These past few days, Azazel has been avoiding me, our usual practices were postponed. And it was probably for the best. I was not ready to face him yet.
Still, It didn't help what I learned in Rome.
He knew something and I needed to know.
By the time Laevateinn finished. I decided to look for him on my own. And It didn't take long before I found him in his usual spot, a private bar on the top floor of some obscure building in Shinjuku. The kind of place that didn't exist in any directory and required three separate elevator rides to reach.
"Leon-kun!" His face lit up with that infuriating grin as I approached his table. "What a pleasant surprise. Drink?"
"No." I slid into the seat across from him, setting my phone face-down on the table. "We need to talk."
Azazel raised an eyebrow, taking a leisurely sip from his glass. "So serious today. Did the Bible thumpers say something to upset you?"
I stared at him, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably long. His smile never faltered, but something in his eyes shifted, a wariness creeping in around the edges.
"What do you know about my parents' deaths?" I asked finally, keeping my voice level.
If the question surprised him, he didn't show it. "A terrible tragedy. Plane crash, wasn't it? You have my deepest sympathies."
"Cut the bullshit." I leaned forward. "Holy power. Fallen angel signature. Ring any bells?"
That got a reaction. Just a flicker, a momentary tightening around his eyes, but it was there.
"Ah," he said, setting down his glass. "I see you've been doing some digging."
"The Church had evidence. Evidence that suggests fallen angel involvement."
Azazel sighed, suddenly looking every bit the ancient being he was. "The Church has a long history of blaming us for things we didn't do, Leon-kun. It's practically a tradition at this point."
"So you're saying you know nothing about it?"
"I'm saying," he replied carefully, "that I had nothing to do with your parents' deaths."
I watched his face, looking for tells. Listening to the careful wording of his answer. Nothing to do with it. Not that he knew nothing.
"But you know something,"
Azazel twirled his glass, ice cubes clinking softly. "Leon-kun, in my position, I know many things about many events. It doesn't mean I'm involved in all of them."
"Stop dodging the question." My fingers tightened around my own glass. "Do you know who was responsible?"
He studied me for a long moment. "And if I did? What would you do with that information?"
"I'd find them," I said simply. "And make them pay."
"Ah, revenge." Azazel smiled sadly. "The most predictable of human responses. And the most destructive."
"It's not revenge," I said through gritted teeth. "It's justice."
"Is it?" He leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Or is it just anger looking for a target?"
My patience snapped.
"They were my parents," I hissed, slamming my hand on the table hard enough to make the glasses jump. "Tell me what you know."
Azazel's eyes narrowed slightly. "You're not ready for that information. Not yet."
"That's not your decision to make."
"Actually, it is." His voice hardened, all pretense of casual friendliness evaporating. "For your own protection."
Something inside me snapped. "Mine?"
The bar's lights flickered as mana surged through my system, golden energy crackling across my skin. Glasses on nearby tables shattered. The temperature in the room plummeted, then spiked.
"I don't need your 'protection'," I growled. "I'm done with games. Tell me the truth or—"
"Or what?" Azazel's eyes glowed faintly, his own power stirring in response to mine. "You'll throw a tantrum? Attack the Governor-General of the Grigori? That would be... unwise."
"I don't care who you are." The mana was flowing freely now, golden light pouring from my eyes. "I will have answers."
Azazel stood slowly, his casual demeanor gone. "Walk away, Leon. Cool down. We'll talk when you're thinking clearly."
"TELL ME NOW!" I roared, my voice resonating with power.
The entire bar trembled. Windows cracked. Bottles behind the counter exploded one after another.
Azazel's expression darkened. "You're making a mistake."
"My only mistake was trusting you."
I reached for the Kavacha and Kundala, calling them from my inventory. The divine armor materialized around me in a flash of golden light, piece by piece locking into place with a sound like distant thunder.
Azazel's eyes widened in genuine shock. "That's... impossible. That artifact was lost centuries ago."
I stood before him, fully armored, mana crackling around me like lightning. The black material gleamed in the dim light, etched with runes that pulsed with energy.
"Last chance," I said, my voice echoing metallically through the helmet. "Tell me what you know."
Azazel's surprise faded, replaced by something more dangerous, calculation. "So the dragon has teeth after all." Light gathered around his shoulders. "Very well. If this is the lesson you need to learn..."
Twelve wings, black as midnight, tipped with violet, unfurled from his back, shattering what remained of the ceiling. His casual clothes dissolved, replaced by ornate battle robes that seemed to absorb the light around them.
"I tried to do this the easy way," he said, power gathering in his palm. "Remember that."
I shifted into a fighting stance, channeling mana into my limbs. "No more secrets. No more lies."
"Very well."
He moved.
