Fifth Emperor's guard

The Bishop rose to his feet and walked toward another door that led to a different room.

"Follow the priest's instructions. I appreciate your trust," the Bishop said, disappearing into the dark passage beyond the door.

"As I mentioned before, your next target will be much more challenging. You will ambush Garcia Vanholt, the head of military tactics and operations, on his way to one of Lyrac's bases outside the capital," the priest explained.

*Two days later*

Azrael perched precariously on the side of the desolate road, a harsh wind tugging at his cloak, as if trying to dissuade him from his dangerous path. The barren terrain stretched out before him, a somber canvas of forgotten dreams and lost hopes. His eyes scanned the horizon, searching for any signs of the imminent arrival.

Finally, the rumble of wheels reached his ears, growing louder with each passing moment. The approaching carriage materialized in the distance, gradually slowing its pace until it came to a halt before him. The sound of hooves pounding against the earth echoed in the stillness, as if nature itself held its breath.

With a commanding presence, a man emerged from the carriage, his every movement exuding confidence and power. His hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of his sword, a silent warning to any present. Garcia Vanholt, a formidable figure of authority, locked his penetrating gaze onto Azrael, unwavering and unyielding.

"So, you have arrived," Garcia spoke, his voice a blend of authority and curiosity, his eyes never straying from Azrael's form.

A sly smile curved Azrael's lips as he stood up from the weathered boulder that had served as his temporary seat. His cloak shadow danced playfully around him, seemingly entwined with his purpose.

"You were expecting me? Good. I trust you have reconciled with the inevitability of your death," Azrael's voice rang out, its melodic tones laced with a chilling determination, as he confronted the imposing figure before him.

"You exude confidence, but I hope it's more than mere empty words," Garcia remarked, his voice tinged with skepticism.

A mischievous glimmer danced in Azrael's eyes as he responded, his voice laced with a subtle challenge, "Why don't we put that to the test?" In one seamless motion, his blade arced through the air, aimed at Garcia's vulnerable neck, propelled by a combination of speed and finesse.

However, before the blade could find its mark, it clashed with another, the clash of metal resounding in the tense atmosphere. An enigmatic figure, completely enshrouded in a suit of dark armor, emerged from the shadows, their identity concealed entirely.

Every inch of exposed skin was shielded, leaving only a mysterious, formidable presence in its wake. With unwavering strength, this figure held Azrael's sword at bay, their own weapon standing as a barrier against the imminent strike.

A wry smile played upon Garcia's lips as he spoke, his voice dripping with both satisfaction and warning, "You may possess strength, but your lack of foresight is glaringly evident. Did you truly believe that your actions within the capital would catch us unprepared? Now, you find yourself trapped, with no escape."

As if materializing from thin air, soldiers emerged from their concealed positions, their presence revealed in an unsettling display of preparedness. They encircled the scene, closing off any possible avenue of retreat.

A slight chuckle escaped Azrael's lips, dark and foreboding, as he retorted, his words accompanied by the crackling of sinister lightning that danced around him, "Trapped?, you misunderstand. All you have accomplished is gathering more souls to meet their demise alongside you. If it is a shared journey to the afterlife that you all desire, I shall gladly oblige."

The air grew heavy with an ominous energy, as if the very atmosphere acknowledged the impending clash of wills and the impending doom that loomed over them all.

*Two days before the encounter*

"In truth, Garcia will merely serve as a secondary target. It is crucial for you to understand that they will already anticipate your arrival," the priest disclosed, his voice carrying an air of caution.

Azrael's curiosity piqued, and he inquired further, "Then, who is the primary target?"

"The fifth Emperor's guard," the priest revealed, the weight of his words hanging in the air. "While you may not initially see him, he will be ready, safeguarding Garcia. However, once you reveal yourself, they will employ a magical teleportation crystal to summon him and others to the scene. The rarity and costliness of these crystals alone speak volumes about their determination to capture or eliminate you."

Azrael's gaze hardened, his determination shining through. "How strong is the Emperor's guard?" he questioned.

The priest's response was concise yet laden with gravity, "Very."

"He is the adversary of unparalleled strength you have been seeking. I must ask, are you truly confident in your ability to face him?" The priest's tone held a hint of concern.

A resolute determination resonated in Azrael's voice as he answered, "Yes."

The priest's words grew more stern, a reminder of past failures. "You uttered the same conviction last time, yet only two out of the three targets were eliminated. This time, you cannot afford to make any mistakes."

