The evening air was gentle, filled with laughter and soft candlelight.
Azrael and Elvira sat by the veranda of the royal guest house, looking over sketches and plans spread across a table. Their son, Belial, lay asleep inside, faint moonlight touching his silver hair.
"I want the house to have a real hearth," Elvira said, tracing her finger along a sketch. "Something warm. A garden too… maybe a tree where Belial can learn to read."
Azrael leaned back, arms crossed. "And a training yard. I'll teach him the Lionheart sword forms myself."
She gave him a playful glare. "You and your swords…"
Then—
BOOM!
A violent tremor shook the estate. A crimson blaze erupted in the direction of Malas Magic Academy. The night shattered into screams, magical sirens, and bursts of mana across the skyline.
Azrael stood instantly. "That's not normal."
Before either could act, a royal knight pounded on the door.
"Sir Azrael! Lady Elvira! The academy is under siege!"
"Stay with Belial," Azrael ordered, drawing his blade and storming into the night.
Smoke rolled through the marble corridors of Malas. Walls were cracked, glowing with cursed runes. Lesser Tempters, hunched demonic beasts with claws and mangled horns, poured from shadow gates.
Val Lewincraft stood at the front lines, already covered in ash and blood, cleaving through foes with his halberd.
Azrael arrived beside him in a flash.
"Good timing," Val shouted. "They're not after blood. They're digging for something."
Azrael's eyes narrowed. "The Veil Relic... it's sealed in the Depth Vault."
A shriek cut through the air as demons overwhelmed two sentry mages.
Azrael's blade moved in arcs of silver light, cleaving through four Tempters in a single sweeping strike.
"They're too focused," Azrael muttered. "Someone's guiding them."
Then a presence pressed upon the battlefield—a sharp, suffocating pressure that made even the flames flicker and still.
He was tall, draped in blackened crimson armor with runes pulsating across his gauntlets. His eyes glowed like twin dying stars, and from his back, smoke-like wings of void essence flowed.
He didn't rush. He walked slowly, with power and pride.
Azrael stepped forward to meet him.
"Are you the one behind this madness?"
The demon stopped and grinned. "I am Vorak, Commander of the Third Hell Host. We are not here for battle, Lionheart."
Azrael raised his blade. "Then turn back now."
Vorak tilted his head, speaking with the chilling arrogance of a god.
"You mistake your value, human. The Veil Relic is key to tearing down the boundary between our realm and yours. We come not for death—but for passage."
"And you think I'll let that happen?"
"You think you can stop it."
Without warning, the two clashed.
Steel and void collided. Vorak's gauntlet met Azrael's glowing blade in an eruption of sparks and force that shattered the courtyard tiles.
"You carry the scent of divinity," Vorak said through clenched teeth. "But you are no god."
Azrael grunted, pushing him back with a shoulder bash and slashing across Vorak's chest—his armor sparked, but the strike failed to pierce deeply.
"Maybe not," Azrael growled. "But I bleed, and still stand."
Vorak laughed, summoning a spear of black flame. "Then bleed more!''
They battled with terrifying speed, spells and slashes cracking the stone towers around them. The force of each blow left impact craters and crumbling walls.
Then Azrael ducked low and drove his blade through Vorak's shoulder.
"Gahhh!" Vorak howled, staggering back.
"You came for something you cannot take," Azrael said, breathing heavily.
Vorak wiped black ichor from his lips. "This was only a probe… a taste. The true army waits beneath the black sun."
"You won't leave alive."
Vorak grinned even in pain.
"You wounded me today, Lionheart. That will be remembered."
His body dissolved into black smoke, leaving only the hiss of burning stone and the bodies of fallen demons.
But his last words echoed:
"We will return. And next time, we won't come alone."
The battle was over. The relic safe—for now.
Val approached Azrael, battered but standing. "That one was different."
Azrael nodded. "Too confident. He believes the barrier can be broken."
Elvira arrived, holding Belial in her arms, eyes scanning the devastation. "What are we up against?"
Azrael looked to the academy's ruined skyline.
"Something ancient… and patient. And they're coming for what we don't yet understand."
His eyes drifted to Belial, who looked up curiously—his eyes glowing faintly, for just a moment.
A secret high-level meeting to address the attack,
The visible and hidden damages,
Unanswered questions on how the demons got in unnoticed,
And growing tension that something darker is lurking beneath the surface.
