As we were all fighting, I noticed it.
I noticed the change before anyone else did.
Not because he announced it.
Not because the pressure spiked.
Because Azazel stopped moving.
He didn't retreat.
Didn't advance.
He simply… stood there.
Wings half-unfurled, claws loose at his sides, aura rolling outward in steady, measured pulses like a tide that had already decided where the shoreline would end. Dust settled around his feet. Debris stopped falling. The violent rhythm of the chamber—collapsing stone, screaming seals, screaming people—slipped into something worse.
Control.
My blade was already nicked. My breathing wasn't steady anymore. White thunder crawled along my arms in jagged veins, reacting to his presence whether I wanted it to or not. The ocean in my core churned, not crashing—circling. Like it knew this wasn't a wave meant to break something.
Azazel looked at us the way a veteran looks at recruits after the first minute of a real battlefield.
Not impressed.
Not angry.
Evaluating.
Liam moved first.
He always did when things stalled—instinctive, disciplined, brave to the point of stupidity. His longsword flared gold as he stepped in, clean footwork, perfect angle. A strike meant to test, not overcommit.
Azazel didn't dodge.
Didn't block.
He lifted two fingers.
The blade hit them with a ringing crack that echoed through the chamber—and stopped.
Just… stopped.
Liam froze, confusion flickering across his face before Azazel casually twisted his wrist and pushed the sword aside like it weighed nothing. Liam stumbled, barely catching himself before falling.
Azazel didn't even look at him.
"You mistake motion for threat," he said calmly, voice carrying without effort.
"That's a student's error."
Something cold settled in my chest.
He wasn't fighting anymore.
He was demonstrating.
I raised my voice automatically, commands spilling out before fear could choke them.
"Pairs—rotate! Five breaths! Kazen, suppress high angles! Aelira, slow him—focus joints!"
They moved instantly.
They trusted me.
And that trust started breaking apart in real time.
Kazen's arrows streaked across the chamber in overlapping arcs, teal trails blurring into a storm meant to box Azazel in. Any other enemy would have been forced back. Any other monster would've flinched.
Azazel walked.
Not forward.
Not back.
Sideways.
Arrows struck his aura and vanished, dispersing like rain hitting deep water. One scraped his shoulder—actually touched flesh—and Kazen's breath hitched in hope.
The wound closed before the arrow finished falling.
Azazel glanced at Kazen then, just briefly.
Kazen dropped his bow and rolled as a claw carved through the space where his chest had been a heartbeat earlier. Stone behind him detonated. He hit the ground hard, skidding, gasping as he scrambled backward—too close. Too exposed.
I was already moving.
White thunder tore from my legs as I slammed between them, blade intercepting the follow-up strike. The impact sent me sliding, boots screeching against fractured stone.
Azazel tilted his head.
"Ah," he murmured. "There it is again."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. My aura spiked hard, too hard, ocean pressure surging upward in a way that made my vision blur. I forced it down through clenched teeth.
Control.
Not power.
Seraphyne's fire detonated behind Azazel, pink flames roaring outward in a concussive bloom that swallowed his silhouette whole. Heat rolled over us, sharp and searing.
For half a second—
Hope.
Then Azazel stepped out of the fire.
Unburned.
Smiling.
"Pretty," he said, brushing ash from his sleeve.
"Inefficient."
Seraphyne staggered, not from exhaustion—from realization. Her fire wasn't weak. It had burned monsters apart, melted armor, forced captains to retreat.
But this wasn't a monster.
Theon roared and charged.
I didn't stop him.
I couldn't.
Theon brought his greatsword down with everything he had, yellow aura flaring violently as he overcommitted, channeling earth-rooted force meant to crush through anything resisting it.
Azazel met him head-on.
Not with strength.
With timing.
A single step inside Theon's swing. A shoulder into his chest. A claw to the ribs.
Theon hit the far wall like a thrown weapon.
Stone cratered. Dust exploded.
He slid down, conscious—but not moving.
That was worse.
Liraeth rushed instinctively, shield raised, purple aura screaming as she planted herself between Theon and Azazel. Her shield—cracked already—caught the next blow with a sound like breaking glass.
It shattered.
Not exploded.
Collapsed inward.
The force sent her flying, skidding across the floor until she hit a fallen pillar and went still, hands trembling as she stared at the empty space where her shield had been.
She'd never been without it.
Not once.
Azazel stepped over debris, using it as cover, forcing us to reposition around wounded bodies. He attacked when we hesitated. Pressed when we looked back instead of forward.
"This is why armies fall," he said calmly, adjusting his stance.
"They care."
The words hit harder than his claws.
Because he was right.
I pushed my aura harder.
Too hard.
White thunder screamed, unstable, lashing outward as the ocean surged in response. Power flooded me—but it wasn't clean. It burned. Tore at my core like I was forcing a storm through a channel too narrow to hold it.
Azazel noticed immediately.
"There it is again," he murmured, eyes gleaming.
"That refusal to kneel. You'll burn yourself hollow."
I understood then.
I wasn't strong enough to win.
But I might be strong enough to delay.
To endure.
Sir Aldred's voice cut through the chaos, stripped of command, stripped of authority.
"We are not meant to defeat him.."
The words landed like a death sentence.
Not defeat.
Not subdue.
Not kill.
Endure.
Azazel spread his wings fully then, power rolling outward in a controlled wave that lifted us off our feet and slammed us into walls, pillars, each other. Not lethal.
Deliberate.
"I am not here to fight you," he said, almost politely.
"I am here to remind the world why we demons ruled long before."
Varein screamed.
I turned just in time to see Azazel pinning him against a wall, claw pressing into his chest slowly, deliberately. Not crushing—threatening. Varein's green aura flickered wildly as he fought to breathe.
Azazel looked at me.
"Commanders decide who lives," he said softly.
"By how fast they think."
I didn't shout.
Didn't hesitate.
I burned my aura.
All of it.
White thunder ripped through me as I threw myself forward, blade shattering on impact as I intercepted the strike meant to finish Varein. Pain tore through my arms, raw and blinding, but I stayed upright.
Barely.
Azazel stepped back, amused.
The chamber trembled again. Seals screamed. Somewhere beyond the walls, something ancient stirred.
Undead.
It was an awakening.