I was born of light.
When the universe was young, and the heavens still sang with innocence, I bore the name Cassiel. A name of purity, a name forgotten now, buried beneath the weight of my sins.
I remember crying out when we were cast from Heaven — begging, pleading for forgiveness. I had been foolish enough to follow Lucifer in his rebellion, and my heart, once bright, was blackened with regret. I wept as the gates closed to me forever, and when my screams were swallowed by the endless abyss, I found myself here.
Hell.
A rotting, grotesque wasteland where screams are the very air you breathe, and death is a mercy never granted. The ground cracked beneath my steps, oozing filth. The sky churned with darkness. Time itself seemed to bleed here, endless and cruel.
I wandered, alone, through the endless decay until distant sounds reached my ears — sounds of battle, of wings thrashing, of steel meeting flesh. I ran toward it, desperate for any sign of my brothers.
But what I found was not hope.
It was slaughter.
A gathering of fallen angels, familiar faces twisted in fear and rage, battling a single figure.
He stood amidst them like a god among insects — his wings vast and demonic, his swords dark and cruel, the word "Ephonsel" carved into the blades. From them leaked a dark energy, so vile and corrupt that even the fallen trembled before it.
I had never seen power like it — not in Heaven, not even in Lucifer himself.
One by one, my brothers fell.
Some fought valiantly; others dropped their swords and begged for mercy. It made no difference. The dark being smiled as he cut them down, ripping their wings from their backs with a casual grace, their screams tearing through the thick air.
I stood frozen, fear rooting me in place. My hands trembled. My heart pounded in my ears.
I wanted to help them.
I wanted to run.
I did nothing.
Until, after the carnage, only seven remained.
From among them stepped a figure — tall, proud, even now.
The leader of our rebellion.
The first to defy God.
His once-beautiful wings now torn and tattered, he stood undaunted. His true, original name has long been lost, even to us.
Now, we know him only as Lucifer.
He turned to the other six and spoke with a voice that still carried command:
"We can beat him. Together. Follow my lead."
The dark being tilted his head, smiling mockingly.
"Fallen ones," he said, his voice smooth and cruel. "You, who dared to stand against the Almighty, now squabble for survival. And still you have hope?"
He chuckled, shaking his head. *"I appreciate the spirit."
Without hesitation, Lucifer launched forward, sword flashing.
The others followed.
But the demon — he didn't even raise his blades.
He danced between their strikes, weaving effortlessly, as if he knew where every blow would land before it was even swung. His movement was like mockery, a dark ballet of death.
Lucifer's strikes were powerful. The others were desperate.
But they couldn't touch him.
I watched, heart sinking.
Lucifer must have realized it too — this enemy was beyond any of us.
As he dodged, the dark being spoke again:
*L"Your fight is meaningless, but... entertaining."
He lifted a single sword lazily and in a flash, a deep cut opened in Lucifer's thigh.
Lucifer stumbled but didn't fall. He gritted his teeth and pressed on.
"If you think merely surviving amuses me, you're wrong," the demon said, smiling. "Struggle harder."
Lucifer, panting, said through clenched teeth:
"If we touch you... even once... we win?"
The demon's eyes glinted with amusement.
"A bet, then? Like the humans you so envy? Very well. If any of you land a single strike, I will accept you into Hell proper. A home for the lost."
He laughed lightly, almost kindly, though the mockery in it made my blood run cold.
The bet had been made.
Touch him once — and he would acknowledge us.
Fail — and we would perish.
I stood apart from the others, silent, watching.
Lucifer and the six were already charging, their broken wings slicing through the ash-thick air. Their attacks were wild — desperate. Bolts of corrupted light, blades summoned from fading divine power, cries of rage and despair. They threw themselves at him with everything they had left.
I stayed back.
I knew better.
The being — whoever he was — barely moved.
He danced among them, sword resting lazily on his shoulder, a smirk twisting his face. Every attack, every desperate attempt to land a blow — he evaded with absurd ease, slipping between strikes as if gravity itself bent around him.
