The night air was heavy with the scent of impending doom, thick as fog rolling off the Tokyo bay. I hovered in the shadows, my devilish form flickering like a candle in the wind, and watched the scene unfold before Kazuki's towering fortress in Minato Ward. Glass spires pierced the stormy sky, lit by erratic flashes of lightning that painted everything in stark white and black. Akira stood there, his black supercar still humming behind him like a loyal beast, doors flung open. Yuna and Yura had leaped out of the red one, their faces set in grim determination. Guards swarmed the entrance-mercenaries in tactical gear, rifles glinting under the floodlights. But Akira, oh, he was the eye of the hurricane, mask crimson and unyielding.
A thin red laser dot danced across his chest, right over his heart, like a lover's teasing finger. A sniper was perched high on a rooftop ledge-invisible to mortal eyes but not to mine.
Akira's hand moved in a blur-smooth, lethal, like a predator's strike. He drew a sleek pistol from his side pocket, never looking up. The shot cracked through the air, sharp as a whip. The bullet twisted out of the barrel in a perfect arc, defying gravity, guided by some inner fury. It pierced the night and buried itself straight into the sniper's forehead with a wet thud. The man crumpled like a discarded puppet, body slumping over the edge, rifle clattering down to the street below.
Akira wordlessly returned the gun to its holster, in a motion as natural as breathing. Reaching behind his back, he drew out a very long devilish katana from its sheath-the blade humming softly, as if alive with vengeance. He pointed it forward, its tip shining like a star amidst cloudy darkness. In a voice loud, commanding, and echoing off the tower walls, he bellowed out, "You have ten seconds to get out of my way and clear my path. or every last one of you dies tonight."
The guards paralyzed, exchanging uneasy glances. Rifles shifted, fingers hovering over triggers. Akira began his count, the tones steady, each number dropping like a hammer onto an anvil: "Ten. nine. eight." Wind whipped his coat around him, the crimson mask shining ominously beneath the shadows of the gathering storm clouds. "Seven. six. five." Thick tension pulled in with every breath-hearts pounding, faces held. "Four. three. two. one."
Time's up. Akira's knuckles whitened under his gloves as he gripped the sword tighter. Then he was off, exploding in a sprint that blurred man and myth into a single, pounding line of feet against pavement. The guards opened fire; bullets screamed through the night like angry hornets. Akira dodged them, his body twisting and weaving in a gale, his movements left, right, duck, leap, each with precision, almost dance-like, his mask a red streak in the chaos. One bullet kissed his sleeve, tearing the fabric, yet Akira didn't even flinch. The cloudy night was a melodrama, the shadows playing tricks as his form appeared to multiply in the dim light.
He launched himself into the heart of the crowd, his sword flashing in wide, anime-style arcs. The blade sang through the air-a silver blur that cut down the first guard with a clean slice across the chest. Blood sprayed in a crimson fountain, splashing across the ground as if rain from a burst cloud. Akira spun, parrying a rifle butt with his hilt, then thrust forward, impaling another foe. The man gasped, his eyes wide in shock, before falling in a heap.
No one could touch him - guards swung batons, fired point-blank, but Akira was a whirlwind. Vaulting over one, he sliced downward in mid-air, slicing an arm off in a gory spray. Blood rained everywhere, soaking the pavement, turning the scene into a battlefield straight out of some dark epic: slow-motion impacts, dramatic clashes, the metallic taste of iron filling the air.
A figure emerged from the deepest shadows at the base of the tower like a nightmare taking form. He was clad in a black mask with twisted goat horns curling upward, his body covered with a flowing black cape billowing behind him like wings of darkness. Two daggers, gleaming and red as fresh blood, shone eerily in the night air like twin blood moons. The feeling of his presence washed over me like a cold wave-this was no mere thug. He charged toward Akira at a speed to blur the light, his daggers slashing crosswise in a lethal X.
Akira had raised his sword just in time, and the clash thundered with a metallic ring on metal, sparks exploding in a shower of fire. The impact was so immense that Akira's feet skidded back, but it was an excessive force. He flew backward, tumbling across the air for what seemed like 500 meters, to crash into a faraway wall with a rattling thud. The dust and debris flew upwards, and the ground cleft under him.
The scream rent the night, raw and full of anger, from Yura.
"Akira!!!"
She whirled to Yuna, eyes ablaze like embers. "Give me a weapon from the heavens—now!"
