Chapter 5: The Inquisitor’s Gambit

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The silence that followed was heavier than any battlefield Eden had ever stood upon.

Dust settled around him in thick clouds, the golden radiance of the Seal's stabilization slowly fading. His heartbeat was a war drum in his ears, and the only thing louder was the deliberate, measured footsteps of the Inquisitor as he stepped down into the ruined catacombs.

Eden gritted his teeth, forcing his aching body to move. His instincts screamed danger louder than ever before. The way the Inquisitor carried himself, the slow, almost mocking clap, the unshaken stance—it all spoke volumes.

Eden hadn't won.

He had done exactly what the Inquisitor had wanted.

"Truly," the masked figure mused, voice smooth as polished steel, "you never cease to amuse. To think you would stumble upon the failsafe. And use it."

Eden wiped blood from his lip, his grip tightening on his sword. "You talk a lot for someone who just lost."

The Inquisitor chuckled. "Lost?"

The ground trembled.

Not the kind of tremor that came from battle. No, this was different. It was rhythmic, pulsing, like a heartbeat. The golden light from the mural's release began to distort, dark veins creeping into its glow.

Azrael's voice came from above, laced with urgency. "Eden! Get away from there—now!"

Eden reacted instantly, throwing himself backward just as the floor beneath the shattered mural collapsed. An abyssal vortex erupted upward, consuming the divine energy that had stabilized the Seal. The tendrils that had been severed returned, but they were different now. Stronger. More defined. Awake.

Eden cursed under his breath. He had been tricked. The failsafe wasn't meant to destroy the abyssal corruption.

It was meant to replace it.

The Inquisitor stepped forward, his scythe's edge glowing with an eerie violet hue. "I must thank you. The previous corruption was… crude. Incomplete. But now?" He gestured to the writhing mass of darkness reforming behind him, its shape twisting into something almost humanoid, almost divine. "You have given it purpose."

Eden didn't hesitate. He lunged, blade flashing with silver fire. The Inquisitor sidestepped effortlessly, his movements as fluid as a specter. The counterattack came in the form of a single, lazy swipe—one that should have been slow, should have been avoidable.

It wasn't.

The scythe's edge grazed Eden's side, and pain unlike anything he had ever known erupted through his body. It wasn't physical. It wasn't even magical. It was something fundamental, something that tore at the very concept of his existence.

His vision blurred. His strength faltered. The world seemed… distant.

Azrael's chains shot down like golden meteors, forcing the Inquisitor back before he could press the attack. Eden staggered, barely catching himself against the ruined wall.

"Your soul," the Inquisitor murmured, inspecting his scythe with mild interest. "It resists beautifully." He looked up, eyes gleaming behind the mask. "I wonder how long it will last."

Eden didn't answer. He couldn't. His entire being was fighting to stay together.

And the abyss, now reborn, was watching.

Eden forced himself to breathe. Every heartbeat sent another pulse of unbearable pain through his body, the Inquisitor's scythe leaving more than just a wound—it had marked him. Not physically. Not even magically. It was deeper than that. As if reality itself struggled to recognize his existence.

He bit down on the agony, his grip tightening around his sword. He didn't have the luxury of weakness.

Not now.

Above, Azrael's chains lashed out again, golden sigils burning against the darkness. The Inquisitor moved like a specter, evading with an unnatural grace. Each step was precise, each movement calculated. The scythe flickered through the air, carving through the divine energy as if it were mist.

"You fight well," the Inquisitor mused, his voice almost amused. "But you misunderstand your enemy."

Eden pushed off the wall, forcing his body forward. "Enlighten me."

The Inquisitor's eyes gleamed behind his mask. "You still think in terms of survival. Victory. Defeat." He gestured to the abyssal mass still shifting behind him, its form constantly changing, growing more defined. "This is not a battle."

The ground beneath Eden shifted.

No, not the ground. Reality.

He stumbled, his mind reeling as the catacombs around them warped, twisting in impossible directions. The walls stretched into infinity, the ceiling vanished into a starless void, and the abyssal corruption pulsed with something terrifyingly aware.

Azrael shouted something from above, but his voice was wrong—distorted, as if coming from another timeline entirely.

Eden's instincts screamed.

He leapt back just in time to see the Inquisitor's scythe carve through the space where he had stood. But the attack didn't stop there.

The cut in reality remained.

It didn't fade. Didn't heal. It simply was—a gaping wound in existence itself.

