The battlefield still smoked with the scent of gunpowder and ozone. The asphalt was cracked open, melted where celestial energy had struck the earth. Every soldier lay unconscious, their weapons scattered like broken toys after Metatron's divine technique — Eternal Sleep.
From the shadows, something ancient stepped forth.
Azazel.
His black wings shimmered with residue of starlight, and his eyes burned like coals beneath ash. He moved through the carnage silently, his boots leaving no prints in the dirt. Then, he knelt — fingers brushing the ground. A faint glow, faint but unmistakable, pulsed on a shard of glass drenched in blood.
Metatron's blood.
A twisted grin crept across Azazel's face."Ah… yes. This is all I need," he whispered, holding the crimson droplet aloft. "And I didn't even need to do anything."
He laughed — low and hollow at first, then rising into manic delight. "I just had to wait for the humans' arrogance to do my work for me. How beautiful their desperation is."
He tucked the fragment into a crystalline vial, its surface engraved with infernal runes. His wings unfurled, catching the dim light of the ruined city."Now I only need the rest. His essence from the other battles — Leviathan, Asmodeus, even Lucifer himself. Every trace of his energy left behind will belong to me."
He paused, muttering to himself like a scholar writing in madness."But there's a problem… his DNA — it's incomplete. Too human."
Azazel frowned, studying the red glow that pulsed within the vial. "Angels have no blood, no form, no flesh. They are pure spirit — data written in divine fire. Only his human vessel leaves this trace behind."
He clenched his fist. "How could I forget that? To truly understand him… to recreate him… I need the entire vessel. The body, the soul — everything."
He looked toward the stars, the black smoke curling around him like serpents."I foolishly trusted human logic once. They believe they can clone divinity. Pathetic." His grin widened. "But with this… I can craft something worse. A disease. A curse written for him alone. Something that corrupts celestial light itself."
Azazel vanished in a flash of darkness. When he appeared again, it was in a dimly lit room — metal walls humming, monitors flickering with blue light. Dylan sat there, surrounded by screens and armed soldiers, his eyes hollow from sleepless nights.
Before he could react, the lights went out.
Azazel's voice slithered through the dark."Still playing with fire, little human?"
"Azazel," Dylan whispered, grabbing for his pistol.
"No need for weapons. You already gave me what I wanted," Azazel said, stepping into the faint glow of a monitor. His wings folded behind him like shadows that had learned to breathe. "Now, let's finish what you started. Let's capture Metatron."
Dylan's eyes narrowed. "You're insane. We couldn't even extract his DNA. How do you expect us to capture his whole body?"
Azazel chuckled, pacing slowly. "You misunderstand me. You humans dream of control, but you lack imagination. He isn't an angel. He's a celestial being — a hybrid of light and human essence. That's why I can reach him." He leaned close, his voice turning cold. "And that's why you will help me."
Dylan's jaw tightened. "Help you? We don't work for demons. We're trying to protect this planet. We're building weapons to destroy you all."
Azazel smirked. "Weapons? You think your toys can touch eternity?" He snapped his fingers, and a ripple of black flame consumed the nearest wall, leaving molten steel dripping. "Metatron's blood is the key to your future. With it, you could become gods."
He pointed to the ceiling where diagrams of energy reactors and containment domes flickered. "Bring your best scientists. Together, we'll experiment on his DNA. We'll craft a weapon that can kill even him."
Dylan's voice trembled. "No. We're not killing him. He's the only thing standing between us and your kind."
"Then make up your mind, human," Azazel hissed, eyes burning red. "A weapon… or a savior. The two are rarely different."
He leaned closer until his shadow consumed Dylan completely."Remember this— weapons never question you. Weapons never die."
The air grew heavy. The screens flickered, showing distorted faces and strange celestial symbols. Then the shadows twisted — and Azazel was gone.
Dylan gasped, sweat dripping down his temples. His soldiers rushed in, asking what happened, but he could only stare at the black scorch mark on the floor.
He whispered to himself, "A superhero… or a weapon…"
In the silence that followed, another voice stirred. Not Azazel's. Something colder.
From the edge of the laboratory, the light dimmed, and the air turned soft — almost weightless. A presence walked through the veil of darkness like mist through dreams.
"Azazel… you always talk too much," said a calm, melodic voice.
Azazel appeared again, smirking. "Ah, Hypnos. The god of sleep and forgotten things. How amusing. I thought you'd vanished into myth."
Hypnos's eyes glowed faint silver. "Not vanished. Dreaming. But even in dreams, I hear whispers — of you, of him. Of Metatron."
Azazel circled him like a predator. "Useless deity. Angels do not dream. You hold no power over us."
Hypnos smiled faintly. "But he is not just angel, is he? He is human. And humans sleep. He still clings to that weakness."
Azazel's grin widened. "Ah… yes. You understand. You can strike him where no sword can reach."
"I could," Hypnos replied softly. "But why should I? What does it gain me to harm the only being who fights the abyss?"
"Because you are forgotten," Azazel said, voice turning venomous. "You crave relevance. Mortals no longer pray to you. Their gods have changed. But if you kill him— the world will remember your name again. Every nightmare, every restless dream, will whisper Hypnos."
The god of dreams looked away, silent for a moment. His eyes dimmed like fading candlelight. "You speak poison, fallen one. Yet… I cannot deny truth hides in venom."
Azazel smirked. "Then it's a deal. You weaken him from within. I'll destroy him from without. He'll rot in his dreams while I feast on his light."
Hypnos turned away, shadows rippling around him. "Be careful what you wish for, Azazel. The line between dream and death is thinner than you think."
Azazel's laugh echoed as he spread his wings, vanishing in a plume of black fire. "Oh, I hope so. I do love a fragile balance."
When the silence settled again, Dylan stood trembling in the empty lab. The lights flickered back on, and all that remained was the scorched mark on the floor and a single glowing vial.
Inside it — Metatron's blood pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
The beginning of the end had already been written.