Before the angels even descended, there were only three left standing.
The cloaked elven mage Falling Star whispered an incantation and vanished into thin air, a spell of invisibility at work. Paladin Ward, however, stood with a complex expression, watching the two angels approach without any intention of hiding.
Azazel cracked his neck and flexed his wrists. With only two adversaries, this seemed like an opportune moment to test his mettle and gain a direct understanding of his own strength.
The two Seraphim, one male and one female, descended gracefully from the sky. Both bore platinum locks, eyes blue as serene lakes, and handsome features. They were robed in purity, their garments edged with golden script. As they alighted, a wave of sanctity washed over Azazel, uninvited and irksome, like an ancient stench wafting from a latrine and clinging stubbornly under one's nose.
"Well, are you here to fight? Who's first?" Azazel stepped forward, adopting a boxer's stance and bouncing on his heels before the two celestial beings.
The angels paid him no heed, their gaze fixed upon Ward.
"What's this? Planning a two-on-one? Don't be fooled by our numbers; one of us is unreliable. He claims he won't raise his sword against the denizens of Heaven."
The male angel glanced at Azazel and scoffed, "Deceiver! There are four of you," pointing casually to the side, casting a spell that instantly stripped away the invisibility.
Exposed, Falling Star reappeared from the air, her concealment foiled.
Meanwhile, Ganzaleth's body began to shrink, his once bulging muscles deflating like a punctured balloon, leaving his form withered.
"What have you done to him?" Azazel shouted, retreating with his sword drawn, "How could you be so vile to desecrate a corpse like this? It's just a body! You're not angels; you're demons! Ward, will you stand by in the face of such evil?"
Ward seemed shocked by the sudden transformation, his face shifting colors. He eventually drew his sword, "Sorry, but I think you owe us an explanation for this."
Azazel sidled behind Ward, bellowing, "No need for explanations, the sanctity of a warrior's corpse cannot be defiled! Let's take them together!"
With a sudden shove, Azazel pushed Ward forward.
Though he had shouted "Let's go together," it was Ward alone who lunged forward. The male angel drew a sword from the void, easily parrying Ward's strike and pushing him back with a light tap on his breastplate.
Azazel fumed at the missed chance. Ward, being a paladin with ambiguous ties to the angels, was an uncertain ally. If only someone had been wounded or killed in that exchange, things would have been simpler.
Faced with Ward's angry glare, Azazel's smile was sincere, "I saw a smudge on your back armor and tried to wipe it off, but I guess I pushed too hard. My apologies!"
"The truth will reveal itself soon enough, no need for your explanations," the female angel interjected.
Ganzaleth continued to shrink, and within moments, he was merely half a meter in size, his body undergoing a dramatic change. Two long horns sprouted from his head, a pair of small wings unfurled, and a scorpion-like tail, gleaming with a cold light, emerged.
Ganzaleth had transformed into a tiny devil.
No bigger than an eagle, Ganzaleth could now perch comfortably on Azazel's forearm.
The small devil Ganzaleth clung to his oversized sword, maintaining his backward-leaning posture, eyes still wide open in defiant death.
But he stealthily glared at Azazel, the message clear: Why are you all staring at me? I'm supposed to be dead.
It was clear to Azazel that Ganzaleth was feigning death, a devil too fond of life to ever consider suicide. He had merely disguised himself as a corpse.
The performance was convincing, but Azazel hadn't expected Ganzaleth's formidable façade to be a mere ruse. Ganzaleth was nothing but a little imp skilled in transformation.
Recalling Ganzaleth's words from days past, Azazel remembered how imposing he had seemed, declaring, "First! Unity is strength! As we lack power, we must unite. Second! The strong rule the weak. Hence, I rule you. Third, every lie contains a grain of truth. I haven't lied to you, and I don't have the time to."
Ha! The damned deceiver! Sticking to the rules with more than a grain of truth in his words.
Frustrated beyond measure, Azazel strode over and kicked at Ganzaleth. The tiny devil, ever the professional, played dead thoroughly, silent even when sent flying through the air by the kick. The pitiful little devil traced an arc in the sky, flung far away. The force of the kick not only sent Ganzaleth airborne but also snapped the oversized sword.
Azazel picked up the intimidating sword, tossing it in his hand and nodding with a grim declaration, "Hollow, all hollow. Excellent."
It was clear they'd been duped.
In Hell's hierarchy of weakness, small devils were not the weakest, only second to it, but when it came to cowardice, they were without equal.
The small devil Ganzaleth had likely sought only some obedient bodyguards and porters, thus finding three fools and posing as an instructor of the Blood War. A good scare had the three neophytes of Hell obediently in line.
The humiliation was unbearable, and Azazel no longer had the heart for a fight. He wished for nothing more than to burrow into a hole and hide.
"Thank you for your assistance," Azazel addressed the angel, not waiting for a response, he continued, "But as the saying goes, there's no need for acquaintances to meet. If there's nothing else, we'll be leaving. Thank you for revealing the charlatan."
Azazel sought to probe the angels' purpose but was taken aback by their response.
"Go ahead, you're free to leave," the angel waved dismissively.
Now Azazel hesitated to move; he remembered how Chi You had dealt with Burt in their last encounter—smiling and allowing him to leave, only to sever his legs the moment he turned his back.
"You're letting us go just like that? You promise not to pursue us? I am a devil, after all," Azazel said, fearing the angel might be fooled by his human appearance.
"My sight hasn't failed me yet, and even if it had, I could smell your devilish stench from miles away. Go on, leave! But you, Valis, have you nothing to say? Do you intend to walk away just like that?" the female angel asked.
Valis—Ward's true name—trembled slightly and turned stiffly to face the angel, his eyes evasive, hardly daring to meet her gaze. He sighed deeply before speaking, "Hello, Terial."
"He should be addressed as 'Saint' now. It's Saint Terial," the male angel corrected.
Valis, or rather, Valis, looked at the male angel with a complex expression, "You're a Seraphim now, old friend. Shouldn't you be called 'Saint' as well? Right, Laurence?"
Saint Laurence's face flushed with embarrassment, "Valis, you know there was no ill intent. It's just... you know, the rules."
Saint Terial extended her hand, silencing Saint Laurence, "Laurence, that's enough. Valis, hand over the holy sword and come with us. We will plea for your clemency."
Valis closed his eyes in agony, and when he opened them again, his resolve was clear, "No, not yet! I haven't slain a single demon, earned a shred of honor, nor eradicated evil. I can't leave like this."
"You mustn't compound your mistakes! This path you're on... it's not right!" Saint Terial spoke with sorrow.
At that moment, Falling Star tugged at Azazel's sleeve and whispered, "Aren't we leaving now?"
"Of course not! This is prime gossip, don't you want to know what's really going on? Our comrade, the stoic and silent Ward, or should I say Valis, what's his story? But that's not the important part. He's our teammate, and how could we abandon him?" the devil declared resolutely, "We cannot abandon a teammate, even if he's covering our retreat."
The elven mage Falling Star nodded vigorously, "Yes, we're just concerned for our teammate, not for any gossip."
And so, a devil and a cloaked mage stood aside, righteously eavesdropping on the unfolding drama.