Apocalyptic Passion

Pain.

It wasn't the kind of pain Azrail had ever known.

This wasn't a blade slicing through flesh.

This wasn't the sharp, splitting pain of broken bones after a fall.

This was something altogether worse.

It was as if her very essence was being ripped apart.

Her body burned from the inside out, her blood boiling, twisting, changing—writhing beneath her skin as if it had a mind of its own. She could feel it, a dark, foreign force awakening deep inside her, something primal and ancient, rising up like a beast ready to break free. And she couldn't stop it.

Her pulse raced as waves of cold, bitter pain crashed over her, her vision starting to blur and shift. The world around her began to twist and melt, warping into something darker—deeper. She wasn't sure if she was still in the room or if her mind had been ripped away into another plane altogether. The reality around her flickered like a broken mirror, reflecting pieces of something she didn't recognize, fragments of memories that felt like they belonged to someone else.

And then, she heard them.

Voices

They whispered in an unknown tongue, their words crawling into her mind like insects burrowing into her thoughts. A language she didn't understand, yet somehow felt she had known for lifetimes. The words dug into her skull, scraping away any semblance of clarity, and for a moment, it felt like they were trying to invade her very soul.

But it wasn't just the words. It was the feeling behind them—the sense that these voices had always been with her. That they had been there long before this moment, patiently waiting for the day she would remember them.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and for a moment, she wanted to scream, to run, to do anything to stop this overwhelming sense of invasion. But her limbs felt frozen, her mind too clouded to act.

And then—

Silence.

The cold left her.

The pain melted away.

For one fleeting moment, there was nothing but stillness. Complete, utter silence.

Azrail took a sharp breath, her eyes snapping open, her chest heaving with the remnants of panic. She was back. Back in the room, with the torches flickering along the stone walls, their flames burning bright, as they always had.

But something was different.

Her vision, still blurry from the aftershock of whatever had just happened to her, adjusted slowly. Her surroundings sharpened, and she noticed the air—thick with the scent of sulfur, sharp like the tang of lightning in the air. The temperature had shifted too, the oppressive heat replaced by a sudden, raw energy.

And then—she saw him.

Asmodeus.

He stood at the center of the room, still as a statue, his crimson eyes wide. Not with fear. Not with anger. But with something Azrail couldn't quite place. His usual confident, commanding demeanor was gone, replaced by something darker, something far more unreadable. His gaze wasn't on her, though. It was focused on the creature—the one who had attacked her.

And the creature—

It was no longer standing.

It was kneeling.

Azrail blinked, confusion flickering in her chest. No. That wasn't right. It had been towering over her, a thing of nightmare, its shadows flickering and morphing like liquid. Its hollow eyes had burned with malice. But now?

Now it was kneeling, trembling as if in submission.

Azrail staggered back, her hands reaching for something solid, something to anchor her as her mind tried to wrap itself around what she was seeing.

The creature's blackened, twisted form quivered on the cold stone floor. The veins of its body pulsed with an unnatural rhythm, like dark lightning running through its skin. Its ember-like eyes locked onto hers, and for a second, she swore she saw something akin to reverence in them.

Reverence?

Her heart skipped a beat.

Azrail's fingers tightened into fists, the air around her growing heavier. She had to be imagining this. There was no way. This thing—this thing that had just attacked her—was now bowing before her?

It wasn't possible.

She tried to speak, her voice hoarse, but the words came out almost as a whisper. "What the hell are you doing?"

The creature didn't respond at first, its head lowered further, its body still quivering. Then it spoke.

But this time, its voice wasn't distorted, wasn't twisted in that horrid whispering crawl that had invaded her mind earlier. No. This time, its words were clear, steady—and terrifying.

"My Queen."

The words cut through the room like a blade.

Azrail's heart stopped.

Her pulse surged again, panic setting in like ice in her veins.

Queen?

No. This wasn't possible. It couldn't be. This was a trick. A demon's mind game. The creature was trying to mess with her head, playing some twisted game.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Azrail demanded, her voice trembling with the force of her disbelief. She stepped back, her feet stumbling slightly as her body tried to process what was happening.

But the creature didn't budge. It remained kneeling, its head bowed, as if paying homage to her, its glowing eyes locked onto hers.

"You have returned."

Azrail froze.

Her breath caught in her throat.

No. No, this wasn't possible. It couldn't be. She was no queen. She was just Azrail—just someone who had been dragged into this mess of monsters and demons. She had no throne, no crown, no kingdom.

But then—

A wave of nausea hit her. Her chest tightened. Something deep inside her churned—something awakening, something old and long forgotten. Her heart raced, and she suddenly found herself gasping for air.

No.

She wasn't ready for this. She couldn't be.

Azrail's gaze darted to Asmodeus, desperate for an explanation. She needed something—anything. A laugh. A rebuttal. Anything to shatter the suffocating tension that was building in the air. But Asmodeus?

He wasn't laughing. He wasn't mocking the creature's words.

He was staring at her. His eyes were dark, unreadable—his gaze never leaving her face.

Azrail's stomach twisted.

What the hell was happening?

"Asmodeus, say something!" she demanded, her voice cracking with frustration. "This is insane! This is all a lie!"

Asmodeus didn't respond. He was as still as stone, his expression calculating, like a man piecing together a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

Azrail's mind spun, her thoughts too scattered to form coherent words. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her thoughts swirling, as if she was on the edge of something far bigger than she could comprehend.

And then, as if in response to her turmoil, a sharp, intense pain shot through her chest, more powerful than before.

She gasped, her hands clutching her heart as her vision blurred again. This time, the pain wasn't just physical—it was... memories.

Vivid, intrusive memories that felt like they had belonged to her, but she couldn't place them.

A throne burning with black fire.

A war, a lost battle where victory had been impossible.

A crown, dark and heavy, forged from shadows and death.

Azrail's knees buckled. She stumbled backward, her mind screaming at her to fight against the images, to push them away.

But they were there. They were hers.

And in that fleeting moment, she knew.

She wasn't some random warrior. She wasn't just Azrail.

She was someone else—someone more. Something more.

And this creature?

It had been waiting for her all this time.

Asmodeus spoke then, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Interesting."

Azrail could barely breathe. Her body felt like it was burning with the realization, but the creature's voice—its call—pulled her attention back to it.

The creature lifted its head slowly, and those ember-like eyes flared with a bright, unnatural light. The room shifted with it, the air growing thick with power, and—

Everything exploded.