Helltaker #azazel Novels & Stories

"So, lets say I turn back the clock, to the night you killed the --" "I didn't fucking kill him. You did," I snarled, harshly. "Hey, you sold your friend that night. I gave you a choice, what happened was your problem." "You tricked me!" "I'm Azazel--" he stated, without any trace of humor. The rate at which he switched moods was amazing. "--angel of death, destruction. It's in the job description, child." "I hate you." "What a shame that I don't really care, now back to what I was saying. If I turned the clock, back to the night you murdered your friend, what happens?"

I shouted and Markus showed me a thumbs up. Azazel smiled, “It will be you all who will be facing endless torture. I can’t wait to see your faces when you all realize that you are helpless against me. I will see you all pretty soon. Count your last, remaining breaths till then. ” He gave out a hysterical laughter before disappearing. “This guy should be in the soap operas.” Dad scoffed. “So dramatic.” “So, what now? We wait to have our souls sucked out by that walking piece of vacuum cleaner?” I asked.

“Of course I am here… Right when you need me the most. It seems like you are ready…” Azazel was truly a sight to behold, with his chiseled features and striking appearance that seemed to radiate power and danger. His jet-black hair was styled in a messy yet elegant way, falling over his forehead and framing his sharp cheekbones. His tall, muscular frame was clad in a black satin robe ornamented with red and gold accents, which only emphasized his rugged, devilishly handsome appearance.

Azael is frowning and I feel him press my hand, something is not right. -Hey- I say catching his face. Right away I notice how he relaxes the muscles.- What happens? -I do not like this. Everything is going too well. he says looking around. I prefer not to, as they are not very pleasant views. -And what's wrong? -That we're talking about Harrison Tucson. The same one who murdered my mother. The same one who tried to kill his daughter. My father's rival, whom he also killed. The one that appears to have survived a fire. I just don't believe we caught him off guard.

The Hall of Records was no longer a silent cathedral of stone; it had become a loud whirlpool of raw, unfiltered existence. As Kael's hands remained glued to the white crystal pedestal, the Spark of the Designer in his chest acted as a universal translator. It turned his biological memories into a high-density "Narrative Pulse" that hammered against the Akasha-Parasites. The air in the vault thickened, not with smoke but with the Weight of Sentience. Every pillar of acoustic quartz began to glow with a different hue: crimson for the wars of the Old World, deep forest green for the first awakening of the shifters, and a bright, brilliant gold for the birth of the Synthesis.

I took another step toward the desk, placing myself in the range of Fenrir’s immense crackling power. “Your Majesty?” I said. “There’s another way we can infiltrate Hell.” His brows rose. “Explain.” I licked my dry lips. “Hades' personal assistant had an affair with an angel.” “Is she a goddess?” He leaned forward. “A demon.” The corners of his lips curled into the beginnings of a smile. “And you want to blackmail this angel?” I nodded. “They’re the ones who are truly in charge. This Azriel person must know someone who can get us into Hell.”

I am thy Lord Damon, and you weaklings shall be scared of me. Entering the elevator, and pressed the second button. Sure, my building is expensive, but why the fuck would I be on the last floor? Just to be called that I am in all power? Brother no. I am always on a pedestal, and no one can match me. Even if so, others tried, they see themselves crumbling and crawling back from the trash.

And Danielle had become too blind, too taken by him to see who he really was. She looked at her wrist and saw the marks left by Jordan's steel grip. Charlotte remembered his cold, evil look that made her tremble. He frightened her like no man or woman ever before. Jordan wasn’t human, he was the devil in person. His presence was so toxic that she couldn’t breathe well when he was around. Charlotte knew she had to do something to send him away, preferably without putting her or Danielle in danger. For now, given that later she will meet him, and he would want to know if the envelope had been ‘delivered’, Charlotte had no other choice than to do what he had told her to.

“Whatever-the-fuck. Anyway, I been watchin’ from here almost every night since then and he’s always gone real late on Wednesday nights. I’m goin’ in there and I’m bustin’ inta that stone chest . . . ” He reached behind him, unzipped his backpack and pulled out a short-handled, hand-held sledgehammer. He hefted it, like he was Thor and it was Mjölnir. “I’m bustin’ in there and gettin’ that box and I’m crushin’ all those tiles to fuckin’ powder. I dunno how I know it, but I do. Dad’s soul is trapped in them things, and I’m gonna let it out.”

Malachor's growls vibrated through her, his fangs grazing her jaw now, teasing another bite as he chased his release, determined to flood her with his seed. She could feel him swelling thicker, his hips snapping forward with feral urgency, balls slapping her ass in wet, brutal smacks. The altar groaned beneath them, cracks spiderwebbing from the force, but Elizabeth barely noticed—her world narrowed to the demonic invasion splitting her open, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air, mingling with the salty tang of sweat and the musky reek of their mingled arousal. Her thighs quivered, locked around his waist, pulling him deeper despite the agony, her submissive body craving the destruct