You have come a long way...

The desert wind howled relentlessly, whipping up clouds of swirling dust that painted the air a hazy shade of brown. Standing firmly in the midst of this tempest were fourteen individuals, each emanating a palpable and awe-inspiring aura that crackled with power.

Among the group, three proudly displayed the emblem of the Zefron Empire, their regal crest shining with authority. Another trio bore the crest of the Lyrac Empire, representing their dominion and strength. And yet another three carried the emblem of the Cyval Empire, a symbol of their might and influence.

Two figures, their faces obscured by cloaks, stood apart from the rest. One wore a cloak that concealed his features entirely, an enigma shrouded in mystery. The other bore a long scar etched across his visage, a testament to battles fought and survived.

Amidst this assembly of formidable individuals, three elderly men stood tall, their ancient presence exuding a profound aura of magic. Their long white beards and wise countenances spoke of years spent delving into the mysteries of the arcane, their knowledge and wisdom as vast as the sands that stretched before them.

Among the men proudly bearing the Cyval crest stood Codexx, his presence radiating an intense aura of hostility. As he stood alongside his counterparts from the rival Empires, his irritation only grew more palpable.

"Codexx, it's been a while, but you don't seem too thrilled to see me," one of the men bearing the Cyval crest remarked, his voice laced with a hint of mischief.

"Listen, Derek, I'm in no mood for your games. It's best if you just keep quiet," Codexx responded, his annoyance seeping into his words.

"Oh, you definitely seem displeased," Derek retorted.

"Could it be because of the recent debacle in Lyrac? Rumor has it that demons ran amok, even managing to kidnap the princess. Instead of taking responsibility for your Empire's incompetence, you went on to blame the victor of your tournament. And to add to the embarrassment, the very person you accused managed to escape right under your noses. Truly disgraceful," Derek taunted.

Codexx's blood boiled, his anger rising like a raging storm. Yet, he fought to maintain his composure.

"Well, it's not surprising that this person could accomplish such feats. After all, the same individual wiped out fifteen thousand of your Empire's soldiers in a single night, all at the tender age of thirteen," Codexx declared, a glimmer of satisfaction dancing in his narrowed eyes.

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Derek questioned, his disbelief evident.

"It's a well-known tale, my friend. Your ambush of fifteen thousand men against the Zefron Empire, all eradicated in a single night. And among them, only one student of Ryzel Academy remained unaccounted for. You see, after we apprehended the masked merchant, we unveiled his true identity... and what did we discover? He was none other than the same thirteen-year-old orphan named Azrael, the very one who brought disgrace upon the entire Cyval Empire in just one night," Codexx proclaimed, a smug grin adorning his face.

"Stop spouting nonsense that you know isn't true!" Derek exclaimed, his temper teetering on the edge.

"Isn't true? Why don't we ask your fifteen thousand dead soldiers if it's true or not?" Codexx retorted, a cruel smirk etched on his face.

"You bastard! If you're so eager to die, I'll be more than happy to oblige," Derek threatened, his anger boiling over.

But before he could make a move, his body became completely immobilized.

"Cease this foolishness! Have you no respect for the grand mages?" one of the elderly men interjected sternly.

"When we are finished breaking this barrier and you venture inside, you may kill each other for all we care. But do not dare act recklessly in our presence," the old man continued, his voice commanding authority.

Silence fell upon the group as the grand mages resumed their efforts to dismantle the barrier. However, a singular thought lingered in the minds of all present: Who exactly was Azrael?

After several grueling hours, a tremendous shockwave reverberated through the air, signifying the complete shattering of the barrier. The three elderly men gasped for breath, exhaustion evident on their faces as they successfully unraveled the demon god's formidable defense.

"What an incredibly powerful barrier. From this point onward, you are on your own. We shall depart this place once you all have entered. Waste no time," one of the grand mages announced, their voices laden with weariness.

With those words, they stepped forward into the desolate desert.

None of those who had entered the soulless desert noticed, but someone had stealthily followed them in. Azrael, granted temporary invisibility by his mask for fifteen minutes, quietly sneaked into the desert alongside the rest of the group, believing he had gone undetected.

"Should we address the individual who just passed by? How should we proceed?" one of the grand mages asked.

"Hmm, let's leave him be. I have a feeling that things are about to become very interesting," one of the old men replied with a cryptic tone.

Once inside the desert, everyone immediately dispersed in different directions. The search for the God of Death's blade had begun, but they also remained vigilant of one another. Even if they failed to find the blade, they wouldn't allow the person who did find it to leave alive.

With their extraordinary speed, these individuals scoured every nook and cranny of the desert, attempting to sense even the faintest trace of the blade's aura.

