Novel & Cerita Azrael Supernatural

Xavier stared at Chiara as she slept. She looked so peaceful and harmless as she slept, he never would have guessed she was a psychopath. The corners of her lips were curved in a smile and she looked angelic. The cold expression that was usually on her face was replaced with a happy expression.

It wasn’t a matter of opinion, he simply was a beautiful man—or creature. “Why are you showing yourself to us?” Darren positioned himself more in front of me as he challenged Azrael. However, if he was who he said he was, this would mean he was powerful. Some call him an angel, while others say he’s a demon, and then you have those who say he’s a god. In any case, everyone knew he was strong and responsible for guiding souls. “You’re the one who interrupted me. I’m here to collect a soul, and you’re here to take the person. Quite the dilemma.”

A howl of wind gushes through the drapes of the night forming a new skin of cold around me and I shudder - not at the cold, but at the pair of dark eyes that stare at me through the fire reflecting them. Azrael seems all innocent, timid, and soft from the way he carries himself, or whimpers around me. Yet there is something in his eyes that speaks the devil in him. Like the tales of hatred or revenge that peek through the corner of his lashes, oozing an aura of danger.

Break the rules and we kill you, why sugarcoat it? Before Hexton can get another word out, one of the competitors steps forward, frantically unzipping the back of her bodysuit and pulling her headpiece off revealing her face to a shocked crowd. She’s new to The Tournament and goes by the codename Azrael, named after the Angel of Death because that is exactly what she is. She prefers to give people painless deaths, allowing them to just go peacefully in their sleep. I feel perhaps Hexton invited her this year just to shake things up. The fact she gives people such painless deaths indicates an amount of compassion many of us don’t possess, which doesn’t make her suited for this type of thing a

I took in the scowl on Azrael’s face as we wandered through the gardens. “Did you recognize that memory?” There was still so much I didn’t know about these gods, but I was learning a lot from watching Azrael. He was a master at hiding his emotions, concealing them behind one of his mischievous smiles. The way he wielded chaos like a weapon was unusual. Almost like he was using it as a distraction. But what would the god of wolves be trying to distract himself from? His eyes drifted to the hedges that moved, rearranging themselves to further complicate the maze we stood in. “We knew she was aiding our people during the war, but we didn’t know she was slipping into the mortal realm. We didn’t

Elira and Theron stood on opposite sides of the vale, forming a ring of star-magic and shadow. Kael held Selene steady, even as her fingers bled silver sparks. She whispered his name, just once. And then—he stepped back. --- The wind howled. The ground shimmered. And from the crack in the vale— He stepped through. Azrael. Still wearing his old silver cloak. Still tall, still too beautiful. But changed. His eyes no longer held cruelty. Only remorse. And a deep, humming sorrow. --- Selene’s voice was barely audible. “You’re late.”

“And you… stole my crown. And now you’ve brought her into it.” He glanced at me like I was a puzzle, dangerous and fragile all at once. “She doesn’t belong here. Neither of you do. But I will fix that.” The air shifted, heavier now, and the shadows leaned in closer to us. The underworld itself seemed to shiver at Kael’s presence. Before I could react, Azrael appeared. Not in judgment — not yet — but with the weight of eternity pressing down. Wings of iridescent white, sword sheathed at his side, eyes glowing with warning.

“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.”

The moon above was cracked in half, bleeding light down onto my skin. Azrael stood before me. Not a monster. Not a god. Just a man with silver eyes and a grief so deep, it pulsed like a second heartbeat. “You think you’re alone,” he said. “But every time you chose love over power, you became more than me.” I wanted to ask him what he meant—but he was already fading. “The bond didn’t make you. You did.”

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.