As the realm of Hell trembled and fractured around them, Azrael's cursed aura began to spiral, thick and oppressive, like a suffocating shroud over the infernal domain. The black tendrils of his corrupted energy lashed out, infecting the very ground Lucifer stood upon. The once-proud King of Hell stumbled slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing as he realized he was no longer in control of the battlefield—his throne, his dominion, now a weapon wielded against him.
Lucifer growled, igniting his infernal energy to burn away the corruption creeping toward him, but Azrael gave him no reprieve. In an instant, Azrael vanished, reappearing behind Lucifer, his hand slicing through the air. The blow struck Lucifer's back with a sickening crack, the force of it driving him to his knees. Black flames erupted from Azrael's hand, latching onto Lucifer like a swarm of locusts, searing and corrupting him simultaneously.
Lucifer gritted his teeth, his pride refusing to let him cry out in pain. "Do you think you've won, wretch? You can't kill me. I am eternal!"
Azrael tilted his head, his pale, emotionless face illuminated by the flickering black fire. "Eternal? No. You're simply delaying the inevitable." His voice was a low, chilling whisper that carried the weight of countless deaths. "But I'll make sure you feel every moment of your fall."
Azrael stepped forward, his blackened aura spreading like a sickness, snuffing out the flames of Hell around them. He raised his hand, and the corrupted energy surged forth, wrapping around Lucifer's limbs like chains. The King of Hell thrashed against them, but the more he struggled, the tighter they constricted, biting into his flesh and spreading their corruption deeper into his body.
Lucifer roared, summoning his strength to break free. He conjured a massive infernal blade in his hand, swinging it wildly at Azrael. But Azrael caught the blade effortlessly, his hand gripping it tightly as the corruption spread from his touch. The once-mighty weapon disintegrated into ash, just as its predecessor had.
Lucifer stumbled back, his breathing ragged. The veins across his body turned black, spreading like a web of death. "What… have you done to me?"
Azrael stepped closer, his black eyes unblinking. "Everything you touch will decay, just as everything I touch dies or corrupts. Now, you are no different."
Lucifer's body convulsed as he dropped to one knee, his infernal energy flickering, struggling to resist the curse invading his very being. But Azrael was far from finished. He crouched down in front of Lucifer, his pale face inches from the King of Hell's. "I've taken your strength, your power, and now... I'll take your pride."
Azrael raised his hand, black flames spiraling around his fingers. He pressed his palm against Lucifer's chest, and the flames sank into him like burning claws. The King of Hell screamed this time, his voice echoing through the crumbling infernal realm. His skin blackened and cracked, his body trembling under the relentless assault.
"Do you feel it?" Azrael asked, his tone cold and detached. "That's your immortality being twisted into a curse. You'll live, but every moment will be agony. Every second, your essence will rot, piece by piece, until nothing remains but the shell of the king you once were."
Lucifer's prideful facade cracked, his eyes widening in disbelief and terror. "You can't... this isn't... possible!" he spat, though his voice trembled with uncertainty.
Azrael tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Everything is possible when death is your ally."
Lucifer tried to rise, summoning a final burst of strength to strike Azrael. But before he could even move, Azrael's hand shot forward, piercing his chest. The black aura exploded outward, consuming Lucifer's body. Azrael twisted his hand slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the moment.
"You are no king," Azrael said softly. "You're just another soul to be undone."
Lucifer screamed again, his body writhing as the corruption overtook him entirely. His wings, once magnificent and blazing with infernal fire, crumbled into ash. His horns fractured and fell away, and his once-proud figure diminished into a pitiful shadow of itself. Azrael didn't stop. The torture was not only physical but spiritual—every shred of Lucifer's power, his pride, his very identity, was stripped from him.
Lucifer collapsed onto the ground, his body broken, his eyes filled with defeat. He tried to speak, but no words came out, only ragged breaths. Azrael loomed over him, his pale figure almost ghostly against the infernal backdrop. "You will not die today, Lucifer," Azrael said, his tone almost a whisper. "You'll live, and you'll remember this moment for all eternity. You'll remember the day the King of Hell knelt before a cursed wretch."
Azrael stepped back, his black aura dissipating slightly as he turned to leave. Behind him, Lucifer lay in a pool of ash and molten rock, his body twitching, his eyes hollow. The once-mighty King of Hell had been reduced to nothing more than a broken remnant of his former self—a living testament to Azrael's power and the curse of immortality he carried.
As Azrael walked away, the ground beneath Lucifer continued to crumble, the very realm rejecting its fallen ruler. And yet, Lucifer remained alive, trapped in his own torment, unable to die, unable to escape the agony that now defined his existence. For Azrael had left him with a fate worse than death—a living purgatory in the depths of the Hell he once ruled.
"And no, Lucifer," Azrael said, his voice calm yet laced with chilling finality, "don't think of this as revenge. Think of it as my forgiveness... and love. I am simply repaying the favor." His blackened aura swirled around him as he stood over the broken form of the former King of Hell, a spectral silhouette of power and death. Lucifer's body trembled, the weight of Azrael's words cutting deeper than any physical wound.
Azrael turned away, his pale white hair glowing faintly in the dim, flickering embers of Hell. Slowly, deliberately, he walked to the Gates of Hell, the massive, fiery constructs towering ominously before him. The searing heat, meant to incinerate all who dared approach, dissipated at his touch. With a single motion, he plunged his hands into the colossal gates, gripping them as if they were nothing but fragile doors.
The ground quaked as Azrael began to pull, his strength defying the very laws of the infernal realm. The chains binding the gates shattered one by one, falling away like brittle glass. The screams of the damned echoed louder, the air vibrating with the fury of Hell itself. With a deafening groan, the Gates of Hell began to part, the boundary between realms torn open by Azrael's cursed hands.
As the gates creaked open, a blinding light from beyond spilled into the infernal plane, stark and foreign against the eternal darkness of Hell. Azrael stepped forward, the very air around him rippling with power. His pale, featureless expression betrayed no emotion as he looked back over his shoulder, his black eyes locking with Lucifer's hollow, defeated gaze.
Lucifer, still writhing in agony, managed to rasp out a broken whisper. "You think... you've won?"
Azrael didn't reply immediately. Instead, he looked down at his hands, the faint remnants of black flames flickering around his fingers. Then, he turned his gaze to the fiery expanse of Hell, taking in the chaos and destruction left in the wake of their battle. His voice was low and unyielding when he finally spoke. "This was never about winning. This was about balance. Your reign was too long... and now, your suffering will endure even longer."
With that, Azrael stepped through the gates, leaving the realm of Hell behind. As he passed through, the cursed energy surrounding him seemed to warp the very fabric of existence. The air around him grew colder, the light dimmer. Standing on the other side of the gates, Azrael glanced up at the darkened skies of the mortal plane
Azrael stood at the edge of the mortal plane, his pale figure illuminated by the dying embers of the gates behind him. The wind carried the faint scent of ash and decay, swirling around him like a cloak of death. His black eyes gazed at the horizon, unfeeling and cold, as if he were staring into the very soul of existence itself.
In the suffocating silence, his voice cut through like a blade, low and reverberating with malice. "I don't destroy because I hate—I destroy because it's the only truth this world understands: everything, no matter how pure, must rot in my shadow."