Outside town
Abandoned church
Mrs. Jenkins stepped through the entrance carefully.
Her footsteps echoed across the empty hall.
"Anybody here?"
Before she could walk any further
A familiar voice answered.
"I was expecting you, Margaret."
Mrs. Jenkins froze.
The blind old man sat quietly near the altar.
A lantern burned beside him.
His sightless eyes faced directly toward her.
Almost as if he could see perfectly.
Mrs. Jenkins narrowed her eyes.
"You knew I was coming?"
Mr. Parker smiled.
"I knew the moment the boy left."
The old woman walked forward.
"I expect nothing less from you."
"Indeed."
"Then you know why I'm here."
Mr. Parker's smile faded.
"I do."
Mrs. Jenkins pointed toward him.
"You lied to my son."
Silence.
The old man tilted his head slightly.
"Which one?"
A pause.
"The adopted one?"
Another pause.
"Or the one who died of cancer?"
Everything stopped.
Mrs. Jenkins felt her breath catch.
Her face went pale instantly.
The church became completely silent.
The words struck her harder than any slap ever could.
For several seconds she couldn't even speak.
Mr. Parker sighed softly.
"I understand."
Mrs. Jenkins finally found her voice.
"...How do you know that?"
Mr. Parker ignored the question.
Instead he lowered his head.
"You are trying to protect him."
A pause.
"And that is admirable."
His expression darkened.
"But that is where all of you are making a mistake."
Mrs. Jenkins frowned.
"What mistake?"
The blind man slowly stood.
The lantern light flickering across his face.
"You are all worried about protecting Andre."
His voice became heavier.
"Instead of worrying about protecting yourselves because anything he touches will crumble."
Mrs. Jenkins scoffed immediately.
"I don't believe that."
Mr. Parker remained silent.
She folded her arms.
"Since that boy entered my life..."
Her voice softened.
"...all I've known is peace."
A small smile appeared.
"He brought laughter back into my home."
Another pause.
"He gave me purpose again."
Her eyes lowered.
"He reminds me every day why life is worth living."
She looked directly at him.
"So no."
A firm shake of her head.
"You're wrong."
For a moment
Mr. Parker said nothing.
Then surprisingly—
He smiled.
A sad smile.
"I hope I am."
The answer caught her off guard.
Then suddenly
He asked a question.
"Do you know how I received this gift?"
Mrs. Jenkins frowned.
"No."
Mr. Parker turned toward the broken stained-glass window.
The moonlight illuminating part of his face.
"I was once a choir singer."
A faint smile appeared.
"And not just any choir singer."
A pause.
"I devoted my entire life to I am."
His fingers traced the wooden cane.
"Morning."
"Evening."
"Every day."
"Every prayer."
"Every hymn."
His expression became distant.
Like he was remembering another lifetime.
"I loved Him more than I loved myself."
The church fell silent.
Then his voice lowered.
"And one day..."
A pause.
"He answered."
Mrs. Jenkins stiffened.
Mr. Parker slowly nodded.
"I saw Him."
Tears appeared in his sightless eyes.
"Not a vision."
"Not a dream."
A pause.
"I saw Him."
His voice trembled.
"The glory."
"The light."
"The beauty."
His grip tightened around his cane.
"It was more than mortal eyes were meant to witness."
A bitter smile crossed his face.
"And I paid the price."
He tapped his blind eyes gently.
"The light took my sight."
Silence.
"But He did not leave me in darkness."
Another pause.
"He gave me this gift."
His blind eyes turned toward her.
"I see things others cannot."
"I hear what others cannot."
"I see futures that are like a heavy burden to me."
Mrs. Jenkins listened quietly.
The old man inhaled deeply.
Then his expression darkened.
"And that burden tells me one thing."
The church suddenly felt colder.
"The force after that boy's life..."
A pause.
"...is real."
Mrs. Jenkins immediately knew who he meant.
Azazel.
Mr. Parker continued.
"He has suffered too much."
"Lost too much."
Another pause.
"And every tragedy."
"Every wound."
"Every loss."
His voice became sharp.
"Was carefully cultivated."
The words hit hard.
Mrs. Jenkins slowly clenched her fists.
"You think that demon is behind everything?"
Mr. Parker nodded.
Without hesitation.
"Yes."
The answer came instantly.
"And he will not stop."
A pause.
"He wants Andre back."
The old man's face tightened.
"And if he cannot reclaim him willingly..."
Another pause.
"He will break him until he returns."
The church became silent once more.
Mrs. Jenkins swallowed.
"How can i stop him?"
Mr. Parker's expression shifted.
"You can't, but the boy can."
"The Ring of Supremacy."
A pause.
"The artifact Andre surrendered before leaving Hades."
Mrs. Jenkins frowned.
"The ring?"
Mr. Parker nodded.
"It is the one thing that can keep him at bay."
Another pause.
"The one thing capable of severing his influence permanently."
