With a swift, imperceptible movement, the exorcist vanished from Azaael's line of sight, dodging the black flames launched his way. They sliced through the air like a crescent of fire, swallowing the space ahead of him and marking the beginning of the clash.
The beast stood still for a brief moment, scanning the surroundings, moving its gaze from side to side. Searching for traces of spiritual energy—any sign that might reveal his opponent's location.
Quick, like a damn brat…
But he found nothing—not even a trace.
This is going to be fun!
The thought echoed in his mind, as the flames he had conjured continued to burn around him, clinging to the rubble scattered across the ground.
The crackling sound they made was a dark melody, a hymn from the abyss. The air they exhaled was so cold it burned, rivaling the primordial essence of the flames of creation.
"Hey!"
He finally revealed himself. Floating on the horizon, suspended in the void, his back turned to the demon. His index finger was extended, pointing directly at the demon's back. The wind blew around him, playing with the strands of his hair, while his face bore a bold expression, a blend of carelessness and challenge.
Gotcha!
And with a single shot, he unleashed his offensive. At the exact moment the demon turned to face him, a violent burst of wind erupted from his finger, pushing the creature back. His hair flew up, and he fought to keep his balance, digging his feet in to avoid being thrown.
Debris flew in all directions, even reaching Gabriel, who was watching the scene with narrowed eyes, the weight of doubt growing in his heart.
Shit! Did I make the right call? That lunatic's going to get himself killed!
The words nearly escaped his thoughts.
He used the wind he created… to cast a spell…
Azaael murmured to himself, nearly in disbelief.
For the first time, he felt the humiliation of losing his balance. But he didn't allow himself to falter. Forcing his legs against the ground, he planted his feet with strength, resisting the wind's pressure as it began to die down.
And then, his dark energy awakened. It flowed from top to bottom, a river of shadow so dense it bent the light. With each undulation, imposing forms began to take shape—black dragons, forged from absolute chaos. Their silhouettes slithered and roared, carrying with them the promise of destruction.
Chaos manifested its essence, and he, wrapped in his aura of darkness, prepared to strike back with all the force that defined him as a demon.
Then, like a missile, he shot forward, moving with relentless speed. His figure reflected in the exorcist's eyes as he faced the beast's furious approach.
In mere milliseconds, the impact came. The beast's fist charged like a meteor, but with superhuman reflexes, Masaru raised his arms to block it. The contact was devastating. The sound of bones breaking echoed like thunder, while the ground beneath them trembled violently from the overwhelming power.
He was launched like a bullet, tearing through the air until he was hurled to the far edge of the district.
The impact explosion created a shockwave that flattened everything in its path, destroying structures and kicking up a storm of dust.
Gabriel, still watching the scene, felt his heart sink. The tension on his face betrayed the internal conflict consuming him.
Why am I letting this happen? Me, of all people…
His body took a step forward involuntarily, but he hesitated, fighting the impulse to interfere. That boy—that lunatic—was the only one who could break his resolve. To him, he was more than a partner—he was like a little brother.
The silence was broken by a loud, distant crash. The exorcist's body had slammed into what remained of a building, and the entire structure collapsed within seconds.
A mountain of debris rose from the collapse, while a thick cloud of dust spread into the air, suffocating the atmosphere.
"Tough luck, being just a human!" the demon shouted as he landed.
He was sure he had cornered him—until he noticed a spark of energy rising from the rubble. In an instant, it exploded, reducing the pile of concrete to dust, disintegrating it as if it had never existed.
He emerged unscathed. His arms, previously broken, were nearly healed, bearing only a few scratches. A bright light radiated from his aura, giving him an imposing presence as his eyes locked onto the beast again.
"Nice punch! But now it's my turn!"
His words reached the creature's ears like an irritating buzz, slightly disturbing its focus.
Just as I thought… he can generate light—and with it, heal himself… the demon assessed, coldly.
And once again, the sound of crackling filled the air. A small black flame began to dance at the tips of the entity's right-hand fingers. Smiling with a predator's air, he issued his challenge:
"Hit me… before I reduce you to ashes, brat!"
His aura boiled. And in a subtle, nearly imperceptible movement to any mortal eye, Masaru acted. Before the demon could complete his next motion, a beam of light tore through the air, racing toward him with merciless speed.
On reflex, he tilted left, dodging by a hair. Still, the heat grazed his shoulder, scorching the flesh and leaving a corrosive mark.
When?
The thought flashed in his mind as his eyes tried to follow him.
And in a blink, he was already on top of him, closing an unthinkable distance in seconds. A provocative grin stretched across his face as his fist, cloaked in shimmering energy, prepared to strike.
"Fortis et magnificatus!" he shouted, and his words echoed like a command. The energy around his fist radiated strength.
The impact was devastating. Upon contact, energy beams exploded in all directions, and a colossal shockwave swept the district. Buildings trembled, the ground cracked, and the environment slowly began to melt under the overwhelming heat and pressure, as if the entire area was on the verge of collapsing into the storm forming around them.
Sensing the force of the blow, Gabriel leapt backward, raising his hands. A barrier of pure spiritual energy instantly formed around the car, keeping it from being crushed by the destructive pressure of the attack.
They're unleashing energy like maniacs! he thought, as the intensity of the clash made the air itself vibrate.
As the mist began to clear, Masaru noticed something stunning: his blow had pierced through the demon's arm. Azaael bared his teeth in fury, realizing that his flesh and bones had been evaporated—leaving behind a grotesque void.
But that strike—that moment of wounding the predator—was more than an attack; it was a challenge. And Azazel answered in kind.
