The air crackled with demonic energy as Azazel roared, the sound shaking the very foundations of Blackwood Asylum. Clara stumbled back, her heart pounding in her chest, her mind reeling from the sheer terror of the creature before her. This was no longer a ghost hunt; this was a battle for survival.
Damien lunged forward, his curved blade flashing in the dim light. He moved with a speed and agility that seemed impossible, his movements fluid and precise, like a dancer performing a deadly ballet. He struck at Azazel with a series of rapid blows, each strike aimed at a vital point, each strike imbued with the power of his ancient incantation.
Azazel roared again, swatting at Damien with his massive claws. The force of the blows sent Damien flying backward, crashing into a nearby wall. He groaned in pain, but quickly scrambled back to his feet, his eyes still blazing with determination.
"Clara, now would be a good time for some backup!" Damien yelled, deflecting another blow from Azazel's claws.
Clara knew she couldn't just stand there and watch. She had to do something, anything, to help Damien. But what could she do against a demon of this magnitude? She was just a ghost hunter, armed with a flashlight and an EMF reader. What chance did she have against a creature from hell?
Then, she remembered the vial of consecrated salt she carried in her bag, a precaution she'd started taking after partnering with Damien. It was a simple weapon, but she knew that holy substances could harm demons. It was worth a try.
Clara reached into her bag, her fingers fumbling for the vial. She pulled it out and hurled it at Azazel with all her might. The vial shattered against the demon's chest, showering him with the consecrated salt.
Azazel shrieked in pain, recoiling from the holy substance. His skin began to smoke and blister where the salt had touched him, and the air filled with the stench of burning flesh.
"Nice one!" Damien grinned, seizing the opportunity to attack. He lunged forward again, plunging his curved blade deep into Azazel's chest.
The demon roared in agony, its body convulsing as the blade pierced its flesh. Black ichor oozed from the wound, a foul-smelling substance that seemed to corrupt everything it touched.
Azazel staggered backward, clutching at the wound in his chest. He glared at Damien with pure hatred, his eyes burning with malevolent rage.
"You have not seen the last of me," Azazel hissed, his voice a guttural growl that seemed to shake the very air. "I will return, and when I do, you will suffer for this."
With that, Azazel dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, vanishing into the shadows from whence he came. The spectral figure, now free from the demon's influence, seemed to find peace. It faded away, a serene expression on its face.
Clara stared at the spot where Azazel had stood, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't believe what she had just witnessed. She had faced ghosts before, but never anything like this. This was a whole new level of terror, a glimpse into a world she never knew existed.
"Okay," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Maybe there's more to this world than I thought."
Damien sheathed his blade, his eyes returning to their normal color. He looked tired, but a satisfied smirk played on his lips.
"Welcome to my world, partner," Damien said. "It's messy, it's dangerous, and it's never, ever boring."
Clara managed a weak smile. "I'll stick to the ghosts, thanks. But… I guess it's good to have a little backup."
They left the asylum, the rain finally subsiding. The world outside seemed a little brighter, a little less haunted. But Clara knew, deep down, that their work was far from over. Azazel would return, and when he did, they would have to be ready.