Azazel stood at the center of the now cracked grounds, red molten magma coursing through the ground beneath him. His wings were half spread, his breath slow and controlled despite the chaos surrounding him. Heat shimmered around his form, horns curved back from his temples, eyes glowing like open flames. He rolled his shoulders once, loosening muscle and bone.
Across from him, Asmodeus laughed.
The sound was wrong far too layered, as though several throats spoke at once. He stepped forward through the smoke, talons scraping against stone, now fully transformed into his demon form. His frame was larger, his wings torn and jagged, scars webbing his darkened flesh, yet power radiated from him in crushing waves.
"You always seemed powerful while standing in your true form," Asmodeus said, tilting his head. "It's rather unfortunate that I can see through your façade. I see clearly how pathetic you are, brother."
