Heaven Will Not Fall
Azrael found himself ensnared in the enigma of memory loss, a veil obscuring his origins and history. The contours of his past had dissolved into an abyss of oblivion, leaving him with fragments of recollections pertaining to an unfamiliar realm. Amidst this disarray, one unwavering certainty remained: he bore a purpose that had propelled him to this enigmatic place.
Gun's and Smoke
Belphegor grinned wickedly, relishing the moment. "Ow, I'm sorry for the late introduction. Let me introduce myself properly this time. I'm BELPHEGOR! THE PRINCE OF SLOTH! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Gabriel's urgency intensified. "Alastor, you need to escape now or you'll die!" He shouted the warning, hoping his voice would reach the trembling demon. Despite being ensnared by Belphegor's chains, Gabriel's concern for Alastor burned brightly, his resolve unyielding even in the face of overwhelming odds.
Alastor, fueled by fear and survival instinct, sprinted away without a moment's hesitation upon hearing Gabriel's urgent warning. His footsteps echoed in the dim, ominous surroundings as he fled from the impending danger.