I barely saw it, just a blur of motion, a displacement of air, before his fist connected with my chest. Even through the armor, the impact felt like being hit by a freight train. I crashed through the wall, through concrete and steel, before my body carved a trench into the rooftop of the adjacent building.
I rose slowly, the armor absorbing much of the damage. Azazel hovered at the edge of the hole, wings spread wide, watching me with ancient eyes.
"Still want to play?" he called.
I answered with action.
Mana Burst exploded through my legs, launching me forward with enough force to shatter the rooftop beneath me. I closed the distance in an instant, fist cocked back, golden energy spiraling around my arm.
Azazel raised a hand, a shield of light forming, but I was faster than he expected. My fist crashed through his barrier, connecting with his jaw in an explosion of golden energy that lit up the night sky.
The impact sent him flying backward, crashing through several buildings before disappearing from sight. The shockwave from the blow shattered every window within a half-mile radius.
For a moment, everything was silent.
Then the night exploded with light as Azazel rocketed back, a look of genuine shock on his face. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"That... actually hurt," he said, sounding more surprised than angry. "What are you really, Leon Mishima?"
I didn't answer with words. Instead, I channeled more power through the armor, golden light blazing from every seam. The dragon's essence within me roared to life, hungry for battle after being constrained for so long.
Azazel hurled a spear of light, his signature weapon, directly at my chest. I caught it with one hand, the divine armor allowing me to grip the energy weapon without harm. With a flex of my fingers, I shattered it into a thousand fragments of light.
His eyes widened. "Impossible."
I launched myself at him again, faster this time. We met in mid-air, the collision creating a thunderclap that echoed across the city. For several seconds, we exchanged blows at speeds no human eye could follow, each impact releasing shockwaves that cracked concrete and bent steel.
I caught his fist mid-strike, stopping it cold. "Now tell me what you know."
Azazel tried to pull away, but I held firm. Surprise flickered across his face again, genuine this time, not the calculated reactions he usually displayed.
"You shouldn't be this strong," he muttered.
"Yet here we are." I tightened my grip, and he actually winced.
He unleashed a point-blank wave of light energy, a desperate move to create distance between us. I released him and rode the blast backward, landing on my feet at the edge of the building.
Azazel hovered thirty feet away, reassessing me with those ancient eyes. A deep gash ran across his cheek, and his robes were torn in several places. Despite the damage, there was still that arrogant confidence in his posture, the certainty of a being who had survived millennia of battles.
"Last chance. Tell me everything now."
Azazel remained silent, his eyes calculating. Did he think I couldn't kill him? That I'd already shown him everything I had?
"So that's how it is."
I didn't want to do this. But he'd left me no choice.
"I didn't want to do this," I said, my voice low. "But you left me no choice."
I reached into my inventory and wrapped my fingers around the hilt of a weapon I'd been saving—a weapon that had just finished manifesting days ago.
"You think I showed you everything?" I pulled my hand out, drawing the sword in a single, fluid motion.
Laevateinn emerged in a blaze of apocalyptic fire.
—
Azazel's POV
Azazel had expected many things from this confrontation.
The armor had been a surprise, Kavacha and Kundala were supposed to be lost centuries ago, mere legends in the annals of divine history. The boy's strength was shocking too, far beyond what he had shown.
But this? This was impossible.
The sword in Leon Mishima's hand was unmistakable. Wreathed in flames that shouldn't exist in this reality, its blade carved from material no mortal forge could produce. The heat it radiated wasn't just physical, it was conceptual, the very idea of fire given form and purpose.
Laevateinn.
The World-Ender. The Flame-Sword of Surtr. The weapon prophesied to burn Yggdrasil itself at Ragnarök.
For the first time in millennia, Azazel felt something he'd nearly forgotten.
Fear.
Pure, primal fear.
Because that sword could kill him. Not just injure his physical form or force him to retreat, but end him completely. Erase him from existence.
"Where did you get that?" he whispered, voice barely audible over the sword's hungry roar.
Leon's eyes glowed. "Does it matter?"
The boy lunged forward, faster than Azazel could track. The sword traced an arc of molten destruction through the night air. Azazel barely managed to dodge, feeling the heat sear his wings as Laevateinn passed within inches of his face.
The building behind him wasn't so lucky. The blade cleaved through concrete and steel as if they were paper, the entire structure groaning as its support beams melted away. Seconds later, the top three floors collapsed in a roar of dust and flame.
Azazel summoned a shield of light, but even as he poured power into it, he knew it was futile. Laevateinn wasn't just a weapon—it was a concept, a primordial force that predated the very idea of "shield."
Leon attacked again, this time with a horizontal slash that sent a wave of fire cascading across the rooftop. Azazel took to the air, wings beating frantically as the heat scorched his robes and skin.
Yet even in his fear, Azazel noticed something.
Leon was holding back.
