Azrael didn't hesitate.
As Selene lay in the crater her own body had carved into the earth, bloodied and broken, still gasping, still shedding tears of blood, he moved.
In one fluid, merciless motion, he seized her by the throat.
His grip was iron, unshakable, lifting her from the ground as if she weighed nothing more than a shadow.
Her limbs dangled, her claws limp. Her mouth opened in a silent cry, her eyes wide with terror, her cursed heart beating against her ribs like a drum of doom.
And then—Azrael struck.
His fist drove forward with monstrous force, slamming into Selene's chest, aimed directly at her corrupted heart.
The impact was cataclysmic.
A shockwave blasted out behind her, tearing through the ruins of the battlefield.
The ground cracked, shattered trees fell like matchsticks, and what remained of the village's broken walls crumbled under the force.
The air itself split with a deep, deafening boom — Azrael's punch breaking the sound barrier as it crushed into its mark.
Selene coughed up a torrent of blood — black and thick, spraying across his gauntlet, spattering the scorched dirt below.
Black blood, sign of her impurity.
She had been feeding on a lot of humans.
For a breath, everything froze.
Then, with a motion like casting aside a rag, Azrael hurled her into the air, launching her body skyward, offering her to the night itself.
Selene's form spun, limp, weightless, silhouetted against the burning village.
Blood streamed after her like dark ribbons. Her eyes, wide and empty, gazed at nothing, like she had lost her senses.
Azrael's gaze followed her ascent, steady, grim.
No voice answered him.
No whisper from Maria.
The queen of night remained silent, hiding behind the corpse of her daughter.
"Coward," Azrael thought. "You won't face me. You send your own children to die in your stead."
The decision was made in a heartbeat.
Azrael bent, seized the hilt of his greatsword where it was buried in the ground, and ripped it free.
The blade gleamed in the firelight, clean and cold.
With a single motion, he prepared to end it — to cleave Selene's body in two and put an end to her torment, to her chains, to the mockery of life forced upon her.
The swing came.
Perfect.
Precise.
Deadly.
But it never landed.
In the split second before the blade met its mark, Azrael's senses screamed.
That ancient instinct — the sixth sense honed by endless nights of slaughter — flared in warning.
And he saw them.
Not with his eyes.
With his soul.
Threads.
Invisible, razor-thin, strung through the air like a spider's snare.
Threads that hadn't been there before.
Threads waiting to cut him down the moment he committed to the kill.
Without thought, Azrael shifted.
His boots tore the earth as he sprang backward, retreating from the deadly web.
His swing halted mid-arc, the great blade passing harmlessly through empty air.
And in that instant, he understood.
"He's back."
The shadow-weaver.
The trap-setter.
The foe who hunted with threads of death and patience sharper than any blade.
Another predator had returned.
And Azrael knew the real fight was far from over.
He took a rapid glance at the enemy he had "defeated."
Selene's body was standing still in mid air, twitching from the pain.
She was still spitting blood from her mouth.
But, suddenly, someone pulled her body away, making her disappearing from Azrael's sight.
In that moment, he immediately raised his guard and stomped his feet on the ground, ready to any kind of surprise attack.
For some reason, he felt another presence around him.
A familiar one.
He started sniffing the air.
"I know this smell..." He said, while taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself down and recover some energy.
And there, another figure revealed itself from the shadows.
"Long time no see, Azrael Noctis." A Familiar and feminine voice said.
The sound of its footsteps on the dirt echoed in the distance, and Azrael didn't lower his guard even for a split second.
Then, after some instants, two vampires emerged.
On the left, there was Shandrath, the one who fought Azrael two minutes ago.
On his right, there was another one.
Way stronger and menacing.
Raum , the Butcher of Bloodlines.
A female vampire , coming from a royal lineage.
A Beautiful face, long flowing golden hair , and blue eyes with red pupils and a black sclera around.
Raum Valeska of Miralith, the city of the eternal fire, descendant from an ancient family of royal mages who used to control the primordial fire, one of the few essences of what elves considers "The great Beginning."
She was one of Maria's closest allies.
Her otherworldly beauty was perfectly matched by her wickedness.
Few people could truly be called evil, and she was one of them—from the very day she was born.
That's why Azrael hated her with all his heart.
"You're still beautiful as ever... Azrael. Just like that day." Raum whispered, while licking her lower lip, showing her fangs.
Azrael didn't speak.
Instead, his guard remained still.
His eyes were locked into hers, showing all the hate he had in his heart.
