Avile's body lay broken, his mind adrift in a sea of darkness. For a moment, he thought he was dead—unmoving, cold, and lost. But then, a vision bloomed in the dark—a memory from one of his past lives.
He was in a grand hall, bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight. The distant sound of rain tapped against the stone walls, and the faint scent of incense filled the air. The room, once filled with joy, now seemed distant and unfamiliar. His throne was cold, his crown heavy.
Before him stood a woman—his wife in this life, her face veiled with a sadness that Avile could not place. Her eyes, once full of love and warmth, were now clouded with doubt.
She stepped closer, her voice trembling as she spoke.
**Wife (softly):** "Do you believe in Hell, Avile? Do you believe in Heaven?"
**Avile (pausing, searching for words):** "I do. I have seen both, in my dreams... in the faces of those I've failed."
She seemed to study him, as if waiting for something more. Her lips quivered, and the silence between them thickened. Finally, she spoke again, this time with a quiet intensity.
**Wife (whispering):** "And do you believe in demons?"
Avile stiffened, caught off guard by the question. He knew of darkness—of wars, of bloodshed—but demons? That was a thing of old tales. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the feeling gnawing at him.
**Avile (hesitant):** "No… I've never believed in demons."
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned, her gaze lingering on the shadows around them, as though listening to a voice Avile couldn't hear.
Then, in a movement too swift to react to, she pulled something from beneath her robe. A glint of steel flashed in the dim light. A hidden knife.
Avile's eyes widened, disbelief seizing him as she raised it, her hands trembling.
**Wife (voice breaking, filled with rage):** "I do. I do believe in demons. In fact, I have seen one."
Before he could react, she drove the blade into his chest, deep and cruel. Avile gasped, blood spattering from his mouth. The pain was excruciating. He tried to stagger back, but she was relentless. Again and again, the knife struck, each blow like a thunderclap in his ears.
**Wife (screaming, her voice full of hatred):** "You! You are the demon of my world! How dare you come in the way of my plan?! How dare you disrupt what I was building?!"
Each word felt like a wound, each scream a tightening noose around his neck. Avile's vision blurred, the room spinning.
**Avile (weakly, trying to catch his breath):** "What plan? What are you—"
But the words died on his lips as she thrust the knife into his side once more. His world was filled with darkness, and the scream of his wife echoed in his mind, reverberating through his soul.
Avile awoke with a sharp breath, the weight of his past crashing over him. He was in a sterile hospital room, the faint scent of antiseptic in the air. His body felt heavy, and his mind swirled with the memory of the last moments before everything went dark—the image of Amelia gasping for breath, fading before his eyes.
But now, in the silence of the room, there was only one thing Avile could focus on.
He closed his eyes and whispered, his voice barely a breath, "I don't have faith in Haven... I don't have faith in the Archangels anymore." His voice trembled, a mixture of grief and regret.
In that moment, he no longer cared for divine salvation. He had lost everything—Amelia, the Haven, and perhaps even his own soul. Desperation seeped through every fiber of his being.
"Lucifer," he whispered, his heart heavy with the weight of the name.
In the blink of an eye, he was standing before him.
Lucifer stood with an amused look on his face, his eyes gleaming with a darkness that mirrored Avile's own despair. His voice was smooth, carrying an edge of curiosity. "Ah, Avile. So, you've come to me now. In your desperation, you seek power. What is it you offer in return?"
Avile knelt before him, a symbol of broken will, his eyes full of darkness and pain. "Anything," he whispered, his voice devoid of hope. "Anything you ask, Lucifer."
Lucifer's smile widened, his voice low and taunting. "You're sure? You realize the price isn't always as simple as you believe."
Azazel, who stood nearby with the other princes of Hell, looked at Avile with surprise in his eyes, sensing something new, something demonic stirring within him. Avile's appearance seemed… different. It was as if he was no longer the Avile they once knew. This was the birth of something far darker. The betrayal, the bloodshed, the loneliness—it was all taking shape inside him.
Lucifer's voice broke through the tension. "I can't overwrite the divine seal, Avile. For that, you'd need to follow the ritual Obil did. But from what I know of you, I doubt you'd have the patience, nor the time, to carry out such a thing."
Avile's eyes hardened. "You mean the killings of children. I see that's why he did it."
Lucifer's smile never wavered. "Yes, but you're not the type to follow those orders. However, I can give you power. Demonic power. It's a simple transaction. In return, you'll owe me a favor when the time comes."
