Azazel finished changing.
That was the only warning we got.
The air detonated.
Not heat—pressure.
The world lurched sideways as something massive crossed the space between us faster than thought. Stone screamed. I didn't even see the strike—just felt the shock tear through my bones.
Theon was gone.
Not missing—launched.
He hit a pillar hard enough to crater it, the impact folding stone inward like wet clay. The sound wasn't a crack. It was a concussive boom that rattled my teeth.
"THEON!" someone shouted.
Another blur.
Liraeth barely got her shield up in time. A claw the size of a longsword raked down, sparks and plasma screaming as it met her defense. The force drove her to one knee, shield groaning—actually groaning—under the weight.
The floor fractured beneath us.
Not cracked.
Fractured.
Ancient stone split like ice under pressure, jagged fault lines racing outward from Azazel's landing point.
And that's when I understood it.
This thing wasn't testing us.
It wasn't posturing.
It was hunting.
This wasn't a fight for dominance.
It was a fight to stay alive.
Azazel moved again.
Not wild. Not feral.
Precise.
He cut through the center of our formation with a shockwave, not to hit—but to separate. The ground erupted between Liam and Kai, a ridge of stone forcing them apart. Dust swallowed the air. Sightlines vanished.
"Pairs!" I shouted, already moving. "Pairs—now!"
Too late for perfect execution.
Azazel struck Seraphyne next—not to kill her, but to wound.
His claw clipped her shoulder. Pink fire exploded instinctively, but the blow sent her skidding across the floor, armor screaming, blood spattering stone.
She lived.
And everyone saw it.
Morale damage.
Calculated.
He was doing this on purpose.
He came from above next.
Ceiling.
Walls.
Blind angles that shouldn't exist.
Kazen loosed arrows—three, five, seven in rapid succession. They struck Azazel's aura shell and bent, some shattering, others skidding uselessly away.
"Damn it—!" Kazen adjusted instantly, switching angles, firing suppression shots instead of kill lines. Not trying to pierce—trying to control space.
Azazel laughed.
A real laugh.
"Your academy still teaches linear formations," he said casually, twisting midair and raking the ground. "How nostalgic."
My stomach dropped.
He knew Lionhearth.
Not from books.
From experience.
Sir Aldred opened his mouth.
I cut him off without looking.
"He's baiting reactions," I said sharply. "Stick to pairs. Rotate every five breaths. Don't chase—don't commit."
No one argued.
Not even Aldred.
That scared me more than Azazel.
Because I wasn't thinking like a student anymore.
I was counting breaths.
Loss angles.
Response windows.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized how easily that came to me.
Azazel surged again.
Liam and Kai moved together—perfectly. Too perfectly. Their rhythm was flawless… and Azazel shattered it with brute force. A shockwave tore them apart mid-combo, sending Kai skidding and Liam barely keeping his footing.
Seraphyne's pink fire washed over Azazel's torso, burning deep—then healing. Flesh knitted itself back together, molten and wrong.
Her face went pale.
"Fire isn't enough," she gasped.
Aelira moved without hesitation.
Ice surged—clean, sharp, precise. Frost locked onto torn flesh, slowing the regeneration just enough to matter.
"There," she said, breath tight. "It slows him."
Liraeth's shield cracked.
Not shattered.
Cracked.
A sound I'd never heard before.
Azazel noticed.
His attention shifted.
To me.
I felt it before I saw it.
My aura reacted—light blue flaring, white thunder crackling erratically along my blade. The ocean affinity surged violently, pushing back against something ancient and hateful.
Azazel smiled.
"Oh," he murmured. "There it is."
He came straight for me.
I met him head-on.
Steel met claw.
The impact sent a shockwave through the chamber, throwing debris into the air. My arms screamed. White thunder burst outward—unstable, wild.
Azazel leaned in mid-block, his strength obscene.
"You're burning yourself just to stand here," he whispered.
He was right.
My aura wasn't responding to control.
It was responding to emotion.
And that made me sloppy.
The environment began to collapse.
Pillars fell.
Ancient seals broke open with shrieks of tortured stone.
Jaki symbols flared—old ones, newer ones—activating unintentionally. Side chambers rattled as something inside began to wake up.
Undead.
Not attacking.
Stirring.
Sir Aldred went pale.
"He's not just a demon," he said quietly. "He's survived purges."
That landed harder than any blow.
Azazel had outlived knight orders.
Killed people stronger than us.
Then Theon screamed.
Pinned.
Azazel's claw through armor, stone, pinning him inches from death.
I didn't feel fear.
I moved.
No rage.
No panic.
Just decision.
I struck—not at Azazel's body, but the ground, channeling white thunder downward. The floor exploded upward, forcing Azazel to disengage or lose footing.
Theon dropped.
Alive.
Barely.
Azazel laughed again, wings unfurling fully now, scraping stone as the chamber sealed shut with a grinding finality.
No retreat.
No escape.
"This isn't a battle," I realized, gripping my sword as my aura flared uncontrollably.
Azazel wasn't trying to kill us quickly.
He was enjoying it.
This wasn't a battle anymore.
It was a siege.
And we were standing at the gate.