Azael
Azael picked his way through the ash-streaked streets of New Heaven City. Hollow buildings lined a single broad avenue, their shattered windows like blank eyes. At the town's center yawned a massive crater, jagged and blackened.
He paused at its rim, imagining the force that carved such a wound. That must be where Thomas erupted, he thought. Lucifer wouldn't have sprung me from prison over trifles. He's taking this seriously.
Stepping around the crater's edge, Azael approached a gate of iron two towering doors inset with skull-shaped handles. Beyond them loomed a dark mansion, its turrets clawing at the gray sky like dead fingers. He pushed one door open with a screech and entered.
Silence greeted him. Polished marble floors stretched ahead, broken only by the shadows of grand chandeliers overhead. Statues of archangels and warriors stood guard in alcoves, their stone eyes fixed and unyielding. Azael moved deeper, drawn by the hush.
The walls along the corridor were covered in portraits and countless frames depicting every turning point in human history. Hunters chasing extinct beast legions marching through Rome volleys of artillery in World War II. He let his hand brush the gilt edges. Lucifer has been guiding humanity since the dawn of time, Azael realized. And now these so-called heroes think they can change the game?
A distant strain of music drifted through a half-open door. He followed it into what looked like a ballroom. Black marble columns rose to a vaulted ceiling, where candlelight flickered over a single massive throne at the far end.
Lucifer sat there, draped in midnight silk, a crown of jet and gold upon his head. His eyes gleamed with amusement as Azael bowed low.
"Welcome back, brother," Lucifer intoned. "I trust you found your new world to your taste."
Azael straightened. "Lucifer, these years have treated you well. May I ask why I've been released? What is your purpose?"
Lucifer rose, his silk robes whispering against the floor. He surveyed the crater beyond the windows as though it were an old souvenir. "I freed the one who tried to overthrow me," he said, voice cool as ice. "But your release wasn't an act of mercy. It was necessity. You play a pivotal role in the next phase of my design."
Azael narrowed his eyes. "Is this the world you intend to remake?"
Lucifer turned, gaze hardening. "No, brother. This is merely the bedrock. The ruin we shall refine." He smiled, lips thin and predatory. "Soon, we will forge a perfect world one shaped by strength, order, and unyielding purpose. A world where demons and men alike bow before destiny."
Azael's heart drummed in his chest. The mansion's chandeliers trembled as if echoing the promise in Lucifer's words. Outside, the wind whispered through shattered streets, carrying the faintest echo of a distant battle and of a power that refused to stay buried.
Lucifer stepped forward, hand outstretched. "Will you stand by my side, brother, when the time comes?"
Azael met his gaze, the weight of centuries in his soul. "I am yours to command," he answered.
Lucifer's smile deepened warmth never reaching his eyes. "Prepare yourself. The perfect world awaits."
They descended the grand staircase together, shadows lengthening behind them as New Heaven City lay silent, waiting for the storm to break.