Azrael Novels & Stories

Philip recognized the man, but not the lady, and he was surprised when the man saw him and approached him with the beautiful young lady. "Maestro felipe!" The man said with a smile as he shook hands with Philip. "It's nice to see you again, Dr. Mathew." Philip said with a smile. Dr. Mathew was a big man with medicated eyeglasses and white hair, he was definitely in his sixties perhaps a little older than his father, who was turning sixty. Dr. Mathew was a very intelligent man with a friendly personality and he occupied an important position in the CRUZ company.

“Because this day was going way too orderly.” Despite everything—despite the pressure, the pain, the cosmic trial—I bark out a laugh. The ancient presence purrs. I nearly lose my footing. Gravehowl’s presence pulses with unmistakable amusement. Ah. You’ve met the Sleeper. “The what?” I gasp, steadying myself as gravity hiccups sideways. Midnight’s oldest resident, he replies calmly. Predates the Crown. Predates me. Likes jokes. Hates rules. The Arbiter rotates sharply toward the epicenter of the disturbance, sigils flaring violently. ANOMALY EXCEEDS ACCEPTABLE PARAMETERS. TERMINATION—

I made a face at the memory. Azrael. Almost as old as Heaven, older than the World; the record-keeper for the lives of the departed, he was not an entity I would ever dream of saying "No" to. You might forget who he was, might be swept in by his neat, meticulous, ordered way and his minor vanity of the tailored off-white Armani suit... But he was the Angel of Death, and he could be terrifying when crossed. Oh well. Time to go. I paused, concentrated, shifted... my wings beating downwards, the powerful thrust driving me slantwise through the dream of existence from the clear morning of Memphis to the overcast just-about-lunch of my beloved Wales.

“Or was she just caught between two monsters?” My chest clenched. I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know anymore who the monster was. ---- An hour later, I felt her. The shadows shifted. The air chilled. And from the treeline stepped Lilith’s executioner - Azrael. Not a man. Not a wolf. Something… in between. His eyes were solid black. No whites. No soul. “You stole from our Queen,” he hissed. I stood and rolled my shoulders. “I’m owed more than she ever gave me.”

Wet soil with a sugary undertone that was a bit too sweet. Only after the throb in my head faded did I realize I never told him my name. “Who was that?” I looked over at Azrael, whose hands were stiff at his sides. His reluctance was clear, but I wasn’t having any of it. “You know I’ll find out on my own. Just tell me, please.” There was a weight to his stare that had me shuddering. Was Azrael nervous? “That was Sephtis, the god of death.”

Drake has hope in his heart. "Yes, alpha," Millie answered. "She just needs to regain her strength by now..." she paused. "Emily’s soul was in the temple of the moon goddess." "How did you know?" "The prophecy tells." She replied. When the war ended, Drake took care of his son while watching Emily and waiting for her to wake up. That day, rouges and hunters were all dead. Blood was scattered around, but his soldiers and his Beta cleaned up the mess. Bury the dead and remember those who gave their lives.

” Noticing that I haven’t even made an attempt to speak or even move -since I was practically unable to even breathe anymore- she only continued, “Ookaaay, first things first,” “In case you were wondering, the reason why Azrael isn’t a fallen is that he’s...Well let’s just say he’s not your “regular” Archangel like the others, since he’s one of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and all that shit... And since his grace is practically bound to my soul...Uh...let’s just say that as long as I’m alive, he’s...He will still be his...usual self...” Even though that last sentence left me feeling somewhat confused -mostly by the way she so evasively explained it- I h

Daniel, my son, I remember that night like it was yesterday. We were fleeing from the entity that Belzebub warned me about - Azrael, the Angel of Death. When he appeared, I shielded your eyes, pleading with you not to look, as he demanded I hand you over. Deli, our former babysitter, tried to help, but Azrael's power was too great. In a desperate attempt to protect you, I blocked his gaze, but he revealed his dark angelic face, letting out a piercing scream that almost threw you and Deli off the bridge.

Dean Withers. He is older, but not frail. Not even close. His jet black hair combed neatly away from his face, his uniform pressed to perfection, and a golden crest of Aetherion Academy pinned over his heart. A loyal servant of Elarion. A loyal servant of Aeron- the man responsible for throwing me into Skyless Keep. "Miss Thalorien," he says warmly, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Please, sit." I don't. His smile does not falter, but something sharp flickers behind his eyes.

I used my air magic, so I lift the ash's off the ground and then I used earth to make a whole in the ground and place the ash's in the hole and cover it back up. Then we all go for some rest. In the morning the rain is coming down, so fast that you can hardly see through it. I look at Arizer and he is carving something and when I have a look I am gobsmacked. It is the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was a mixture of symbols for witches, wolves, elves and vampires all blended with swirls and flowers. It says in the middle "Here lies the bravest men and women I will ever meet. They deserve to rest in peace. Asher Evans, sacrificed himself for the good of the world."