Azrael's commitment was unwavering as he acknowledged the gravity of the task. "Understood," he replied, his voice tinged with a newfound resolve.

*present time*

As the swing of the armored man's sword sliced through the air, Azrael swiftly evaded the lethal strike, retreating a few meters from him. Their confrontation hung heavily in the atmosphere, charged with tension and impending danger.

"I am the fifth Emperor's guard, entrusted with your retrieval and detainment. If necessary, I am also authorized to eliminate you in the name of the emperor. You are hereby under arrest," declared the Emperor's guard, his voice resonating with authority, deep and commanding.

A wicked grin formed on Azrael's lips, his eyes flickering with a blend of anticipation and dark energy. The crackling of his dark lightning intensified, mirroring the tempestuous storm that churned within him. "Ah, my primary target has finally arrived," Azrael taunted, his voice carrying an eerie confidence.

The Emperor's guard remained steadfast, undeterred by Azrael's display of confidence. "Prepare yourself, Azrael. I am prepared to go all-out," the guard responded, his tone firm and resolute.

"Surrender is still an option," the Emperor's guard offered, a glimmer of hope hidden within his words.

Azrael's response was laced with a sinister determination. "It never was," he retorted, his voice tinged with an unyielding resolve.

"Come, Ava," Azrael called, invoking the majestic form of his ethereal companion from the depths of the Watcher's Gate.

Gasps of astonishment rippled through the onlookers as Ava materialized, her presence awe-inspiring and majestic, commanding attention and reverence.

Curiosity and confusion colored Ava's voice as she questioned Azrael's intentions. "What are you doing?"

"I'll handle the Emperor's guard. You deal with the others," Azrael commanded, his voice a low growl, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword.

Ava's response was tinged with defiance. "And why should I do that?"

Azrael's eyes locked with Ava's, a hint of desperation flickering within. "I will be in your debt," he offered, his voice laden with a mix of urgency and sincerity.

The Emperor's guard interjected, their attention diverted from the exchange. "It appears you possess an extraordinary beast. Both of you shall be captured," the guard declared, their resolve unshaken.

Azrael gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, his anticipation reaching its zenith. In a fleeting moment, marked by unparalleled speed and unfathomable power, Azrael and the Emperor's guard clashed, their clash shaking the very foundation of their surroundings.

Following the resounding clash, a mighty shockwave reverberated through the surroundings. The air quivered with the sheer force unleashed by their clash, as if the world itself acknowledged the momentous battle taking place.

"Your only option now is surrender," the Emperor's guard declared, their faces mere inches apart, their swords the only separation between them.

A sly smirk danced upon Azrael's lips as he retorted, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, "You sure talk a lot." With a swift and fluid motion, he twisted his body, launching his blade toward the guard's exposed neck, aiming for a decisive strike.

However, the Emperor's guard displayed lightning reflexes, bending down with impeccable agility, evading Azrael's deadly trajectory. In a retaliatory move, the guard swiftly thrust their sword toward Azrael's abdomen. Yet, Azrael managed to evade the attack, taking a step back, narrowly escaping the blade's lethal trajectory.

The two combatants refused to remain idle for long, immediately engaging in another intense clash. Their swords collided repeatedly, each strike a testament to their extraordinary skill and unwavering power. In a continuous flurry of breathtaking brilliance, their weapons met, their movements merging into a seamless dance of strength and precision.

To the observer's eye, it would be impossible to identify any discernible opening in their defense. Their swords seemed poised to block and parry every conceivable attack, their mastery of the blade creating an impenetrable shield of steel. The battlefield became a canvas for their relentless duel, their clash a symphony of metal meeting metal, accompanied by the electric energy pulsating through the air.

Sensing the absence of any discernible opening to exploit with his sword, Azrael's mind raced, swiftly conceiving an alternative approach. As the Emperor's guard's sword arced toward him, Azrael made a split-second decision. Rather than attempting to block the attack head-on, he gracefully sidestepped, evading the incoming strike with nimble footwork.

In that moment, a surge of determination coursed through Azrael's veins. With a swift and deliberate motion, he brought his fingers to his chest, the very tips of his digits aglow with condensed power, a radiant manifestation of immense gray energy.

A chilling certainty resonated in Azrael's voice as he uttered a single word, laden with finality, "Die." In an awe-inspiring display of raw power, a devastating beam of inky blackness erupted from his outstretched fingers. The concentrated energy hurtled forth, propelled by Azrael's potent dark ki, its destructive force propelling the Emperor's guard backward with tremendous force and devastation.