The Watcher's religion

Azrael stepped back into the bustling streets of the capital, making his way towards the towering cathedral that stood as a beacon of faith. His purpose was clear - to seek information on his next targets, hopeful that they would provide him with the dark ki he craved, surpassing the limited offerings of the tournament.

As Azrael approached the sacred edifice, he found himself amidst a congregation of devoted worshipers, their voices hushed in reverent prayer.

Their whispered pleas and devout whispers permeated the air, creating an atmosphere of solemnity and devotion. Undeterred by the devout gathering, Azrael proceeded to his customary spot within the cathedral, a secluded seat where he patiently awaited the dispersal of the worshipers and the arrival of the priest.

Silent and stoic, he observed the faithful as they concluded their devotions, their earnest expressions giving way to quiet conversations and the gradual departure of the devout.

With each passing worshiper, the air within the cathedral began to shift, gradually reclaiming its stillness and allowing the priest to approach Azrael in due time.

After the last echo of whispered prayers faded away, the cathedral stood silent and solemn, its vast expanse drenched in a hallowed aura. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting ethereal hues upon the marble floors and intricate tapestries that adorned the grand walls.

The air was heavy with the scent of aged wood and ancient incense, mingling with a sense of reverence that permeated every corner.

As the priest settled beside Azrael, their meeting marked by a shared understanding of the gravity of the forthcoming task, a moment of silence hung in the air. The priest's voice, a soft timbre filled with wisdom, broke the stillness.

"This next target, I must caution you, is no ordinary foe. Their strength and tenacity are quite renowned. Are you certain you are capable?" the priest spoke, his words carrying the weight of caution.

Azrael's eyes gleamed with unyielding determination, his resolve unshaken. "I am," he responded, his voice laced with confidence born of many battles fought and won.

With a nod, the priest rose from his seat, his robes flowing gracefully around him. Azrael mirrored the motion, his footsteps following in the holy man's wake. Together, they embarked on a journey deeper into the cathedral, guided by a shared purpose.

With each step, the hidden beauty of the sacred place unfolded before Azrael's eyes. Elaborate archways adorned with delicate carvings loomed overhead, showcasing the craftsmanship of generations past.

Shafts of sunlight, like celestial beams, pierced through high vaulted ceilings, casting an enchanting glow upon the sacred space. Paintings depicting scenes and saints graced the walls, their vibrant hues and meticulous details bringing stories to life.

As they delved further into the cathedral's depths, Azrael's senses were captivated by the symphony of silence. The soft echo of their footsteps mingled with the distant murmur of prayers from unseen corners.

The air itself seemed to hold an ancient wisdom, as if it whispered secrets known only to the holy ground upon which they tread.

The priest led Azrael to a secluded chamber, hidden from the prying eyes of the world. Within, a solitary statue stood as a testament to devotion, its serene countenance radiating a sense of tranquility amidst the chaos of mortal existence.

Rays of light, filtering through a meticulously designed skylight, danced upon the statue's form, bestowing an otherworldly radiance upon the sacred figure.

They reached the culmination of their journey at a grandiose door, its towering presence commanding reverence. Adorned upon the door's weathered surface, a masterful carving emerged—a depiction of a horned man, his visage both enigmatic and unsettling, offering a pulsating heart up to an angelic figure with wings outstretched.

The intricate details of the carving seemed to come alive, conveying a profound tale of juxtaposition and spiritual significance.

As the priest's knuckles met the door's surface, a resonating echo reverberated through the corridor. Three deliberate knocks, imbued with both respect and urgency, filled the air.

In response, the heavy door yielded, groaning as it swung open on well-oiled hinges, revealing an inner sanctum bathed in shadow. Illuminated only by the flickering glow of candles that adorned the chamber, a figure shrouded in a flowing black robe presided over the room from an imposing chair.

The priest, deeply aware of the honor bestowed upon him, knelt before the enigmatic figure, his forehead pressed humbly against the cool stone floor. His voice, a reverent whisper, addressed the figure with utmost deference.

"Your Holiness, I have brought him," the priest declared, his words carrying a blend of awe and trepidation.

