The battlefield trembled with the intensity of the conflict, and in the midst of the chaos, Azrael's eyes, now resolute and determined, met Ifrit's fiery gaze. The name escaped Azrael's lips like a whisper, but it carried a weight that seemed to cut through the mental barriers Belphegor had imposed.
"Ifrit," Azrael's voice resonated with a commanding presence, a tone that once held authority over the celestial realms. "Remember who you are. This darkness cannot extinguish the essence of your being. You were once more than the puppet of a demon prince. You were a force of nature, a being of immense power and purpose."
Ifrit's flames flickered erratically, his mind wrestling against Belphegor's control. The name, uttered by Azrael, seemed to chip away at the mental chains that bound him, a fragment of his true identity surfacing from the depths of his consciousness.
