The air burned with the smell of demon blood and something like lightning. Azazel was dying.
For a very long time, his name made people shiver. He was a Demon King, a powerful being whose armies once painted the skies red with fire.
Now, his own dark blood flowed from many wounds. Even his strong healing was not enough anymore.
Angel warriors, their bodies shining like the sun, had finally trapped him. They had found him in the ruins of his last fort, a place that had stood for ages but was now breaking apart under their holy attack.
Light like sharp swords cut through the shadows. Holy fire licked at his black armor.
He could feel their power burning him from the inside. It was a slow, painful destruction.
"Fools," he thought, his voice a growl of anger even as he weakened.
They thought they had won. They believed they were sending him back to the dark place he came from.
But Azazel was not just strong; he was clever. Losing was just a chance to try something new.
For many years, he had been making a secret plan. He would send a piece of himself into the empty space between worlds.
But for that he needed a new body.
Even as he faded, his mind reached out. He looked at many minds in another world. A person with the physique of a giant, a demon mage that could instantly copy spells and even amplify them, the contractor of Yggdrasil- a being who had drawn the attention and greed of countless demons and angels. Yet still it stood tall and unwavering.
But there was a problem.
All of these had powerful mental defences. Usually it wouldn't have been a problem for him. But right now in his last moments he was only capable of sending a sliver of his soul, his essence and he didn't want to take any unnecessary risks.
Although his greed was boundless he understood his current situation.
And right now what he needed was a being with immense potential but no mental strength.
Then, he found him.
A bright mind in a weak body. A young human at a school for magic, but who had no magic himself.
Different. Perfect.
With his last bit of power, Azazel started the magic. It was a risky move.
He threw a tiny spark of himself across the universe, like a burning piece of wood carried by the wind.
Into that spark, he put his knowledge, his tricks—everything the angels wanted to destroy.
Traveling between worlds tore him apart. His memories became unclear, and his power became a whisper.
But he had found his target.
He saw quick pictures of the boy's life: books, drawings, cold looks from others. This boy was alone, wanted to be strong, and had no defence against him.
'An isolated guy like him must be depressed and with weak mental strength. Looks like I chose a perfect target.' Azazel thought to himself his mind filled with delight.
'Just you wait you angelic bastards. I will burn your souls and drink your blood. I will kill and slaughter and humiliate all of you.' Azazel vowed his revenge as his dying mind slammed into Caelus Valerius like a falling star.
For a moment, there was only chaos. Dark, old thoughts mixed with the normal thoughts of a seventeen-year-old boy who had been thinking about how to make a simple light with runes.
Then, everything went black.
For Azazel, it was the end of a long, dark road.
For Caelus, it was the start of something terrible.
The possession had begun.