The streetlights began to flicker.
Azrael stood in the middle of the road, the scythe steady in his hand, his eyes fixed on the figure at the far end of the street.
Something about it felt different.
The creatures he had fought earlier were unstable, almost mindless. They moved like broken things, driven by instinct.
This one did not.
This one stood still.
Watching him.
Waiting.
"…That's not good," Azrael said quietly.
The scythe pulsed once in his hand.
"It is not a lost soul," the voice said. "Be careful."
"I'm already not comfortable," Azrael replied.
The streetlight above the figure flickered once, then dimmed.
The shadow stepped forward.
Slow.
Controlled.
As it moved into clearer view, Azrael felt a pressure settle in his chest.
The figure was tall, taller than any normal person. Its body was covered in dark armor that looked like it had been formed from bone. The surface was uneven, as if it had been shaped from something living.
A torn cloak drifted behind it, moving slightly even though there was no wind.
In its hand, it carried a long spear made of something that looked like condensed shadows.
Azrael let out a slow breath.
"…Yeah. That's definitely worse."
"It is a Hunter," the scythe said.
"One of Axar's servants."
Azrael frowned.
"Axar," he repeated. "That's the one who killed Death."
"Yes."
"And now he's sending things after me."
"Yes."
Azrael tightened his grip.
"I really don't like this guy."
The Hunter stopped a few meters away.
Its head lifted slowly.
Two glowing green eyes locked onto Azrael.
Then it spoke.
"You carry the scythe."
Its voice was unnatural, like several voices layered on top of each other.
Azrael tilted his head slightly.
"…You can talk."
The Hunter did not react.
"The new Reaper," it continued.
Azrael let out a quiet sigh.
"I didn't apply for that position."
The Hunter took another step forward.
The ground cracked beneath its foot.
"Your soul belongs to the Tyrant."
Azrael shook his head.
"No, I'm pretty sure it doesn't."
The Hunter moved.
There was no warning.
One moment it stood still.
The next, it was in front of him.
The spear struck forward.
Azrael barely raised the scythe in time.
The two weapons collided with a sharp impact that echoed down the street.
The force pushed Azrael backward several steps.
His boots slid across the wet pavement.
"…Okay," he said under his breath. "You're fast."
The Hunter did not pause.
It attacked again.
The spear moved like lightning, striking again and again.
Azrael blocked the first hit.
Dodged the second.
The third nearly pierced his shoulder.
He twisted away at the last second, feeling the air shift as the weapon passed him.
"I am not ready for this," he said, breathing harder now.
"You will fall," the Hunter replied.
Azrael clenched his jaw.
"Yeah, not tonight."
The scythe pulsed.
The blade shifted.
It dissolved into blue light and reformed into a sword.
Azrael blinked.
"…I'm starting to like that."
The Hunter attacked again.
This time, Azrael stepped forward.
He swung the sword.
The blade cut across the Hunter's armor.
A crack spread across its chest.
A faint green light leaked from the wound.
The Hunter paused for the first time.
"…Interesting," it said.
Azrael raised the sword again.
"I've been told that before."
The Hunter's eyes flared brighter.
It attacked again.
Faster.
Stronger.
Azrael blocked, but the impact forced him back.
His arms shook slightly from the force.
The Hunter did not stop.
Strike after strike came down, each one heavier than the last.
Azrael struggled to keep up.
His breathing grew uneven.
His movements were slower.
He stepped back again.
Then again.
"This is bad," he muttered.
"Focus," the scythe said.
"I am focusing."
"Not enough."
The Hunter lunged again.
Azrael barely avoided the strike.
The spear grazed his side.
Pain shot through him.
He stumbled.
The Hunter stepped forward.
"You are inexperienced," it said.
Azrael steadied himself.
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"I know."
For a brief moment, he thought about running.
He could turn.
He could escape.
He had done it before.
But something stopped him.
If he ran now, it would follow.
Not just him.
It would keep coming.
For the souls.
For anyone.
Azrael tightened his grip on the weapon.
"…This is not my job," he said.
The scythe did not respond.
"…But I guess it is right now."
The weapon pulsed again.
The sword dissolved.
The scythe returned.
Blue light began to gather along the blade.
Azrael took a slow breath.
The Hunter moved.
Azrael stepped forward.
This time, he did not hesitate.
The scythe moved in a clean arc.
The blade passed through the Hunter's spear.
Then through its chest.
Everything went still.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then a crack spread across the Hunter's armor.
Blue light burst from the wound.
The Hunter looked down slowly.
"…Impossible."
Azrael exhaled.
"I'm surprised too."
The cracks spread.
The armor broke apart.
The Hunter's body shattered into fragments of green light.
The pieces scattered into the air and disappeared.
Silence returned.
Azrael stood there, breathing heavily.
His hands trembled slightly.
"…That was not easy," he said.
"No," the scythe answered. "It was not."
Azrael lowered the weapon.
"Please tell me that was the last one."
"It was only a scout."
Azrael froze.
"…A scout?"
"Yes."
Azrael looked down the empty street.
"That thing almost killed me."
"There are stronger ones."
Azrael let out a breath.
"Of course there are."
The scythe pulsed again.
"Axar now knows where you are."
Azrael ran a hand through his hair.
"Great."
He turned toward his apartment building.
"I'm going home."
"You should not stay in one place."
"I'm not going anywhere tonight."
Azrael took a few steps.
Then stopped.
Something felt wrong.
Not like before.
This was different.
Heavier.
Older.
Azrael slowly looked up.
The clouds above the city shifted.
Something massive moved behind them.
At first, he thought it was just his imagination.
Then the clouds parted slightly.
And he saw it.
A shape.
Enormous.
Watching.
Azrael's grip tightened.
"…That's not another Hunter, is it?"
The scythe remained silent for a moment.
Then it answered.
"No."
Azrael swallowed.
"What is it?"
The voice grew quieter.
"That is one of Axar's generals."
Azrael stared at the sky.
The massive shape shifted.
Then, for a brief moment,
Two burning eyes opened in the darkness above.
They looked directly at him.
Azrael felt it.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Something heavier.
Something deeper.
Like being seen by something far beyond him.
Then the clouds closed.
The presence vanished.
The night returned to normal.
Cars moved again.
Distant sounds returned.
But Azrael did not move.
He stood there for several seconds.
Then slowly exhaled.
"…Yeah," he said quietly.
"This is getting worse."
He looked down at the scythe in his hand.
"I really don't want this."
The scythe answered softly.
"It does not matter."
Azrael gave a small, tired smile.
"…Yeah."
"I figured."
He turned toward his apartment again.
But this time,
He knew one thing for certain.
There was no going back to normal.
And somewhere far beyond the world he knew,
Something had already decided,
He would not survive for long.