The boy could have ended this already. A direct strike with Laevateinn would have annihilated Azazel completely. Instead, Leon was attacking the space around him, driving him back, cornering him.
Azazel's back hit the remains of a wall. Nowhere left to retreat.
Leon advanced slowly, Laevateinn's flames casting harsh shadows across his armored form. "I won't ask again."
At that moment, Azazel realized how completely he had misjudged the situation.
And now, faced with a weapon that could unmake him, Azazel understood just how catastrophic that mistake had been.
"It was Kokabiel," he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
Leon paused, the sword still raised. "Kokabiel?"
"One of my brothers. A Cadre among the fallen." Azazel's voice was steady despite the fear coursing through him. "He's... extreme in his views. Has been since the Fall."
"He killed my parents." It wasn't a question.
Azazel nodded once, grimly. "The Church and Heaven was negotiating with your father. One that would have solidified neutral zones and made war between the three factions even more difficult."
"So Kokabiel killed them." Leon's voice was cold.
"Yes...He wants the Great War to resume. He believes the fallen angels should have won, that we were robbed of our victory." Azazel closed his eyes briefly. "He's been planning for centuries, looking for the perfect spark to ignite the conflict anew."
"And you knew." The sword's flames intensified, responding to Leon's anger. "You knew and you did nothing."
The accusation hung between them, heavy and damning.
"By the time I confirmed it was him, it was already done." Azazel's wings drooped slightly. "I suspected, yes. But I had no proof until after your parents were already gone."
"Why protect him?" Leon demanded, taking another step forward. The heat from Laevateinn was almost unbearable now, like standing at the edge of the sun. "Why lie to me?"
Azazel looked away, something like shame crossing his ancient features.
"Kokabiel and I... we were created together. Emerged from the same divine thought at the dawn of creation." His voice grew quieter. "Before names, before Heaven, before the Fall—we were brothers in the truest sense."
He met Leon's glowing eyes through the helmet.
"I don't agree with what he did. I've been working to contain him, to limit his influence. But I couldn't... I couldn't bring myself to forsake him completely."
"So you chose him over justice for my parents." Leon's grip tightened on Laevateinn's hilt.
"I chose to handle it myself," Azazel corrected. "To find a way to stop him without destroying him. To..." He trailed off, realizing how hollow his justifications sounded.
The truth was simpler. And more shameful.
"I was weak," he admitted. "I thought I could contain the situation. Control the damage. Instead, I've only made things worse."
For a long moment, Leon just stared at him, the sword still raised. Azazel waited, wondering if this was how his millennia of existence would end—at the hands of a human boy wielding a weapon from beyond the realms.
Then, slowly, Leon lowered Laevateinn. The flames didn't diminish, but they no longer seemed to reach hungrily toward Azazel.
"Where is he now?" Leon asked.
Azazel exhaled slowly. "I have no idea. but he's gathered followers, rogue exorcists, dissatisfied fallen. I also have information that Kokabiel is working together with another group, though we haven't been able to identify who.. He was probably about to make a move, but now I am not sure..."
No one had expected the Mishima heir to be this strong. To wield one of the most powerful weapons on the planet? That was beyond anyone's predictions. Beyond Kokabiel too.
Laevateinn wasn't a Longinus. It wasn't touched by God. It didn't need to be. It was born from the will of the world itself, shaped by the belief of generations.
And it could rival the true Longinus, the weapon that brought fear to the gods. To the divine such as himself.
To wield one of the most powerful weapons on the planet? That was something no one saw coming.
"And what will you do if he does?"
The question cut to the heart of Azazel's dilemma. Kokabiel was his brother, yes. But he had crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed. And now, with the power Leon had demonstrated, the situation had fundamentally changed.
"What I should have done from the beginning," Azazel said finally. "Stop him. By any means necessary."
Leon studied him for what felt like an eternity, the divine armor and apocalyptic sword creating an image more terrifying than any mere fallen angel could hope to match.
"If you're lying to me again—"
"I'm not." Azazel cut him off. "I've seen what you can do now. What you're willing to do." His eyes lingered on Laevateinn. "I'd be a fool to risk it."
As they stood amid the ruins of their battle, Azazel felt a deep, unfamiliar ache in his chest. For all his millennia of existence, he'd rarely formed genuine connections with others, especially humans. But Leon had been different.
And now, looking into those eyes, Azazel knew with certainty that he'd lost something irreplaceable. The easy camaraderie, the grudging respect, even the sardonic banter, all gone, shattered by his own deception.
This wasn't the Leon who'd rolled his eyes at Azazel's jokes or complained about his training methods. This was someone harder, colder, forged in the fires of betrayal and loss. The boy he'd come to know, perhaps even care about in his own way, was gone.
And Azazel had no one to blame but himself.
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