The scent of burned parchment and shattered stone still lingered in the air.
Malas Magic Academy stood wounded but intact, its once-pristine white towers now marked with claw scars and collapsed balconies. The relic chamber had held… but only barely. Charred demon ichor stained its threshold.
In the depths of the Citadel—a vault of stone and silence reinforced with anti-divination runes—a second meeting was held, this time in smaller numbers.
Present were:
King Aldrain, wearing the black cloak of wartime command.
Azrael Lionheart, still bearing a scratch across his jaw.
Grand Strategist Kareth Lune, a hawk-eyed tactician known for never missing a pattern.
Elvira, by special invitation, her insight into magical wards proving invaluable.
Val Lewincraft, commander of the city's Aegis Knights.
And finally, cloaked in shadow—High Inquisitor Varn Malcire, a man who never spoke unless he was certain no one else could.
The atmosphere was ice-thin with tension.
"A Hole in the Shield"
Kareth slammed a parchment scroll across the stone table. "Four barriers breached. Not one alarm ward tripped. Not one mage-sentinel sensed them until it was too late. That shouldn't be possible."
Elvira spoke, steady but strained. "They didn't use raw power to break the seals. They unlocked them. As if they had a key…"
Azrael's voice was rough. "Or they built the key themselves."
The king narrowed his eyes. "Speak clearly."
Azrael took a breath. "If I were to infiltrate a warded fortress, I'd need soulprint access. There are only three ways to get that. First: bribe a living person with access."
Kareth nodded. "We've checked all current faculty. Clean."
"Second," Azrael continued, "steal an old Mage's signature from before they died. Animate their corpse, or worse—embed their memory into a shell that fools magical locks."
A beat of silence passed. Then the king asked:
"And the third?"
Azrael met his gaze.
"Have someone within our Kingdom slowly build the key... over years. A spy raised among us. Taught in our systems. Trusted."
Everyone went still.
High Inquisitor Varn finally spoke. His voice was like parchment scraped by bone.
"The breach at Malas is not the true wound. The true damage is trust. Every seal, every ward, every ally must now be questioned."
He placed a crimson scroll on the table.
"The vault's secondary defenses were deactivated ten seconds before the outer breach. The demon lord didn't bypass them—he waited for them to drop."
"Then someone timed this with precision," Elvira whispered.
Varn nodded.
"And worse… the timing was synchronized with the city's mana surge. Someone in our court diverted part of the capital's leylines to mask the relic's call. The demons should not have sensed it."
"But they did."
Kareth leaned forward. "We've received word: several border posts were hit with illusion magic—just enough to stall communications during the assault. This wasn't just an attack. It was a multi-front operation designed to keep our eyes away."
Val Lewincraft frowned. "That level of planning means they had maps. Schedules. Even leyline charts. Only nobles, generals, or archmages could access that."
King Daeron spoke darkly:
"Then we must accept that someone in our Kingdom is feeding them. Perhaps not a demon themselves—but a pawn. Willingly or not."
Elvira stepped forward. "We still don't know why they want the relic. What does it do? We only know that it's ancient and hidden by the first Archmages before the Kingdom was born."
Azrael said quietly:
"Because the relic isn't just magical. It's divine."
The room fell quiet again.
Kareth asked, "Then why didn't they take it? They reached it, broke the seals. What stopped them?"
Azrael looked to the King, his eyes hard.
"Because I believe… they weren't here to take it. They were here to test it. To awaken it."
The King rose to his feet.
"Then we may have played into their hands by defending it."
The king issued new commands:
All relics across the Kingdom are to be relocated or triple-warded.
Every Academy and temple will undergo an unannounced inspection.
The Vault of Malas will be sealed with divine intervention from the Celestial Order.
The Aegis Knights will oversee citizen screenings for residual dark magic.
Finally, he turned to Azrael and Elvira:
"We are to build a new security force. Independent of the noble houses. One answerable only to the crown. You will lead it. You will hunt this infiltrator."
Azrael nodded grimly.
Unseen from the shadows, a robed figure stood atop a nearby roof, watching the palace.
Eyes glowing faintly violet.
"They've begun to suspect," it whispered.
"Good. Now the game truly begins."
And just like that… it vanished into dust.