"Come in," Abaddon said calmly.
Instantly, the door began to open slowly, revealing 6 people.
Each of them walked and moved composedly, radiating power from their sheer presence.
In the lead was a boy with red hair and crimson eyes. Strapped to the side was a katana, sheathed in a sleek black scabbard.
They didn't bother to acknowledge Azrael; there were even looks of scorn among some of them.
As they reached the table, they bowed. "We greet the Patriarch," they said in a united voice that made it seem like they had practiced how to greet the Patriarch before now.
Abaddon nodded. He noticed their expression towards Azrael, but he dismissed it as nothing, going straight to the point.
"Azrael will now be joining your class as the seventh member," Abaddon said, his tone gentle yet carrying the undisputed authority of a leader.
The boy in the lead looked at Azrael, then at Abaddon. "Lord Abaddon," he said, his tone smooth and calm. "I thought Luke was going to join us as the seventh," he said.
Abaddon, whose face was facing downwards previously, suddenly tilted up. Pure, undiluted power crashed on the speaker as Abaddon's gaze fell on him.
"Zuriel, I might like you, but that doesn't mean you have the right to question my words," Abaddon said, his voice sending a chill down Zuriel's spine.
As he said this, the weight vanished as if it had never appeared.
"Yes, My Lord."
Abaddon nodded. "Also, I never said I would just place Azreal there. Even as one of my heirs, he still needs to follow customs."
At this, everyone's brows began to furrow. Hasn't Abaddon just said he was going to put Azrael there?
Azrael himself seemed interested. He leaned forward on the sofa.
"He will have a duel with Luke today."
Even though he said it calmly, the words echoed like thunder in everyone's mind.
Shock was etched on their faces.
"Lord Abaddon, you might want to reconsider this. Luke is already at tier 2, while Azrael only awakened yesterday," Zuriel tried to interject.
No matter how much he loathed Azrael, that didn't mean he would watch him get openly humiliated by someone stronger.
"Don't question me," Abaddon said again.
"Go and prepare for the battle, Azrael. The rest of you should go grab a seat in the arena before it gets filled," Abaddon said.
Filled? A thought surfaced.
The news had already been shared.
Azrael stood up and left without a word.
On his way out, he locked eyes with one of the other students, a boy, calm. Almost too calm for a descendant of the wrath lineage.
The boy smiled with a nod before turning back.
Walking out of the room, Azrael was met with the infinitely stretching hallway of the main residence. Not only that, there were exactly 6 maids outside, each one belonging to each of the students inside.
'Truly lavish with maids,' Azrael thought.
Clara also stood outside, although not with the other maids.
"Welcome back, Young Master Azrael," she greeted with a smile.
Azrael looked at her calmly, then smiled. "Let's go."
Clara froze for a split second, not expecting the sudden smile. But that was all it was. As a well-trained maid, she regained control over herself almost instantly, following behind him.
As they walked, Azrael brought the contract parchment from his spatial ring.
He skimmed through the details quickly, his gaze furrowing as he reached the end.
'This is too one-sided, they can't even control their own lives,' he mused with wide eyes.
He knew without doubt that if this were Earth, no one would sign such a brutal contract.
Unfortunately, this was not Earth but Eclipsera, a universe where only power reigned supreme.
A bit of his essence flowed from his fingertip.
The parchment recorded the signature, releasing a slight blinding light before dimming.
Not even looking back or stopping, he stretched his hand backwards, handing it over to Clara.
Without thinking twice, Clara repeated the process, pouring a little of her essence into the parchment.
It shot upwards for a brief moment before suddenly dissolving into two motes of light that flew into each of their glabella.
The contract had been established.
"All that's left is to go to the arena," Azrael muttered beneath his breath.
"Lord Azrael, you also want to watch the fight that everyone has been talking about?" Clara asked. "Should I go get a seat before it gets too crowded?" She added.
Azrael shook his head calmly. "Don't bother, I am the one fighting."
"Okay…" The words hitched in her mouth as she tried to make sense of what Azrael had just said.
A person who had just awakened a day before was already pitched against another who awakened about 6 months ago.
"Lord Azrael, according to what I heard, the opponent is Luke, already a tier 2 awakened and is one of the strongest prodigies of the clan," Clara said, trying to dissuade him.
"Well, I can't go against my father, can I?" Azrael asked, turning his head back with a faint grin.
There was no hint of fear or panic in them, just pure calm.
'Lord Abaddon?' Clara wondered.
She also knew it was impossible to go against his orders, direct heir or not.
But why was Azrael so calm? He was going against a more experienced fighter, and there was no fear.
...
In Abaddon's office, Erebus stood calmly.
"Lord Abaddon, isn't this too much for the young Lord?" He asked.
Abaddon did not respond. He stood up from his chair, walking past Erebus with calm steps.
As he reached the window, he turned back. A glass of blood red wine appeared in his hand.
Taking a sip, he turned to the ceiling, his expression euphoric. "This wine always gets me," he muttered.
"Care for some, Erebus?" He asked.
Erebuywas dumbfounded. He had just asked a question, but it was dismissed as nothing. His response was an invitation to drink wine.
His chest rose to speak, but nothing came out. Finally, he heaved a heavy sigh.
...
In the arena, Azrael stood calmly, a hand dipped in the pocket of his white suit, the other flexing calmly.
Opposite him was a boy, eyes as sharp as a blade. In his hand were two daggers, each one glinting und
er the crimson sun that hung above.
A slow whistle blew from nowhere in particular, signifying the start of the battle.
Boom.
The floor cracked as Luke darted forward.