Azazel looked at Lucifer, his eyes filled with an unspoken question, as though he was reconsidering the decision. For the first time, doubt lingered in his mind. But no one spoke out of turn. They were in Lucifer's presence, after all.
Avile, driven by rage and desperation, accepted without hesitation.
Lucifer snapped his fingers, and a surge of demonic energy coursed through Avile's body. His muscles clenched as pain shot through him, the transformation tearing away at his human form.
Avile screamed, the agony overwhelming, his body writhing in torment as the demonic energy consumed him. A long, silent moment followed, the air heavy with the remnants of the dark power now flowing through him. When the pain subsided, Avile stood, still looking human—yet, he was no longer the same. His eyes burned with an unholy light, a reflection of the darkness within him.
Lucifer's voice was soft, almost a whisper in the eerie silence. "You're no longer who you once were, Avile. Go through that door, and you will awaken."
With a final nod of thanks, Avile moved toward the door. As his hand gripped the handle, Azazel's voice reached his ears.
"The location of Obil," Azazel whispered.
Avile didn't flinch, his eyes cold and unblinking. "Thank you," he replied, his voice empty of any warmth, and opened the door.
---
**In the hospital room,**
Avile woke again, his surroundings now familiar. The sterile scent of the hospital lingered in the air. He blinked rapidly, trying to orient himself. The chaos outside was palpable—doctors and nurses in a frenzy, ambulances and police sirens ringing in the distance.
Then he saw Vale, lying in the bed beside him. His injuries were still evident, and his breathing shallow. But Avile could sense something—an almost tangible darkness in the air.
Without hesitation, Avile reached out and placed a hand on Vale's chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, making a decision. If there was no turning back for him, then neither would Vale be left behind.
He injected a small portion of his demonic power into Vale, and within moments, Vale's injuries began to heal. The cuts, bruises, and broken bones mended as if they had never existed. His breathing steadied, and the pallor on his face faded.
Vale groaned as his eyes fluttered open. His gaze was confused, and his hands instinctively went to his now healed body. "What… happened?" Vale asked, his voice filled with shock. "Did you undo your seal? How are you—"
He froze as he looked into Avile's eyes, the darkness there unmistakable. Something unholy was inside him now, a power that did not belong to the world he once knew.
Avile's voice was calm, though it carried a sorrowful weight. "I made a deal with Hell, Vale," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. But this was the only way."
Vale stared at him, the words sinking in. The darkness in Avile's eyes, the power he could now sense within him—it was terrifying. But Vale's expression softened, and without a word, he accepted it. He understood that the world had changed, that there was no going back.
"You've already made your choice," Vale whispered, accepting the inevitable.
Avile nodded. "The location of Obil… we have to end this."
Vale's hands shook as he touched his soulmark, quickly contacting the other Archons. He knew there was no time to waste.
---
**Back in the hospital,**
Avile stepped outside, the air outside the hospital cold and heavy. His mind was focused on one thing—Amelia. He couldn't afford to lose anyone else.
When he reached her room, his heart clenched at the sight of Amelia lying motionless on the bed. Her body was still, her chest barely rising and falling with each weak breath. The beeping of the ECG was slow and irregular, barely registering any sign of life.
Avile froze in the doorway, his eyes locking onto her fragile form. His breath hitched in his throat as a deep, unbearable sorrow filled his chest. He stepped forward, slowly, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile hope he still held onto.
He gently sat down by her side, taking her cold hand into his. The tears came before he could stop them, flooding his vision as his emotions overwhelmed him. His voice broke as he whispered, "Amelia… I couldn't protect you. I couldn't save you… I—"
His chest tightened, and he choked on the words, guilt eating him alive. His mind raced back through every moment leading up to this, each one a reminder of how he'd failed, how he'd allowed everything to slip from his grasp.
"This is my fault," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Because of me… you're like this. Everyone I care about… they either betray me, or they die. And I couldn't stop it. I couldn't protect you."
His tears fell freely now, soaking his hands as he held hers. Every second felt like a lifetime, the silence in the room deafening. He couldn't escape the memories, the feelings of helplessness that haunted him. The weight of his failure was suffocating.
He looked at her again, her face pale and lifeless. His mind swirled with the overwhelming need to fix everything, to save her, to somehow reverse the damage he'd caused. He clenched his fists, the pain unbearable, but then he stopped.
A single thought broke through the chaos in his mind: He couldn't save her like this. Not through demonic energy. Her fragile human form would not survive the infusion of it. He needed divine power to heal her. Any forced infusion of demonic power would only end her life sooner.