"You're boring me," he said casually, ducking a blast of hellfire from Samael.
Lucifer snarled, ordering the others into formation, but it was useless. Their fury made them predictable — their anger made them weak.
I studied him carefully.
Not just his movements, but his rhythm.
There — a slight hesitation when he stepped with his left foot.
A tilt of his head whenever he parried Lucifer.
His cockiness was a weakness.
He wasn't invincible.
Just confident.
But this battlefield was Hell — and confidence here was survival.
Lucifer roared again, pushing forward, his blade igniting with the last dregs of his holy power.
The others followed, battered and bleeding, but determination blazing in their broken souls.
They were buying time.
Creating an opening.
I tightened my grip around the thin, almost translucent spear of corrupted light I had forged.
It would not last long.
It didn't need to.
I waited.
Waited until his head tilted again, until he shifted onto that left foot.
Waited until Lucifer's furious charge forced him to pivot just slightly, exposing his side.
Now.
I moved.
Silent as a whisper, faster than thought, I launched the spear — a single, focused strike.
It cut through the thick air, not towards his heart — no, that would be expected — but towards his shoulder.
A distraction.
He sensed it, saw it — but in that heartbeat of reaction, he turned — and Lucifer struck.
A shallow cut bloomed across the being's chest.
Just a scratch — but enough.
We had touched him.
The battle stopped.
The heavy silence that followed was thicker than the smoke around us.
The dark being looked down at the tiny line of blood on his chest, then up at us.
A slow smile — not angry, not furious — something almost resembling approval curved his lips.
"You win," he said simply.
He sheathed his sword, turning his back to us as if we were no threat at all.
He began walking, his silhouette melting into the wasteland.
Lucifer, bloodied but unbroken, staggered after him.
"Wait," he called out.
The dark figure paused, but did not turn.
"Take us," Lucifer said, voice hoarse, "to the ruler of this realm. We've earned that much."
There was a moment of silence.
Then the being chuckled — low, amused.
"Ah..." he said, glancing back over his shoulder, eyes gleaming.
"I almost forgot to introduce myself, didn't I?"
The being paused, his figure turning slowly, almost leisurely, to face Lucifer. The smirk on his face never wavered, but his eyes — dark, knowing — watched each of us as if we were insects beneath a magnifying glass.
"Ah..."* he said softly, as though remembering something important. "I almost forgot to introduce myself, didn't I?"
He took a step forward, his presence warping the very air around him. His wings unfurled — demonic, jagged, a stark contrast to the once-pristine feathers we had all once worn. He stood tall and proud, the ruler of this forsaken place, his form radiating authority like a dark sun.
"I am Zariel," he said with a cruel smile, his voice deep and resonating. "Ruler of Hell, master of this domain you are now part of."
I could feel the weight of his words pressing down on us. There was no mistaking the power behind them — it was not a boast, but a statement of cold fact. He was our ruler now. His words were the laws of this place.
Lucifer stepped forward, his face grim but unwavering. The blood that stained his body, the sweat on his brow, all of it seemed to sharpen his resolve. "Take us to the heart of Hell, then."
The words felt like a challenge, but also a plea. He wasn't merely demanding — he needed to know where we stood. He needed to know if this... new reality was something we could survive.
Zariel's eyes gleamed with amusement, as though Lucifer's defiance was something he had expected all along. His smile stretched wider.
"So eager, aren't you?" Zariel said, almost fondly. "Very well, follow me."
Without another word, he turned on his heel, walking towards the horizon. The landscape itself seemed to bend to his will as he moved, the once-grotesque expanse of Hell shifting and changing with each step.
We followed, our movements heavy with exhaustion, but also a gnawing curiosity. Each step felt like we were sinking deeper into the abyss — not just physically, but spiritually. We were no longer angels. We weren't even demons yet. But we were something else. Something new. Something bound to this place.
As we walked, the air grew thicker, the darkness more oppressive. The screams of the damned echoed through the distance, the wails of souls trapped in endless torment. The ground beneath our feet seemed to pulse with an ancient, cruel energy — a pulse that resonated with the core of our being.
