Miguel's eyes widened, his mouth agape as fear etched itself into his features. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps as he stammered, "What in the world is that?”

"I am Azazel," the voice boomed, echoing through the shattered cityscape.

"And you, twins, are merely… *aspirations* of evolution. The pinnacle? You amuse me."

His eyes, pure voids of darkness, swept over Miguel and Malachi with an unsettling intensity.

"I’m here to challenge your so-called perfection and harness your power," he declared, his voice a sinister resonance that seemed to warp the air around them.

He paused, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

"Oh, and let’s not forget—I'm also here to end all of humanity."Before the twins could react, Azazel moved with blinding speed.

In an instant, he seized Miguel by the throat, his grip unyielding as iron.

With a swift, supernatural motion, he dragged Miguel along the sheer walls of the towering hotel, the wind howling violently around them as they ascended.

"Miguel!" Malachi yelled, his voice raw with alarm.

Azazel materialized behind Malachi with a chilling whisper, "Too slow." In a ruthless instant, he drove his knee into Malachi's back, the force sending shockwaves through his entire body as he was propelled into the unforgiving concrete column.

Malachi groaned as he rose from the debris, blue energy pulsing through him, defying the broken spine.

Azazel's eyes widened in shock before a grin formed.

"I thought I snapped your spine. There's more fight in you than I expected."

Azazel's demeanor shifted from joyful to tense as he sensed a powerful presence. He glanced skyward, sneering at the blinding figure. "More of you?" he scoffed.

Azazel raised a hand, and a beam of reddish energy, thick as a mountain and burning with hellfire, erupted from his palm, lancing across the night sky.

As the fiery projectile arced across the sky, a figure moved with impossible grace.

Fabian, effortlessly dodged the blast, the light reflecting off his skin like polished silver.

The energy around him hummed with a power that mirrored, yet somehow surpassed, the raw destructive force of Azazel's attack.

Noah and Jermaine charged, a blur of motion.

"Don't stop, Fab!" Jermaine shouted, his voice tight with urgency.

He launched a devastating axe kick, his foot impacting the ground where Azazel had been standing with earth-shattering force.

The ground cracked, dust and debris erupting into the air. But Azazel was gone.

A voice, chillingly close, whispered in Jermaine's ear, "Over here." Jermaine's eyes widened in horror.

"Yo, Jermaine!" Noah yelled, his voice laced with panic. "He's way faster than us!"

Before Noah could react, Azazel was behind him, his grip like a vise on the back of Noah's neck.

In a blur of motion, Azazel blitzed across the parking lot, slamming Noah against a wall, then a car, then finally, the unforgiving pavement.

Malachi watched in helpless horror as his friend was used as a human projectile. Fabian screamed Noah's name, his voice strained with anguish.

Azazel turned to the remaining mortals, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "Do you know why my power surpasses yours?

Because I am fueled by the very essence of your failures, your weaknesses, your pathetic attempts at self-improvement! I am the embodiment of your collective despair!"

Malachi clenched his fist, energy crackling around his knuckles. Azazel watched, a flicker of genuine interest in his eyes.

He turned, adopting a fighting stance.

"I hope you've had an eventful life, Malachi," Azazel said, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

"Because I'm about to rip out your soul... unless," he paused, leaning closer, a glint of something akin to amusement in his eyes, "unless you can land one hit on me.

Malachi slapped his palm against his clenched fist, a sharp, decisive sound cutting through the tension.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Azazel, a predatory grin on his face, aimed his palm at Malachi, preparing another attack.

Malachi knew it was a fool's errand; Azazel was far faster, his reflexes lightning-quick.

But he had no choice. With a burst of adrenaline, Malachi zipped towards Azazel, moving with a speed that blurred his form—a supersonic dash, a desperate gamble.

As he moved, the same beam of reddish energy, erupted from Azazel's palm, aimed directly at Malachi's chest.

The beam's passage scorched the ground, leaving a trail of molten earth and vaporized rock in its wake.

Malachi, caught in mid-movement, barely had time to react. He stopped abruptly, shielding his face with his arms as his body hummed with energy, a desperate attempt to enhance his defenses.

He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the worst. A deafening clash of energy echoed around him.

When he opened his eyes, Fabian stood between him and Azazel, a shimmering, incandescent barrier of light deflecting the beam's remaining force; the air crackled around it.

Fabian gritted his teeth, his body visibly straining against the immense power of the attack, his form barely holding against the onslaught.

Simultaneously, Jermaine lunged, grabbing Azazel's arm with surprising strength. The fiery beam sputtered and died as Jermaine's grip tightened.

A transformation rippled across Jermaine's body; tiger stripes blazed across his skin, his eyes glowed with an eerie purple light, and fangs extended from his jaw.