The Inquisitor tilted his head. "Do you see it now?"

Eden's breathing was sharp, controlled. "You're not just trying to kill me."

"Kill you?" The Inquisitor chuckled. "Why would I do that?" He gestured to the abyss behind him. "You are far more valuable broken."

The corruption surged, tendrils lashing toward Eden. He slashed through them, his sword burning with silver fire, but it was like cutting through smoke. The moment they were severed, they reformed, pressing closer.

Then—

Pain.

A tendril wrapped around his wrist, and Eden felt it. Not just physically, but mentally, spiritually. It wasn't just holding him. It was rewriting him.

His memories blurred. His identity wavered. The edges of his self became unclear.

The Inquisitor watched, his scythe resting lazily at his side. "I wonder," he murmured, "how much of you will remain by the time this is over."

Eden gritted his teeth, forcing his mind to focus. He had survived worse. He had fought gods, monsters, and things that had no name.

He would not fall here.

With a roar, he ignited his blade, channeling everything he had left into a single, desperate strike.

The abyss shrieked as his sword carved through it, silver fire clashing against void.

The battle was far from over.

Eden's blade carved through the abyssal tendrils, silver fire clashing violently against the ever-shifting corruption. The tendrils screeched as they disintegrated, but even as they fell, more took their place, twisting toward him with renewed hunger.

He moved instinctively, body running on sheer battle-honed reflexes. Every strike, every movement was calculated, yet it felt as if he was wading through a tide that refused to recede. The abyss was adapting. Learning.

And it wasn't just the tendrils anymore.

The wound in reality, the gaping tear left by the Inquisitor's scythe, was spreading.

Eden's perception twisted as he fought. One moment, he was in the catacombs, the next—he was somewhere else. Flickers of memories that weren't his. Echoes of lives never lived. An entire history unraveling and rewriting itself before his eyes.

His grip tightened on his sword. Focus. This was the Inquisitor's weapon. Not the scythe. Not the abyss. But the slow, insidious unraveling of what made him him.

He wouldn't let it happen.

Above, Azrael's golden chains flared to life, carving a burning sigil into the air. A pulse of divine power washed over the battlefield, forcing the abyss back for a brief moment.

"Eden!" Azrael's voice rang out, distorted but commanding. "You need to pull back! This isn't a battle you can win head-on!"

Eden grit his teeth. "And if I don't?"

Azrael didn't hesitate. "Then you won't leave at all."

The abyss surged forward again, tendrils lashing out in renewed fury. Eden slashed through them, but the moment his blade met their mass, he felt it again—

The pull.

Not just his body. Not just his mind. But something deeper. The abyss wasn't simply attacking him.

It was dragging him in.

The Inquisitor watched with quiet amusement, standing at the heart of the corruption as if it were a throne. "How long will you fight, I wonder?" he mused. "How long before you realize there is no winning?"

Eden ignored him. He had heard those words before. From warlords. From gods. From things that had long since ceased to exist.

And every single one of them had been wrong.

With a sharp breath, he drew upon his last reserves of power. His sword flared with a blinding light—not just silver now, but something more, something raw and unfiltered.

The abyss shrieked as the light touched it, recoiling as if burned. The Inquisitor's amusement flickered into something else. Something dangerously close to curiosity.

Eden didn't give him time to react.

He moved.

A single step. A single breath.

And the world shattered.

The world fractured.

For a moment, Eden existed outside of everything. Space, time, memory—it all collapsed into a singularity of raw force. His blade burned like a dying star, the silver light warping as it clashed against the abyssal void.

And then—

Impact.

The explosion tore through the battlefield. The abyss shrieked, its tendrils evaporating under the sheer force of the strike. The very fabric of reality rippled, the catacombs groaning as the structure struggled to contain the conflicting forces at play.

Eden hit the ground hard, skidding across the broken stone. His vision blurred, his limbs heavy. He forced himself up, blade still glowing in his grip.

The Inquisitor was still standing.

No longer amused. No longer speaking in riddles.

Now, he was simply watching.

The abyss behind him churned, twisting, reforming. The wound in reality had been momentarily disrupted—but not destroyed.

Azrael landed beside Eden in a burst of golden light, his wings unfurled, his presence a stark contrast to the suffocating darkness.

"That was reckless," Azrael murmured, eyes scanning Eden's injuries.

Eden exhaled sharply. "It worked."

"Did it?"

The Inquisitor stepped forward. The ground beneath him did not crack, did not shift—because it was no longer ground. Wherever his feet touched, reality itself ceased to exist.

