Two Worlds, One Destiny

The shadowy claw surged toward Lyra with terrifying speed. Azeron didn't think—he acted. In an instant, he unleashed a wave of dark energy, shattering the claw into a thousand wisps of smoke. But the effort left him staggering, his knees buckling under the strain.

Lyra caught him before he fell, her grip firm but her expression unreadable. "You're going to tell me what's going on," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Before Azeron could answer, the Watcher's laughter echoed through the cathedral once more.

"Fascinating. You'd risk everything for her, wouldn't you?"

Azeron pushed himself upright, glaring at the shadowy figure. "I don't answer to you."

The Watcher tilted its head, its glowing eyes narrowing. "Perhaps not. But you will answer to him."

The air in the cathedral grew heavy, and the stained-glass window behind the altar began to glow. The image of the angel and demon shifted, the glass twisting and warping until the demon's face became unmistakably familiar.

Zevaris.

Azeron's blood ran cold as his father's voice filled the room, deep and commanding.

"Son, you disappoint me."

Lyra's eyes widened as she looked from the window to Azeron. "What is this? Who is that?"

Azeron didn't respond. He couldn't.

Zevaris's voice continued, dripping with contempt. "You've forgotten your purpose. You were sent to claim her soul, not to protect her."

Lyra stepped back, her sword trembling in her hand. "Claim my soul? Azeron, what is he talking about?"

Azeron turned to her, his eyes pleading. "Lyra, I—"

"Enough," Zevaris boomed. "You've wasted enough time. If you won't fulfill your duty, I will send someone who will."

The stained glass shattered, and from the shards emerged a towering figure clad in black armor, its face hidden behind a jagged helm. A massive blade rested on its shoulder, and its presence radiated pure malice.

"Malrik," Azeron whispered, his heart sinking.

The armored figure stepped forward, its voice cold and mocking. "Little brother. Still playing the hero, I see."

Lyra's grip on her sword tightened. "Who is this?"

"My brother," Azeron said grimly.

Malrik chuckled. "Father sent me to clean up your mess. Step aside, Azeron, and let me do what you're too weak to finish."

Azeron moved to block Malrik's path, dark energy crackling around him. "You'll have to go through me."

Malrik's laughter echoed through the cathedral. "Gladly."

---

The clash was immediate and brutal. Malrik's blade struck with the force of a hurricane, and Azeron barely managed to block it with a shield of dark energy. The impact sent him skidding back, his boots scraping against the stone floor.

Lyra jumped into the fray, her sword glowing brightly as she aimed for Malrik's side. But the armored demon was fast—faster than she expected. He deflected her strike with ease, sending her stumbling.

"You've got spirit, human," Malrik said, his tone almost amused. "But you're out of your league."

Azeron lunged at him, his fists wreathed in dark flames. "Leave her out of this!"

Malrik caught Azeron's punch with one hand, his strength overwhelming. "You're weak, Azeron. Always have been."

With a flick of his wrist, he sent Azeron flying across the room, crashing into a row of broken pews.

Lyra charged again, her sword blazing with light. This time, she managed to land a hit, her blade cutting through Malrik's armor. He snarled, more annoyed than hurt, and swung his massive sword at her.

Azeron forced himself to his feet, his vision swimming. He watched as Malrik's blade descended toward Lyra, and something inside him snapped.

"No!"

A surge of power erupted from Azeron, darker and more intense than anything he'd ever felt. The shadows around him coalesced into a massive, clawed hand that slammed into Malrik, sending him crashing into the far wall.

Lyra turned to Azeron, her eyes wide. "What was that?"

Azeron didn't answer. He could feel the darkness within him growing, threatening to consume him.

Malrik pulled himself from the rubble, laughing despite the damage he'd taken. "Now that's more like it, little brother. Embrace what you are."

Azeron shook his head, his voice trembling. "I'm not like you."

"Aren't you?" Malrik taunted. "You can't protect her forever. Sooner or later, you'll have to make a choice. Her soul… or your own."

Before Azeron could respond, Malrik vanished, his laughter echoing through the cathedral.

---

The silence that followed was deafening. Azeron turned to Lyra, but the look in her eyes stopped him cold.

"You lied to me," she said, her voice shaking.

"Lyra, I—"

"You were sent to kill me," she interrupted, her sword still glowing. "All this time, you've been pretending to help me, but you were just waiting for the right moment, weren't you?"

"No!" Azeron said, desperation creeping into his voice. "It's not like that. I didn't choose this."

"But you didn't tell me the truth," she shot back.

Azeron took a step toward her, but she raised her sword. "Stay back."

"Lyra, please," he said, his voice breaking. "I don't want to hurt you. I just… I didn't know what else to do."

She stared at him, her expression a mix of anger, fear, and betrayal. "I trusted you."

The words hit him like a dagger to the heart.

Before he could respond, the Watcher's voice echoed through the cathedral once more.

"The bond between you weakens. Soon, the choice will be made for you."

Lyra turned and ran, her footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness of the cathedral.

"Lyra, wait!" Azeron called, but she didn't stop.

He stood there, alone in the silence, his heart heavy with guilt.

How did it come to this?

---

As Azeron stared at the shattered stained glass, a single shard began to glow. The image of the angel within it flickered, and a soft, feminine voice whispered:

"You are not beyond redemption, Azeron. But time is running out."

Azeron's eyes widened. "Who are you?"

The voice faded, leaving only the faint glow of the shard.

To Be Continued in Chapter 7:

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