Apocalyptic Passion

The chamber fell silent, save for the echo of Asmodeus' voice that hung in the air like a challenge, an unspoken dare.

Azrail's body trembled, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. She pressed her palms against the cracked stone wall behind her, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her mind was a mess of fear, awe, and something she couldn't name—a pull, a need, a longing.

His transformation was overwhelming, far beyond anything she had imagined. This wasn't just a display of power; it was a revelation. The full force of his essence had been unshackled, and the being standing before her was no longer the Asmodeus she knew.

He was a god among demons.

The glow of his crimson eyes softened slightly as he studied her, as if gauging her reaction, savoring her struggle to comprehend what she was witnessing.

But it wasn't just his power that unraveled her. It was him.

The way his wings stretched out like they could envelop the entire world. The way his horns curved so naturally, crowning him as if they belonged there all along. His tail moved lazily behind him, a predator at rest, but the sharp blade at its tip betrayed its lethal purpose.

And that voice—low, rich, commanding—had wrapped around her like a velvet noose.

Azrail gritted her teeth, forcing herself to move, to speak

"What… what are you doing?" she managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper.

Asmodeus' smirk widened. He tilted his head, his wings shifting slightly, sending a rush of wind through the room. "Helping you."

Her eyes narrowed despite the weight pressing down on her chest. "Helping me? You call this help?"

"You were losing control," he repeated, his tone calm but laced with an edge that sent a shiver down her spine. "Your power was devouring you, Azrail. If I hadn't intervened, you would have been consumed."

Consumed.

The word struck her like a slap.

Her gaze fell to her hands, still trembling slightly. She could feel it—the remnants of that wild, destructive force bubbling just beneath the surface. It had been her power, and yet it had felt foreign, uncontrollable.

She hated how right he was.

"Fine," she said, her voice steadier now, though her body still felt like it was made of lead. "You stopped it. Great. But what the hell is all this?" She gestured vaguely at him, at his wings, his horns, the sheer immensity of him. "Why did you… change?"

His expression darkened, the teasing light in his eyes dimming. "Because you needed to see."

"See what?" she snapped, her frustration outweighing her fear.

Asmodeus took another step forward, and Azrail instinctively pressed herself harder against the wall.

"That you are not the only one hiding something."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"What are you talking about?" she whispered.

"You think I don't know what's happening to you?" he said, his voice low but carrying an undeniable weight. "That I don't see the power inside you, the chaos trying to claw its way out?"

Azrail clenched her fists. "I didn't ask for this."

"Neither did I," he said, his tone softening unexpectedly. For a moment, she saw something in his eyes—something raw, something almost… human.

But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the unwavering dominance she had come to associate with him.

"You are not just a mortal," he continued. "You never were. And whether you like it or not, that power inside you will destroy you unless you learn to control it."

Azrail swallowed hard, her throat dry.

"And you think you can teach me?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

He smirked again, his fangs glinting under the flickering torchlight.

"Who better than the Demon King?"

She hated how confident he sounded. How sure he was of himself.

But deep down, a part of her knew he was right.

She couldn't control this on her own.

And that terrified her.

The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken tension.

Azrail's breathing steadied, her fingers curling and uncurling at her sides as she wrestled with the weight of his words

Finally, she forced herself to meet his gaze.

What's the catch?" she asked, her tone guarded.

Asmodeus' grin widened, and she immediately regretted asking.

"Oh, Azrail," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "I don't need a catch. You're already mine."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not—"

"Not what?" he interrupted, his wings shifting as he stepped even closer. "Not bound to me? Not tied to me by the very essence of your being?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"You can deny it all you want, little mortal. But you and I? We're connected. Whether you like it or not."

Azrail's pulse raced, her skin prickling with heat. She hated the way his words made her feel—trapped, exposed, seen.

But she couldn't deny the truth in them.

Something about him called to her, pulled at her in ways she couldn't explain.

And she hated it.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "You want to help me? Then do it. But don't think for a second that I'm going to bow to you."

Asmodeus laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver racing down her spine.

"Oh, Azrail," he said, his crimson eyes gleaming. "You've already bowed. You just don't know it yet."

Her jaw tightened, anger flaring in her chest.

"Arrogant bastard," she muttered under her breath.

He grinned, clearly hearing her despite her attempt to keep it quiet.

"Come," he said, his tone commanding once more. "If you're serious about learning control, we start now."

Azrail hesitated for only a moment before pushing herself off the wall. Her legs wobbled slightly, but she refused to let herself falter.

If she was going to face whatever this was—whatever she was—she wouldn't do it on her knees.

She met Asmodeus' gaze, her chin held high.

"Let's do this."

And for the first time since this nightmare began, she felt a flicker of hope

Not because she trusted him.

But because, deep down, she knew—

If anyone could help her control the chaos inside her, it was him

The Demon King.

The being who had claimed her as his.

And the one person who might just destroy her in the process.