The Ashen Duel

The winds howled through the crumbling remains of an abandoned cathedral. The stained-glass windows had long since shattered, leaving only jagged fragments that cast fractured reflections across the broken stone floor. Shadows stretched across the altar, twisting like spectral fingers in the flickering torchlight.

Azrael stood at the center of the ruined sanctuary, his blackened wings folded behind him, his crimson eyes scanning the darkness. The hunger inside him stirred, coiling like a serpent in anticipation. He could feel it—something familiar, something powerful.

Someone was waiting for him.

A voice, sharp as steel, cut through the silence.

"You should not have come here, Azrael."

From the shadows, a figure emerged. His once-pristine silver armor was dulled by battle, his golden wings tarnished by war. But there was no mistaking him.

Seraphiel.

Azrael's breath hitched for just a moment. Seraphiel had been more than a mentor—he had been his guide, his commander, the one who had once believed in him when the other angels had turned away. He had taught him how to wield the blade, how to harness his divine strength.

And now, he was here to kill him.

Azrael exhaled slowly, his fingers flexing at his sides. "I should have expected you."

Seraphiel stepped forward, his presence radiating the same celestial authority it always had. But now, there was something else—something colder. His silver eyes were unreadable, his expression carved from stone.

"I had hoped it would not come to this," Seraphiel said, his voice even. "But you have fallen too far. The heavens cannot allow your corruption to spread."

Azrael tilted his head, a slow smirk creeping onto his lips. "Corruption? Is that what they call survival now?" He took a step forward, his boots grinding against the broken stone. "Tell me, Seraphiel… where were you when they cast me down? When they tore my wings from the sky and left me to wither?"

Seraphiel's jaw tightened. "You brought this upon yourself."

Azrael scoffed. "Because I wanted more? Because I refused to be shackled by their limits?" His crimson gaze darkened. "No, Seraphiel. They feared me. And now, they send you to do what they could not."

Seraphiel unsheathed his blade in a single, fluid motion. The steel gleamed with divine light, its presence an extension of his will. "I will give you one chance, Azrael. Surrender, and I will grant you mercy."

Azrael chuckled, his wings slowly spreading. The shadows around him twisted, drawn to the hunger within. "Mercy? Is that what you gave to the others before me?" His hand ignited with dark fire, the embers swirling hungrily. "No, Seraphiel. There will be no mercy today."

Seraphiel sighed, the faintest hint of sorrow flashing across his features. "So be it."

And then, he moved.

The air split apart as Seraphiel lunged, his blade a silver blur. Azrael barely had time to react before the strike came, faster than lightning, aimed straight for his heart. He twisted at the last moment, the tip of the blade grazing his ribs as he leaped backward.

The ground cracked beneath them as their powers clashed.

Azrael retaliated, summoning a surge of shadowed flame, hurling it toward Seraphiel. But the older angel was already moving, his wings propelling him into the air as he slashed through the dark fire with a single stroke.

Azrael cursed under his breath. He's still faster than me.

Seraphiel descended with a downward strike, forcing Azrael to block with his forearm. The sheer force sent him skidding backward, his boots scraping against the ruined floor. His arm burned where the blade had touched him, the remnants of divine energy searing his flesh.

Seraphiel landed gracefully, his expression unreadable. "You're strong," he admitted. "Stronger than before. But you're reckless."

Azrael wiped the blood from his lips and grinned. "And you're predictable."

Without warning, he unleashed his power.

The hunger within him roared, expanding outward like a living entity. The very air trembled as invisible tendrils reached toward Seraphiel, seeking, pulling.

Seraphiel's eyes widened as he felt it—a force unlike anything he had encountered before. His strength was draining, slipping from his grasp, siphoned away by the abyss that Azrael had become.

The former angel took a shaky step forward, his fingers tightening around his blade. "What… what have you done?"

Azrael exhaled, drinking in the stolen power. His wounds mended, his strength surged. The hunger purred in satisfaction.

"I've evolved."

Seraphiel gritted his teeth and tried to strike again, but his movements were slower now, weakened by the unseen force leeching his energy. Azrael dodged with ease, sidestepping the attack before seizing Seraphiel's wrist in an iron grip.

Seraphiel gasped as the draining intensified, his divine essence bleeding into Azrael's grasp.

"You… will not… win…" he growled, trying to break free.

Azrael leaned in, his voice a whisper. "I already have."

With a final, savage pull, he ripped the remaining strength from Seraphiel's body. The former mentor collapsed to his knees, his once-brilliant wings now dull and lifeless. His sword clattered to the ground, the divine glow fading into nothingness.

Azrael loomed over him, his crimson gaze burning. He could end it now—strike Seraphiel down as the heavens had once tried to do to him. It would be easy.

And yet…

He knelt instead, tilting his mentor's chin up to meet his gaze.

"You were wrong about me," Azrael murmured. "I never wanted to destroy. Only to take what I deserved."

Seraphiel's breathing was shallow, but he forced himself to speak. "You… have lost yourself."

Azrael chuckled. "No, my old friend. I have found myself."

He stood, his wings unfurling, the stolen power coursing through his veins. He turned away, leaving Seraphiel kneeling among the ruins, his strength stolen, his purpose shattered.

As Azrael stepped into the night, the hunger within him whispered promises of more to claim, more to devour.

And he had no intention of stopping now.