Before Mrs. Jenkins could ask another question
Mr. Parker suddenly froze.
Completely.
The air shifted.
The lantern flickered violently.
Once.
Twice.
Then nearly went out.
A smile slowly appeared on the old man's face.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"Well..."
He chuckled softly.
"...Speak of the devil." And he show up..."
Mrs. Jenkins stopped walking.
A fragrance drifted through the air.
Lilies.
Myrrh.
Fresh rain.
The scent was beautiful.
She couldn't see but she felt his presence. The hairs on her arms rose immediately.
And every instinct in her body screamed at her to kneel.
Not from fear.
From reverence.
As if she wanted to bow to his presence
"What in the world is this feeling."
Mr Parker smiled
"It's the terrifying power that demon posseses."
"Do you see him."
Mr Parker gave a low chuckle
"I do."
Two golden eyes opened.
Massive black wings unfolded slowly.
Stretching from wall to wall.
Feathers brushing broken pillars.
There weren't words for what stood before him.
His features were flawless.
His skin seemed to glow beneath the moonlight.
His black wings stretched behind him like a living night sky.
Everything about him radiated perfection.
Yet somehow
The beauty only made him more terrifying.
Because beneath that perfection lurked something ancient.
Something evil.
Something that had mastered deception long before humanity existed.
Then a voice emerged.
Smooth.
Elegant.
Terrifying.
"If it isn't the all powerful Parker?"
Azazel stepped forward.
Moonlight revealed his face.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
He smiled.
The kind of smile a wolf gives a lamb.
"Honestly."
A pause.
"You make me sound like the villain."
Mr. Parker laughed.
A genuine laugh.
"You are."
Azazel gave a sacarstic smile
"How do you like the view, it's been a while since you haven't see the light."
Because for the first time in decades
He could see.
Not perfectly.
Not clearly.
Just enough.
Enough to see the figure standing before him.
And it stole the breath from his lungs.
Beautiful.
Painfully beautiful.
The kind of beauty that didn't seem possible.
Golden eyes.
Perfect features.
Dark wings stretching endlessly behind him.
Every movement graceful.
Every smile dangerous.
Azazel.
Mr Parker returned the smile
"I see your cheap tricks, but I expected more from the over hyped demon lord."
" Parker, disappointment is part of life and you have been a bad boy running your mouth and sticking your nose where it doesn't fit?"
Mr. Parker lifted his chin.
"I Am gave me a voice."
A pause.
"I'll use it however I please."
Azazel smiled wider.
"There it is."
The old man frowned.
"There what is?"
"Pride."
"That disgusting pride you all have."
"You think you are above all other creatures."
Mr. Parker tightened his grip on his cane.
"I see what you are trying to do."
"You can't take a step closer."
"You can't make a proper illusion."
"You can't harm me, so you want to force me to your will."
"And all that is because he is beside me with a flaming sword."
Azazel chuckled.
"And I expected wisdom from a prophet."
The smile remained.
"But you know what they say, the day a blind man sees..."
He tilted his head.
"...is the day he dies." ."
Mr Parker stood up
"You can't hurt me in anyway, the angel of I AM is beside me."
"Really?"
Azazel asked softly.
Then he walked sideways not taking a step forward.
"I think I already took care of that."
The church suddenly became colder.
Then Azazel spoke again.
"Tell me something."
A pause.
"How does it feel to take adoration and praise you are supposed to give to I AM."
Mr. Parker's face shifted.
"I never took any praise from anybody?"
"Oh, Mr Parker how naive can you be."
A pause.
"When I stepped in here."
Another pause.
"My first words were if it isn't the all powerful parker."
Silence.
"You didn't cast the idea of you being all powerful away, because you loved it."
Mr. Parker frowned.
"How dare you try to put a sin on me."
Azazel smiled.
"I'm not."
"Why will I do that?"
Silence.
"Besides you've been taking credit of I AM's power recently."
Another pause.
"The merchant whose son survived thanks to your gifts."
"The widow who you helped get the right partner."
"They praised you."
"They admired you."
"They loved you."
"They considered you to be their god."
Azazel stepped closer.
"And deep down..."
A pause.
"...you loved it too."
"You loved every single second of it."
Mr. Parker's face hardened.
"No."
Azazel smiled.
"No?"
The demon's voice suddenly echoed through the church.
"Then why did it feel good?"
Silence.
"You remember it, don't you?"
A pause.
"The warmth in your chest."
"The pride."
"The satisfaction."
Mr. Parker's grip tightened.
"No."
Azazel's smile grew.
"You did not stop them."
"You did not cast them away."
"You did not reject their praise."
A pause.
"You accepted it."
Silence.
Mr. Parker hesitated.
Only briefly.
But Azazel saw it.
And smiled.
"There."
The warmth beside Mr. Parker flickered.
Tiny.
Almost imperceptible.
But enough.
The old prophet felt it immediately.
His heart skipped.
Azazel noticed.
"Oh?"
