The demon's cruel grin faded into a look of confusion and fear as one of the spirits surged forward, its hand plunging through his chest with a sickening squelch. The demon gasped, his body convulsing as icy fingers wrapped around his heart, freezing him from the inside out. His eyes widened in horror as the cold overtook him, his body stiffening, his movements slowing until he was completely still.
The second demon snarled, rage twisting his features as he lunged toward Lena, but another ghost appeared before him. The spirit's dead eyes locked onto the demon, its cold, translucent form unfazed by the demon's fury. The demon's claws slashed wildly at the ghost, but his attacks passed through it, leaving the spirit unharmed.
The ghost darted forward, its hands wrapping around the demon's throat. The demon's struggles weakened as the cold drained his strength, his snarls turning to gasps as the ghost tightened its grip. He fought in vain, his claws thrashing uselessly, until his body finally went limp, drained of life by the relentless chill of the spirit's touch.
Lena lay motionless, her vision blurred from pain and exhaustion, but she could feel the ghosts surrounding her. Their presence wasn't distant now; it was protective, their cold energy swirling around her like a barrier. The demons that had attacked her lay crumpled on the ground, their bodies dissolving into ash, their faces twisted in shock. But the ghosts did not vanish—they lingered around Lena, standing as silent sentinels, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
For a moment, the ravine was quiet, save for the howling wind that swept through the jagged rocks, carrying with it the echoes of the battle that had just taken place.
Azrael's fight still raged in the distance. The sharp clang of metal echoed through the air as he continued to clash with Draemnir. Lena could hear the rhythm of the battle—the swift strikes of Azrael's scythe against Draemnir's spear, each move deadly and precise. Draemnir's once-confident sneer was gone, replaced by a grimace of frustration as Azrael continued to press forward.
Draemnir let out a furious roar, his crimson eyes blazing as he lunged forward. His spear crackled with dark energy, aimed straight for Azrael's chest. But Azrael moved with the precision of a predator, sidestepping the attack and retaliating with a vicious swing of his scythe. The blade cut deep into Draemnir's armor, sending a spray of dark blood across the ground.
Draemnir staggered, his chest heaving as he clutched the wound. His eyes flicked to the bodies of the fallen demons—the ones Lena's ghosts had dispatched—and for the first time, fear flickered across his face.
Azrael's expression was cold, his golden eyes fixed on Draemnir with deadly intent. "You should've stayed hidden," he said, his voice calm, but the menace beneath it was unmistakable. "This is where it ends."
Draemnir snarled, his grip on his spear tightening as he took a step back. "Lucifer will hear of this," he spat, his voice filled with venom. "He'll tear you apart."
Azrael's smirk was chilling. "Let him try."
With a swift, final strike, Azrael's scythe sliced through Draemnir's chest, the dark energy dissipating as the demon's form crumpled to the ground, dissolving into ash. The remaining demons, seeing their leader fall, hesitated, their confidence shattered. Azrael didn't give them a chance to flee—he moved like a shadow, his scythe a blur of motion as he cut them down one by one, their bodies disintegrating into dust with every strike.
The ravine grew silent as the last of the demons fell, their remains scattering on the wind.
Lena lay still, her body trembling with exhaustion and pain, but the ghosts continued to linger, their cold presence offering a strange sense of security. They stood like guardians, their translucent forms flickering in the dim light, their eyes glowing with an eerie, protective glow.
Azrael turned toward Lena, his gaze sweeping over the scene. His golden eyes narrowed as they settled on her, taking in the bloodied, bruised figure lying on the ground, surrounded by her ghostly protectors.
"You're still alive," he observed, his tone neutral, though there was something sharp in his gaze.
Lena let out a shaky breath, barely able to nod. "Barely," she rasped, her voice hoarse and weak.
Azrael's eyes flickered toward the ghosts that hovered around her, and for a moment, his expression hardened. "You called on them," he said, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. "You didn't even know you could, did you?"
Lena shook her head weakly, her mind too clouded by pain to process the full extent of what had happened. All she knew was that the ghosts had protected her. They had saved her life when she was too weak to save herself.
Azrael took a step closer, his gaze darkening as he examined the ghosts more closely. "They're loyal to you," he muttered, his voice edged with something that could have been wariness. "This power of yours... it's different."
Lena didn't respond. She could feel the faint hum of the ghosts still lingering in her mind, their energy like a distant echo, but she was too weak to grasp it fully. Her body ached, her thoughts hazy, and all she wanted now was rest.
Azrael's eyes drifted back to the spot where Draemnir had fallen, his expression becoming contemplative. Lena watched him, confusion gnawing at her as the adrenaline from the fight began to fade, replaced by a deep, unsettling curiosity.
"Azrael," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Why did they attack us? Do they even know who I am?"
Azrael's gaze flicked back to her, and a flicker of something—caution, maybe—passed over his face. "No," he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. "They don't know who you are. This wasn't about you."
Lena frowned, trying to make sense of it. "Then... it was about you?"
A bitter smirk tugged at Azrael's lips, and he let out a short, mirthless laugh. "It seems Lucifer has taken a particular interest in my movements as of late." His golden eyes gleamed with a dark amusement. "He's always watching, and sometimes, he sends reminders of that."
"So this attack… it was a warning?"
