The Deception of the Fallen God

Azrael moved like a shadow through the heavens, his stolen power coursing through his veins. Every beat of his wings sent ripples through the sky, leaving behind trails of dark fire that shimmered like dying embers. The hunger within him was satisfied, for now, but the echoes of the battle with the archangels still rang in his mind.

He had won. He had bested them. But he knew they would return, stronger, more prepared. He needed more power.

As if in answer to his silent thoughts, the world before him shifted.

A presence—vast, ancient, and unknowable—loomed ahead. A voice, soft and insidious, whispered into his mind. "You seek more, do you not? You hunger still? Come forth, Azrael, fallen son of light. I have what you seek."

Azrael hesitated. He had encountered demons before, beings who whispered promises only to weave chains of servitude. But this presence was different. It felt divine, yet corrupted, something neither angel nor demon. His greed whispered in his ear, urging him forward.

Through the rippling void, a figure emerged.

Tall, draped in golden robes that shimmered unnaturally, the entity's face was obscured by a mask of shifting black metal. Only its eyes were visible—pools of infinite darkness, devoid of soul.

"Who are you?" Azrael demanded, landing upon a floating ruin of what had once been a celestial temple.

The figure chuckled. "Names have power. I have many. But you may call me Erebus, the Forgotten One. A god cast aside, much like you. Betrayed, much like you."

Azrael narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"

Erebus raised a hand, and the air shimmered, revealing a swirling vortex of chaotic energy. "I offer you what was denied. Power beyond that of mere angels. The kind that gods fear. Take it, and none shall stand against you."

Azrael felt the hunger in his core roar to life. He had stolen power before. He had taken what he needed. This was no different. He stepped forward, reaching toward the energy, his fingers grazing the surface of the swirling void.

Pain.

Agony unlike anything he had ever known.

The energy did not surge into him as he expected. Instead, it pulled—ripping through his essence, tearing away the power he had stolen, the very strength he had taken from the archangels.

Erebus laughed, his voice echoing through the ruined temple. "Greedy little wretch. So eager to take, so blind to consequence. Did you think a god would give without taking?"

Azrael staggered back, his wings faltering. His strength—his stolen might—was gone. He felt hollow, empty. Weaker than he had been even before his fall.

Erebus lifted a hand, the swirling energy condensing into his palm. "And now, your stolen power is mine. The cycle continues. I must thank you, Azrael. You have given me the strength to rise once more."

With a flick of his wrist, Erebus vanished, leaving Azrael kneeling in the ruins, powerless, broken.

The sound of wings beating against the air brought him back to reality. He turned his head, his vision still blurred, his body aching. Four figures descended from the sky—Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel. Their expressions were grim, their weapons drawn.

"You've lost," Michael said, his voice unreadable.

Azrael managed a weak chuckle. "So it seems."

Gabriel stepped forward, her silver eyes narrowing. "Where is your power?"

Azrael exhaled slowly. "Stolen. By a god named Erebus."

The archangels exchanged glances. Raphael was the first to speak. "Things are worse than we thought."

Azrael frowned. "What do you mean?"

Uriel's grip on his sword tightened. "The celestial order is breaking. The gods are turning on each other. Many of them seek to ascend beyond their station—to claim dominion over the very fabric of existence."

Michael's gaze darkened. "Erebus was one of them. A forgotten god, lost to time. If he has reclaimed enough power..."

Gabriel finished his thought. "Then even the heavens are in danger."

Azrael clenched his fists. His power was gone, stolen by a god who had used his own greed against him. But the rage in his heart remained. The desire for vengeance burned hotter than ever.

He looked up at the archangels and smiled—a cold, knowing smile.

"Then I suppose we have a common enemy."