After what felt like an eternity, Zariel stopped in front of a massive structure that seemed to rise out of the very fabric of Hell itself. It was a castle — dark and jagged, its towers piercing the sky like the fingers of some long-forgotten giant. The walls were adorned with symbols — twisted sigils of power and dominance.
This was where Hell's heart beat. The center of the damned realm.
Zariel stepped through the gates without hesitation, his footsteps echoing in the hollow silence. We followed, entering the gates and stepping into a vast, cavernous hall. The air inside was thick with the scent of sulfur and power.
At the far end of the hall stood a throne, an imposing chair made of what looked like obsidian and bloodstone. It was empty for now, but its very presence made the room feel alive with dread.
Zariel turned to face us, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Welcome,"he said, his voice dripping with malice. "This is the heart of Hell, and you are now mine."
He raised his hand, and with a single motion, the room seemed to tremble.
We felt it before we saw it — the surge of power, crawling beneath our skin like a fire igniting deep inside us. It was not like the divine energy we had once known. This power was dark, corrosive, and invasive. It forced its way through every inch of our being, filling the empty spaces where purity once dwelled.
I felt it first — a burning, aching sensation in my chest as the demonic energy forced its way into my soul. It was like being torn apart and remade, every piece of who I had been shattered and rebuilt in this image. My wings — once golden, shining like the sun — were now twisted and blackened, their feathers rotting, curling at the edges. My body felt heavier, as though every step I took was pulling me deeper into this new existence.
I clenched my fists, trying to control the scream that threatened to tear from my throat. The pain was unimaginable, but it was nothing compared to the fury that burned within me. I was no longer Cassiel. That name had died long ago, just as my purity had.
Lucifer stood tall, his face contorted with pain but still resolute. His eyes locked onto Zariel's, a silent challenge lingering between them.
Zariel's smile twisted, and with a final wave of his hand, he imbued each of us with his power. It was the final step in our transformation — the last thread that would bind us to Hell itself.
As the dark power surged through us, I fell to my knees, gasping, shaking. My flesh burned, twisted, remade by forces I could scarcely comprehend. Around me, my brothers all writhed in the same agony, their bodies no longer angelic, but monstrous.
The castle loomed above us, its black spires clawing at the sky like the fingers of a corpse.
I lifted my head and caught sight of my reflection in the cold obsidian floor.
Gone was the angel I once knew. No more the golden wings, the radiant gaze. In his place stood something broken — something terrible.
I tried to whisper my name, the name given to me at creation.
"...Cassiel…"
The word died on my lips.
Cassiel was no more.
That name belonged to the light.
But I... I belonged here now.
A new name burned itself into the depths of my mind, searing every corner of my soul like a brand.
I rose to my feet, still trembling — and spoke aloud, to the darkness, to myself, to the heavens that had forsaken me:
"I am Azazel."
And in that moment, everything I had been was buried beneath the ashes of who I had become.
The skies over Earth were torn asunder, golden light spilling from the heavens while the ground below cracked open to vomit black fire. Angels descended like falling stars, wings of flame and lightning. Demons rose in hordes, grotesque and endless, their forms twisted by hatred and ancient sin.
And in the eye of the storm stood two figures — unshaken by the apocalypse around them.
Zariel pointed his sword, Ephonsel, toward Uriel, his dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. "So be it," he said. "Let this world witness the fury of balance undone."
Uriel raised the sacred blade Saerelion, its silver radiance humming with creation itself. His golden armor pulsed with divine energy. "On behalf of Hell" he declared, "I accept your challenge, demon."
A dome of light enveloped them. Formed by Uriel's command, the barrier was laced with runes of containment — built to keep the universe safe from what was about to happen.
Because Saerelion was not a weapon. It was a divine concept, forged in the breath of God, and it did not understand restraint.
The first strike came from Zariel.