"Impressive," the Inquisitor admitted, tilting his head slightly. "You are not bound by the rules of mortals. You tear at the edges of existence itself."

His fingers brushed the handle of his scythe. "But tell me, Eden D. Souldrake—how much of you is still whole?"

Eden's breath hitched.

The pain from the earlier attack. The creeping sensation that something within him had been altered. The abyss had done something to him.

Azrael noticed the hesitation. His grip on his chained spear tightened. "We need to leave. Now."

Eden didn't argue. For all his strength, for all his defiance, he knew when a battle was unwinnable.

The Inquisitor let them retreat.

He simply stood there, watching.

As if he knew they would return.

Eden's lungs burned as he and Azrael sprinted through the collapsing ruins of the catacombs. Each step sent pain lancing through his body, a phantom sensation gnawing at his very existence. Whatever the abyss had done to him, it wasn't just physical.

Azrael glanced at him as they moved, golden chains flickering in and out of reality around his form. "You're slowing down."

Eden grit his teeth. "I'm fine."

Azrael didn't argue, but the concern in his gaze was obvious. Behind them, the abyss continued to churn, the Inquisitor's presence lingering in the air like a blade at their backs.

The tunnel ahead twisted sharply, leading into a vast cavern filled with crumbling pillars and shattered statues. Faintly glowing sigils lined the walls—ancient wards, barely holding against the encroaching corruption.

Eden didn't hesitate. He slammed his palm against one of the sigils, channeling a burst of energy into it. The entire chamber shuddered as the ancient magic flared to life, forming a barrier between them and the pursuing darkness.

For a moment, silence.

Then—

A single tap against the barrier.

Eden and Azrael turned.

The Inquisitor stood on the other side of the glowing divide, his masked face unreadable. He lifted his hand, pressing a single gloved finger against the barrier's surface.

The sigils flickered.

Eden's grip tightened on his sword. "This won't hold him for long."

Azrael exhaled, his golden eyes scanning the cavern. "Then we make use of the time we have."

Eden felt it again. That lingering pull from the abyss, tugging at the edges of his mind. His thoughts wavered, memories flickering in and out of clarity. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus.

Azrael turned to him. "Tell me the truth. How bad is it?"

Eden hesitated.

And that was all the answer Azrael needed.

The angel's expression darkened. "If the abyss has marked you—"

"I can handle it," Eden interrupted, his voice firm. "We deal with this first. Then we worry about me."

Azrael studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Then let's move."

Behind them, the barrier cracked.

The Inquisitor was coming.

The barrier shattered like glass.

Eden barely had time to react before the Inquisitor's scythe cut through the air, slicing through the space where he had been standing. The air itself screamed as the blade passed, reality bending and warping in its wake.

Azrael's wings flared, the golden light of his divine power forming a shield in front of Eden. The scythe struck the barrier with a deafening crash, sending waves of distortion rippling outward. The impact sent both Azrael and Eden skidding backward, the ground beneath their feet cracking from the sheer force.

"Flee." Azrael's voice was hard, every word heavy with urgency.

But Eden couldn't bring himself to move. The abyss had taken more from him than just his strength—it had taken his very sense of self. Memories, fragmented and twisted, bled through the cracks in his mind. It felt as though his very identity was dissolving, piece by piece.

He couldn't lose control. Not now. Not when the stakes were so high.

Azrael stepped in front of him, wings spreading wide, and in a single motion, thrust his chained spear toward the Inquisitor. The chains crackled with divine fury as they extended, seeking to ensnare the figure before them.

The Inquisitor smiled beneath his mask, his gaze never leaving Eden. "The boy is more stubborn than I expected."

With a flick of his wrist, the Inquisitor's scythe snapped through the air, severing the chains with unnatural ease. The chains fell, their divine power extinguished the moment they were cut.

"Stubborn," the Inquisitor mused, his voice low, almost amused. "No matter. This is the part where you learn what happens to those who fight the inevitable."

Eden's breath quickened. He could feel the abyss pressing against him, pushing its corruption deeper into his soul. The sensation was maddening, like a thousand whispers clawing at the edges of his mind, threatening to pull him into oblivion.

"I won't fall," Eden growled through clenched teeth, drawing his blade. The silver fire that had once burned so brightly now flickered, weaker than before.

Azrael turned to him, eyes full of silent understanding. He knew Eden had reached his breaking point.