As the man rose from his majestic chair, a serene aura enveloped him, radiating an ethereal grace and tranquility.

Yet, hidden beneath this facade of serenity, a subtle undercurrent lurked—an insidious presence that eluded the perception of most. It was a darkness so pure, a malevolence so profound, that it starkly contrasted the outward holiness that embraced him.

Ava's voice, tinged with apprehension, echoed urgently within Azrael's mind. Her words carried a sense of warning, a caution against the unseen depths of darkness that dwelled within this enigmatic figure.

Aware of the duality that resided within the man before him, Azrael responded with unwavering determination, acknowledging both the external facade and the hidden evil that lay within.

"I know," Azrael whispered in reply, his voice laced with an equal measure of vigilance and acceptance.

Approaching Azrael, the man closed the distance between them, his piercing gaze penetrating deeply into Azrael's mask. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, and the weight of the world settled upon their encounter.

"So, you are the one destined to bring salvation, the God of death," the man proclaimed, his voice resonating with a blend of reverence and foreboding.

Azrael's grip tightened around the mask he held in his hand, its removal unveiling a chilling revelation. As the mask slipped away, a potent and unfathomable aura radiated from Azrael, engulfing the surroundings in an abyssal darkness that surpassed even the depths of evil harbored within the Bishop.

"What did you just call me?" Azrael's voice resounded, its timbre now tinged with an undeniable malevolence. The leak of his dark ki exposed a power that promised immeasurable chaos, capable of reducing the sacred cathedral to naught but crumbling ruins.

In this moment, there was no room for restraint. Azrael's resolve hardened, determined to eliminate any threat that dared to label him the god of death and judgment.

The dissemination of such information to the gods or higher beings would undoubtedly bring about cataclysmic consequences. These men had to die for their knowledge, but first, Azrael needed to uncover the source of this revelation.

"Remain calm, your grace, for I am not your adversary," the man before Azrael spoke, his voice laced with deference as he knelt in submission, bowing before the burgeoning embodiment of darkness.

"Then who are you?, and how did this information come into your possession," Azrael demanded, his voice laced with an air of authority.

"I am the 5th Bishop of the Church, and my knowledge stems from my position and the visions bestowed upon me. I have glimpsed into the essence of who you are and the destiny that awaits you, just as the priest has said," the Bishop explained, maintaining his humble posture before Azrael.

Azrael's piercing gaze bore into the kneeling figure before him. "So why shouldn't I just end your lives right here and now?" he inquired, his tone tinged with a chilling threat.

"Because, Your grace, we share a common interest—your growth," the Bishop responded, his voice unwavering. "Furthermore, other bishops possess this knowledge as well, rendering the act futile if your sole aim is to safeguard your secret."

"Why would you care about my growth?" Azrael questioned, his suspicion still lingering.

"Because, according to the prophecies handed down through generations, you are the chosen one—the one who will bring salvation," the Bishop replied, a touch of reverence in his voice.

"What prophecy?" Azrael probed further, seeking answers to the mysteries that now encircled his existence.

"For now, it is not of immediate concern. Focus on honing your strength, for there will come a day when you must seek out the blind prophet, who holds the truth," the Bishop elucidated, his words carrying an air of both urgency and enigma.

Azrael's mind swirled with conflicting thoughts as he absorbed the revelation. If what he claimed was true, and others possess this information, then the predicament he found himself in was even more intricate than he had initially assumed.

The weight of his decision pressed upon him, knowing that the truth of his identity would not perish with these men alone.

"For what it's worth, they never lied," Ava's voice echoed within Azrael's mind, cutting through his contemplation.

"How..." Azrael began to inquire, his voice trailing off.

"I told you, my golden eyes of truth see through everything," Ava responded, her words resonating with an air of confidence.

Upon hearing Ava's statement, Azrael took a deep breath and gingerly placed his mask upon his face. Instantaneously, the potent aura of darkness that had engulfed him dissipated, vanishing as if it had never been.

Resolute in his decision, Azrael turned to face the Bishop and the priest, his demeanor now composed and determined. "What do you need me to do?" he asked, his voice steady.