With terrible wounds across his abdomen and a progressively collapsing lung, Azazul mustered every ounce of willpower he had left and stood his ground. Rin, still beside him, summoned her ice elemental magic, frost spiraling around her spear's blade.
Azazul, on the other hand, knew his elemental magic would be useless here. Only his darkflames could balance things out…
No. Anything but those damned flames…
He tried to summon the Eye of Darkness yet again, but it resisted him—as always. That damned eye acted like it had a mind of its own.
For a few tense seconds, the three deities stood across from each other, waiting… waiting for the first move. Azazul used that moment desperately trying to tilt the fight in his and Rin's favor by forcing the Eye to awaken.
Do I always need to be on the verge of death to tap into this power? That's… not fun. At all.
Then the vermillion-eyed deity appeared between the two masked figures. He kicked the jet-black-haired figure in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The kick was so fast Azazul couldn't even attempt to block. The deity continued—throwing a dozen rapid combos at the silver-haired figure's mask, disorienting her vision, then ending with a brutal punch straight through her stomach. Rin passed out instantly—from pain, shock, or some unknown magic.
It happened so fast that by the time Azazul fell to his knees, there was already a gaping hole in Rin's abdomen, the deity's light-skinned fist protruding from her back, drenched in crimson blood.
The deity dropped the electric-blue tachi, pulled Rin off his fist, then ripped his arm free. He shook the blood from his hand, droplets splattering across Azazul's mask. Lifting his hand to his lips, he licked the blood clean and said evenly:
"Why don't you take a nap while I talk to the prince alone…"
Then he threw Rin several feet away.
He approached Azazul, reached out with his blood-stained hand, and grabbed him by the horn of his mask.
"Why don't you use it? It's clear you can't use your creation genes… so use it. Before I kill you—and change fate with my own two hands."
After a short pause, he continued:
"You're lucky he said I shouldn't kill you. And yes—we knew you'd come. He wanted you to play right into his hand. So how about this… entertain me. Use your Eye of Darkness. Maybe even kill me. We'll never know unless you try."
Still held by the horn, Azazul tried to process the deity's words while, at the same time, desperately trying to summon the Eye now that Rin was out of the fight. He was alone.
Fight… goddammit… we have to fight! I refuse to die! Come on, you stupid eye… I'm gonna die soon…
That last thought trembled in the back of his mind—like a child crying.
Damn it… I'm so pathetic…
He kept trying to summon the Eye of Darkness—even though he hated killing, even though the eye made killing too easy. A paradox he didn't have time to understand. He concentrated harder—only to be interrupted by a vicious punch to his stomach, worsening his wounds and knocking the breath out of him again.
Azazul reached his left hand out toward the electric-blue tachi on the ground, but the sword didn't move. The deity summoned it instead. When the blade reached his hand, he lifted the clean, gleaming edge to the left eye socket of Azazul's mask—then slowly pressed it in.
Azazul quickly grabbed the blade, but the deity kept pushing. Blood ran down Azazul's palm as it split open. When the blade pierced his left eye behind the wooden mask, Azazul screamed.
The deity pulled the blade back, shook off the blood, and then—without hesitation—stabbed the sword into Azazul's throat.
Azazul's good eye rolled back. He screamed again, but his cry drowned in his own blood. The deity slid the blade free and released the horn of his mask.
Azazul collapsed, hands clutching his throat. His vision blurred. Yet through the haze, he saw the mana in the air—saw the deity's core, the muscle beneath his skin…
Something cool leaked from his injured eye behind the mask—a strange water-like substance. It flowed to his throat. The moment it touched the torn flesh, the pain dulled as if numbed by ice. It spread through his chest, into his collapsing lung, into the wounds along his abdomen… then down his arm to his bloodied hand.
The deity's voice cut through the air, curious and irritated:
"What the hell is that?"
A thick black liquid leaked from behind Azazul's mask, spreading down his throat and across his body to his left hand.
Is that stuff… healing him?
Azazul slowly rose to his feet and stretched out his hand. For the first time, the deity felt the sword being compelled by Azazul. After a few seconds, the tachi ripped itself free and returned to its master.
