In the midst of the chaotic battle, Azrael's heart burned with an uncontrollable rage. The loss of someone immensely dear to him consumed his sanity, turning his grief into a blazing furnace of anger. Every strike he delivered, every movement he made, was fueled by this overwhelming emotion, channeling his profound sorrow into a relentless assault against the demon prince before him.
His scythe cut through the air like a vengeful specter, its shadowy blade leaving trails of darkness in its wake. The clash of metal against scale resonated through the battlefield, a symphony of fury and despair. Azrael's eyes, once filled with wisdom and kindness, were now ablaze with a fierce determination, a reflection of the burning hatred within his soul.