Yuna nodded, her face set in fierce resolution. She raised her hands towards the stormy sky, her palms glowing with otherworldly light. Energy crackled across her body, the air humming with power. A gigantic blaster gun appeared within a flash of brilliance-half Yura's length yet light as a feather in her grasp.
I knew this weapon; its name was 'AZIMIS' and forged in celestial fire, it was meant for angels to hunt demons. The inner fire pulsed in its barrel, prepared to unleash hell.
Yura did not hesitate. She grasped it as if it were an extension of her arm, cocked the cylinder toward the black-masked man, and pulled the trigger. A huge fireball leapt from the muzzle-roaring from the bottom of hell and flying at the speed of light. The air around it distorted, the heat shimmering in waves as it ripped toward its target.
But the masked man didn't bat an eye. He held out a hand, palm outward, and willed the fireball to a stop in mid-air. Flames licked across his fingers, but he clamped down on it, dropping it like one snuffs out a candle, embers falling harmlessly. His head turned toward Yura, and he raised the other hand. An unseen force seized her—ghostly chains wrapping themselves around her body. She gasped as she was lifted off the ground, fighting without success. He flicked his wrist, and she flew sideways, crashing into a nearby pillar. Concrete cracked upon contact; Yura slumped onto the floor, turning to come to a stop. Blood oozed from her forehead, soaking the hair, her gaze dazed but defiant.
Thunder boomed through the air above, shaking the very earth. A bolt of lightning rent the sky asunder, casting everything into stark relief with its blinding flash. And in that light, I saw him-a figure standing behind the black-masked man, rising from the chasm like a king onto his throne. His body was tall and commanding, shrouded in darkness that seemed to twist around him. Horns arced from his forehead, his eyes aglow with hellish red. His smile was pure evil-lips curled in vicious play, teeth pointed like daggers. Those eyes locked on me, boring into my ghostly form as if he could see every sin I'd ever committed.
His voice slithered through the air, deep and resonant, laced with mocking familiarity.
"Lucifer. long time no see, my old friend."
It was him. AZAZEL—the leader of the fallen angels, the Watcher who had defied the heavens and dragged legions into the pit.
His presence chilled even my devilish soul; he was far more sinful than I, a being of pure corruption and chaos. The air weighed, thick with ancient rivalries and mute threats. Akira pushed himself up from the rubble, sword in hand, eyes narrowing behind his mask. Yuna hurriedly helped Yura to stand, while the guards scrambled back together, rifles aimed. The black-masked man—Azazel's minion, no doubt—twirled his daggers, ready for more.
But Azazel stood firm, crossed his arms, and his cape fluttered in the wind.
Black masked man said in a deep voice, "You've come far, Akira," he called out silkily, dangerous, like a serpent's hiss. "Kazuki just pay me to fight for him, i have no concern to save him...Just give up boy, I'm far beyond then your limits." He smiled and continued, " I even can see all fallen angels including Lucifer. "
Akira spat blood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Get out of my way, demon. This ends tonight."
Azazel laughed, the low, echoing sound making the earth shudder.
"Demon? Oh, child, you have no idea what true darkness is."
He stepped forward, the shadows coiling like living tendrils around his feet. The storm amped up another notch; the rain started to fall in sheets, mingling with the blood covering the ground.
Everyone there could see AZAZEL.
Yura lifted AZIMIS once more, blood still streaming down her forehead. She did so with a determined look in her eyes despite the pain. "We fight together," she whispered fiercely to Yuna.
I felt the tug of ancient alliances and betrayals. Azazel and I-we went back eons, brothers in a fall from grace. But now, he barred our path, his power fuming like a black sun.
Akira charged again, his sword raised high; the crash was inevitable. Blades clashed in a welter-Akira's katana against the minion's daggers, firework sparks flying in the rain. Azazel watched, his eyes glinting with amusement, as if this was all some game. The fight blurred into a perfect darkness: dodges in slow motion, high jumps, ripples of energy from impacts. Akira sliced through the air, forcing the masked man to step back step by step. Yuna joined in, creating flashes of light to blind the foes. Yura fired AZIMIS in controlled shots, fireballs exploding against the barriers Azazel raised with a wave.
But Azazel's eyes never strayed from mine. "Join me, Lucifer," he purred, his voice cutting through the din. "Or watch them fall." The tower loomed, Kazuki cowering inside. The fight raged with more significant machinations astir. As Akira landed a blow, sending the masked man reeling, Azazel raised his hand—and a wall of dark energy burst, blocking the entrance.
The night was far from over. Who would break first?