But the Inquisitor didn't care.

With a final, decisive step, the Inquisitor raised his scythe, preparing for the kill. The blade arced through the air, cutting toward Eden with the speed of a falling star.

A moment before the strike could land, something shifted.

Not the catacombs. Not the cavern. But Eden himself.

For a brief, fleeting instant, the abyssal corruption halted. The world paused, as if in reverence for the shift that had occurred.

And then, with a burst of force that shook the very foundations of the space they occupied, Eden exploded.

The explosion reverberated through the catacombs, tearing apart the twisted landscape of reality around them. Waves of force pulsed outward, distorting the air, shattering the ground. Eden's body was no longer fully his own, the abyssal corruption coursing through him like a living entity, reshaping him from the inside out.

For a moment, the Inquisitor stood still, unmoving, watching with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

Then, the light faded.

Where Eden had stood, there was now nothing but a crackling, flickering energy field. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and burnt stone. Azrael stood at the edge of the explosion's radius, his wings spread wide, protecting himself from the sheer power.

And then, from within the chaos, a figure emerged.

Eden's form was distorted, his body now a fusion of light and shadow, his features blurred, his eyes gleaming with an unnatural light. His sword had transformed as well, glowing with the raw essence of his power, the very air around him trembling in response.

The Inquisitor's smile faltered, but only for a moment.

Eden's voice echoed, distorted by the abyss that now lived within him. "I told you... I won't fall."

Azrael's eyes widened. The shift was evident. Eden was no longer the same.

The Inquisitor tilted his head, intrigued. "So, the boy has managed to integrate it. Fascinating."

Eden's presence seemed to warp the space around him, reality bending and twisting, as if the very world itself was unsure of his existence.

"I'm not a boy anymore," Eden replied, his voice thick with an unsettling calm. "And you'll soon learn why."

In the next instant, Eden was gone, disappearing into a burst of light and shadow. His sword, now glowing with a sickening, otherworldly fire, swung down toward the Inquisitor, cutting through space itself.

The Inquisitor parried the blow with his scythe, the clash of their weapons sending a shockwave that cracked the stone beneath them. The force of the strike sent the Inquisitor skidding back, his mask finally showing a glimpse of something akin to frustration.

"Impressive," he said, stepping back to regain his footing. "But power like that… it will consume you. Do you really think you can control it?"

Eden's form pulsed with an energy that was beyond comprehension. The abyss had rewritten him, reshaped his very essence. He was no longer merely human. He had become something else. Something far more dangerous.

"I'm already consumed," Eden whispered, his voice barely audible, but the weight of it was palpable. "And it feels good."

He charged again, his sword cleaving the air with a roar. The clash of the scythe and the blade was deafening, the sound reverberating through the catacombs like the tolling of a bell.

In that moment, Eden realized something.

He didn't need to win. He didn't need to escape.

He simply needed to make the Inquisitor feel what it was like to lose.

The fight between Eden and the Inquisitor had become a violent dance of destruction, the catacombs shuddering under their blows. The air was thick with the crackling energy of their weapons, the scythe of the Inquisitor clashing against Eden's now unrestrained blade. Each strike sent ripples through reality itself, the ground beneath them cracking open, revealing glimpses of an endless abyss.

Eden's form continued to warp with every movement, light and shadow swirling around him as the abyssal corruption clawed at his very being. He was no longer just fighting for survival—he was fighting to make a statement. Each blow he struck carried a weight, not of physical strength, but of pure, unfiltered defiance. The Inquisitor's cool demeanor never wavered, his face still hidden beneath the ornate mask, but his movements became more deliberate, more cautious.

"You fight with rage," the Inquisitor noted, his voice tinged with amusement. "But rage alone will not be enough to defeat me."

Eden's laugh echoed through the cavern, distorted and unnatural. "Rage?" he whispered, his voice low, almost a growl. "No. I'm not angry. I'm free."

With a roar, Eden leaped forward, swinging his blade in a vertical arc that threatened to tear through space itself. The Inquisitor raised his scythe, blocking the blow, but the force of it sent a shockwave through the air, creating cracks in the fabric of reality around them.

Azrael watched from the sidelines, his wings flaring as he attempted to keep his distance from the destructive chaos unfolding before him. His eyes darted between the combatants, his mind working quickly to assess the situation. Eden had changed. The man who had once been so reliant on strategy, on discipline, had now become something far more primal, driven by the abyss within him.