Avile closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. He wiped the tears from his face, trying to clear the fog in his mind. There was nothing left to do for her. Nothing except a promise—a promise he was determined to keep.
He leaned down, his lips gently kissing her forehead, the softest of touches. His voice was steady now, despite the sorrow still raging inside him. "I promise… I will save you and Evelin. No matter what."
He stood up, the weight of his resolve sinking into his bones. The path ahead was set. He had made a deal with Hell, and now he would have to walk that dark road. But first, he would stop at nothing to ensure that he kept his promise.
Avile stepped out of the room, his eyes not red with grief, but **blank and hollow**, heavy with a sadness that reached beyond tears. The echo of Amelia's weakening pulse still thudded in his ears like a curse he couldn't outrun.
Vale was waiting just outside, leaning against the wall with a solemn look. His body, though once mangled, now stood strong—restored by the demonic power Avile had given him.
Vale glanced at him. "So this is the plan," he said. "I've already informed the other Archons about everything."
Avile didn't speak, just looked at him.
Vale continued, "Give me more demonic power. I'll go to each Archon and share it with them myself."
Avile's brow furrowed. "Did all of them agree?"
"No," Vale replied. "They were furious. All of them—except Elyen. She understood why you did it. Why you had to do it. But… I convinced them regardless."
Avile's lips twitched slightly, a trace of warmth trying to break through his hollow gaze. "Elyen is always gentle, huh? I'm glad… at least one of them trusted me."
Without another word, he raised his hand and passed more demonic power into Vale. The dark energy crackled between them for a moment before settling into Vale's body.
"Be safe, brother," Vale said, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "I'll come right back."
Avile nodded. "Thanks… for trusting me."
Vale gave him one last look and vanished—off to find the others.
Avile was left alone in the silence of the hallway. Expressionless once more, his thoughts were locked on one thing. One name.
**Obil.**
He vanished, reappearing outside a decaying mansion—one of the locations of the **Cult of Cain**. The air was thick with rot, the aura around the place pulsing with ancient blood rites.
Inside, Obil felt it instantly. A familiar presence. Strong. Controlled. Divine… but now, also corrupted.
He stepped out onto the balcony with a mocking smirk. "You had no choice, huh?" he called down. "You turned to *him*, just like I did. Now do you see? Haven, angels, gods—they're all meaningless!"
Avile said nothing. He just stood there, calm and still. His voice, when it came, was quiet and steady.
"Give me Evelin," he said. "And I might consider not killing you."
Obil's expression changed. The laughter stopped. "Damn… never thought I'd hear *you*, the Archon of Humility, talk about killing someone."
He stepped forward. His smile twisted. "Try me, Avile. Just *try.* You can do nothing else… only *try*."
And then—no more words.
Only movement.Obil didn't hesitate.
With a flick of his wrist, a blade of divine gold roared into existence—its surface etched with ancient Enochian script, glowing like molten sunfire. It wasn't just a weapon; it was an extension of his once-divine soul, still burning with a hint of celestial wrath. The air around the blade hummed, and even the grass beneath Obil's feet began to wither from the sheer pressure it emitted.
Across the field, Avile stood silent. The wind brushed against his hospital gown, but his body was still, composed. His eyes were not red, but blank—hollow with sadness.
He raised one hand slowly, fingers trembling not from fear but from the immense energy being summoned. A thick aura of crimson-black power began to seep from his pores, trailing like smoke in the wind. His sclera darkened to jet, and spiderwebs of glowing red cracks began to form around his eyes, crawling down to his cheeks. His presence became a weight on the world. Every nearby light source dimmed.
Obil shifted his stance, adjusting the grip on his sword.
Then Avile vanished.
In a deafening *crack*, the ground where he stood exploded in dust as he launched forward. His fist, cloaked in raw demonic energy, collided with Obil's blade in mid-air with such force that a shockwave blasted outward, shattering windows, ripping trees from their roots, and sending fragments of the stone path hurtling like bullets.
Obil twisted, landing in a wide stance as his blade absorbed the blow. He retaliated with a heavenly arc of light, slicing horizontally. Avile ducked, the edge just grazing his shoulder, burning through flesh and cloth alike, leaving behind a sizzling wound.
But he didn't react to the pain. He was past that.
Avile gritted his teeth and raised both hands. Two orbs of dense, pulsing energy formed between his palms—one red as blood, the other black as ash. He slammed them together and hurled the unstable fusion directly at Obil.
The orb flew like a comet. Obil barely had time to form a divine barrier before the impact struck him.