Azrael's expression hardened. "More like a test. Lucifer likes to keep his Reapers on a short leash, and some of us are more... resistant to that leash than others."
Lena's mind raced, piecing together what he was saying. "Then they didn't even know I'd be here?"
"No." He looked at her closely, his eyes narrowing. "You were just... an unexpected variable. They were here for me."
She swallowed, a strange mixture of relief and fear settling in her chest. If Lucifer had his sights on Azrael, then she'd been nothing more than collateral damage in his game of control. But that didn't make the danger any less real. Lucifer wouldn't hesitate to use her as leverage if he ever found out about her existence—and her growing powers.
Azrael watched her for a moment longer before he spoke again, his voice low and edged with warning. "Stay cautious, Lena. This attack was meant for me, but if you're around long enough, they will start asking questions. And in Hell, questions lead to enemies."
Lena nodded, understanding the weight of his words. She had barely survived this ambush. If Lucifer or his demons turned their attention to her, she didn't know if she would make it out alive.
But as she looked at the ghosts still hovering protectively around her, she felt a flicker of determination. She might be an outsider here, caught in a conflict she didn't fully understand, but with the ghosts by her side, she wasn't as alone as she had thought.
Azrael, his expression unreadable, turned away, his voice calm but edged with finality. "Get stronger, Lena. In Hell, only the powerful survive."
As Azrael disappeared into the distance, Lena slumped to the ground, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her. Her body was battered and bleeding, her vision hazy, but the presence of the ghosts she had summoned lingered, standing sentinel beside her.
The first ghost drifted closer, its form shifting and translucent, flickering like the faint glow of moonlight through mist. Lena stared at it, mesmerized by its haunting presence. This ghost had an ethereal softness to it, its edges blurred as though half-dissolved into the air around it. Its eyes glowed a dim, mournful blue, ancient and sorrowful, and as it looked down at her, she sensed an unspoken understanding—a kinship born of shared suffering. It hovered protectively over her, its ghostly form wavering, but its presence steady, like a shield against the lingering darkness of the ravine.
The second ghost was different, more defined and shadowed, its form sharper, carrying a silent but intense strength. This one's eyes were a deep, vivid green, piercing through the shadows with an unsettling clarity. It watched her closely, as if weighing her, assessing her resolve. There was a fierce loyalty in its gaze, but also a question, a demand for strength, as though it sought assurance that she would rise to meet whatever challenges lay ahead. Its energy radiated a bone-chilling cold, sinking into the air around them, but Lena found herself oddly comforted by it, knowing it was here to guard her.
Lena shivered as the ghosts' presences washed over her, their distinct energies wrapping around her like a protective barrier. She didn't fully understand why they had answered her call, but their loyalty felt unshakable, a silent vow to stand by her in this hostile realm.
She felt a strange gratitude, her heart heavy but warmed by their eerie companionship. With her strength almost gone, Lena allowed her eyes to close, feeling their watchful presence lingering at her side.
The ghosts remained, silent and steadfast, their cold light a comfort in the oppressive darkness.
She began to drift off into sleep, her body too weary to move on its own, but the ghosts didn't leave her side. Instead, they gently lifted her, their ghostly hands cold but steady, securing her as they rose. She felt herself being carried, weightless in their grasp, her bruised and battered body cradled by the spectral forms as they followed Azrael through the barren wasteland.
She floated in a haze between consciousness and sleep, catching fleeting glimpses of Azrael's figure ahead, his dark silhouette leading them through the shadows. The ghosts glided silently, bearing her weight effortlessly, their energy keeping her pain at bay as they journeyed back. Lena felt strangely safe, cocooned in their icy protection, their presence constant as they traveled through the desolate expanse of Hell.
By the time they reached Azrael's dark fortress, Lena had slipped fully into sleep, her body limp, but her mind at rest, guarded by her ghostly companions who carried her faithfully through the night.
In the quiet of her room, the ghosts laid Lena carefully onto her bed, their forms flickering softly as they stood beside her, unmoving, watching her with a deep, unspoken care. The dim glow of Hell's ever-present crimson sky seeped through the narrow window, casting soft, dark shadows across her battered form. She lay bruised, her skin torn and bloodied, but her breathing was soft, her body finally at peace.
After a few moments, the first ghost—its eyes still glowing that soft, mournful blue—hovered closer, extending a translucent hand over her broken ribs. A faint light emanated from it, cold but soothing, washing over her wounds like a gentle balm. Beneath its touch, Lena's torn skin began to close, the bruises fading, the shallow cuts sealing themselves. The ghost moved with a delicate precision, mending each laceration, its expression calm and filled with a tender purpose.
The second ghost moved to her side, its green eyes narrowing with focus as it placed a ghostly hand over her fractured bones. A deep chill sank into her body, reaching each broken rib and cracked joint. The pain began to dissolve, replaced by a numbing cold that soothed her aching limbs, realigning her bones, mending the bruised and battered tissue with an almost surgical precision.
Together, the two ghosts worked in silence, each one pouring its energy into her wounds, restoring her shattered form piece by piece. Slowly, Lena's breathing grew steadier, her color returning, her face softening as the pain faded from her features.
When their work was complete, the ghosts hovered close, watching her as she slept, ensuring that she remained safe even as her body healed. Their spectral forms cast faint glows in the room's dim light, and as the night wore on, they stood watch, silent and vigilant, their loyalty unwavering.