As Eden's blade clashed against the Inquisitor's scythe again, the ground beneath them trembled, a deep rumbling shaking the chamber. It was clear now—there was no going back. Eden was no longer the man he had been. The abyss had taken root, and there was no telling what he would become.

The Inquisitor seemed to recognize this shift. His expression was unreadable behind his mask, but there was a hint of something—respect? Amusement?—in the way he moved. He was toying with Eden now, his scythe cutting through the air with precision, each strike aimed to wear down his opponent's resolve.

But Eden was relentless. Every blow he struck was met with a defiant cry, each strike carrying more power than the last. His body burned with the abyss, but he refused to succumb. There was no fear in his eyes, only a cold certainty.

And then, in an instant, everything changed.

The Inquisitor's scythe slashed through the air, its blade aiming for Eden's throat. But in that final moment, Eden's hand shot out, grabbing the scythe by its blade, stopping it inches from his skin. The abyssal energy that flowed through him surged, wrapping around the weapon, feeding off its power.

"You thought you could break me," Eden whispered, his voice laced with a dark satisfaction. "But you're wrong."

With a sudden, explosive movement, Eden twisted the scythe from the Inquisitor's hands, flinging it away with a force that shattered the stone floor. The Inquisitor took a step back, his eyes narrowing. "You've grown… unpredictable."

"And you're about to lose," Eden replied coldly, his eyes burning with a newfound purpose.

The Inquisitor's mask remained unreadable, but Eden could sense the shift. The Inquisitor was no longer the one in control. Eden had broken through his defenses, and the abyss inside him surged with a hunger that threatened to consume them both.

This battle wasn't about victory anymore. It was about proving something far greater. Eden wasn't just fighting for his world, his team, or his life. He was fighting to prove that no one—no force, no god—could truly control him.

And he would make the Inquisitor understand that.

The Inquisitor's eyes flickered briefly with something almost like concern before the cold mask of indifference returned. He had underestimated Eden. That much was certain. But he was not one to falter, not even in the face of a challenge this great.

"You're a fool," the Inquisitor growled, his voice laced with venom. "You think you can stand against me with the power you've stolen?"

Eden's grip tightened on the scythe he had wrenched from the Inquisitor's hands, his fingers curling around the cold metal as though it were an extension of his will. The abyss that flowed through him had transformed him into something more—something beyond the mere human he had been. His eyes gleamed with an unnatural light as he stared down the Inquisitor.

"I don't need to stand against you," Eden replied, his voice low and guttural, like the growl of a beast. "I need you to understand what happens when you push too far."

With a flash of movement, Eden propelled himself forward, faster than the eye could follow. The Inquisitor barely had time to react as Eden slammed the scythe into the ground, creating a shockwave that sent debris flying in all directions. The very air seemed to warp around them, reality itself bending under the force of their clash.

The Inquisitor parried the next strike with his bare hands, the power of his divine aura crackling around him as he absorbed the blow. Eden felt the impact reverberate through his body, his muscles screaming in protest, but he refused to relent. The abyss had given him power—power beyond anything he had ever imagined—and now, he would make the Inquisitor feel it.

"I've been to the edge of the abyss," Eden said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I've stared into the void. You don't scare me."

The Inquisitor's lips curled into a cruel smile beneath his mask. "We'll see."

The Inquisitor's aura flared, a blinding wave of energy erupting outward. Eden was forced to raise his arms, blocking the blast of divine energy that shot toward him. The force of the attack sent him flying backward, his body crashing into the stone walls of the cavern.

He lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, the impact of the blast sending shockwaves of pain through every fiber of his being. He could feel the abyss pushing against his mind, the whispers of its corruption clawing at his thoughts. But he would not fall. Not now. Not after everything he had endured.

With a grunt of effort, Eden pushed himself to his feet. His body was battered, bruised, and broken, but the fire in his eyes had not dimmed. The abyss may have claimed his soul, but it had not claimed his will.

"You've done well to survive this long," the Inquisitor said, his voice dripping with mockery. "But this is where it ends."

The Inquisitor raised his hand, and with a single motion, a burst of divine power erupted from his palm. The blast of light shot toward Eden with the force of a comet, threatening to obliterate him in an instant.

But Eden's eyes glinted with defiance.

The abyss had already rewritten him. He was beyond their control.

The blast closed in on him, and in that moment, Eden's power surged one final time. He raised his hand, his fingers glowing with the dark fire of the abyss.

"I am the abyss," Eden declared, his voice ringing out with a power that shook the very foundations of reality. "And you will fall before me."

