One of the Rulers narrowed his eyes and raised his hand, crackling with energy.
"You've caused enough chaos. Whatever hatred you carry dies with you today."
Another moved forward, his voice cold.
"You were a mistake nature should have erased long ago. Reaching this far was already more than you deserved."
Together, two of the Rulers moved, their combined power making the sky collapse.
This time, they weren't holding back.
They were going to end him.
Azazeal let out a low, hoarse laugh, warm blood trickling down his lips. All seven of his battered bodies had been thrown onto the floating Gate, which remained floating despite the chaos that occurred around it.
He gripped it tightly to steady himself, his blood spilling across the ancient, glowing golden surface, staining it with defiance.
"A mistake?"
Seven identical voices echoed in unison—fractured, hollow, shattered beyond repair.
His gaze was empty, devoid of light, as if something inside him had long since died.