Ephonsel screamed as it moved, the air cracking apart with each swing. The blade wasn't forged — it had been stitched together from the essence of punished gods, soaked in millennia of torment. Every motion carried the weight of cosmic rebellion.
Uriel parried, but even the light of Saerelion flared violently. Their blades met with a soundless impact, and for a moment, the universe held its breath.
Then—detonation.
Mountains outside the barrier crumbled to dust. The sea turned black for a hundred miles.
Uriel countered with a downward slash, light blinding, divine inscriptions spinning around him. Zariel blocked — barely. He was smiling. Genuinely thrilled.
His power flared — his true strength, for the first time. The air around him turned red and black, reality bent at his will. Ephonsel grew heavier, dripping shadows that refused to touch the ground.
Uriel's eyes narrowed. "What are you?"
Zariel raised his blade again. "I'm bored. Let's see if Saerelion is worth its legend."
Uriel hesitated. Only the archangels knew the name Saerelion. For Zariel to know it—
There was no time.
They clashed again.
And again.
And again.
Every blow carved new scars into the dome, which held — barely. Heaven's chosen and Hell's first clashed in a storm of power neither side could comprehend. Wings burned. Time stuttered. The concept of battle was being rewritten by their duel.
Uriel roared, driving Saerelion down in a righteous arc meant to erase evil itself. Zariel caught it with both hands — Ephonsel shattering in half.
But he endured.
Blood like molten ash poured down his arms. His eyes burned with defiance. He pushed back.
"Not yet," Zariel whispered. "Not today."
And the power between them reached critical mass.
The light barrier flickered, overloaded by divine repulsion and demonic rejection.
Uriel breathed heavily, his chest rising with the weight of divine exertion. Across from him, Zariel cracked his neck, unbothered, eyes still burning with that twisted excitement. His dark form stood firm, every inch of him radiating power, as if the battle had been nothing more than a warm-up.
"You're... not ordinary," Uriel muttered, lowering Saerelion slightly, his grip tightening. "Whoever you are... you've fought angels before."
Zariel tilted his head with a predatory grin, his smile wide and unsettling. "Who said you were the first I've clashed with?"
Uriel's eyes narrowed, suspicion rising. His heart thundered in his chest as the truth began to settle in — this demon was far more than just a prince of Hell. "Who are you really?"
Zariel's grin stretched wider, the atmosphere growing darker around them. He took a slow step forward, his presence pressing in on Uriel, but it wasn't a move of aggression. It was something far more dangerous — it was the presence of someone who had witnessed far more than Uriel could ever imagine.
"I'm the keeper of balance, Uriel," Zariel said, his voice a low rasp that seemed to echo in the air itself. "You wouldn't understand."
Zariel, his voice cold, his amusement gone. "Don't waste your time asking questions you'll never understand. You and the others like you were all just pieces in a grander game, Uriel. Your precious God made this game, yes, but I was the one who played it. I was the one who saw it all unfold."
His eyes narrowed with a dangerous gleam, "And Now, I'm here to see how it all ends. It's just a matter of time before Heaven falls... and Hell... takes its place."
Uriel's hand shook slightly, but his resolve solidified. "Then it seems we have no more time for talk."
With a surge of light, he readied Saerelion once again.
Zariel didn't flinch, the corners of his lips curling into a smile that wasn't one of amusement, but of something far darker.
"Let's see if your sword can do more than just shine brightly, Archangel," he murmured, raising *Ephonsel* once again, the blade of demonic power reflecting the darkness in his eyes.
Zariel's grin only widened, the eerie glow of his eyes intensifying as he shifted his stance, his blade humming with a demonic power that seemed to distort the air around it.
Uriel's grip tightened around Saerelion, his divine sword crackling with light. His focus sharpened, eyes never leaving Zariel. "I don't care about your motives, demon. I only care about stopping you."
With that, Uriel lunged forward, his movements a blur, the blade of Saerelion slashing through the air with a thunderous roar. Zariel raised his own weapon, Ephonsel, and the two swords clashed with a shockwave that sent ripples through the very fabric of the earth beneath them.
