The Beginning – Realm of the Gods.

Six temples of divine beauty lie in this vast, empty pocket of space. One of these temples is the spiralling tower of abyssal darkness that, at first glance, is concealed within the lifeless darkness of the realm itself. Within this temple, a man, covered from his neck down to his knees in a black robe, stands before the throne, stalking it with a lustful glare. Engraved on the backrest of the throne is the word 'Death', and in place of hands, skulls adorn the lonely armrests. The doors to the hollow throne room burst open with another man, pink eyes, like diamonds, slightly younger and dressed similarly to the one already inside, storming in. Aggravated, the younger man yells, "Azazel!!"

Azazel turns to his aggressor and, for a moment, watches him march down the lengthy passage with indifference. His mouth rounds in shock... or a moment of awe – Azazel himself can't pin the emotion swirling inside him. His indifferent glare softens into a scheming smile and he says, in a menacingly low-pitched voice, "Azrael, you show yourself at last." He cracks a laugh, continuing, "I grew tired of the wait. So, how have you been faring, My Lord?"

Azrael clenches his teeth and his eyes glaze with fury. In a dominating tone, he yells, "Enough! You know why I am here."

"Yes. And after witnessing your angered expression," he sighs, "I assume you refuse my proposal?"

"That is not a proposal. It's genocide."

Azazel's gaze returns to its indifferent glare, and he sighs, "Lord Azrael, you must understand where I am coming from. Humans—they are savage creatures. They kill not only the other creatures Lady Gaia placed on that tiny planet but also their own. They steal, knowing we shall pass them judgment. They preach of and to us gods, even though they do not firmly believe in us. And worst of all, they summon our enemy, the demons, from the underworld to appease their selfish greed and satisfy their lustful desires. They sin time and again and never beg for our forgiveness. My Lord, you may not want to hear this but humans... are deplorable creatures. You should know this very well."

Azrael sighs, "I did not come here to listen to your rambling, Azazel. If you continue this delusion you created, I will have no choice but to punish you."

"Delusion?" he asks, laughing. After bursting into a brief fit of laughter, he looks at Azrael and with a piercing voice, asks, "Am I truly the delusional one here, Lord Azrael?"

"That's enough, Azazel!" Azrael's echoing voice shakes the temple. "You are merely a minor god. Know that I shall not tolerate such behaviour from one of mine." The air surrounding Azrael's palm distorts, and a scythe as dark as night materialises in his hand. "Azazel, I have excused your behaviour until today; however, it has become out of hand. You will spend ten thousand years in The End as punishment. I pray this will correct your deluded fantasies."

Azazel stares at Azrael and snickers, "Azrael, together we could do what Lucifer failed to accomplish. With your power, we could rule The Beginning. My Lord, you are but a sixth of your true form. Imagine all the power you would have as the only true god." Azrael does not say anything in response to Azazel's proclamation; he only looks at him with pity. Noticing this pitiful stare, Azazel casts an angered look at Azrael, and continues, "However, given your personality, any further recruiting would only make you more defiant." He snaps his fingers, and, in an instant, two angels appear, pointing swords at Azrael's neck.

"Altair!? Apollo!?" exclaims Azrael, surprised. "Why are the two of you—"

"It's amazing," interjects Azazel, "the hatred one race can induce. After witnessing humans' savagery for centuries, they gracefully joined my cause." A sympathetic stare masks his victorious smile as he continues, "You are different to those five. They rule as monarchs, but bend their will to the humans. You, Lord Azrael, are unique. You treat the minor and major gods as they should be treated—your subordinates. You never bend your will to humanity and were the first to critique their savage behaviour. You realised they were a failed creation when Lady Gaia brought life to that planet, yet your siblings looked at you like you were a stranger. Now," he laughs, "they realise their mistake. But it's too late, Lord Azrael. It's too late for them to change now. They are in too deep. They have no power, my lord. You do. You have the power to bring death to a race of savages. We've watched you deliver judgment to those arrogant monkeys who thought they could be gods. We," he says signalling to Altair and Apollo, who lower their swords, "understand you. We recognise your pain. Your suffering. The weight you burden as death incarnate. We acknowledge you. I acknowledge you, Lord Azrael. So, I extend my hand one more time. Help us exterminate the stain on perfection that is humanity. Help create a perfect universe. With you, Lord Azrael we can accomplish so much. So, what do you say? Will you join us?"

Azrael stands idle, his head aimlessly scouring the hexagonal pattern of each cement block of the room's ground for a few seconds. The room becomes tense. Altair and Apollo nervously tighten their hold on the grips of their swords. He takes a deep breath, frightening Azazel and the two angels for a second, then lets out a puff of air. Azrael lifts his head and declares with determined eyes, "I have failed you, Azazel. I never imagined you could be this twisted."

Azazel's expression fills with scorn. "Do it," he demands, a cold tone overcoming his calm nature.

The angels attempt to stab Azrael; however, his diamond skin shatters the flimsy swords. Azrael expertly waves his scythe in both of his hands. His swift movements are lost to the Angels' eyes. Suddenly, Altair and Appolo's snow-white wings turn black as they rot away. The angels scream in agony as Azrael runs past them, toward Azazel. He is, however, intercepted by five more angels. That number multiplies. Which multiplies again. And again. Until the entire throne room is filled with angels blocking Azrael's path.

"How did you... gather this many?" As Azrael stands in the centre of the choir, surprised, the angels begin their attack. He fights back but is soon overwhelmed by the numbered disadvantage and is held down. An angel brings Azazel a golden scroll. Azrael stares at the scroll with fright, "That's... Azazel," he says, nervously glaring at Azazel, "do you know what you're messing with?" Azazel ignores Azrael, takes the scroll and an orb filled with black smoke from the angel, unfurls it and starts indecipherably reading while holding the orb in his left hand. As he reads, the black smoke from the orb seeps into the throne room and spreads thinly over the room's ground like mist. The angels watch with fright as the smoke gathers around Azrael like mosquitos to light. The angels let go of Azrael and fly back some distance. The smoke envelops Azrael's body like armour and seeps into his body through his nose, eyes, mouth and ears. Azrael screams as this happens. His body is in excruciating pain—nothing like anything he has ever experienced. In a few short minutes, Azrael stops screeching and falls forward, seething from the mouth. 

"Bring him here," commands Azazel. He looks down at a beaten Azrael with disgust and walks to the throne. Azazel's slow steps echo through the throne room filled with angels. He sits on Azrael's throne, chuckling, "Oh, how the mighty have fallen. A powerful God reduced to nothing but a worthless mortal. Altair!" He calls the angel from earlier. She whispers a chant and a vortex opens behind Azrael's motionless body.

"This… is not… over… Azazel…" stutters Azrael before Altair pushes him into the vortex.

The vortex closes. "I had hoped you would open your eyes, Azrael," says Azazel with a mourned expression.