In that brief instant, a terrible vision appeared before Masaru: the dragon. Its scales shimmered with blood-red light, each detail emanating majesty and danger. Massive wings spread wide, imposing, as its presence seemed to fill all space.
And then, everything vanished.
With a swift motion, the limb regenerated before his eyes, as if time had reversed.
The next instant, black flames burst from the restored arm, erupting like a beast unleashed from its cage. The intensity was abyssal, and the flames soared, reaching the sky. It was the roar of a beast threatening to consume everything around it. Caught off guard, Masaru felt the oppressive heat and power of the flames closing in, forcing him to react quickly as the fire spread, devouring the air and darkening the horizon. Leaping back, he narrowly escaped—but the cunning flames caught the ends of his coat, burning his fingers. The flesh bore blackened marks from the brief contact—a scorch that faded as quickly as it came.
His aura flared once more, and with a leap, he avoided another attack: a swarm of black fire that devoured the spot he'd just been in.
This time, though, he felt the difference. The burns on his fingers weren't healing.
"Black flames are the pinnacle of shadow mastery. What they touch cannot be regenerated, boy!"
Watching him with a piercing gaze, Azazel smiled, convinced.
A charged silence filled the space—until it was broken by an insane laugh from the exorcist. The sound of his twisted amusement echoed through the air.
"Is that so? Fascinating! Guess I'll need to change my strategy."
He took a few steps back, gaze sharp as a blade, the sarcasm giving way to a spark of determination.
I had no idea this thing was so damn powerful!
"Strategy?" the demon mocked with scorn. In response, he raised his hand and once again conjured black flames. But this time, they molded into shape, solidifying into an abyssal sword.
"Show me what you've got—because I'll show you everything I am!" he growled, arching his back as he wielded the dark weapon with a cruel smile.
"Alright!" Masaru exclaimed, letting out a deep breath like a boxer heading into the next round. He planted his feet and raised his fists in front of his face, ready.
The wind stirred his hair, lifting debris into the air. The hum of the surroundings was almost contemplative—a silent prelude. Then, without hesitation, the two charged at each other.
Azaael wielded the blade forged from shadow—a long sword with a deep, serrated edge, reminiscent of medieval weapons.
Each strike was a deadly arc of destruction, capable of slicing anything in two.
But the exorcist, with inhuman agility, dodged. The shadows trailing from the sword sliced the air near his face, leaving deadly streaks.
The fight became a dance—a choreography where each demonic strike threatened to sever his life. Yet he maintained focus, eyes alert, desperately searching for an opening in the whirlwind of darkness.
He threw punches and kicks, aiming for the entity's chest and face. But each attack was blocked by the shadow blade, which retaliated with counterstrikes, exploiting every gap the exorcist left behind.
Until, in a fleeting moment of advantage, Azaael found the perfect opening. With a swift and lethal move, his blade broke through the defense. It pierced the exorcist's flesh, ripping through muscle and bone, stopping only at the structure's resistance before it could reach the head or chest.
"What's wrong? Lost your thrill?" he mocked, a cruel smile curling his lips. He pressed harder, driving the blade in. "I'll split you in two—like slaughtering a beast!"
His veins bulged, pulsing with dark energy, as he gathered all his strength for the final blow. The environment quaked under the weight of his intent, the fight reaching its most critical moment—every second thick with tension.
"Grrr…" Masaru growled as the blade crept dangerously close. In a desperate move, he raised his left hand near the nearly severed arm. With dexterity and mastery, he manipulated the water in his own blood, creating a jet that shot from within his body and struck the demon's face directly.
"What was it you said again?" he spat, leaping back out of his enemy's range.
Blood spilled from his body, staining the ground and surrounding debris in vivid red. His arm, fractured and nearly torn off, dangled uselessly at his side.
And the demon also pulled back for a moment—half his face disfigured by the attack. But a wild, blood-smeared grin soon stretched across his lips. Gripping his sword with renewed vigor, he prepared to charge again.
"You damn brat!"
But as the battle continued, he felt a new energy emanating from his opponent—a worthy adversary starting to reveal himself.
"You're good! I haven't heard a single scream of pain! Tell me, what's your name, huh?"
The boy exhaled, exhaustion and adrenaline mixing on his face. But a disturbing smile overtook him, and his eyes sparkled with a defiant madness.
"You don't need to know my name! Just that I'm the strongest exorcist!"
This battle was between the only ones who found joy in the distorted reality of this world. A duel of suicidals—lovers of the madness that existence insists on offering.
Meanwhile, in Saisho district—the first…
On the other side of New Tokyo, a gray van—an outdated and discreet model, still common on the highways of the vast metropolis—pulled up in front of an abandoned building. The structure, worn by time, had its walls covered in vines and the stains of urban decay.
"Seven thousand yen…" Romero muttered, jumping from the back door of the vehicle with agility, a suitcase swinging from his right arm.
"That was the best I could get in this district, boss. The others were asking too many questions…" replied another man, purple-haired and dressed like a goth, stepping out of the driver's seat to accompany the exorcist. His tone held a hint of nervousness. "You hated it, didn't you?"
His boss shot him a quick, almost indifferent glance before replying:
"It's fine, Mr. Milk…" He looked up, observing the building from ground to rooftop. His voice took on a thoughtful, enigmatic tone. "Like this world… it's temporary."
Without another word, he moved toward the building. The purple-haired man hesitated for a moment, watching him with something that went beyond admiration—almost a silent passion—before following him into the decaying structure.
They were plotting something…