The sound of the collision was deafening, like the clash of thunder and lightning in the heavens. The ground beneath them cracked, and the sky above seemed to darken as the forces of light and darkness collided.
Uriel's blade shimmered with pure divine energy, slicing through the air with precision and power. But Zariel, unfazed, countered every strike with the skill and ferocity of a being who had lived for eons in the deepest pits of Hell. His movements were fluid, the demonic power in Ephonsel making him faster, more unpredictable.
"You really think this sword can defeat me?" Zariel mocked, his voice carrying a sinister edge.
Uriel's gaze hardened.
He swung Saerelion again, this time with even more power, sending a shockwave of pure light toward Zariel. But Zariel dodged effortlessly, his blade spinning in his hand, a dance of darkness against the brilliance of Uriel's divine weapon.
The battle raged on, the two warriors locked in a deadly dance, each one unwilling to give ground. Every strike from Uriel was met with a counterstrike from Zariel, and every time Uriel pressed forward, Zariel would either dodge or parry, always staying one step ahead.
Finally, Uriel took a step back, sweat dripping down his forehead. His sword hummed with the intensity of his power, but even he could feel the toll the battle was taking. Zariel, however, seemed as though he was just warming up, his smile never fading.
Uriel knew he couldn't keep this up forever. He needed to end this. And quickly.
Without warning, Uriel raised his sword high, calling upon the full force of Saerelion's divine might. A brilliant beam of pure light shot forth from the blade, threatening to incinerate anything in its path.
Zariel's eyes glinted with amusement, and he raised Ephonsel to meet it.
The two beams of power collided in mid-air, the earth beneath their feet shaking violently as the demonic and divine forces battled for supremacy. The sky tore open, the heavens themselves shaking in response to the sheer magnitude of the clash.
For a moment, it seemed as though Uriel's light would overwhelm Zariel, pushing him back, but then the demonic energy of Ephonsel surged forward, meeting the divine light with an equal force. The air crackled with an unholy energy, and the earth trembled beneath their feet.
Uriel gritted his teeth, pouring more of his energy into the strike, but Zariel's grin only widened as he summoned his own power, channeling the deepest, most ancient forces of Hell through Ephonsel.
"You think you can defeat me, Uriel?" Zariel hissed, his voice barely audible over the roaring battle. "I've been through things you cannot even comprehend. You are but a puppet of a system you don't understand."
The two forces continued to struggle, neither giving ground. But as the clash continued, both of them realized that neither could win this fight so easily.
The moment stretched on, and both warriors were visibly straining, their power nearly equal, but there was something else—a sense of inevitability. Neither was willing to break first, and neither could.
Suddenly, with a flash of brilliant light and the sound of crackling energy, the barrier surrounding them flared, preventing any further destruction from spilling over into the battlefield. Uriel's barrier of light shimmered, keeping the two forces from causing a cataclysmic explosion.
Zariel broke the stalemate with a twisted laugh, lowering his blade and stepping back. "We are at an impasse, it seems."
Uriel panted, his chest heaving with exhaustion, but his eyes never left Zariel. "This isn't over, demon. You may have your power, but I will stop you."
Zariel's smile deepened, the dark energy swirling around him intensifying. "We'll see, Uriel. We'll see."
Here's a vivid construction of that scene in a narrative style:
---
Uriel stood motionless, blood crusting his armor, the weight of the stalemate with Zariel still simmering in his bones. Around him, the battlefield roared—a maelstrom of screams, steel, and fire. But within him, there was only silence.
He closed his eyes. Let go.
Of the doubt.
Of the failure.
Of everything but the blade.
When he opened them again, they burned like twin suns.
In one fluid motion, he raised his sword. Light surged along the steel's edge. Then—movement. A blur of divine fury.
Demons fell like shadows under a rising dawn. Left and right, they crumbled beneath his strikes—each one precise, each one final. Uriel no longer fought with rage, but with purpose. With clarity. With the weight of heaven behind every blow.
In that moment, he was not a angel.
He was a judgment.
He was war.