The deity summoned his pristine white greatsword and said, smiling:
"Wow… I see the fun is about to begin."
The two deities lunged at each other—both on the offensive, both dodging whenever needed. Azazul's strength and speed had increased immensely. He went in with everything—everything except the darkflames.
He couldn't give the Eye full control. He knew what happened then. The killing intent drowned him, hollowed him out, turned him into something emotionless. And despite the power boost, he wasn't confident enough to think he could defeat this madman with only half his true strength.
The deity dodged every attack. Each dodge left a new scar on Azazul—small cuts, but ones that wouldn't heal. Not from a deity's weapon. Not yet. Not until the black liquid decided to heal him again.
Azazul quickly realized the deity was toying with him—because the bastard was smiling the whole damned time.
The deity kicked him back. Their eyes met—or rather, Azazul's mask met the deity's vermillion eyes.
"Now that is what I call a power-up," the deity chuckled. "Now I understand why he has a soft spot for you. I'll tell you more when we meet again. Though by then, I think you'll already know."
Azazul answered, his voice twisted into a demonic echo beneath the mask:
"Who is he?"
The deity looked amused.
"Wouldn't you like to know."
Then he vanished.
Before Azazul could blink, the deity appeared right in front of him—moving so fast that even the Eye of Darkness couldn't keep up.
A brutal uppercut collided with Azazul's chin. The mask couldn't soften it. His entire jaw shattered.
He felt his feet leave the ground, the wind tearing through his black hair as he crashed meters away. He didn't even try to soften the fall.
His jaw was healing—slowly—because his mana was nearly drained. Most of it devoured by the hunger of the Eye. And the power of the Eye was fading, slipping from his grasp.
His mask was wet again—but not from sweat. Not from the black healing substance.
Azazul was crying.
Hard.
Tears poured beneath the mask. His body shook. A heavy lump clogged his throat. He gasped for breath, choking on each inhale. His heart pounded violently in his ears.
He wanted—no, needed—to be anywhere but here.
He wanted to go home.
Even with the Eye of Darkness, it took the deity one millisecond to end the fight earlier. All his threats were real. He really could kill them both.
At that moment, Azazul felt pure, overwhelming gratitude toward "him"—whoever he was.
Footsteps approached. Slow, unhurried. Each one echoing like a ticking clock in Azazul's ears.
Am I really gonna die? I don't wanna die… damn it… I haven't… I haven't even seen Mom yet…
Using the last scraps of mana, Azazul summoned his shapeshifter, hoping to protect himself. It blasted forward—
But then he heard a familiar voice scream:
"Azazul! No!"
Rin.
He immediately commanded the shapeshifter to halt.
"He's gone," Rin said breathlessly.
Relief washed over him—yet the fear clung to his bones, searing itself into his mind.
Azazul dismissed his mask. The wind brushed against his battered face. His jaw was partially healed. Blood streaked him from chin to nose. Tear trails cut lines through the red.
His gold and grey eyes had dimmed—their mythical glow gone. His limbs felt like lead. All he wanted was a hot bath, a plate of pancakes with mixed berry jam, and a deep, dreamless sleep.
He wanted to forget today. But he knew he wouldn't.
The deity's words echoed in his head.
The fear kept replaying.
Over and over.
His voice—his normal voice—came out weak, trembling:
"Hey, Rin… can we… can we leave now? Please…"
Rin, still somehow standing, moved to carry Azazul onto the dragon's back. She walked to his sword and tried to pick it up—but it didn't budge, not even an inch.
"How the hell…?"
She gave up and walked to the dragon.
"Azazul! Your freakin' sword, you idiot!"
Azazul, still lying on his back, glanced over.
"Oh… yeah…"
He weakly raised his hand.
The sword flew to him instantly.
He stabbed it into the dragon's broad back. The dragon didn't react at all. Rin climbed up and summoned her spear, stabbing it in as well.
The massive dragon lifted off, leaving the battlefield behind as it carried them back to the castle of the Demons of Darkness.