The demon laughed.
"You felt that."
Mr. Parker straightened.
"He is still beside me."
Azazel grinned.
"Are you sure?"
For the first time
Doubt appeared.
Tiny.
Small.
But real.
And Azazel saw it.
The way a shark smells blood.
He moved closer.
"You know what your problem is, Parker?"
Silence.
"You spent your entire life teaching people about sin."
A pause.
"But you never imagined you could fall too."
The warmth weakened again.
Mr. Parker swallowed.
No.
No.
No.
Azazel leaned forward.
"You accepted worship meant for another."
The words hit like a hammer.
"No."
"You enjoyed being revered."
"No."
"You enjoyed being important."
"No!"
The church shook with his scream.
Azazel smiled.
"There it is."
Then he laughed.
Softly.
Cruelly.
"As proof that the angel of I AM has left you..."
He raised a finger.
"I'll take three steps closer."
Step.
Nothing happened.
Step.
Nothing happened.
His confidence returned.
Step.
Still nothing.
Mr. Parker smiled.
"You are still scared of him, I told you he hasn't left me. You have failed you miserable liar."
Then Azazel took a fourth step.
Mr. Parker froze.
The warmth vanished slightly.
Then a fifth.
Gone.
Completely gone.
The old prophet's face drained of color.
"No..."
Azazel smiled.
"What are you going to do now?"
Silence.
"Now that you're alone?"
Mr. Parker stumbled backward.
His cane fell.
Clattering across the floor.
His breathing became uneven.
No warmth.
No comfort.
Nothing.
Just emptiness.
He fell to his knees.
Tears filling his eyes.
"I Am!"
His voice cracked.
"Why have You forsaken me?!"
Nothing answered.
Nothing.
The silence was unbearable.
Mr. Parker began sobbing.
Not because he was afraid of Azazel.
Because he genuinely believed he had failed.
Failed God.
Failed his purpose.
Failed everything.
Azazel slowly approached.
Then rested a hand on his shoulder.
Gentle.
Almost kind.
"Can I tell you a secret?"
The old prophet trembled.
"The angel didn't leave earlier."
A pause.
"He left just now."
Mr. Parker looked up.
Confused.
Broken.
"I never took those steps and I never even touched you, all you saw and witness was just an illusion."
"You did good, really."
"You made a new record of 15 minutes but the moment you doubted you lost the game."
Azazel smiled sadly.
Almost sympathetically.
"I Am didn't abandon you."
A pause.
"You abandoned Him."
The words shattered something inside the old man.
"You let fear become your master."
Another pause.
"You stopped trusting."
Mr. Parker cried harder.
"No..."
Azazel knelt beside him.
"You remember the woman from five years ago?"
The old prophet froze.
"The one who lost her husband."
A pause.
"She blamed Heaven."
Another.
"And you condemned her."
Silence.
"You called her weak."
"You called her faithless."
"You told her she lacked trust."
Azazel leaned closer.
"And now?"
A pause.
"Look at yourself."
Mr. Parker's entire body shook.
"You man of little faith."
The old prophet broke.
Completely.
Years of certainty.
Gone.
Years of confidence.
Gone.
All that remained was guilt.
Then Azazel whispered.
"I won't hurt you."
A pause.
"I won't kill you."
Another.
"I won't leave you."
The voice sounded comforting.
Almost loving.
"Just stop fighting."
Mr. Parker stared downward.
Broken.
Exhausted.
Defeated.
Azazel extended his hand.
"Bow."
A pause.
"Let me carry your burdens."
You have carried grief your entire life."
"Pain."
"Regret."
"Loneliness."
Another pause.
"And what has it earned you?"
Nothing.
"Your sacrifices are meaningless."
Another.
"Your suffering is meaningless."
Another.
"Your works are meaningless."
The old prophet's shoulders collapsed.
Azazel smiled.
"Now give in."
A pause.
"Make me your idol."
Another.
"And I will be your god."
The words echoed through the church.
"Your soul is already drowning in despair."
A pause.
"Stop fighting."
Another.
"Bow."
Silence.
Long.
Painful.
Then
Mr. Parker lowered his head.
And bowed.
The moment his forehead touched the stone floor
Everything stopped.
The scent vanished.
The pressure vanished.
The illusion vanished.
Mrs. Jenkins watched in horror.
One moment he was screaming.
The next
Nothing.
Absolute stillness.
She rushed forward.
"Mr. Parker!"
No response.
She grabbed his shoulders.
Shook him.
Hard.
"Mr. Parker!"
His body rolled slightly.
His eyes stared blankly into nothing.
No breath.
No pulse.
No life.
The old prophet was dead.
A single tear still resting on his cheek.
As if he had died believing his greatest fear.
That after a lifetime of devotion
He had failed the One he loved most.
And somewhere in the darkness
Because the greatest lie Azazel ever told wasn't that Mr. Parker had sinned.
It was convincing a good man that he was beyond forgiveness.