"Remember me?" he growled, his voice a low, guttural rumble.

Jermaine's claws barely pierced Azazel's chest. Azazel laughed, "Ha! I expected more from a beast like you," and drove his elbow down.

But Jermaine pivoted swiftly, delivering a sharp, upward strike to Azazel's jaw.

Azazel's eyes widened in surprise, the impact reverberating through him as he staggered back.

Azazel casually brushed off his stomach, remarking with a smirk, "Humanity sure has developed some interesting abilities over sixteen hundred years."

Jermaine dropped into a beastly stance and yelled, "Come find out, then!" In an instant, Azazel flashed past Jermaine, grabbing his face and hurling him through the wall of the hotel with relentless force.

The impact shattered the wall, sending debris and dust exploding outward, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the building as Jermaine was flung into the chaos.

Fabian stepped forward, a shockwave surging around him as his eyes glowed brighter with an intense white light. The energy surrounding him crackled and surged with power.

"You're going to pay for that," he promised, his voice steady and cold.

As he hovered his hands, the street lights above flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows. In his palm, a radiant orb began to coalesce, pulsating with intense energy.

But Azazel moved with lightning speed, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He seized Fabian's arms, wrenching them apart with cruel strength.

"You're dying first," Azazel hissed, his voice dripping with anticipation.

Malachi, paralyzed with fear, mentally screamed at himself to move, to intervene, but his limbs refused to obey, betraying him in the critical moment.

He watched in horror as Azazel opened his mouth wide.

Fabian’s mouth mirrored the motion involuntarily, and thin streams of white light began flowing from Fabian’s body, siphoning into Azazel with a sinister glow.

Azazel tightened his grip and pulled sharply, a sickening crack resounding as Fabian's shoulders split apart, his lifeless body crumpling to the floor.

Malachi's mind reeled at the sight of his fallen friend, struck by the grim reality of the situation.

He could barely process the loss before Azazel rolled his head back, breathing in the energy with a satisfied sigh.

"Mhm, just what I needed," he murmured, his gaze turning hungrily to Malachi. "Your turn now, and don't be shy," he taunted, reaching out menacingly.

A sudden blur, followed by a metallic flash, interrupted Azazel’s advance. His arm was slapped down with a forceful strike.

"What?" Azazel growled, eyeing Deon, who stood with a menacing silver scythe.

Nudging Malachi gently, Deon asked, "You good, bro?" Despite his mental turmoil, Malachi nodded, trying to project strength.

Before he could respond, a firm hand grasped his shoulder.

Malachi turned to see the agent , his presence exuding calm authority. "I'm Agent Maxwell.

Mind if I form a bond with you? We need you at peak performance," he said, his voice soothing yet urgent.

Malachi, confused but hopeful, nodded as Maxwell focused intently. An indescribable sensation washed over him—like a gentle, refreshing breeze passing through his very soul.

As the bond formed, warmth spread through Malachi's body, his wounds mending, his spirit lifting.

Calm serenity filled him, dispelling the chaos inside his mind, and for the first time, he felt ready to face the monstrous force that threatened them all.

Deon stepped forward with confidence, twirling his dual sickles with ease. "What do you say, cuz?" he called out, his grin sharp and daring.

How about we put our differences aside and kill this… *thing*?"

Malachi's gaze remained locked on Azazel, his fists clenched tightly. "Alright," he declared, his voice a steady resolve.

Azazel's roar filled the air, incredulity lacing his words.

"A thing? You dare call me a thing? I am a god!"

Without missing a beat, Deon arched an eyebrow, smirking. "What did you just say?"

Before Azazel could respond, Maxwell stepped forward, placing a hand on Malachi and Deon's backs.

Maxwell was an imposing figure, his robust form hinting at unexpected agility. Orbs with lines formed around his mesmerizing eyes.

A vibrant purple field enveloped the three, its edges crackling with energy.

Within this field, Malachi and Deon felt a surge of power, their muscles tensing with newfound strength, their senses sharpening, and their resolve hardening.

The intensity of their emotions amplified, a focused calm replacing any previous uncertainty.

The field itself pulsed with the energy, a tangible manifestation of Maxwell's power, before slowly fading as the amplified abilities settled within them.

In a blur, Azazel zipped toward them, a dark force of nature.

Malachi caught sight of the oncoming threat, adrenaline sharpening his senses.

Just as Azazel closed in, Deon moved with blinding speed and precision. His scythe slashed upward, cleaving through Azazel’s chest.

Black blood sprayed into the air, viscous and dark as night, painting the ground with unholy ichor.

Azazel staggered back, astonishment etched across his features. He clutched his chest, black blood seeping through his fingers.

Deon, smirking, taunted him, "What do you think you're doing?"

To be continued..