"What… has happened to me?" Azazel whispered
"You have been chosen," replied the strange whispers that echoed around him, curling into shapes that sounded almost human. "Chosen to wield a great power and destiny beyond your imagination."
He rubbed his aching chest, where a luminous, glowing symbol pulsed beneath his tattered shirt—the mark of Valhalla. It was intricate, almost beautiful, and it glimmered with a faint, ember-like light. As Azazel traced the symbol with trembling fingers, warmth spread through him, both soothing and terrifying.
"Was it all real?" he murmured, looking down at his hands, which no longer felt entirely his own. The Angel of Valhalla, the promise of power, the chance to fight back against the monstrous forces that had ruined everything he held dear… Had it been a fevered dream, or was this reality?
He stumbled to his feet, unsteady on the moss-covered ground of the forest. The air was thick with mist, and every sound seemed sharper, every color more vivid. A nearby pool of water caught his eye, and he stumbled toward it. What he saw in his reflection made him pause.
His once-lifeless eyes now blazed with a fierce, golden light. There was something powerful and dangerous staring back at him—someone unrecognizable.
"Who… am I now?" he asked the emptiness, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. He felt changed, but into what, he couldn't be sure.
His answer came swiftly. From the shadows emerged a beast—a wolf-like creature, black as midnight, with eyes like molten coals. Shadowy tendrils twisted around its limbs, and saliva dripped from its bared fangs.
The creature was a predator, and he was prey. His instincts screamed at him to run, to flee into the woods and never look back. But his legs felt rooted to the ground, refusing to move. The mark on his chest flared hot, almost searing, and he clutched his shirt, pain doubling him over.
The beast prowled closer, its growl deepening. Fear threatened to overwhelm Azazel, but alongside it was something else—a pulse of energy that burned within him. His mind reached out, as if some invisible thread connected him to the creature. The beast's rage, hunger, and aching loneliness flooded his senses, almost making him collapse under the weight of it all.
"Stop," Azazel gasped. He didn't know what he was doing, but he reached out with his mind, desperately trying to tap into the bond the Angel had hinted at. The heat in his chest grew hotter, and he grit his teeth, his vision swimming.
The wolf-beast paused, its crimson eyes flickering. Its snarl weakened, and for a split second, Azazel thought he might have reached it. He pushed harder, feeling the storm of raw emotion—the creature's rage, sorrow, and a bottomless hunger for freedom.
"You're not just a mindless killer," Azazel choked out, his entire body shaking from the strain. "You… you know pain, too."
He calm the beast. The connection between them held, fragile and tenuous. His legs buckled, and he crashed to the ground, but the creature did not attack. Instead, it stood there, staring at him, no longer an unstoppable force of nature but something that could almost be reasoned with.
Azazel's ragged breathing turned into a half-crazed laugh. He had done it. Somehow, he had tamed the savage beast, if only for a moment. The wolf-beast's crimson eyes softened, glinting with something almost like understanding.
Slowly, it padded closer, but he didn't move. "I'll call you… Shadow," he whispered, exhausted but defiant. The creature cocked its head, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Azazel felt a flicker of something other than despair.
Shadow growled, but the sound lacked hostility. Instead, it almost felt… protective. A rumble of acceptance, perhaps. Azazel had never thought he'd live long enough to earn a companion in this brutal world, let alone one of the creatures he feared most.
But taming a beast, he quickly discovered, was not without its price. As Shadow stood by his side, Azazel felt the wolf's instincts seep into his mind—urges to hunt, to run wild and free, to embrace the thrill of the kill. The lines between man and monster blurred, leaving Azazel to wonder how much of himself would remain if he relied on this power.
He stumbled to a fallen tree and collapsed onto it, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. "So this is the cost the Angel spoke of," he muttered, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in his bones. Was he becoming something less human, or had he been given a chance to reclaim what he had lost?
Shadow nudged his shoulder, and Azazel glanced at the wolf-beast, a weak smile breaking through his fatigue. "I guess we'll figure it out together," he said, voice steadier this time. Shadow's eyes glinted, and it let out a huff that Azazel chose to interpret as reluctant agreement.
Shadow stiffened beside him, fur bristling, and a low growl rumbled deep in its chest. Azazel's mark flared, and he clenched his fists, feeling the energy coil beneath his skin.
"Something's coming," he whispered, eyes narrowing. The forest around them was changing, growing more restless, and the Angel's warning echoed ominously in his mind.
The fight had only just begun, and whatever awaited him in the darkness, Azazel would meet it head-on.
"Let it come," he murmured, determination hardening in his gaze.