The Codex tore itself into being.
It didn't fall from the heavens, nor rise from the ground. It manifested—a living book of bone and ash, hovering before Azazel with pages that fluttered though there was no wind. Every letter glowed red like molten iron, every rune bled light that wasn't of this world.
Its leather cover was embossed with an ancient symbol: the Seal of Solomon—two interlocked triangles forming a hexagram. But at its center there, pressed deep into the leather, was a red cross. The Knights Templar.
From between the pages, chains erupted—iron wrought of scripture itself, etched with the names of dead hunters. They writhed and lashed like serpents, embedding into the marble, the grass, the air itself before converging on Balaam.
The King of Hell didn't even move. His smirk was almost pitying.
"Childish tricks."
Chains wrapped around his wrists, his ankles, his neck. He rolled his shoulders lazily—until suddenly, his breath caught. His pale lips parted.
The weight of the Codex pressed down. Balaam froze.
When the Codex appeared all the portals that were opened by demons were closed, a surging stream of demons stopped.
Azazel gasped for air, ripped the pistols from his belt, and in a blur of motion fired three consecrated bullets straight into the demon's arm. The pale limb shattered at the joint, chunks of obsidian-black bone scattering into the grass.
The boy stumbled back, clawing the unmoving hand of Balaam from his throat and hurling it aside. He coughed blood, chest heaving, throat burning where the talons had nearly crushed it.
His eyes darted across the battlefield.
The leaders of the churches stood at the garden's edge, their relics blazing—but their faces were haggard, their breaths shallow. They hadn't ignored the explosion that tore Rome apart—they had shielded the survivors. Their strength was already waning.
Even with Maximilian, Aurelius, and the three leaders together, the balance was still against them. Kimaris's tide of shadows still poured. Andras, though wounded, cleaved through walls of light. Raum's black feathers shredded steel like parchment. Aim's molten laughter still shook the ground. Four high-ranking demons—tireless, endless—against mortals who bled and broke.
And above all of them… Balaam.
A king.
His aura spread outward like fire through dry grass, a wave of suffocation. The Codex's chains rattled, searing themselves tighter, yet the weight of his presence still smothered Azazel's lungs.
The king tilted his head, his one arm still bound. His lips curled into something darker than a smile.
"Where… did you find it?" His voice cracked the earth itself. "That book… The Key to Hell itself. Where, boy?!"
The Codex's chains tightened, but Azazel only shook, pressing his palms to the relic. His voice cracked as he forced the words past his lips.
[Don't listen to him. Repeat after me, until the Codex can still hold him!]
The dream-voice, the stern warmth guided him. The prayer that wasn't to heaven, nor earth, but to the bloodline of hunters themselves.
[Ash that guards the flame]
Azazel's voice steadied.
"Ash that guards the flame…"
He whispered the words, and the Codex bled light brighter than fire.
[Blood that forged the name]
"Blood that forged the name."
[Johann Weyer,
God of Weapon]
"Johann Weyer,
God of Weapon…"
[I beg for your strength again]
"I beg for your strength again!"
The chains flared scarlet, stabbing deeper into Balaam's flesh. The King of Hell snarled, his aura buckling for the first time, shadows recoiling as if scorched. His pale body trembled—not from weakness, but from something he hadn't felt in centuries.
Surprise.
The garden shook. The pistols at Azazel's hips burned, glowing like suns about to awaken. The Codex flipped its pages with deafening speed, and the voices of long-dead hunters cried out from the parchment like a thousand ghosts.
Azazel lifted the pistols again, hands steady now. His eyes, wet with blood and fire, locked onto the king.
"No, how can it be..?"
Demon's voice trembled.
This was not holy faith.
This was not divine miracle.
This was the Weyers.
Cracks appeared on chains.
Now on Balaam's forehead a pentagram could be seen. Balaam was manifesting his true form into the real world.
There were no bullets in the clip though, Azazel fired anyway.