Apocalyptic Passion

The air in the chamber was thick with an unnatural silence, the kind that suffocates and lingers like a ghost. Azrail's fingers curled into tight fists as she tried to steady her breath, but the weight of the revelation pressed down on her like a crushing force.

Her brother

The first experiment.

The catalyst of the infection.

Her mind reeled with fragmented memories, flashes of a past she hadn't fully understood until now. The shadows of those memories clawed at her, whispering the truth she had been too blind to see. This war, this chaos—it had all begun with him.

"Asmodeus," her voice was barely above a whisper, laced with something dangerous. "Tell me everything."

The Demon King's crimson eyes darkened, studying her carefully. He could see the storm rising within her, the way her entire being was coiled tight like a predator ready to strike.

"You're not ready for everything," he replied, his voice an unreadable murmur.

Azrail's jaw tightened. "Try me."

A ripple of power surged through the chamber. It was cold, unnatural, a warning that sent ice down her spine. Asmodeus tensed beside her, his hand already drifting to his sword.

"We're not alone," he muttered.

And then—

A slow, cruel laugh echoed through the vast hall.

It was a sound that crawled beneath the skin, a whisper of something ancient and tainted. Azrail felt it before she saw him, a dark presence bleeding into existence from the shadows.

And then, he stepped forward.

Abaddon.

His very presence distorted the air, bending the fabric of reality around him. His dark, abyssal eyes gleamed with amusement, lips curled into a smirk that sent a chill down Azrail's spine.

"Little sister," he drawled, tilting his head. "You finally see the truth."

Her breath caught in her throat.

This wasn't just a battle.

This was a reckoning.

The weight of his words hung in the air, an unbearable truth that threatened to drown her. Azrail had spent years fighting this war, never realizing the enemy she sought to destroy had been part of her own bloodline.

Abaddon took a slow step forward, the shadows curling around his feet like sentient tendrils. He was taller than she remembered, his frame draped in obsidian armor that pulsed with dark energy. He was no longer just her brother—he was something far worse.

"You should have known, Azrail," Abaddon said, voice dripping with false sympathy. "You were always so perceptive, weren't you? But even you failed to see the strings that controlled you."

Azrail's grip on her sword tightened. "Is that what you think? That I was some puppet dancing to fate's tune?" She let out a sharp breath. "Then you don't know me at all."

His smirk widened. "Oh, I know you well. I know the rage that coils in your veins. The hunger for vengeance. And I know that no matter how much you fight it, you and I—we are the same."

The words struck deep, but Azrail refused to show it. She had spent years carving her own path, defying fate at every turn. She was not like him. She would never be like him.

Asmodeus shifted beside her. "This isn't the time for mind games, Abaddon. You didn't come here to chat. What do you want?"

Abaddon's eyes flicked to Asmodeus, and his smirk faded. "You," he admitted. "You stand in my way. You always have. But your time is ending."

A pulse of dark energy radiated from him, and the chamber trembled.

Azrail barely had time to react before the ground beneath them cracked open, shadows spilling forth like living creatures. The air grew thick with dark magic, suffocating and relentless.

Asmodeus moved first, unsheathing his sword in a single, fluid motion. "Azrail—get back!"

But she didn't listen.

Azrail surged forward, her own blade igniting with celestial fire. She swung at Abaddon, but he merely raised a hand, catching her blade in his grip. The force of the impact sent a shockwave through the chamber.

"Tsk, tsk," Abaddon mused. "So impatient."

Azrail yanked her sword back and struck again, but this time, Abaddon twisted, evading her with inhuman speed. Before she could react, his hand shot forward, grabbing her by the throat and lifting her off the ground.

Her vision blurred as his grip tightened.

"You've always been strong," Abaddon murmured. "But strength without purpose is meaningless. You waste your power on a war that was never yours to win."

Azrail struggled, clawing at his arm, but his grip was unrelenting. Darkness coiled around her, suffocating, consuming.

And then—

A burst of crimson energy struck Abaddon's side, sending him stumbling backward.

Asmodeus stood at the ready, his sword glowing with demonic energy. "Let her go."

Abaddon wiped a smear of blood from his lip, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "There it is. The rage. The fire. You think you can protect her, Asmodeus?" He chuckled. "She doesn't need your protection. She needs the truth."

Azrail gasped for air, regaining her footing. "Then tell me the truth. No riddles. No mind games. If you really want me to understand—show me."

Abaddon regarded her for a long moment. Then, without a word, he raised a hand.

The chamber around them shifted, the walls warping, reality bending to his will. And suddenly, Azrail was no longer in the darkened hall.

She was standing in a sterile laboratory, surrounded by shattered glass and broken equipment. The air smelled of chemicals and decay.

And in the center of the room—

A boy.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stepped closer. He couldn't have been more than ten years old, his body frail, his eyes empty. Wires protruded from his arms, his skin marred with the evidence of countless experiments.

She knew that face.

Her brother.

"This is where it began," Abaddon's voice echoed around her. "This is where they turned me into a monster."

Azrail clenched her fists. "They? Who?"

"The ones who played god. The ones who created me, molded me into their weapon." Abaddon's voice was laced with bitterness. "You think I chose this? You think I wanted to be the harbinger of death?"

The memory shifted again, and Azrail saw it—the moment everything changed. The moment the infection was unleashed.

Scientists scrambling. Alarms blaring. And in the center of it all, Abaddon, his body convulsing, dark energy spiraling out of control.

The first outbreak.

The beginning of the war.

Azrail felt something inside her break.

Abaddon had never been the villain.

He had been the victim.

The memory shattered, and she was back in the chamber, her heart pounding in her chest.

Abaddon watched her carefully. "Now you understand."

Azrail's voice trembled. "They did this to you."

A sad smile touched his lips. "Yes. And now I do what must be done."

She looked at him, truly looked at him, and for the first time, she didn't see a monster.

She saw her brother.

The unseen enemy had never been him.

It had always been something far greater.

And now, she had a choice to make.

Fight him. Or fight with him.