Hours passed, and they saw nothing, sensed nothing. However, this was not the case for Azrael.

From the moment he set foot in the desert, he could feel it—the beckoning, the pull of the blade. Yet the closer he approached, the more it seemed to elude him. It was as if the blade existed both everywhere and nowhere at once. Azrael had to be cautious, evading the gaze of the other searchers, making it increasingly challenging to pinpoint the exact location.

Then, unexpectedly, he stumbled upon something. Half-buried beneath the desert sands, a torn piece of white fabric caught his eye.

Azrael stared at the fabric, his mind and thoughts becoming hazy as a flood of emotions washed over him—emotions he had seldom experienced outside the depths of the abyss. Love, sadness, regret, they all intertwined, but one feeling overshadowed them all: anger.

His aura, normally concealed by the mask, began to seep through, crackling with an intensity never seen before. Azrael's grip on the fabric tightened, his tears dripping from underneath his mask mixed with the swirling dust of the desert. A profound sense of anger and sorrow consumed him, fueling the darkness that radiated from his being.

In an instant, his aura exploded, shrouding the entire desert in a menacing cloak of darkness. The other search parties, drawn by the sheer magnitude of his presence, hastened towards the epicenter of the unleashed power.

As Azrael knelt on the sand, the others observed him with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Codexx, recognizing the mask, exclaimed, "That's the masked merchant!"

"Are you suggesting that this is the Azrael we've been searching for?" one of the Cyval searchers questioned, eager to approach Azrael and demand answers. However, Derek intervened, halting their advance.

"Wait, can't you sense his aura?" Derek warned, a hint of unease in his voice.

The Cyval searcher scoffed, dismissing the notion. "You think this boy can defeat us?"

But just as the words left his lips, Azrael's aura surged once more, emanating an even more potent and ominous darkness. The pure chaos and malevolence of his dark ki caused their mouths to run dry, their hands instinctively tightening around their weapons.

In that moment, a palpable sensation filled the air—a sensation none of them were willing to admit, but one that gripped their hearts nonetheless: fear.

The mask adorning Azrael's face cracked, the fractures spiderwebbing across its surface until it shattered into two pieces. In that moment, an overwhelming presence consumed the desert, emanating from Azrael like a maelstrom of darkness and despair.

"This was not my purpose, this was not my fight," Azrael's voice boomed, its echo carrying an eerie darkness through the vast expanse. "So why does it hurt so much? Why am I consumed by anger and driven by a thirst for vengeance?"

Witnessing this terrifying transformation, everyone present could only watch in abject terror as tears streamed down Azrael's face. Slowly, he began to ascend from the desert floor, defying gravity with an otherworldly power. And as his tears fell, they transformed into rivulets of blood, staining his face in crimson.

"Come forth, Genesis," Azrael commanded, his voice resonating like thunder. A rumbling filled the air as particles swirled and danced around him, coalescing into the shape of a sword.

"Is that...?" Codexx managed to utter, his voice trembling amidst the chaos.

"You shall all perish here, a testament to the beginning of my wrath in this world, across the entirety of reality," Azrael declared, his levitation growing higher and higher.

"Third God Form!" Azrael's words reverberated deep within the souls of every person present.

The sky darkened, and the very earth quivered and convulsed as Azrael extended his hands toward the heavens, his power surging to cataclysmic levels.

Codexx's body sank to its knees, his trembling gaze fixated on the awe-inspiring sight of Azrael, suspended in the air. The weight of realization pressed upon him, and a profound sense of resignation seeped into his voice as he muttered, "So this, is God's judgement..."

With a resolute command, Azrael's voice resounded like thunder, carrying a weight of unimaginable power. "Primordial devastation!" he declared.

In response, the heavens unleashed a colossal bolt of black lightning, crackling with an intensity that surpassed mortal comprehension. It struck the desert with cataclysmic force, unleashing an explosion of destructive energy that reverberated through the very fabric of existence.

The desert was reduced to a desolate wasteland. The sands turned to glass under the scorching wrath of the lightning, and everything in its path was obliterated.

Every living thing present turned to dust, flora disintegrated, and the air itself seemed to hold its breath, transfixed by the immense power unleashed upon it.

The world trembled beneath the weight of this devastating act, as if echoing the pleas for mercy from those who had fallen victim to its fury.

As the chaotic aftermath settled, Azrael's weary sigh echoed through the silence. He began to descend from the heavens, his grip on Genesis growing feeble. Yet, just before he could meet the unforgiving ground of glass, a pair of strong arms enveloped him, catching him with unwavering support.

"You have come a long way, your Grace," Mortimer's voice resonated with a blend of admiration and concern.