The abandoned warehouse reeked of rust and decay, a stale reminder of things left to rot. Moonlight slipped through fractured windows, casting thin, pale beams across the dust-covered floor. Elias stepped inside slowly, his boots scraping against the concrete, each step filling the silence with purpose.
He felt Markus's presence before he saw him—or rather, the thing wearing Markus's skin. Azazel.
A silhouette emerged from the shadows: Markus's body, tall and athletic, moving with an unsettling ease that didn't belong to him. Azazel wore his brother's form like a costume, draped casually but with clear disdain.
"Well, well," Azazel's voice oozed with amusement, a smirk twisting Markus's features into something foreign. "The prodigal brother returns. Half-expected to find you dead in a ditch somewhere after that grand spectacle of failure."
Elias stopped a few paces away, his gaze steady. The absence of his sword weighed heavily, but he didn't show it. He'd come alone, unarmed—but not unprepared.
Azazel spread his arms in a mocking welcome. "No grand entrance? No righteous fury? I expected more from the chosen one."
Elias remained silent, his expression calm. The old him would have snapped—charged forward recklessly, desperate to save his brother. But not now. Not anymore.
Azazel tilted his head, observing with golden eyes that glinted with something dark and cruel. "No clever retorts? Has someone been... growing up?"
Elias shrugged, his voice steady. "Let's just say I've been thinking."
Azazel chuckled, a low, velvety sound that echoed through the empty space. "Dangerous habit, thinking." He sauntered closer, each movement fluid and deliberate, as if he owned the very air between them. "You've become quite the disappointment. I wanted heroics, but instead, I get..." He gestured dismissively at Elias. "A man with no sword, no plan, and no chance."
Elias held his ground, refusing to bite. "Funny," he said quietly. "You act like you're the one with time to waste. Like you're some invincible god toying with mortals. But I know that's not the case."
That halted Azazel, the smirk faltering—a flicker, brief but there. Elias noticed.
Azazel's eyes narrowed, though the smile returned, forced and tight. "I have all the time in the world. It's you who's running on borrowed seconds, little brother."
Elias studied him with cold precision. "You sure about that? I've been thinking, remember?"
The silence stretched thin between them, vibrating with unspoken tension. Elias could see it clearly now: the cracks in Azazel's mask, a desperation simmering beneath the bravado. Azazel wasn't taunting him out of confidence. He was stalling. Buying time.
Elias allowed a small, knowing smile to creep across his face. "What's the rush, Azazel? If you're so powerful, why push me? You could have killed me the first time we met. Or killed my brother to break me. But you didn't. Why?"
Azazel's eyes flashed, and for a split second, the mask cracked—the arrogance replaced by something colder. Frustration.
The threat came then, soft and dangerous, like a blade slipped between ribs. "I could kill him right now," Azazel whispered, tapping his temple with a smug grin. "Markus is one flick of a thought away from oblivion."
Elias felt a sharp pang of fear clawing at his chest, but he held his ground. He knew this game—knew it was a bluff. And the only way to beat a bluff... was to call it.
Exhaling slowly, Elias locked eyes with the demon. "Go ahead."
Azazel's grin wavered, a tiny slip that confirmed Elias's suspicion. He couldn't kill Markus. Not now, at least.
"You can't harm me," Elias said, each word calm and steady. "And you can't kill Markus. Not directly." He took a deliberate step forward, watching Azazel's reaction. "You said something about your Creator's rules before, right?" Then, with one final smirk, he finished, "I guess you're still just a servant after all."
The air between them grew electric, crackling with danger. Azazel's golden eyes blazed with rage, yet beneath that rage was something else—something cornered.
And then, as quickly as it had slipped, the mask snapped back into place. Azazel's smirk returned, smug and serpentine. "Clever." He rolled his shoulders as if shrugging off the moment. "But clever won't save you, Elias. Not in the end."
Elias didn't flinch. "Maybe not. But I'll find a way. And when I do—" His gaze softened, his voice a quiet vow as he looked past the demon to his trapped brother. "Markus... I'll set you free."
Azazel's smile stretched wider, cold and mocking. "Brave words." He took a step back, fading into the shadows, his golden eyes gleaming. "Let's see how long you can keep that courage."
Elias watched as the demon retreated, his brother's form swallowed by the darkness. A chill lingered in the empty space, a haunting echo of Azazel's presence.
But for the first time since Markus's possession, Elias felt something close to freedom. He wasn't ready yet—but he would be. He just needed time.
Elias exhaled, the weight of his resolve settling over him like armor. He pulled out his phone and typed a short message to the group.
I'm okay. Heading to the car now. We've got work to do.