8 Arc 1 - Ch 8: Azazel

Illyana and Tyson trudged forward, their boots crunching against the uneven terrain of Limbo. Before them, a structure was being crafted from the raw stone of the dimension. Demons of varying sizes and forms worked tirelessly, lifting boulders and chiseling away at the rock.

"I didn't expect them to be organized," Illyana muttered, her eyes darting around, taking in every detail.

Tyson looked at her, "Isn't this your dimension? How can they be here, let alone building something without your knowledge?"

Illyana scowled, gritting her teeth in frustration, "I don't know. For a long time, I thought Limbo was a part of my imagination. It wasn't until years later that I realized it was real. I thought no one could get here without me bringing them. I don't understand any of this."

As they neared the structure, they noticed something unusual. None of the demons seemed interested in stopping them. They simply continued with their tasks, ignoring their presence completely.

"The other demons I came across were hostile. Either these or different... or we're expected," Tyson noted.

Illyana frowned, but her confidence was unwavering. "It doesn't matter."

Pushing the massive doors open, they stepped into a grand hall. At the end of it, atop a makeshift throne of jagged rock, sat what must have been Azazel. His skin was a hue of deepest crimson. Chiseled, sharp features carved out a face that was both hauntingly beautiful and deeply terrifying. His eyes were pools of jet black, devoid of pupils, making it impossible to discern where his gaze truly landed, yet one could feel the weight of his scrutiny like a physical touch. His lean and muscular physique was deceptively lithe, betraying his agility. Long, sinewy fingers ended in talons that looked razor-sharp, hinting at the ease with which he could rend flesh from bone. But it was his tail, a devilish appendage, thick and serpentine, that thrashed with a mind of its own, adding an extra layer of menace to his presence.

The devil's face split into a sardonic grin, revealing sharp teeth. He was dressed in a mix of armor and cloth, with his tail swishing slowly behind him. "Ah, the mistress of Limbo," he began, his voice dripping with mockery. "And... a guest. How delightful. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

As Illyana stepped forward her armor appeared and the Soulsword manifested in her hand. "This is my realm. What are you doing here?"

He chuckled. It was a low, menacing sound. "Your realm? Sweet child, realms are meant to be conquered. And I have found this one to be... accommodating."

Illyana bristled. "You think you can just take over? I won't let that happen."

Azazel leaned forward, eyes fixed on Illyana, "You? You're a mere child playing in a world you don't understand. You're hardly fit to rule this place."

Illyana's grip tightened on her sword. "You don't know anything about me."

The red demon smiled. "Oh, I know enough. And I also know that you are not strong enough to stop me."

The tension in the room was palpable. Illyana and Tyson knew they were playing a dangerous game. But they also knew they couldn't back down. Whatever Azazel was planning, they had to stop him.

Azazel's piercing eyes shifted from Illyana to Tyson. "As for you…" he said, voice dripping with intrigue, "Who are you?"

Tyson's amber eyes met Azazel's unwavering stare. "Forgive my rudeness, but where I come from, giving a devil or demon your name is considered... foolish. It's said to give them power over you."

A slow, appreciative grin spread across Azazel's red face, his sharp teeth glinting menacingly. "Ah, cautious. I respect that," he admitted, leaning back against his rocky throne, the tip of his prehensile tail curled and bobbed. "But, regardless of whether I know your name or not, you're in my domain now. And trust me," he added with a smirk, "I won't be going anywhere."

Illyana took a protective step closer to Tyson, her sword glinting in the dim light of the chamber. "Neither will we, Azazel," she declared defiantly. "Not until Limbo is free of your influence."

Illyana stood tall, flexing her indomitable will. Regardless of Azazel's confident posturing, she could feel Limbo remained under her control. It responded to her and resonated with her very being. 

Azazel moved with supernatural speed. He vanished in a flash, leaving behind a puff of red flame and sulfuric scent, only to reappear instantaneously at Illyana's side. He appeared with a slender rapier in his hand. The blade whistled sharply as it cut through the air toward Illyana's side.

Illyana raised her Soulsword to parry Azazel's thrust. The metallic clang echoed in the cavernous room as the blades clashed and energy sparked and crackled from the point of contact.

Tyson, not one to stand idle, lunged forward, claws unsheathed and ready to aid Illyana. But before he could close the distance, Azazel vanished once more in his characteristic flame. The scent of sulfur lingered, taunting them with his elusiveness. Tyson skidded to a halt, eyes scanning the area, ready for Azazel's next move. Beside him, Illyana stood with her Soulsword at the ready, and her blue eyes narrowed.

