Chapter 000: The Death of Death

After the banishment of Adam and Eve from paradise and the punishment God had decreed upon Lucifer, the fire of jealousy burned within him like never before. Lucifer, who had always harbored resentment toward his elder brothers and sisters, decided to use a power no one had expected.

He seized Azrael's dagger—an artifact unlike Azrael's scythe, which merely reaped the souls of mortals. This dagger had the power to slay the immortal. Unlike mortals who passed on to the afterlife, the undying had no place beyond death, and this weapon burned their very souls into nothingness.

The Battlefield of Fallen Stars

The sky above the battlefield churned with storms of divine wrath, clouds swirling with golden light clashing against the darkness bleeding from Lucifer's presence. The ground cracked and trembled beneath the weight of the war between celestial beings, a war that should never have been. The archangels, their wings spread wide, encircled their fallen brother, hoping to bring him back to reason. But there was no reason left in Lucifer's burning eyes—only fury, betrayal, and a hunger to destroy. 

Azrael stood in the center, his scythe resting in his grip like an extension of himself. Unlike his brethren, he did not bear a blade of war, for his weapon was never meant for battle. It was meant to guide souls, not to spill immortal blood.

"Lucifer, stop this madness,"

Azrael's voice was calm, yet heavy with sorrow.

"You know the balance must be maintained."

Lucifer smirked, his black wings stretching as embers of hellfire crackled around him.

 "Balance?" he spat.

"Where was balance when He chose 'them' over us? Where was balance when He shackled us to servitude while mortals were given free will?"

Before Azrael could answer, Lucifer moved faster than light, faster than thought. The dark prince lunged, his dagger glinting with unholy power. Azrael barely had time to raise his scythe before steel met steel, sending a shockwave across the battlefield.

The impact sent Azrael skidding backward, his feet carving trenches in the earth. He flared his wings, regaining his stance just as Lucifer struck again. This time, Azrael spun his scythe in a defensive arc, deflecting the dagger mere inches from his throat.

Blows rained down in a deadly rhythm, the battlefield echoing with the sound of metal screaming against metal. Azrael fought with precision, his movements controlled, but Lucifer fought like a storm—wild, unpredictable, merciless.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, Lucifer feigned a strike high before twisting low, driving the dagger deep into Azrael's side.

A sharp gasp left Azrael's lips as divine ichor his very essence spilled onto the ground. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt. It was not just physical, it was spiritual. The dagger burned at his soul, unraveling it strand by strand.

The archangels cried out, rushing forward, but a wall of black flames erupted around them, caging them away from their fallen brother. Lucifer pressed the blade deeper, leaning in close.

"You were always so obedient," he whispered, his voice like silk laced with poison.

"Tell me, Azrael, do you still think He was right?"

Azrael gritted his teeth, gripping the shaft of his scythe. His strength was waning, his vision blurring, but he still had enough left for one last strike.

With a roar that shook the heavens, he swung his scythe in a wide arc, forcing Lucifer to retreat just enough for Azrael to pull free. He staggered, but his grip on his weapon never wavered.

The archangels broke through the flames, their combined radiance pushing back Lucifer's darkness. Michael and Gabriel lunged at their fallen brother, forcing him into a defensive stance. Raphael moved to Azrael's side, placing a glowing hand over his wound, but the damage was already done.

Lucifer fought like a demon unleashed, but even he could not stand against the full might of his siblings. With a final cry of defiance, he was struck down, his dagger knocked from his grasp. He fell to his knees, wings tattered, his breath ragged.

And then, the sky parted. A blinding light descended, and within it, 'He' appeared.

God's voice was neither wrathful nor sorrowful, it simply was.

"You shall only be freed when Azrael himself resurrects you with his sacred blood."

With those words, Lucifer was cast into the depths of Hell, the weight of his own actions binding him in chains stronger than any metal. Silence fell over the battlefield. The flames died. The storm ceased.

Then, God turned to Azrael.

The Angel of Death knelt, his strength fading, his soul unraveling. The other archangels gathered around him, their expressions torn between grief and disbelief.

God knelt beside His fallen angel, placing a gentle hand upon what remained of Azrael's soul. With a whisper, He took the last fragment and cast it forth into the world, letting it fuse with the souls of Adam and Eve's descendants.

A new fate had been set into motion. One day, Azrael's essence would return. And when that day came, so too would the fate of Lucifer be decided.

Thus ended the battle.

Thus began the legend of the Heir of Death.