Azazel Helltaker Novels & Stories

He held onto my hand tighter, as if he was expecting me to run. "Why are there flames? Why are we here? Where is here?" "You know how I have a nickname? They call me the Lycan from Hell?" I nodded slowly, "Yeah?" "Well, this is why," he motioned around us, "I made a deal a long time ago. Gave up part of my soul, so I'm technically half Lycan. And half demon." I swallowed hard before letting out a shaky breath, "Right. Um, okay. Okay." I pulled my hands from his and began to pace.

I was hoping that his order was for me too, but as I drank another mouthful of the blood of my love, I knew his order wasn't aimed at me. See, Azael is the reason why I didn't break my siblings out of here myself. He is the head of the hunter's council, basically the leader of them all. The leader before him used to be an old man, an archangel called Gilliard, but Azael murdered him, and then took over. He was fed up of living in the shadows, constantly hiding away from the archangels. He knew that they hadn't been down to earth in centuries, so he saw his opportunity to build up an army. After killing Gilliard, he set about finding a way to create hybrids.

I am Athena Raven Lark, and this is my Story. I am Azazel Black, and this is my story of falling in love with my mother’s murderer. I am the only one who could keep you safe; they all fear me. If they dare bare their teeth at you, darling, I will pull them out one by one and hang them as my necklace. ……………

It’s brutal. We fly on. From the light, three figures emerge. I don’t need introductions. I know who they are. Azazel—Lucifer’s second-in-command, and chief torturer. They’re in a female form today, with a whip in one hand and a tail that moves like a weapon. Ramiel—a fallen Watcher angel, one of the first to defy the Godhead. Banished, bitter, and now one of Lucifer’s most faithful. Dagon—a former god of the Philistines. Defeated by the Godhead himself, thrown into Hell, and now reborn through Lucifer’s vengeance.

Derek added, "That's Azazel. He's an orphan from the northern warzone. When we found him, he was surviving on corpses, fighting vultures for scraps." Tabitha recoiled in horror. "He… ate human flesh?" "Rotting flesh, to be precise. When survival's at stake, people will do anything. Azazel named himself after the biblical demon, symbolizing exile and cursed power. He's the leader here. Do you know why he bullies Kyrian?" Tabitha guessed, "He wants to be the leader, and Kyrian won't bow to him?" Derek nodded. "Exactly. Kyrian's young, but he's got a strong will. He won't back down, so Azazel targets him."

He said and then he laughed like he is happy that he killed his mother. “Did she own the lamp?” I asked “Not anymore” He answered “So what is your name?” “Samael” He answered and his eyes turned all white and I heard the angels scream outside. As if he is connected to them. Maria looked at me and asked, “What is going on?” I didn’t answer because I don't know what is going on. It seems that he is controlling all the others outside. “Hush,” He said and they immediately tame. “Don’t you see? I can control human emotions. I have an army of angels. I am higher and more powerful than him now, and now you still choose to reconcile with him rather than to your own brother?”

“I’m not a fledgling Sahara. I’ve lived on this earth for thousands of years. I already have everything. You, however, are a greedy bitch who has never satisfied with your lot and look where it has gotten you. Aren’t you tired of being Marael’s lackey?” Sahara’s nostrils flare at Marael’s name. “How do you know about Marael? How are you involved in any of this?” Azazel shrugs and takes a cautious step back, and the revenants continue to moan and growl in hunger. I tighten my hand around him, feeling tension rush through my body, but Azazel keeps his cool and continues to talk. “I’ve always known about Marael and her plan to bring hell on earth. I was sent by the Council to find her. The Coun

“About bloody time, you two showed up. I was starting to feel foolish standing here looking at the time on my cellphone like a wanker.” Kell gives him a wolfish smile and shrugs. “Sorry, bro.” He mutters with a not so sorry voice. Azazel gives him a withering glare. “Yeah, right, mate, sure you’re sorry.” He says with a sarcastic snicker. It’s strange to think about Azazel uncomfortable anywhere. He’s just such a large presence. The man is over six feet tall, with gold, blonde hair, and amber-colored eyes. He’s muscled and attractive. I mean, he can give a young Brad Pitt a run for his money with his movie-star looks. Today he’s wearing black jeans, a white Henley, steel-toed boots, and a bl