The earth was charred; like their souls. The core temperature of earth and Heaven matched that of Hell. With the new world now merged with every alternate universe, they had done it. The great ideology of Azrael as God and everything else bowing to him. But, there was nothing left. Just two Demons who stood on the plains of oblivion as they looked upon the wonders of the new world. Nothing existed. Even the air to breathe was difficult for anything who may have survived due to the lack of oxygen. Dead bark roasted on the sporadic trees which coated the vast wasteland. The earth was cracked and dry. No sign of life was anywhere to be seen. Bone and feathers scattered themselves for miles. How they had managed to override God’s wrath and left him with nothing but ashes to remember his children was beyond them. Not even Lucifer had survived such premeditated genocide. That was the hardest. Driving her angel blade into the gut of the only brother who dared to have a voice over his sister. She had gazed into his deep ruby eyes with her own lemon quartz orbs as she twisted the blade deep into him; a smile to her perfect features as she watched the Devil himself fall to her mercy. 

There was truly nothing left in the angel who once was.

Azazel was no longer recognisable. The most substantial features were the feathers which had been torn from her back. A sign of her commitment to her brother who had given his soul over to insanity. His words had become more manipulative than her own were, slowly chipping away at the underlying innocence until all hope for a saviour was gone. Bloodied scars covered her dull, marbled skin and even them gorgeous blonde locks had no glow left. Glassy sapphire eyes had become that of envious topaz as her entire life had been overrun by the most powerful sin of all. Wrath.

“We did it.” Azrael sighed in relief, his beady yellow eyes gleaming in excitement as he looked out at the turmoil he had caused. Proud and victorious. But Azazel couldn’t help but act numb to the whole thing.  “I promised you that I would be your God. I promised you that this would be mine. My world. ” 

Azazel stood still. As if her brother didn’t even exist.

“You can go home now.” He continued, turning to his sister who he had moulded into his own as he placed his hand on her shoulder. Sworn to serve him for his purpose; she had completed her task. Home? She had forgotten about what she had spent eons concentrating on. Home was barely even a memory now. So distained with hatred, anger and dismay, Azazel was a photocopy of her elder kin.

Azazel took a moment, her yellowed eyes continuing to stare blankly out at the broken land. The irony of the new world matching her absent mentality was a bitter reminder to anyone who may have watched her journey. Azazel was clueless to it now. Clueless to how she had gone from a radiant celestial to a blood thirsty demon who was ruthless with everything she did. Maturity was the biggest achievement. Forcing someone who had been acting out her whole life to grow up was Azrael’s biggest challenge. Discipline and a fight for dominance was the only way she eventually learned. A lot of tears came from her side. But she had made it and tears no longer fell from her sinister eyes.

Her hand rose, her soft but lethal fingertips placing themselves on top of his hand on her shoulder as a smirk slowly began to pull at her lips. 

“Home..” Azazel’s hoarse voice hummed, pads of her fingers gently dancing over his rough skin of his knuckles before her smirk grew. Her fingers then slowly snaked through his and with a twist of fate, her hand clenched. A grin came to her lips whilst she forcefully grabbed hold of him, her body turning as her left hand rose; quick to take hold of the wrist of his free hand which tried to intercept her sudden change in personality.

“Azazel, what are you f***ing playing at?!” He barked at her. She knew exactly what was going through his head. How dare she raise her hand to defy him. Her God.  But being so wrapped up in his ideology to make her his own – a literal photocopy of him – he had forgotten how selfish he was. And that selfishness rubbed off on his younger sister, as was everything else. Her own blood thirst was raging like the fire which swamped the horizon and made the sky a vicious amber in colour. Embers surrounded them as the tension rose, her grasp jolting him closer to her until they were nose to nose. Her breath was hot on his own, her grin remaining on her dry lips. Her grasp began to burn away at him, her core temperature rising to alarming rates as she metaphorically became the fire which consumed her mind. Azrael’s eyes shone with anger. But as their intense stare deepened, she watched how his anger flickered to curiosity. But then, to concern.

“Home.” She whispered, her tone sultry and wicked. A flick of her wrist caused Azrael to jolt in her grasp slightly as she twisted the bones in his vessel’s wrists. Hands clamping down, she could hear his fingers at the point of snapping.  Azrael growled. He was never one for showing pain and emotion. But he had never fought a physical double of himself. 

It was like looking in the mirror. Both self-destructive, with nothing left. She would be the death of him. And she was going to make sure of it. 

Her eyes captivated him. But not enough to stop him. Azazel released Azrael’s wrist which had blistered from the burn her deadly grasp had caused. To no dismay, he took her by the throat. It was an ironic amusement for her as her grin continued to grow. Twisted and manic as his own was often, she watched how Azrael’s grasp tightened. She didn’t dare break his gaze. After all, it was the gaze which allowed her to go undetected as she swiftly drew the golden blade she cherished. And just like she had done so to Lucifer – the brother who made Azrael the way he was – she drove the blade into his stomach. There was no hesitation. No worry about consequences. And definitely no remorse. 

Azrael gasped, jaw gaping. He tried to speak, but no words came. Whether it was pain from the pristine angel blade she had penetrated his abdomen with, or the sheer horror that she had turned – it would remain unknown. Out of no-where. He dared to trust her, and it backfired. 

Slowly dragging the dagger back through his flesh; coated in dark, thick blood, Azazel’s glance slowly lowered to admire her masterpiece. 

Azazel stepped back from the grasp of her brother; which had now eased to nothing as she watched light behind his eyes fall dim. He came crashing to his knees, clutching as his stomach as he growled at her. The strong taste of iron overwhelming his taste buds as blood began to rise through his body and escape at the corner of his quivering mouth. It was euphoric. The angel of Death, falling to his own. 

Azazel lowered herself, crouching in front of her brother. Smirk dying to a smoulder, she pulled his face closer to her own with the side profile of her hand and placed a tender kiss upon his lips, careless that his blood was the only thing that brought colour to them.

“But dear brother.” She whispered with a deranged grin returning.

“I am home.”