The corrupted angel looked at him then—truly looked at him.
Its white eye focusing, the melted half of its face twitching, a grotesque parody of life.
"…You have to die," it said, not with malice but with the certainty of someone quoting scripture, each word a weight that pressed on the soul.
Nyxsha stepped forward, her snarl tearing through the silence like a blade, her golden eyes blazing with fury.
"You want to kill him?" she roared, her claws unsheathing, her massive form trembling with protective rage.
But Azareel gently held up a hand, stopping her, his silver eyes steady on the angel.
"I'm immortal," he said simply, his voice calm but resolute. "You can't kill me."
The mutated angel swayed slightly, its divine wing twitching, its corrupted one dripping more fluid that steamed on the floor.
