The throne room of the Demon Citadel was a cathedral carved from night itself—pillars sculpted from obsidian, shadows flickering like living serpents along the walls. The air vibrated faintly, as if groaning under the weight of the power that dwelled here.
Sareth sat upon his throne of black iron, talons drumming slowly, repeatedly, against the armrest. His wings twitched with irritation—controlled irritation, the kind that could flatten armies.
Azaroth Nimbus had already departed, sent to gather the four generals.
Which left Sareth alone.
And Sareth hated being alone with his thoughts.
Especially the ones clawing at the edges of his mind now.
He inhaled sharply, forcing the tension out—but it slithered back immediately.
"Back," he hissed to himself, "after all this time. After everything sealed… rebuilt… reforged…"
His claws tightened around the throne's arms.
"He interferes once—once—and already everything fractures."
He stood, pacing down the steps, his long cloak dragging like a silhouette behind him.
"He dares intervene with my chosen prey? My plans? My world?"
His voice deepened, cracking with ancient fury.
"That overgrown cosmic error—playing puppeteer with forces not his to touch."
He stopped at the center of the chamber.
Then snarled.
"AZHORAEL!"
The word struck the hall like a blade, echoing in the dark.
"He thinks he can toy with me? Send my right hand running back like a terrified fledgling?"
Sareth's grin sharpened. "No. No, no, no. Not this time."
He raised a clawed hand, shadows swirling around his fingers like smoke.
"He should have stayed dead," Sareth growled. "He should have stayed sealed. He should have stayed forgotten."
His wings snapped open in fury.
"I will tear that gleaming, arrogant essence apart—piece by piece—and scatter it to the void.
Let him see how it feels to be broken."
He lowered his hand.
Silence.
Thick, heavy, and expectant.
Then—
A soft tap.
Like a fingertip brushing the air behind him.
Sareth froze.
A chill—not of cold, but of cosmic wrongness—crawled up his spine.
A voice followed. Smooth. Mockingly gentle.
Playful in the way a predator plays with a doomed animal.
"My, my… dramatic today, aren't we?"
Sareth turned slowly.
There—leaning casually against a broken pillar as if he'd always been there—stood Azhorael Maelthrys in full manifested form.
A figure woven from shimmering light and impossible shadow, a shape that defied dimension, a presence that bent reality around it.
He didn't stand so much as exist.
And that was somehow worse.
His eyes—those swirling, ancient, impossible eyes—fixed onto Sareth like one might inspect an irritated child.
Sareth's lips curled. "You dare appear before me uninvited?"
Azhorael clicked his tongue softly.
"You shouted my name loud enough to wake the dead.
It felt… rude not to pop in."
Sareth's wings flexed, muscles tightening.
"Stay out of my realm."
Azhorael tilted his head, amused.
"Oh?"
"Interfere in my battles again," Sareth warned, "and I will—"
Azhorael held up a single glowing finger.
"—What?
Destroy me?"
He blinked slowly, theatrically.
"Please, Sereth.
You can't even keep your own generals alive without crying."
Sareth's jaw clenched with a crack.
Azhorael smirked wider.
"Honestly… threatening me?"
He leaned forward.
"Me?"
Sareth stepped back unconsciously.
Azhorael's amusement vanished.
Not slowly—instantly.
Everything in the room dimmed.
The air vanished from Sareth's lungs.
Space itself bent toward Azhorael like it worshipped him.
His next words were not loud.
Not shouted.
Not even sharp.
They were simply true.
"Do not touch my creation without my permission."
Sareth's eyes widened.
"Creation—?"
But Azhorael was already fading, dissolving into motes of pale, chilling light.
"Oh, and Sereth…"
His whisper brushed Sareth's ear like a blade of ice.
"Do try not to embarrass yourself next time."
Then he vanished.
The throne room remained still.
Quiet.
And Sareth—Ruler of Demons, Breaker of Realms, Terror of Ages—stood trembling.
Not with fear.
With rage.
He slammed his fist into the obsidian floor.
The entire throne room cracked.
"AZHORAAAAEL!"
His roar rattled the entire citadel.
The shadows on the walls recoiled in terror.
He stood there, chest rising and falling, eyes burning like twin storms.
"…This isn't over."