Elias shut the door to his apartment with a heavy sigh. The day had dragged him through too much, and his mind buzzed with unanswered questions. All he wanted was to grab a bag, a change of clothes, and get out—meet the others tomorrow at the address Naomi had just texted him and figure out their next move.
He flicked on the lights, but the dim glow barely cut through the unease crawling over him, a feeling like someone was watching from the shadows.
Just your nerves. Nothing's wrong.
Then came the knock.
Three slow, deliberate taps.
Elias froze, his hand halfway to his bag. He wasn't expecting anyone. Slowly, he opened the door a crack—and there stood Markus, grinning.
"Hey, little brother," Markus said, his voice easy, familiar. Too familiar.
Elias blinked, confusion tightening his chest. "Markus? What're you doing here?"
Markus leaned casually against the doorframe, his smile never faltering. "Just thought I'd drop by. Got time for a chat?"
Something was off. Markus moved too smoothly, his smile a touch too perfect. Elias stepped back, a knot of dread forming in his stomach. "Yeah... sure. Come in."
Markus entered, his gaze sweeping over the apartment like a predator sizing up its prey. "Nice place. Cozy."
Elias closed the door slowly, the unease deepening. "Yeah... you've seen it before."
Everything about his brother felt wrong. The familiar face, the casual tone—yet it was like staring at a stranger wearing Markus's skin.
Markus settled on the edge of the couch, folding his hands neatly in his lap. "I've been hearing interesting things, Elias."
Elias swallowed. "What kind of things?"
The grin shifted—playful, predatory. And that's when Elias saw it: the glimmer of something ancient and malicious behind his brother's eyes.
"I heard someone's been chosen," Markus said softly, with a mocking lilt. "Chosen by that pesky, nosy person to inherit the sword."
Elias's breath hitched. How does he know?
The thing wearing Markus's skin leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like a man sharing a dark secret. "So, I thought I'd drop by. See what kind of threat you really are."
Elias's heart hammered as he realized the truth. This wasn't Markus. But the face, the voice, even the way he sat—it was all so close. His brother was in there somewhere. Right?
"A-Asmodeus?" Elias whispered, his throat tight.
Markus's smile stretched wider, his eyes gleaming with unnatural delight. "No, no. Asmodeus is my general. You can call me Azazel."
The name struck Elias like a punch. The weight of it—the raw, terrifying reality—settled over him, and he stood there, frozen.
"Cat got your tongue?" Azazel teased. "It's okay. I have that effect on people."
Elias gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles white. "What do you want?"
Azazel chuckled. "Want? Oh, Elias. I don't want anything. I'm just... curious." He leaned back, draping an arm over the couch. "You see, it's not every day that someone's chosen to inherit something as... special as that sword. First of its kind, you know. A thing that can actually hurt us."
Elias clenched his fists, anger and fear swirling. "You're not afraid of it?"
Azazel laughed, sharp and cruel. "Afraid? Please." He gave Elias a lazy grin, as if the question amused him. "I've lived too long to fear pieces of metal and the desperate prophecies of mortals."
He sighed, sounding almost disappointed. "But Asmodeus... he's excited. He was disappointed after his fight with Kairo, you know? Thinks he can descend early and have his fun now that your presence has been announced." Azazel shook his head. "I keep telling him, patience is a virtue. But some of us just don't listen."
He gave Elias a slow, deliberate smile. "You should meet him. In fact, I'll make you a deal."
Elias forced himself to speak, though his voice came out strained. "What is it?"
Azazel's eyes glinted with a sinister light. "Insubordinate soldiers need to be punished," he said, leaning closer. "If you can kill Asmodeus, I'll free this brother of yours."
The words hung in the air like a taunt.
Elias's mind reeled. His brother's body sat in front of him, possessed by a creature who treated human life like a game.
"How can I trust you?" Elias managed, though the words felt hollow even to him.
Azazel raised an eyebrow, amused. "I swear by my Creator that if you kill Asmodeus, I will free your brother. There. Happy?"
"That's bullshit," he spat. "A promise from you means nothing."
"Now, now, mortal. Your kind might've rejected even the notion of a god ruling over you, but with us, it's different. Our Creator respects our wishes, but if we invoke his name in an oath and we break that oath, he will have no choice but to judge our actions." Azazel extended a hand. "Now, do we have a deal?"
Elias fought the urge to scream, to lash out. But what would be the point? He was powerless—just a kid, a hero in name only. And Azazel knew it.
"Fine!" he said, clasping the devil's cold hand.
"Great! I was hoping you'd agree," Azazel purred, his voice soft and dangerous. "You remind me a lot of Kairo. 'The warrior who thought he could fight fate.'"
Elias's breath caught. "You knew Kairo?"
Azazel's grin widened. "Oh, we were old friends." He tapped a finger to his temple. "He had your same stubborn streak. Thought he could save his people."
The grin turned cold. "By the time he forged that precious sword, it was too late. I wonder... will your story end the same way?"
Elias stared, heart pounding, a mix of anger and helplessness tightening his chest.
Azazel stood, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves. "Well, this has been delightful. But I really must be going."
Elias took a step forward, desperation in his voice. "Don't forget the deal, okay!"
Azazel turned, that same mocking grin. "Oh, I'll keep this body safe. It's quite... comfortable." He winked. "And don't worry. Your brother's still in here. Somewhere."
Elias stood frozen as Azazel strolled toward the door, as if they'd just shared tea and biscuits. "I look forward to seeing how your little story unfolds."
Azazel paused at the threshold, casting one last glance over his shoulder. "Good luck, Elias. You'll need it."
And then he was gone, leaving only silence and the suffocating weight of what had just happened.
Elias stood alone in the dim apartment. Markus was gone—or worse, trapped, a prisoner in his own body.
He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms. I have to get the sword. It was the only way.
The only way to save Markus.