The Hollow Hunger

The black flames crackled, casting jagged shadows across the broken city. Azrael stood among the fallen, their gazes heavy upon him. He was one of them now—exiled, stripped of the heavens, yet bound to something new. But as he looked around, he felt something deeper stir within him.

A hunger.

It gnawed at the edges of his soul, a void that had not been there before. His fingers twitched as if longing to take, to claim. He clenched his fists, forcing the feeling down, but the stranger who had led him here noticed.

"You feel it, don't you?" they murmured.

Azrael turned sharply. "What is this?"

The stranger smiled, though there was no warmth in it. "It is your blessing, fallen one. Your punishment has become your gift."

Azrael's wings shuddered, their blackened feathers whispering against the wind. The hunger within him pulsed stronger now, as if in response to those words. He looked around, sensing it—power, life, strength—it was all there, waiting to be taken.

The armored warrior stepped closer. "We all bear curses twisted into something else. The heavens strip us of their grace, but they cannot erase what we are. You, Azrael, are Greed."

Azrael's breath hitched. The word burned, but it rang true.

"You were not cast out because you defied them," the warrior continued. "You were cast out because you wanted more than they would allow. More power, more knowledge, more than your place among them. And now, that hunger is yours to wield."

The void in Azrael's soul howled in agreement. He had always been different from the others, even when he had stood in the Light. He had craved more, reached further than he was meant to. And now, his fall had stripped away the chains that once held him back.

His eyes darkened as realization set in. He lifted his hand, and the hunger within him surged outward. The shadows near the fire trembled, drawn toward him. Power bled from the air, siphoned into his grasp. One of the fallen near him staggered as his strength dimmed, his own energy leeching toward Azrael's outstretched palm.

The stranger chuckled. "A gift well suited to you."

Azrael released his grip, letting the stolen power dissolve into the air. He stared at his hands, the remnants of stolen energy still tingling in his veins. This was no ordinary curse—it was dominion, a force that could consume everything if he let it.

He met the warrior's gaze. "And what do you expect me to do with this?"

The warrior grinned, his hollow wings shifting. "Whatever you want."

For the first time since his fall, Azrael smiled.

The heavens had feared his hunger.

They had been right to.