The blast of divine energy collided with Eden's dark flame. The collision of their powers sent a shockwave through the catacombs, the force of it splitting the cavern wide open. The ground trembled, cracks forming in the walls as the very air itself seemed to distort and warp under the intensity of their battle.

For a brief moment, it seemed as though the two opposing forces were evenly matched. But then, with a final, earth-shattering roar, Eden's power exploded.

The sheer force of the explosion sent the Inquisitor hurtling backward, his body skidding across the ground. The divine energy that had once coursed through him flickered and wavered, and for the first time in this battle, the Inquisitor looked vulnerable.

Eden stood amidst the ruins of the battlefield, his body glowing with the abyssal flame. He was bruised, battered, and bloodied, but his eyes burned with the unwavering conviction that had carried him this far.

"I told you," Eden said, his voice unwavering despite the pain. "You'll fall before me."

The catacombs were silent, save for the faint crackling of energy still lingering in the air. The dust settled slowly, the echoes of their titanic clash fading into the stillness. Eden stood at the center of the devastation, his body trembling with exhaustion, but his eyes alight with an unyielding fire.

Before him, the Inquisitor struggled to rise, his divine energy flickering like a dying flame. The once-imposing figure of the Inquisitor now seemed diminished, his aura faltering. For the first time since this battle had begun, he looked mortal.

Eden took a step forward, his movements slow but deliberate. Blood dripped from his wounds, but he showed no sign of weakness. The abyss that had transformed him was no longer just a part of him—it was his very essence.

"You…" The Inquisitor's voice was ragged, strained, but there was no fear in it. Only the cold, unwavering confidence of one who had believed himself invincible. "You're nothing but a broken vessel. You can't win."

Eden's lips curled into a grim smile, his expression hardening. "We'll see about that."

With a roar, he surged forward, his blade slicing through the air with a speed that defied reason. The Inquisitor attempted to parry, but his movements were sluggish, his once-mighty aura now barely enough to defend him.

The sound of metal clashing against metal filled the cavern, the shockwaves of their strikes reverberating through the stone walls. The Inquisitor's divine powers were faltering, his strength draining with each blow. Eden's attacks were relentless, each strike a testament to the abyss that had consumed him.

And then, with a final, devastating swing, Eden's blade cleaved through the Inquisitor's defense. The scythe shattered, its pieces scattering like shattered glass. The Inquisitor stumbled back, his mask falling away, revealing a face marked by exhaustion and disbelief.

"I told you," Eden said, his voice cold, but tinged with something almost pitying. "You're just a man."

The Inquisitor fell to his knees, his divine aura flickering one last time before it died completely. "No…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I… I was…"

Eden stood over him, the abyssal flame still burning within him, his sword raised high. "You were never the one in control," he said softly, before bringing the blade down.

The final blow struck true.

The Inquisitor crumpled to the ground, his body disintegrating into ash as the last of his divine energy was extinguished. The echoes of his fall reverberated through the catacombs, signaling the end of a reign of terror.

Eden stood alone amidst the ruins, his breath ragged but steady. The battle was over. The Inquisitor was gone.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. But as the dust settled, a figure stepped forward from the shadows.

It was Azrael.

His wings were outstretched, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the aftermath of the battle. He had watched the entire fight from the sidelines, but had never intervened. Now, he approached Eden with a mixture of caution and respect.

"You did it," Azrael said, his voice heavy with both admiration and something else—perhaps regret. "You've changed. And not just physically."

Eden turned to face him, his eyes weary but still burning with that same fire. "And you… You've been watching me all this time, haven't you?"

Azrael nodded. "I had to make sure you were ready."

Eden's lips curled into a grim smile. "Ready for what?"

Azrael paused, then stepped closer, his wings folding behind him. "Ready for the next step."

Eden raised an eyebrow. "Next step?"

Azrael's gaze hardened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. "This isn't over. The game has only just begun."

Eden's expression shifted, his exhaustion forgotten for a moment. "What game?"

Azrael didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped back, his wings folding tightly against his back. "You'll understand soon enough."

With that, Azrael turned and began to walk away, his footsteps echoing through the hollow catacombs. Eden watched him go, the weight of his words settling heavily on his shoulders.

As the last remnants of the battle faded into silence, Eden stood alone, his sword still in hand, his heart burning with a new, uncertain purpose. The Abyss had given him power, but it had also left him with a question.

What came next?