It didn't hold.
For a time, it seemed like it would. Azrael remained there, his power no longer in chaos but in a pattern—which it was forced into by Alastor's meddling. That wild instability from back then had been distilled down into a sharp, precise thing. Controlled.
Just not by him.
"…Stop," Azrael said again.
Alastor smiled. "No."
That was the breaking point.
The distortion surrounding Azrael flickered once, then again—small inconsistencies forming within the structure Alastor had established. It wasn't failing outward. It was failing internally. The precision started to crack.
Alastor noticed immediately. His eyes narrowed slightly, while his smile remained. "…Ah."
Azrael bent his head slightly, posture tightening as if to be the caldera of volcanoes.
"…This doesn't fit," he said.
The static fought back, Alastor intensifying his pressure, stamping down any signs of revolt.
"It does too," Alastor said matter-of-factly. "You just haven't adjusted."
Another flicker—stronger this time. The distortion bent awry, coutermanding the framing.
Two systems. One breaking the other.
"…No," Azrael said.
This time, it landed.
The space around him surged, then snapped backward violently. The frame held for a millisecond—
Then collapsed.
Blue words fled across the screen, the waveform breaking apart as the coercion unraveled. The distortion did not revert to chaos—it exploded outward with power.
For a full second, the ground beneath Azrael was gone. The air ripped into visible zags, displaced as reality tried to reconnect.
Alastor took a step back.
The first time he'd done that.
"…Oh."
Azrael stood above it, unbound now, unmolded by a single thing.
Free.
The distortion didn't pulse anymore. It grew violently, nudging everything away from it—not attacking; vanishing anything that sought to manifest its agency. No more than red static was deleted, not as it could catch something out of reach.
Alastor's connection snapped.
Gone.
His smile dropped—just a little—for the first time.
Azrael lifted his head.
His eyes weren't empty anymore. They weren't unstable either.
They were focused.
Deep.
"Don't do that again," he said.
It wasn't anger.
It was certainty.
Charlie was frozen behind him, the ambience in the air heavy now — not chaotic, but weighty in a separate way. Stronger. Controlled.
"Azrael…" she said quietly.
He didn't respond.
Not yet.
The sky above ripped wider in response to the surge, aggressive as Heaven shoved additional presence into Hell.
The higher angel stepped forward—
Then stopped.
Not by choice.
By instinct.
"…This exceeds projection," they said.
Azrael stepped forward.
This time the earth did not fail.
It adjusted.
Everything around him adapted to him instead of resentfully trying to block his way.
For the first time—
He wasn't breaking reality.
Reality was responding to him.
Alastor watched closely.
And slowly, his smile returned.
"…There you are."
But this time he even knew —
He had pushed too far.
Because just like that, Azrael was stable.
He was in control.