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Chapter 22 - Chapter 22: The Essence of the Fallen

The laboratory beneath the mountains was silent — far too silent. It was built deep within a region no mortal map dared to name, buried in layers of black steel, crystal, and whispers. The walls pulsed faintly with demonic sigils that glowed like arteries of molten red.

Azazel stood in the center, surrounded by machines that weren't built — they were grown. Living constructs made of corrupted metal and sinew, humming like living beasts waiting for orders.

Upon a pedestal of obsidian floated the vial — the drop of golden essence stolen from Metatron's Dream Core. It radiated faint light, defying the darkness itself.

Azazel smiled, eyes glinting like polished knives."Finally," he whispered. "The essence of a celestial being — trapped in mortal form. The bridge between light and flesh."

He extended a claw, letting the tip hover over the vial. The air hissed around it. "You caused so many problems, Metatron. But even perfection leaves fingerprints."

Behind him, the lab stirred to life. Robotic arms — fused with demonic veins — reached out, activating consoles and containment chambers. Sparks danced as runes ignited.

Dylan and his scientists, trembling, watched from the observation room above."Azazel… are you sure this is safe?" Dylan asked, gripping the rail.

Azazel didn't answer. His grin widened. "Safety is a mortal concept."

He poured the essence into a crystal reactor — and the world shook.

Light and shadow clashed violently. The very air screamed as divine and infernal forces rejected each other. Golden arcs of energy struck the ceiling, carving holy symbols into the demonic walls.

One scientist cried out as his shadow came alive, strangling him. Another began to glow from within — his flesh turning translucent like stained glass before exploding into dust.

Azazel stood firm in the storm, laughing maniacally. "Yes! Yes! The fusion works!"

The golden essence began to twist — not fading, but adapting. It turned crimson, then black, then a hue that had no name — a color that devoured color.

"Do you see this, Dylan?" Azazel shouted over the chaos. "This is the birth of Divine Corruption."

Dylan's voice shook. "It's unstable! If it breaches the core—"

"It won't," Azazel said, his voice both calm and terrifying. "I am the core."

He slammed his hand into the reactor — and it obeyed him. The lights dimmed, the energy stabilized. The vial was gone, replaced by a pulsing crystal heart, beating slowly, steadily.

Azazel withdrew his hand, his palm smoking. A thin stream of golden blood dripped from his fingers.

"Perfect," he whispered. "Even a fragment carries his light. And with enough fragments… I can build him."

Dylan blinked, horrified. "You want to create Metatron?"

Azazel turned to him slowly, the corners of his lips curling. "No, human. I want to surpass him."

He gestured, and the walls reshaped into holographic projections — images of Metatron's battles against the Leviathan, Behemoth, Lucifer. Each scene froze mid-motion, showing trails of energy patterns.

"Each battle left residue," Azazel explained. "Fragments of power scattered across the world. I'll gather them — and forge the Perfect Being. Neither angel nor demon. A weapon beyond the throne."

Dylan stammered, "You're insane. If you create something like that, it might destroy—"

Azazel snapped his fingers. Dylan's mouth vanished.

"Insanity," Azazel said softly, "is just creation without restraint."

He turned back to the crystal, watching as it pulsed in rhythm with his own heartbeat. "But this is not enough. His essence resists corruption. I need a catalyst. Something human — something fragile."

He looked toward the chamber where the scientists stored experimental human DNA samples. His grin returned.

"The weakness of flesh… will become its greatest weapon."

He tore open the containment vault. Test tubes shattered mid-air. Souls trapped in data crystals screamed as they disintegrated. Azazel gathered them all — energy, blood, memory — and pressed them into the dark heart he'd created.

The crystal pulsed violently, sprouting veins that crawled across the lab floor. The air thickened with the scent of ozone and burning metal.

Above, Dylan fell to his knees, praying — not to God, not to Lucifer, but to anyone listening.

"Please… let it stop."

Azazel laughed. "It's already begun."

The reactor burst open. Out spilled something neither divine nor demonic — a silhouette of light and shadow, twitching, unstable, screaming in multiple voices.

Azazel's eyes widened with awe. "A proto-being. Incomplete… but alive."

The figure collapsed, convulsing. Its form flickered between Metatron's human face and something monstrous — wings of glass, eyes of thunder.

Azazel crouched beside it. "You are the first of your kind. The prototype of my vision."

The being whispered weakly, "Wh–who am I?"

Azazel leaned close, smiling darkly."You are the Echo. The shadow of light. And through you… I will end the balance itself."

He stood, spreading his wings as alarms blared throughout the facility. Flames erupted, and the sky outside turned crimson.

Far away, within the endless dream, Metatron stirred. His body still trapped, his mind fractured — but a flicker of awareness returned. He saw visions of Azazel's lab, of the crystal heart, of the being that bore his image.

"No…" he whispered weakly in the void.

Hypnos appeared behind him, sipping ethereal wine. "Oh, you're awake again? I told you, this dream has no exit."

Metatron's fists clenched. "Then I'll tear one open."

Hypnos sighed, amused. "Mortals never learn. Even gods dream, Metatron. And dreams always belong to me."

The dream folded again — pulling him deeper, while in the waking world Azazel raised his new creation from the ashes.

The Echo opened its glowing eyes — half gold, half red.

And somewhere across the fabric of reality, a storm began to rise.

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