A battle like no other ensued. Every time Azazel's flame-fringed silhouette flashed into existence, Illyana was there to meet him. They reappeared in different parts of the room engaged in a fierce dance of blades. Azazel's rapier, with its ornate hilt and slender blade, would dart out, only to be blocked by the gleaming Soulsword or find that Illyana had already teleported away. Each jump was a burst of light, be it the crimson of Azazel's flame or the iridescent shimmer of Illyana. As Azazel reappeared on a jutting rock, Illyana materialized beside him, their swords clanging in a burst of sparks.

And then there was Tyson. Though unable to match the movements granted by their teleportation, he used his agility and the environment to his advantage, he would leap off of or dodge around stone pillars, or vault off rocky outcrops, always trying to predict where Azazel would appear next. Every so often, he'd get the drop on the demon, slashing with his claws, adding another dimension to the battle. Tyson wasn't well versed in sword fighting; it wasn't one of Sabertooth's skills. But it was clear to him that Illyana was outmatched in the duel with Azazel. Tyson's interference was the only thing keeping her from being overwhelmed. 

"You fight well," Azazel acknowledged to Illyana during one of their brief pauses, a hint of respect in his otherwise mocking tone. "But Limbo will be mine."

Illyana smirked, her blue eyes were filled with a fiery determination. "This is my world," she retorted.

Azazel stared intently at Illyana. The intensity of his crimson eyes bore into hers. "Why fight me, child?" he began, his voice dripping with honey. "Look around. Together, we can rule this realm. Imagine the power we'd possess as allies, rather than enemies."

Illyana's expression wavered. For a moment, she seemed caught in the snare of his words. Her focus dimmed, replaced with a vacant glaze that clouded her vibrant eyes. 

Watching from the sidelines, Tyson noticed the change in her. He couldn't imagine seeing Magik, fierce and independent, swayed by Azazel so easily. He retracted his claws and approached her cautiously. Reaching out, he touched her cheek, the merest hint of his power flowing through. Illyana's reaction was immediate. A sharp hiss escaped her lips as she recoiled, the glaze in her eyes shattering. Her gaze refocused, the pain acting as a sharp wake-up call.

Tyson withdrew his hand quickly, eyes filled with concern. "Illyana?" he whispered, hoping she was back with him.

She turned to him, the fire in her eyes now blazing even brighter. "Thanks," she muttered, her voice filled with gratitude. "I owe you one."

Azazel smirked, not deterred in the least. "A touching moment," he taunted. "But it won't save you."

Tyson, standing protectively aside from Illyana, responded defiantly, "Let's see about that."

The characteristic crimson glow of Azazel's teleportation shrouded him. For a split second, Illyana thought they had a reprieve; she had been matching his teleportation by feeling his presence through Limbo. And now that presence was gone. But then, with an eerie stillness, Azazel reappeared. Not in an attack against her, but behind Tyson.

Without missing a beat, the sharp, gleaming rapier in Azazel's grasp pierced through Tyson's back. The shining point of the blade emerged from the young man's chest, darkened with his blood. It was ruthless, an executioner's precise strike.

Illyana's icy blue eyes widened in horror, her usually composed face contorted in disbelief. The Soulsword seemed to waver in her grip, its glow flickering uncertainly.

With a sinister smirk, Azazel effortlessly withdrew his weapon, its length dripping in a scarlet hue. Tyson crumpled to his knees, gasping and clutching the grievous wound. It was a haunting sight for Illyana, seeing one of her classmates sustaining a mortal wound.

Azazel, with a casualness that only heightened the gruesomeness of the act, kicked Tyson's weakened form, sending him sprawling onto the rough terrain of Limbo. 

He stepped closer, voice dripping with a sweet venom. "You see, dear Illyana, there's no sense in fighting me. Join me. Together, we can reign supreme over this dimension and all others."

Illyana, though stunned by the shocking turn of events, felt an invisible pull, an enchanting allure emanating from Azazel. His words began to weave an intoxicating spell, and her mind hazed over, losing itself in the depths of those beckoning eyes. Azazel moved closer to Illyana, his eyes locking onto hers with an almost hypnotic intensity. The power of his seductive charm worked its way into her psyche. The devil's voice dripped with a silken allure, coaxing her deeper into his thrall. "You and I, Illyana," he purred, his voice weaving a siren's song, "imagine the worlds we could conquer. The power we'd wield together."

