Triumph in Obsidianreach         

The scythe, raised high above, seemed to hover for a moment — a heartbeat suspended in time. 

It cast a long, ominous shadow that stretched toward Azazel like a dark premonition. The world seemed to pause, caught in the tension of the impending strike.

In that breathless moment, Azazel's grin widened, a paradoxical expression of acceptance and defiance. The scythe descended, a swift arc cutting through the air. The blade, honed for the reaping of souls, aimed for Azazel's neck with lethal precision.

In the dire moment when defeat seemed imminent, a sudden burst of energy cascaded through the battlefield.

The demon soldiers, including the one holding the scythe, were blasted away.

Azazel's grin widened. "Took you long enough."

When the dust settled, Ren, Elena, Evie, and Lorelai appeared.

Ren sighed as he surveyed Azazel's sorry state. "What are you doing?"

"You still alive?" Evie asked with a lack of concern.