As Azazel turned the page, the air in the chamber grew colder.
More words etched themselves onto the parchment, this time slower, deliberate, as if the book were weighing him.
"Know this, seeker: the deeper your knowledge, the darker your path. To know is to be seen. To be seen is to be hunted."
Azazel leaned back.
A warning. Not just for show.
He pressed on.
The next lines shimmered as they appeared:
"Only the worthy may read these pages. Your intent, your strength, your soul—they will be tested. But if you prove true, this Codex will serve you."
A small warmth bloomed in his chest. He kept reading.
"This book is no ordinary tome. It was forged in the blood of saints and the ashes of the first hunters. It carries echoes of truths long buried and can aid in awakening what lies dormant within you."
Azazel felt his breath catch.
He remembered the journal.
The Initiation Ritual.
He knew what it entailed.
To become a true hunter, one had to awaken memories of a past life, break the chains of ordinary human limitation, and touch the threads between the realms of the living, the dead, and the eternal.
Would this Codex help him? But it's just a book…
"Well after knowing that demons do exist what am I surprised about," he silently lampooned.
Not a ritual bound to any god—but one meant for humans alone.
To walk that path, he would need three things:
The ashes of a previous hunter who completed the rite.
A moment of death's edge—a near-death state that bridged him with all three worlds.
And the strength to reclaim what had been forgotten.
For the last thing he couldn't understand what did it mean, nor could he find any explanation.
He swallowed hard.
His grandfather had endured it.
Sooner or later it will be his turn.
The book pulsed slightly under his hand, and a new line appeared:
"You may now choose. Let me aid you. Or forget."
Azazel stared.
"To awaken the Codex fully, sprinkle your blood upon its seal and speak the Oath of Hunters aloud."
His fingers trembled.
Then french words slowly etched themselves in blood-red ink:
"Not for glory nor golden crown
We rise where light and faith break down.
Steel in hand. Fire in soul.
We strike where angels fear to go.
No heaven guides me. No hell can bind.
Not for mercy. Not for might.
We ask no thanks. We leave no name.
Our legacy: eternal flame.
One creed we hold, from then to now—
To hunt the dark. This is our vow."
Azazel whispered it aloud, almost instinctively, the book itself enticed him.
The Codex shivered.
Its center glowed faintly.
He unsheathed a small knife from his belt, pressed the blade to his palm, and let a few drops of blood fall onto the Seal of Solomon.
It absorbed them instantly.