel it now—deep inside her, like an undeniable pull. The rift beckoned her. The creature. It knew her. It called to her in a way that sent chills down her spine.

"Let go of me, Asmodeus," she muttered, her voice strained. She didn't recognize the part of her that felt this way—drawn, pulled, as though something had awakened within her. Something ancient, something powerful.

Asmodeus' lips curled into a thin smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Do you really think you can make this decision on your own?"

Azrail clenched her jaw. "I can, and I will."

The force from the rift tugged again, pulling at her insides, like it was trying to tear her apart. But she fought it. She fought it with everything she had left. She wouldn't let it control her. Not now.

But the creature didn't stop. It stood there, waiting, the darkness swirling around it like a cloak. Its ember-like eyes glimmered with something that seemed almost—no, it was—reverence.

"You belong with us," the creature intoned, its voice full of purpose.

Azrail's heart skipped a beat. She didn't belong there. She didn't know who these beings were, but she wasn't one of them.

Asmodeus tightened his grip on her wrist, almost painfully so. "You don't know what you're doing," he warned, his voice thick with frustration. "That creature is not your friend."

Azrail's pulse quickened. She could feel something—no, someone—deep inside her, trying to make itself known. Memories, flashes, fragmented pieces that didn't belong to her. A throne. A crown. A war that stretched across centuries.

"You don't understand," Azrail whispered, her voice trembling. Her grip on reality was slipping. "I... I need to know."

Asmodeus' expression darkened. His lips pressed into a tight line. "No. You don't need to know. Not yet. Not until you're ready."

But the pull from the rift grew stronger

It felt like a connection. A bond. Something she could neither resist nor fully comprehend. Her hand twitched, reaching out toward the dark portal. The creature's eyes never left her, its form shimmering in the dim light of the chamber. It seemed to beckon her, calling her home.

But it wasn't home.

She tore her gaze from the creature, narrowing her eyes at Asmodeus. "You've been lying to me, haven't you?"

Asmodeus remained silent, his gaze unreadable. His hand slowly released her wrist, but she could feel the weight of his stare, following her every movement.

Azrail took a step toward the rift.

The world tilted. The ground trembled beneath her feet. The force from the rift, the energy crackling in the air, was so powerful, so overwhelming, she could barely breathe. It was as though everything around her was warping—twisting, bending under the immense pressure.

"Stop!" Asmodeus' voice was sharp, but Azrail didn't listen. She couldn't.

The creature's ember eyes gleamed brighter, glowing fiercely in the darkened room. It extended its hand toward her, its fingers curling like a beckoning claw.

"Come to us, My Queen," the creature said again, the words full of something almost too familiar. Like it knew her, like it had always known her.

Azrail's pulse quickened. Her breath shallow, her thoughts scattered, she reached for the creature's hand.

But as her fingers brushed against the cold air, a sudden shock jolted through her. The ground beneath her split open. A crack—a rift, bigger than before—tore the stone apart, sending tremors through the entire chamber.

Azrail gasped, stepping back as the rift expanded, swallowing everything in its path. The creature, still standing within the rift, stretched its arms wide. "It is time, My Queen," it intoned.

Her breath caught in her throat.

This wasn't just some twisted game. This was real. This was her destiny, if she chose it. She didn't know what was waiting for her on the other side of that rift, but she could feel it. It was hers. It was calling her.

But then Asmodeus moved.

In a blur of motion, he was there—his hand grabbing her wrist again, forcing her to stop. His grip was firm. Unyielding. A warning.

"Don't do it," he warned, his voice low, full of an edge that sent a chill through her. "You don't know what's on the other side of that rift. It's not what you think."

Azrail struggled against his hold, but his strength was overpowering. The pull from the rift continued to pull at her, tugging at her very soul.

She could feel it. Her heart raced, her thoughts a jumble. She wanted to go. She wanted to know. She needed to know what lay behind the veil, what secrets had been hidden from her for so long.

But Asmodeus held her back.

"Please," Azrail whispered, her voice shaking. "Let me go."

Asmodeus' eyes softened for a fraction of a second. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"You don't understand," he said softly. "That power—those memories—they're not yours to claim."

Azrail felt something snap inside her. The force from the rift was too strong now. Too overwhelming. It was as if her very existence was being torn in two.

With one last surge of strength, she wrenched herself free from his grasp, her fingers shaking with the force of the decision.

She didn't have time to look back.

Azrail turned and stepped into the rift.

The moment her foot crossed the threshold, everything exploded.

The world around her shattered, fracturing into a thousand pieces. The chamber, the walls, the very air—everything crumbled as if it was nothing more than dust.

And then there was darkness.

It wasn't cold. It wasn't warm.

It was simply... quiet.

But the silence was deafening.

Azrail stood still, unable to move, unable to breathe. The memories—her memories—came rushing back in waves, crashing over her like a tidal wave.

A throne made of shadows. A crown that burned her skin. A battle lost to time.

The weight of her past—her true past—crashed into her with a force so overwhelming, it almost brought her to her knees.

And then, the voice spoke again.

"You are home."

Azrail gasped, her breath shallow.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

The creature stood before her, its form solidifying in the darkness. Its ember-like eyes glimmered with something—something she couldn't yet name.

"Welcome back, My Queen."

And as Azrail's heart thundered in her chest, she realized one terrifying truth.

There was no going back now.