The case lay before him on the floor of his chamber like a sleeping beast—black leather, brass clasps, and the unmistakable scent of oiled metal and old blood. Azazel opened it with reverence.
There they were.
A matched pair of wheel-lock pistols.
Dark mahogany grips, etched silver frames, and beneath each barrel—tiny inscriptions written in Latin. They weren't just weapons.
They were legacy.
"Made by Winchester," Basil's words still echoed in his head, "A madman, a genius. Friend of mine and Johann. I think he made them before Johann ever met you."
Ten years before adopting Azazel, Johann Weyer had already chosen his instruments of war.
He felt a little headache, he didn't know how he got here, but the last thing that he remembered was Basil carrying him to the backroom with a bed at Brimstone Barrel.
How embarrassing! To pass out only from two glasses of wine!
Azazel sighed.
Luckily his body quickly recovered and his legs got him here on pure instinct.
But the problem is that now he was running out of time. He looked at the clock on the stone wall of catacombs.
It was 12 am already.
Half an hour before ship departs from the port.
And now, they were Azazel's.
The young hunter stared at them for a long time.
Then he closed the case, exhaled slowly, and placed his hands on the Codex.
He still needed one more thing.
The ashes.
Without them, the initiation would be impossible. And time… was the only thing he didn't have.
He lit three candles, placed a polished bronze mirror in front of him, and laid the Codex of Demon Hunters at its base. To be sure of the location he decided to do divination once more. This time, he'd do it properly.
Not by luck.
Not by hope.
But by will.
He opened the Classic of Changes again, the notes from Tuesday night fresh in his memory. The ritual was clear now—symbolic reflection, spiritual stillness.
He placed a drop of his own blood on the mirror, another drop on the Codex. Whispered the lines he memorized:
"Reveal what is hidden from the eye. Let truth reflect where shadow lies."
This time he decided to try other type of divination with blood and a mirror. Only medium remained unchanged.
The flame flickered.
The mirror darkened.
His vision blurred.
And then… a glimpse.
Wooden beams. A dusty attic. A glint of metal.
A safe.
In Basil's home.
Maybe because he was now more familiar with divination or he'd chosen another way, he could clearly distinguish and feel the whereabouts of the urn and the safe.
Azazel snapped upright with a curse.
"Of course it's a damn safe," he muttered. "Why not just chain it to Cerberus while we're at it?"
Looks like Azazel was still a little bit drunk.
He reached for the Codex.
"Grandpa," he muttered aloud, "I need a bit of help here."
The familiar warm glow spread across the book's surface. Letters emerged in the margin like embers burning across parchment.
[How many times should I tell you that you cannot be so disrespectful with the Codex! You know the oath!]
Azazel hesitated.
"…Fine."
A note appeared beneath it, almost casual.
[What's now?]
Azazel grinned.
He could almost hear the old man chuckling.
But there was still the password.
"…Any ideas?"
He felt the Codex hesitate.
[That'll cost you one more question.]
Azazel's hand hovered over the page.
Damn it. Worth it.
"Fine. What's the password to Basil's safe in the attic?"
[His disciple's birthday.]
Then another message pulsed faintly beneath it:
[That question didn't count as it's too small of a request. One bonus granted. Use it wisely, kid.]
Azazel leaned back in the candlelight, feeling like he'd just pulled the rarest card from a cursed deck.
With this hard-earned opportunities to ask the Codex, he couldn't be more happy than he is now after this sort of "compensation".
Azazel suddenly recalled yesterday's afternoon.
Shivers ran down his spine, his bandaged hand trembling.