Azazel appeared for the second time,
an entity that transcended human comprehension.
His form was no longer a mere shadowy silhouette,
but a terrifying figure that deafened the ears, enveloping the royal hall with an oppressive aura of darkness. He stepped upon a blood-red carpet—the tragic path once walked by Iris—moving toward the throne he had always desired.
Each step cracked the cold, majestic floor with a chilling sound,
as if summoning thunder that echoed deep within the soul, calling forth destruction. Seven eyes watched from his inhuman face,
glinting in the darkness like ominous stars lurking,
signaling a haunting power that threatened every heartbeat. The devil's tongue whispered سرور (pleasure)
in a piercing voice that penetrated the soul without opening its mouth:
"You didn't seal the gate, Iris.
Do you want me to come… or have you already given up?"
Iris stood tall,
Her gown flowed long and fluid, like dark waters reflecting the moonlight.
Her belly was rounded, a sign of the life growing within—a primal protection stronger than the mightiest magic.
A fierce determination surged through her, pushing back the creeping fear; she was a guardian not only of herself but also of the life she carried inside.
Her face bore a calmness buried deep within the shadows, while the blood at her fingertips trembled, like the whisper of a soul desperate to be heard.
"You are wrong, Azazel."
"I have not given up. I have only… transformed."
She snapped her fingers—
a spell in the shape of an ice flower bloomed gracefully from her palm,
but only briefly, as her body shuddered, seemingly worn down by a gnawing exhaustion,
while her unyielding spirit fought to rise again.
"This pain flows from within my womb, not from my enemy.
Yet Iris did not cry out. She clenched her fists, holding all the pain in silence, fully aware of the precious life she carried within her.
Azazel stood there, his towering figure imposing,
like a shadow of darkness fading at the break of dawn, where seven eyes gleamed with an eerie glow, radiating a painful strength and pride that hinted at a deep knowledge of the darkness within the human soul. Each eye, like a window to eternity, reflected an unfathomable inhumanity, creating a chilling atmosphere that made hearts race and the will to live wane. His small smile only added to the horror—a smile that seemed not human, but that of a creature savoring the suffering it inflicted. He gazed upon the mighty woman—once victorious over the Eastern Legion—
now gasping and weary, weakened simply because she had stood too long, struggling amid a storm that shattered her spirit.
"Alas.
The queen of the world, now just a woman wounded beneath her ribs."
"If I kill you now, Fitran will lose his reason to return."
"Try me," Iris whispered, her voice soft but filled with unyielding resolve, a courage deeply rooted within her soul.
"But listen to this: this child is not a manifestation of our love. It is a sword.
And I hide that sword within my womb, a symbol of both hope and threat that will change everything."
Azazel fell silent, stunned by the weight of those words. He realized this was no empty threat; the urgency and reality of the situation were undeniable. Even now—while time seemed fragmented, his body burdened with unbearable weight, and his breath flowing heavy like smoke thick with ember—
In the dim light, Azazel's figure emerged like a menacing shadow, his seven eyes glowing fiercely like falling stars, radiating a sharp light filled with both wisdom and cruelty. His scarred face resembled an ancient creature, shrouded in dark shadows that danced around him. Each eye emitted darkness, as if scrutinizing every corner of Iris's soul, uncovering her deepest fears. His long, slender limbs stretched out like withered branches, blending with a biting cold aura that loosed a suffocating terror, looming like a storm cloud. Iris radiated an Elemental aura, blazing with such intensity that it threatened to reduce the palace ceiling to ashes.
Deep within her heart, Iris's determination took root, penetrating far beyond the magic she wielded. She swore to protect this child not only as a mother but also as a beacon of hope shining amid the thick darkness. Feeling her magical power bound like constellations trapped in a web, she challenged every limit imposed on her. She faced Azazel not out of haunting fear, but fueled by a love that transformed every moment into a precious struggle.
Yet her abdomen had unexpectedly become a battlefield, as if the world around her had turned into an arena thick with tension. She was trapped—unable to leap or dance in the harmonious flow of magic that once was her pride. More than that—each powerful spell she cast risked triggering unwanted contractions, shaking her body like a silent storm summoned from within. Still, deep in her soul, Iris knew her true strength lay in her will to protect, not in her ability to attack, like a light shining through the darkness.
"Iris was no longer just a sorceress.
She was a vessel for something far greater, a new hope forged amidst the tension. Though surrounded by overwhelming challenges, her spirit shone brightly, convincing her that the child's existence was the key to every miracle yet to come—a promise that bound her to this struggle."
Azazel stepped forward, his gaze sharp and defiant, as if he held darkness itself within his eyes. With seven glowing eyes like dying stars scattered across endless shadow, each radiating an aura of fear that seeped into the soul of every living being. Beneath his sharp, inhuman features, his razor talons extended, ready to tear away hope and light from any soul bold enough to face him. "You will never defeat me.
But maybe… I don't have to fight you."
"I only need to wait… until birth diverts all your power.
When that time comes, I will come… and steal your hope right from your grasp."
Then he vanished into the void,
A lingering scent of sulfur hung heavily in the air, a trace etched deeply into memory, accompanied by ethereal fractures trembling across the sky, marking the emptiness left in the wake of his threatening presence. Darkness crept forward, engulfing the space with terrifying shadows that seemed to challenge the very existence of light. Amidst the silence, Azazel appeared—an imposing figure with seven glowing eyes like sharp falling stars, casting a fear that spread like poison through the atmosphere. Perhaps he was the shadow incarnate, his dark skin shimmering with trapped stars, each eye reflecting an endless expanse, as if piercing souls with a gaze that no longer allowed hiding from fear.
Iris collapsed to her knees, pain draining her strength like a storm tearing through her soul. She felt herself fighting not only the tangible enemy before her but also the shadows of fear and doubt that relentlessly haunted her. Amid the raging turmoil in her mind, she realized that protecting the child within her was everything — a shining future, an unbreakable hope, and the legacy of powerful magic burning deep inside her.
Her hands clasped her belly, sensing the gentle stirrings of the life growing there — the baby moved, as if understanding that his mother was battling not just dark sorcery, but a determination older than time itself.
"We will not be defeated," Iris whispered, her voice trembling yet blazing with a fierce spirit like an unquenchable fire. In the darkest moments, she found a source of strength in her unwavering love, a light amid the shadows.
"You and I. We may be fragile. But we are also... the key."