During the fight of Azrael and Raum , every single instant could be the last.
Gravil, the puppeteer, was being silent.
Unmoving.
He stood like a monument to fear, kneeling at the edge of the battlefield, gaze cast down.
He could've interfered.
But Raum had made it clear: No one touches her prey.
Azrael was hers and hers only.
Even a single touch would've ruined his "purity".
Raum wanted that hunter all for herself.
Moreover, he perfectly knew the consequences of his disobedience: Immediate death.
Raum was cruel, also with her subordinates.
She had ordered "Don't do anything."
The fight kept going and going.
Clash after clash.
And now, the air itself trembled.
Azrael's breath changed—sharp, controlled, quick.
Controlled.
Quick.
His heartbeat echoed through his ribs like war drums.
He could feel it.
And Even Raum could sense it.
The strain.
The cost.
The vampire monster sniffed the air during her hits.
"This scent is... intoxicating... you're starting to... fall..." She whispered, while clashing her claws against Azrael.
Breath after breath, Azrael's movements became faster and more accurate, not caring about her words.
He could see and predict every single hit from Raum.
Every swipe angled for his neck since she probably wanted the artery spray.
But Azrael also realized something else.
Too much time fighting Raum meant one thing: Freya was still alone.
And if Raum kept him here much longer...
She would've been in trouble, as he felt another presence not so distant from him.
He knew he had to help her.
Azrael clenched his jaw.
No choice.
He had to finish this.
Now.
Raum hovered mid-air, cloaked in black fire, her voice laced with ecstasy and hate.
"You're slowing down, darling… Are you getting tired?" she teased, swirling her hand to launch another bolt of soulflame.
Azrael didn't reply.
He planted one foot into the earth.
Tightened the grip on his sword.
Then spoke only three words.
Words only he had ever used.
"Wind of steel-" He said.
The earth cracked beneath his foot—
And then he was gone.
A shockwave tore across the battlefield.
Dust erupted in all directions.
Raum blinked, not expecting something like that.
"Where—"
Then, pain.
A shallow cut across her ribs.
Then another across her leg.
A third—diagonal, across her back.
Raum didn't even have time to scream in pain — she twisted midair, hurling flames in all directions.
But Azrael wasn't there.
He was everywhere.
His movement blurred so fast the air split into afterimages.
Reflections of him spun around her in a circle, dozens, hundreds—flashing in and out of existence like phantoms.
Each one a ghost with a blade.
A perfect illusion caused by nothing more than speed and precision.
And within those phantoms, the real Azrael struck—again and again.
Steel met skin.
Raum spun in rage, her claws lashing through mirages, never touching the truth.
Azrael was too fast and precise.
But, on the other hand, Raum's skin was too hard , so Azrael had to be very strong to make her scream in pain.
"PLEASE! I WANT TO SEE YOU! SHOW YOURSELF!!" she roared with a malicious smirk, blood streaming down her side, her thigh, her lips.
She launched a flame vortex—
"Zhaer'Vahl! Hyrth'Aven!"(Ring of Flame! Hunter's Cage!)
A prison of fire exploded around her in all directions.
The clones vanished.
Smoke.
Silence.
Then—One last breath behind her.
Too close.
Too real.
Azrael.
She spun, claws bared—
But it was too late.
His sword was already mid-swing.
"Die." He whispered to her ear.
Raum didn't even notice his presence and-
SLASH.
A perfect arc across her chest—deep, clean, final.
Raum gasped. Her eyes widened.
Her body lurched back, the fire around her flickering—cracking.
The enchantment over her skin shattered like broken glass.
She stumbled.
Blood poured down her front.
Her knees gave out.
But she didn't fall.
She looked up at him, lips trembling in a half-mad smile.
"You… really…" she coughed, "...are the only one… who ever… made me feel… like this…"
She leaned on one knee, face torn between agony and rapture.
Azrael raised his sword again, breathing hard now.
The Wind of Steel had drained him more than he let on.
His heartbeat was pounding. His ribs were tight.
"I think I gave you too much time to speak." Azrael said, with a tone of disgust.
His eyes flicked once—to the east.
He could feel Freya's aura still clashing with dozens of enemies.
He had no more time.
But Raum wasn't done.
From her chest, black blood boiled, steaming on her skin.
"You'll never be free from me, Azrael," she whispered, her voice more beast than woman.
"I'll follow your scent… forever…"
Azrael narrowed his eyes.
Then, without a word—
he stabbed his sword through her shoulder and pinned her to the ground.
A scream tore from her lungs.
But she smiled through the pain.
Laughing.
"I'll see you again… in the end…"
Azrael didn't answer.
He turned and vanished into the shadows—already sprinting toward Freya.
The fire behind him roared as Raum's body convulsed, broken but not yet dead.
And Gravil?
Still motionless.
But now… his eyes were open.
And his hands were shaking.
He gave one last glance to Azrael, before vanishing into the shadows.
After that, Azrael quickly recovered his breath and dashed towards Freya.