*BOOOOM!*
The explosion leveled the front wing of the mansion. Pillars crumbled, the roof was torn off like paper, and a wave of destruction flattened everything in a thirty-meter radius. Rubble and dust rose into a choking cloud, the sky above darkening with ash.
Obil emerged, blood trickling down his temple. His barrier was shattered, golden fragments floating around him like dying stars.
He growled. "You're playing with things you don't understand."
Avile responded by flying forward again, wings of blackened smoke propelling him like a missile. Obil raised his blade, and the two collided mid-air again. This time, the impact created a crater beneath them.
They exchanged blows in rapid succession—Obil's blade slashing through the air with divine force, each swing causing golden arcs of destruction to follow. Avile dodged with unnatural agility, countering with brutal, close-range strikes enhanced by demonic strength.
One punch landed in Obil's gut, sending him flying through the remains of a marble pillar. He landed with a crash, flipping backward before skidding to a halt.
He groaned but rose quickly, summoning a halo of golden runes behind him. With a war cry, he thrust his blade forward. The runes responded, firing lances of searing light.
Avile roared and formed a barrier of shadow around him. The swords hit, one after another, exploding on contact, reducing the ground around him to molten craters. Each explosion shook the earth.
Smoke cleared.
Avile stood amidst the destruction, his barrier cracked but intact. His eyes still empty.
Obil panted. "You really are becoming one of them."
Avile stepped forward, shadows rolling off him like smoke from an inferno. "I became what I needed."
Suddenly, as their blades clashed again, Avile's energy shifted. He roared as demonic power condensed in his hand and took the shape of a dark, jagged blade—formed from shadow and blood, screaming with unholy energy. The moment it solidified, it sang with raw potential. His grip was tight. Controlled. Focused.
Obil narrowed his eyes. "You made your own?"
Avile slashed the blade in a wide arc, and a wave of demonic force tore through the air, splitting the earth beneath it. Obil flew upward, dodging the blast, and retaliated with a downward slash of divine light.
The beams met mid-air. Divine gold and demonic crimson exploded in a radiant collision. The force of the impact ruptured the land further—massive gashes opened in the earth, and shockwaves tore across the horizon. Buildings in the distance shook, some collapsing under the force.
Avile and Obil clashed again, sword against sword, fury against fury. Every strike they exchanged cracked the air itself. Divine and demonic power bled into the sky like war banners, illuminating the clouds in a storm of unnatural color.
Their duel continued without pause, a chaotic ballet of destruction. Obil moved with grace and heavenly precision, while Avile fought with raw instinct and overwhelming force. Neither gave an inch. Each parried and dodged the other's most lethal blows, but the toll on the world around them grew with every passing second.
Entire sections of the mansion were reduced to ash. The trees nearby were charred, the sky thick with dust and flame. It was no longer a fight between men. It was a clash of monsters.
And neither intended to stop.
Just then, the other Archons arrived. Elyen was the first to react, her eyes wide with horror. The others—Kael, Mael, and Tovar—stood frozen, unable to speak as they witnessed the ruin and chaos.
Vale's expression darkened. He spotted the damaged mansion and flew toward it without hesitation. Elyen followed him.
"I'm going to find Evelin," Vale said. "You three—help Avile if you can."
They all took a step forward, but Avile screamed mid-fight, voice thundering. "Stay back! All of you!"
The air around him trembled. The others obeyed without question, retreating.
Inside the mansion, Vale and Elyen navigated the wreckage. Dead cultists lay scattered, their bodies torn apart by the stray impacts of the ongoing battle outside. The deeper they went, the more carnage they witnessed.
Finally, they found her—Evelin, unconscious in a massive iron cage.
Vale crushed the lock with a burst of power. Elyen gently lifted her as Evelin stirred awake, terrified.
"It's okay," Elyen whispered, soothing her. "You're safe now."
But footsteps echoed behind them. Cultists emerged, weapons raised.
"Take her to the hospital," Vale barked. "Now!"
"I'm not good with demonic power," Elyen admitted, trembling.
"She's injured!" Vale snapped. "Go!"
Seeing Evelin's wounds, Elyen steadied herself. She focused, summoned her strength, and vanished in a pulse of demonic light.
Vale exhaled, a smile briefly forming.
The cultists charged.
Vale's eyes gleamed with fury.
"I needed a punching bag," he said, as his sclera turned black and crimson cracks appeared beside his eyes. "And you all are just that."
Hundreds of cultists swarmed toward him.
Vale welcomed the chaos.
And the next storm began.