Azazel stood in the stillness of the Codex's realm, the weight of everything pressing against his chest.
He turned to Johann, eyes narrowing.
His voice came low at first. "You trained me like a soldier. Lied to me my whole life. Made me think we were just merchants—normal."
Johann said nothing, his face unreadable.
Azazel's voice grew louder. "Was this your plan all along? Train me, love me just enough to make sure I'd follow in your damn footsteps after you died?"
Johann winced.
Azazel stepped forward, voice cracking. "Did you even love me?"
Silence.
"Is that your question?" Johann asked softly.
Azazel clenched his fists, trembling. "Don't do that. Don't twist it like it's some test. Just answer me—because I don't even know who you are anymore. I don't know if I ever did."
His voice broke.
"You were all I had."
The chamber pulsed faintly, echoing the heaviness in his heart.
Johann finally sighed. "If I answer that one, you'll never ask what you really need to know."
Azazel's shoulders fell. He took a deep breath. The anger didn't vanish—but it faded, buried for now.
He lowered his voice.
He looked at the Codex.
"What's the credo of the demon hunters?"
Johann nodded slowly.
He stepped closer. His voice was clear, resonant, almost reverent.
"Ce monde n'est ni juste ni clair,
Mais nous marchons sans lumière."
The words vibrated through the Codex, burning themselves into Azazel's memory.
The book shimmered. A faint light circled him.