THE BROKEN OATH

The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.

Azrail's heartbeat thundered in her ears, a deafening rhythm against the eerie quiet of the chamber. The air between them was charged, thick with something dark and suffocating. She could taste the tension—bitter, like ash settling on her tongue.

Before her stood Abaddon, his presence warping the very atmosphere. The dim torchlight flickered wildly, casting erratic shadows across his face. He wore a smirk, but his expression held no warmth, only amusement laced with cruelty.

"You…" she whispered, struggling to breathe.

Abaddon tilted his head, as if considering the weight of that single word. His lips curled into something almost… playful.

"Me," he murmured, taking a slow step forward.

The sound of his boots against the cold stone floor sent a shiver up her spine. He moved like a predator—controlled, patient, savoring the moment before the inevitable strike.

For the first time in her life, Azrail felt the world slipping out of her control.

She had imagined this moment countless times. The reunion. The questions. The rage. And yet, nothing could have prepared her for this.

This wasn't just her brother.

This was something else. Something worse.

THE TRUTH UNRAVELS...

Asmodeus moved before she could, his tall frame stepping between them. His posture was calm, but his fingers flexed at his sides—ready to summon his magic at a moment's notice.

Abaddon didn't seem fazed. If anything, his smirk feepened.

"Ah, the ever-faithful shadow," he mused, his gaze flickering toward Asmodeus. "Tell me, does it get tiring? Playing protector to something so… fragile?"

Azrail bristled, but Asmodeus didn't react. His voice, when he spoke, was composed, unreadable.

"Say what you came to say," Asmodeus murmured.

Abaddon let out a low chuckle. "Oh, I think she already knows what I'm here for."

His gaze flickered back to Azrail, dark and knowing.

She clenched her fists. "How long have you known?" she demanded.

"Long enough."

A beat of silence.

"Long enough to watch you stumble in the dark. To watch you chase ghosts, looking for a truth you weren't ready for. And long enough to know that it wouldn't matter. Not in the end."

His voice was slow, deliberate, each word dripping like poison.

Azrail took a step forward before she even realized what she was doing, but Asmodeus' hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist. His grip was firm—a silent warning.

Don't.

She ignored him.

"Why?" Azrail's voice was low, shaking with suppressed emotion. "Why do this? Why become… this?"

Abaddon let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "You still don't see it, do you?"

His expression darkened, the amusement in his eyes giving way to something colder.

"You think I had a choice?" he said, voice dropping to a near growl. "Do you think I asked for this?"

The room shook.

A sudden surge of magic pulsed through the air, slamming into Azrail's chest like a forceful wave. She gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to stagger.

"You were the one who left," Abaddon continued, his voice quieter but no less dangerous. "You turned your back on the only thing that ever mattered. You abandoned me."

The accusation struck deep.

Azrail's breath hitched. "I didn't know," she whispered.

"You didn't want to know," Abaddon corrected, stepping even closer. "You didn't look hard enough. And now…?" He spread his arms. "Now you stand there, demanding answers as if you deserve them."

His power crackled, distorting the space around them.

"You don't get to ask why, sister. You only get to suffer the consequences."

A WAR OF WILLPOWER...

The tension in the chamber exploded.

Azrail didn't remember moving, but suddenly, the room was alive with power. Her magic surged in response to his, raw and volatile.

Dark tendrils of energy coiled around Abaddon's form, twisting like living shadows. He radiated something unnatural—something ancient.

This isn't him, a voice whispered in her mind.

Her vision blurred. Her chest ached.

"You think you can break me?" she whispered.

Abaddon tilted his head, a slow, almost sympathetic smile forming on his lips. "No, little sister," he murmured.

"I think you're already broken."

The words cut deeper than she expected.

Something in her snapped.

The chamber trembled as their powers clashed, unseen forces colliding like a gathering storm. The torches flickered, their flames struggling against the oppressive magic filling the room.

This wasn't just a confrontation.

This was a war

And Azrail wasn't sure if she would survive it.

THE UNFORGIVABLE CHOICE...

Asmodeus lunged, his magic forming a barrier between them. The force of impact sent shockwaves through the walls, dust crumbling from the ceiling.

"Enough!" he roared, his voice laced with command.

But neither of them listened.

Azrail's power flared, her magic wild and untamed. Abaddon met her attack with ease, countering with an effortless flick of his wrist. She was strong, but he—he was something else entirely.

"You always thought you were stronger than me," Abaddon mused, dodging her next strike. "You thought you could protect me. But you never understood, did you?"

He vanished and reappeared behind her in a blink.

"I didn't need protection. I needed you to stay."

Azrail whirled around, swinging her blade in an arc of energy. Abaddon caught it with his bare hand, stopping the strike inches from his face.

Her heart pounded. She could see it now—he wasn't just fighting her.

He was testing her.

"You still hesitate," he whispered.

His fingers closed around the blade. A crack formed in the steel. "That's why you'll lose."

The sword shattered.

Azrail stumbled back, breath ragged. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Asmodeus rushed to her side, shielding her with his own power.

Abaddon sighed. "This was never a battle you could win, sister."

Azrail's hands trembled. She wasn't afraid of dying.

She was afraid of what she would have to do to survive.

Because deep down, she knew.

There was only one way to stop him.

Her magic flared, brighter than before. Asmodeus turned to her, eyes widening.

"Azrail, no—"

But she was already moving.

The choice had been made.