The sky bled hues of red and black, an open wound carved into the heavens. Thick, jagged clouds hung low, threatening to collapse under their weight as they pressed down on the ruined earth below. The remnants of the city stood in eerie silence—buildings reduced to hollowed-out skeletons, their metal frames and crumbling concrete jutting upward like gravestones. Fires dotted the landscape, their flames a desperate defiance against the overwhelming darkness, while smoke twisted into the air like ghostly serpents seeking vengeance.
The world was dying.
And Azrail didn't care.
Her boots crunched against shards of broken glass and debris as she moved through the hollow streets, her expression unflinching. The stench of death clung to the air, thick and unrelenting, but she had long since stopped noticing. Around her, corpses lay strewn across the ground in unnatural poses, their bodies twisted and malformed. Some were unmistakably human—bloated faces frozen in terror, fingers clutching at unseen salvation. Others were far from human.
The infected.
The virus didn't just kill; it devoured, warped, and reshaped. Those who succumbed became nightmares incarnate—mutated creatures with crimson eyes that glowed like embers. Wings, horns, claws, and tails erupted from their once-human forms, grotesque and unnatural. Some of them still resembled the people they had been; others were too far gone, their bodies nothing more than a chaotic canvas of flesh and bone.
Azrail stepped over a body—a child, or at least it had been. Its small frame was riddled with jagged growths, its eyes wide open, unseeing, and burning red. For a fleeting moment, a pang of something close to sorrow flickered in her chest. But it was gone as quickly as it came.
She adjusted the dagger strapped to her belt, its hilt worn and familiar beneath her fingers. The weapon was a laughable defense against the fully turned, but it was better than nothing. Sometimes, just holding it was enough—a reminder that she still had control.
The world had fallen, but she hadn't.
Not yet
Azrail wasn't immune to the infection. She knew that much. It wasn't because she was virtuous or untainted. Her hands were stained with the blood of others, and her soul bore the weight of sins she dared not count. She had felt rage, hatred, despair—emotions that supposedly made people vulnerable to the virus. And yet, it had never claimed her.
Not once.
And that made her dangerous.
The sound of footsteps echoed behind her, breaking the heavy silence.
Azrail froze, her grip tightening around the dagger. Her heart quickened, but her face remained impassive. Slowly, she turned.
Three figures emerged from the shadows, their forms distorted by the dim light. Their eyes glowed a menacing red, and their faces were an unsettling blend of human and inhuman. The infection had progressed far in them, but not completely. They still had traces of their humanity—traces they would soon lose.
They stared at her for a moment too long.
And then, they attacked.
The first lunged, its claws slashing through the air with a snarl. Azrail moved swiftly, sidestepping and bringing her dagger up in a single fluid motion. The blade sliced clean across its throat, and black, viscous blood sprayed out, sizzling as it hit the pavement.
The second came from her left. It moved faster, its claws aiming for her ribs. She ducked low, spinning as her leg swept under its feet, knocking it off balance. It screeched, thrashing as it fell, but she didn't hesitate. Her dagger plunged into its chest, silencing it.
The third was stronger—and smarter.
It grabbed her from behind, its claws digging into her shoulder. Pain seared through her, but she didn't scream. She twisted, driving her elbow into its face. It snarled, its grip tightening, but she was relentless. With a sharp motion, she drove her blade into its gut. The creature's crimson eyes dimmed as it crumpled to the ground.
Azrail stood over the bodies, her chest heaving as she wiped the blood from her blade.
Another fight. Another victory.
But even victories felt hollow in a world already lost.
She leaned against a crumbling wall, allowing herself a moment to breathe. The infection never rested, and neither could she. She was always moving, always fighting. If she stopped, the weight of it all might finally crush her.
Her moment of reprieve was short-lived.
The air around her shifted, heavy with a sudden pressure that made her stomach churn. A sound—low and otherworldly—rumbled through the street, and the space in front of her began to distort.
Azrail's hand went to her dagger as a tear appeared in the fabric of reality itself.
The portal was unlike anything she had ever seen. Shadows swirled within its depths, twisting and writhing like living things. Red lightning crackled around its edges, illuminating the ruins with a hellish glow.
And then, he stepped through.
Tall, commanding, and otherworldly, the figure emerged from the portal with a grace that was almost unnerving. His coat billowed behind him like liquid night, embroidered with symbols that pulsed faintly. His hair was dark as the void, and his eyes burned a deep, unsettling crimson that seemed to pierce straight through her.
Azrail's grip on her dagger tightened
This was no infected.
This was something else.
Something worse.
The figure regarded her with a smirk—a cold, calculated expression that wasn't amusement but something far more dangerous.
"You are different," he said, his voice smooth and low, like velvet laced with poison.
Azrail didn't flinch. "And you're in my way."
His smirk widened slightly, though his eyes remained unreadable.
"You don't fear me."
"I don't fear anything," she shot back, her voice steady.
The man tilted his head, as if considering her words. "Liar."
Before she could react, the shadows around the portal surged forward, coiling around her wrists like living chains.
Azrail struggled, pulling and twisting against their grip, but the shadows were unyielding, their touch cold and suffocating.
"Let me go!" she snarled, her voice laced with fury.
"You will come with me," he said, his tone calm and absolute. "Willingly or not."
The portal began to shift again, its swirling shadows growing more violent. The pressure of its energy made her chest ache, and she fought harder, her dagger useless against the intangible force holding her.
"You don't know what you're dealing with," she hissed, her eyes blazing with defiance.
The man's smirk returned, but this time, there was something darker behind it.
"Neither do you," he replied.
The portal surged, swallowing them both in an instant.
The last thing Azrail saw was his burning crimson eyes, and then, the world went black.