Azrael slipped out the side door of the estate, the heavy oak clicking shut behind him like a whisper. Cool night air brushed his face, carrying the faint scent of pine from the forest beyond the walls.
He pulled the black coat tighter around his small frame and glanced back once. No lights in the windows. Good.
"Abyssal Shroud," he murmured under his breath.
Purple energy flickered around him for half a second, soft as smoke, then faded. It wrapped him like a second skin, bending light and sound so guards on patrol would see nothing but empty garden path. He smirked a little.
'Keeps things simple. No one needs to know the youngest Draekon is sneaking out.'
His boots crunched softly on gravel as he crossed the outer yard. The estate sat quiet under the moon, torches flickering on the high stone walls. Azrael kept to the shadows anyway. His mind raced.
'Why the fuck is the Jexis Church poking around Draekon territory? This is our land. Father's sword aura keeps bandits away for miles. What do those chaos-worshipping bastards want here?' Confusion gnawed at him.
He wasn't scared, just annoyed. A god he once nearly killed now had people sniffing around his new home. It didn't sit right.
He moved faster, cutting through the back gate and into the winding streets of the nearby town. Lanterns hung from shop doors, but most were dark now.
Only a few drunks staggered home. Azrael stuck to the narrower paths, hood up, face hidden. The air grew thicker the deeper he went, smelling of wet stone and old trash.
Then he heard voices. Low and rough. He paused at the mouth of a dark alleyway squeezed between two warehouses. Crates leaned against the walls. A rat scurried past his foot. He pressed his back to the brick and listened.
Inside the alley, four men stood in a tight circle around a wooden crate. Torchlight from one of them cast long shadows. The leader had wild white hair and a thick scar cutting across his left eye.
It pulled the skin tight, making him look mean even when he wasn't trying. The others looked rough too, leather armor patched and swords at their hips.
"Did you gather them?" one asked, voice low and nervous. He shifted his weight from foot to foot.
The white-haired leader snorted.
"What is the boss thinking, stealing a dragon egg? That's suicide if the knights catch wind."
The third man shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow.
"It doesn't matter what the boss thinks. All we have to do is transport the egg. Easy enough, drop it off at the church drop point and we get paid."
Azrael stepped forward then, silent as death. His hood hid everything but the faint outline of his small body. Purple light glinted once in his eyes before he pushed it down.
One of the men turned. His eyes widened. "What the fuck? Who the hell are you, kid? This ain't your alley!"
Another already had his sword out, steel scraping as he charged straight at Azrael.
"Get him!"
Azrael didn't move much. He just said one word, calm and flat.
"Downforce."
Invisible weight slammed down like a mountain dropping from the sky. The charging man's legs buckled first. His knees hit the cobblestones with a wet crack. Then the rest of him. His chest caved in with a sick crunch.
Blood exploded from his mouth in a thick spray, splattering the walls. His ribs snapped outward, piercing skin like broken branches. Organs squelched out in a hot mess, liver and intestines spilling across the ground in shiny loops.
His head burst last, eyes popping from their sockets with a pop, brain matter mixing with the blood puddle. The body lay there flat, like someone had stepped on a grape. The smell of iron and shit filled the alley fast.
The other three froze solid. The leader's scarred face went pale, mouth hanging open. Sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down. His hands shook so bad the torch flame jittered.
One guy pissed himself right there, dark stain spreading down his pants. The last one backed up slow, boots scraping, eyes huge and wet with terror. No one breathed for a second.
Then the mage among them snapped out of it. He raised his hands, fingers glowing orange.
"Flameheart Inferno!" Fire roared to life, a twisting pillar of heat shooting straight at Azrael.
Azrael lifted one small hand. "Amplify."
Purple energy surged out and wrapped the fire. It drank the spell like a sponge, amplifying the chaos until the flames twisted, sputtered, and died mid-air in a puff of black smoke.
The mage stared, mouth open. The shock hit him hard. He stumbled back, tripping over a crate.
"What… what the hell are you?"
Azrael's eyes glowed dark purple now. He spoke again, voice cold.
"Black Chains."
Thick chains of purple-black energy erupted from the ground. They wrapped the mage's arms and legs with burning snaps. The links dug into flesh, drawing blood.
He screamed as the chains yanked him into a swirling shadow realm that opened like a mouth beneath him. His body vanished inside with a wet tear. The scream cut off sharp, echoing for a second longer.
The remaining two tried to run. They spun toward the alley mouth, boots pounding. "Fuck this! Run!" one yelled, voice cracking high with panic.
Azrael raised his hand once more.
"Soul Extraction."
Purple light flashed. Their souls ripped out of their bodies with a sound like tearing cloth. The bodies dropped limp, eyes blank. The souls hovered, glowing faint and screaming. "Ahh! No! Please, god, no!" one wailed, thrashing like he still had arms.
"What are you doing to us? Stop! It hurts!" The other just screamed raw, face twisted in pure fear.
Then Big shadowy doors tore open in the air, edges flickering purple. The souls got sucked inside, doors slamming shut with a boom that rattled the crates.
Only the leader's soul stayed. The white-haired man's body crumpled, but his soul floated there, trapped and shaking. Azrael walked over slow, boots splashing in the blood.
Purple energy swirled around his small hand like living smoke. He grabbed the soul's head, his fingers sinking in painlessly.
"Whispers of the damned, show me your secrets. Spill every truth in the purple light."
Memories flooded in. Azrael saw it all. These men were human traffickers, grabbing kids and women from villages for the Jexis Church. The dragon egg was payment for something bigger.
He didn't catch the full plan, but it involved the church's lower god and some kind of ritual.
Azrael let the soul go. It screamed one last time before he crushed it in his fist. The body on the ground jerked once, then went still forever.
He turned to the crate. Inside lay the dragon egg, bigger than a melon, shell leathery and black with faint purple veins that pulsed like a tiny heartbeat.
Warmth radiated from it, and tiny sparks of magic danced across the surface.
Azrael picked it up careful, both hands cradling it against his chest. It was heavier than it looked.
"Abyssal Hoard," he whispered.
The egg vanished into a pocket of shadow that opened at his side, safe and hidden.
Killing them had taken a toll. His small body ached. Mana felt thin in his veins, like he'd run for hours. He was only a fourth class mage right now. his old power was still locked away deep. He bent over for a second, breathing hard, then straightened.
Before leaving, he touched the leader's corpse. Purple tendrils sank in and pulled the leftover mana out like sipping broth. It tasted bitter but good, a little snack that eased the drain. His power ticked up just a notch. Enough to keep moving.
Azrael stepped out of the alley, hood still up. The night felt heavier now. He didn't know exactly what the Jexis Church planned with that dragon, but it didn't sound good. Not good at all.
He turned back toward the estate, footsteps quiet on the empty street.