The chamber fell silent after Riven's awakening, the shadows curling back into the stone as if recognizing their master. Azael stood at his side, posture relaxed but eyes sharp — always watching, always calculating, always ready to move.
"Your power stirred the sanctum," Azael murmured. "It listens to you now. That means we can begin the first phase."
Riven swallowed, adrenaline still buzzing under his skin. "First phase?"
Azael lifted his hand.
The shadows in the chamber snapped awake.
They peeled from the walls like smoke given life, twisting into tendrils, then shapes, then a storm of shifting forms hovering around Riven. Not touching — but assessing. Judging.
Riven tensed. "You said they were part of me."
"They are," Azael replied. "But even your own power will test you before it yields."
A shadow lunged.
Riven flinched — instinctively raising his arm — and golden light exploded from his skin. The shadow hissed and recoiled, shrinking into vapor.
Azael's lips tilted in approval. "Good. Again."
Three more shadows leapt from different angles.
Riven ducked the first, rolled beneath the second — the third clawed at his chest, but the mark blazed, sending a shockwave of light that shattered the chamber's silence.
His breath came fast. "This is insane."
"This is necessary." Azael walked slowly around him. "You were not reborn to be hunted. You were reborn to become what even demons once feared."
Riven stumbled as another shadow lashed at him. He caught it with both hands, golden and black energy sparking where they touched. Instead of shattering… it bent. Yielded. Merged.
Riven gasped — the shadow dissolved into him like breath into lungs.
Azael watched him with a strange intensity. "You are learning faster than expected."
Riven felt it — the surge, the familiarity, like remembering how to walk after lifetimes of forgetting. "It feels like… coming back to myself."
"Exactly."
Azael stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Now try calling the shadows yourself."
Riven inhaled.
The air grew heavier.
His mark pulsed — once… twice…
The shadows trembled, as if awaiting command.
Riven raised his hand—
BOOM.
The entire sanctum shook.
Dust rained from the ceiling. The shadows shrieked and scattered. Azael's head snapped upward, eyes narrowing, aura flaring sharp and deadly.
"What was that?" Riven whispered.
Azael didn't answer.
The second explosion tore through the far entrance, shaking the walls and sending stone fragments across the floor. A cold wind blasted through the sanctum, carrying the metallic scent of something ancient… and hostile.
Azael's voice dropped to a razor edge. "They've found us."
Riven's blood ran cold. "The Watchers?"
"No," Azael said, face hardening. "Worse."
From the dark corridor beyond the shattered entrance, a figure stepped in — tall, wrapped in bone-white armor etched with symbols that burned faintly red. Its face was hidden behind a mask shaped like a screaming skull.
Behind it, more figures gathered like a silent army.
Riven felt his knees weaken. "Azael… what are they?"
Azael moved in front of him, wings of shadow erupting briefly from his back — dark, sharp, and devastatingly beautiful.
"Executioners," he said flatly. "Ancient hunters forged solely to erase beings like you."
The lead Executioner lifted a spear carved from obsidian, its tip glowing with cracks of crimson energy.
A single word seemed to echo across the chamber, not spoken aloud but forced into their minds:
"SURRENDER."
Riven staggered. "I can't fight that—"
"You can," Azael said fiercely, grabbing Riven's wrist. The moment their skin touched, Riven felt it — the spark, the connection that pulsed deeper than magic. "You are not the hunted anymore, Riven. Not with me."
The heat of Azael's touch surged through him — light and shadow merging, forming a force that throbbed beneath his skin.
The Executioner army stepped forward in unison.
Azael's stance changed — deadly, protective, elemental.
"Stay behind me," he whispered.
"Learn. Watch. And when I tell you to run… don't."
Riven shook his head. "I'm not leaving you."
Azael's silver eyes burned with something dark, raw, magnetic — something that made Riven's breath hitch.
"You weren't meant to," he said quietly.
The Executioners attacked.
Azael moved first.
His shadows erupted like black lightning, clashing against crimson spears. The sound was deafening — metal against void, sparks smashing against the sanctum walls. Azael fought with the precision of someone who had danced with death for centuries.
Riven watched in awe — and terror.
Azael deflected one strike, dodged another, then unleashed a wave of darkness that shredded three Executioners at once.
But more came.
Too many.
Riven felt the shadows inside him rise uncontrollably — responding to fear, instinct, memory. His mark flared, light bleeding through his skin.
"Azael!" Riven shouted. "There's too many!"
Azael didn't look back. "Then awaken, Riven!"
The ceiling cracked.
Power surged.
Riven lifted both hands without thinking — the shadows around him screaming, the light bursting—
And the entire chamber erupted in a cyclone of black-gold energy.
Executioners were blasted backward.
The walls trembled.
Azael turned, eyes wide — the first time Riven had ever seen surprise crack through his composure.
"Riven…"
Riven stood in the center of the storm, hair whipping around him, eyes glowing with twin rings of gold and black.
The shadows bowed again.
Azael exhaled slowly, a dark smile forming.
"…you're finally waking up."
The Executioners regrouped, red runes igniting across their armor.
Azael's wings unfurled behind him.
Riven's aura roared to life.
The storm had only begun.