"Oh please... don't look at me like that, Azrael , you know that I missed you..." She said, with a sensual whisper, while resting her right hand on her hip.
Shandrath, on the other hand, was staying silent, with his gaze standing on the ground.
He couldn't speak in Raum's presence.
"I didn't." Azrael replied with a cold voice, almost menacing.
His sword was directly facing Raum.
She giggled and then she started to take some steps forward.
"Don't be so shy, darling..." She whispered.
Her eyes were still open wide and completely locked into Azrael's, who was still being silent.
"I wonder how strong we'd be if you'll join us..." Raum said, while looking at Azrael with a lustful look on her face, probably thinking about lot of "bad" things.
The hunter took some steps back.
"And I wonder how beautiful you'd look you would be dead." Azrael said, with a cold voice.
This sentence made Raum's body thrill.
She felt... a big wave of arousal spreading all over her soul.
Raum was obsessed with power, with becoming stronger, and she always admired strong foes, to the point to kill them to gain their abilities.
Moreover, she slaughtered lots of descendants, ending a lot of lineages, just for the egoist dream of being "the last living member of every descendance, the strongest."
Maria's sacred blood was flowing in her veins, and she defeated a lot of enemies.
But, the only enemy she couldn't defeat was nothing more than Azrael, a human.
And that was the reason of why she was so obsessed with him.
"Please, don't look at me like that, Azrael... don't do it... You're making me feel... bad things... Mmmh~" Raum repeated in her mind.
For some strange reason, Azrael was standing on guard and his eyes were completely focused on her.
That was a sign , indicating that Raum was very strong, and that he couldn't lower his guard.
The wind died.
The flames behind them flickered low, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Raum stepped forward—slowly, sensually, like a dancer entering her final act.
Her boots cracked the scorched earth beneath them, yet her movements were silent. Calculated. Deadly.
Azrael didn't move.His greatsword remained at his side, heavy, solemn, stained with the blood of fallen lineages.His gaze? Cold. Unshaken.
Raum approached him like a snake eyeing a fire.
And then… she reached out.
Her pale, elegant fingers brushed the steel of his sword.Just the edge. Just enough to feel the cold iron, the sacred metal that had ended so many of her kind.A tingle ran up her arm.
She leaned closer.Closer.
Until her breath danced against his skin.Her face was inches from his.Her golden hair fell slightly across his shoulder like a veil.Their eyes locked—ice and inferno, silence and obsession.
"You won't strike me… will you?" she whispered, voice like velvet soaked in poison."You know this is a trap. You know I want you to act first… to give me an excuse to end you."Her lips almost touched his jaw.
But Azrael didn't blink.Didn't flinch.Didn't even breathe faster.
He stood like a statue carved from vengeance itself.
"You want fear," he said quietly. "You won't find it here."
Raum's smile twitched, her fangs flashing.
She caressed the flat of his blade now, slowly, sensually, as if tempting fate itself.
Then her fingers slid upward… to the crossguard… then the hilt…
And still, Azrael didn't stop her.
"You really are something else," she purred, tilting her head.
"Do you think your silence protects you? That your stillness makes you invincible?"
She was so close now, their foreheads almost touching.
And yet, Azrael's voice came like winter wind—quiet and cold enough to kill.
"No," he said. "It makes you guess."
A flicker of hesitation crossed Raum's eyes.
Then—CLANG.
Azrael's left hand snapped up—not to strike, but to grab the wrist that touched his sword.
In an instant, her seductive game shattered.
She tried to pull away.
But his grip was iron. Again.
Her smile faded into something darker.
Breathless.
Excited.
"You're not like the others…" she whispered. "That's why I want to break you."
Azrael leaned in slightly now—just enough.
"So try," he said, while slamming her on the ground a few times before throwing her against a hut.
From the distance, Raum laughed maniacally while standing on the ground.
"This is just what I wanted... pain... pain... hahaha... AHAHAHAH!" she laughed again, while touching her forehead.
After that, she checked her hands to see if blood came out.
And yes.
Once she saw the blood, she looked way happier.
She looked at Azrael with another deadly and crazy glance, and then she whispered, with a half open mouth,
"Tonight, you're gonna be... so... mine...~"
After that, Raum surrounded herself with flames and stood up in an instant.
Azrael stood on guard, while Shandrath was observing without acting.
It seemed like he had the orders to stay still and do nothing.
"Come at me, Monster." Azrael said, with a menacing voice.
And then , a big fight had begun.