Each syllable he uttered dripped with a bewitching resonance. Illyana's resolve wavered, the usually fierce woman slowly succumbing to the mesmerizing dance of his words. The Soulsword dimmed in her grasp, reflecting the internal battle she fought against Azazel's beguiling influence.

Unbeknownst to Azazel, just a few feet away, the grievous wound on Tyson's chest began to seal itself. The gaping hole through which the rapier had pierced started to close, skin knitting back together with remarkable speed. But even as his body mended, Tyson's mind raced.

He could feel the power borrowed from Illyana. The ability to blink through space and this dimension. And with Azazel so focused on charming Illyana, he would never see Tyson coming if he attacked. 

However, Azazel was not one to be trifled with. He had already shown he could easily handle them both. With only a minute or so of borrowed power, the odds were slim. Yet, Tyson knew he had to try. To save Illyana and reclaim Limbo.

And at that moment, he launched his surprise attack. Tyson blinked into existence right behind Azazel. Without hesitation, his hand snaked around the devil's throat, fingers digging in, attempting to choke the life out of him. The moment Tyson's skin brushed against Azazel's, it was as if a tsunami of memories, emotions, and raw power crashed into him. He was momentarily disoriented, trying to discern his thoughts from the flood of alien sensations that threatened to engulf him.

He was one of the Neyaphem, an ancient race of demonic-looking mutants. He and others like him were banished to the Brimstone Dimension by the Cheyarafim, a group of angel-like mutants. Unlike the others, he could breach the dimensional void and return to Earth for brief periods, but eventually, the banishment took hold again. Regardless, over time, he would command a powerful following and develop a plan to return permanently. He was on Earth, with a lover, a blue-skinned beauty that could shift her appearance. She was not the only one. He experienced betrayal and regret. Over the millennia he honed his swordsmanship to a master level. He felt the depth of his teleportation abilities and knowledge of the arcane arts. He could feel the pull and push of the dimensional portals and knew the precision and control required. He was defined by ambition and cunning. His charm was an inherent power that he used to manipulate, control, and influence. Underpinning it all was his overwhelming desire for power and recognition.

Azazel was no novice. The very moment Tyson's grip tightened, the air shimmered, and both Tyson and Azazel disappeared, only to reappear several feet away. Then again, and again, in a frenzied dance of teleportation, each trying to gain the upper hand. 

The memories and experiences of Illyana flowed through Tyson's mind. He felt the connection to Limbo and utilized it to match the devil's teleportation as he clashed with Azazel. He struggled to adapt and blend the influx of knowledge and power from both Illyana and Azazel. He foresaw Azazel's tactics before the devil even employed them, countering his every move with precision. With each teleportation, Tyson's understanding of Azazel deepened, the devil's soul interweaving with the others inside him, shifting the battle in his favor. His healing factor mended any inflicted wounds instantly. His heightened senses, combined with the cunning of both Azazel and Illyana, made him a formidable opponent. He twisted, turned, and outmaneuvered Azazel, predicting each move and countermove.

Azazel, not used to being outmatched, growled in frustration. "How are you doing this?!" he hissed, his black eyes narrowing in fury. "Who are you? Mephisto? Lucifer?"

Tyson lunged, grappling the devilish entity in a vice grip. As he made contact again, Azazel's life force began streaming into Tyson further shifting the fight closer to his victory. The devil's eyes, normally glowing with malice, widened in fear.

"Release me!" Azazel spat, his voice cracking. His energy depleted rapidly, leaving him a weakening shadow of the formidable foe he once was. Azazel desperately tried teleporting; a burst of crimson engulfed the two, but when the light faded, Tyson's grip remained unbroken. Azazel tried once more, again failing to free himself. This time they emerged near Illyana, who was just starting to shake off the remnants of the charm that had ensnared her. 

Panic set into Azazel's eyes. The fingers of his free had danced in a pattern that Tyson recognized, arcane spellcasting. An abyssal word of power squeaked past Tyson's iron grip.

Time seemed to warp for Tyson. With his heightened senses, the moment felt stretched. In the space of a heartbeat, Tyson recognized the sensation building around them. It was familiar, something from the depths of his mind; knowledge came to him from Azazel's understanding of magic. This wasn't a spontaneously cast spell. Its effects manifested too quickly. This was something Azazel prepared in advance. 

Private Sanctum.

As realization dawned, the atmosphere in the room changed. The few flickering candles went out, leaving only the afterglow of their light. The hum of magic grew louder in Tyson's ears, like the droning of bees.

Tyson's mind raced faster. The pulsing of the spell signified the barrier solidifying. Tyson understood; Azazel had the foresight to prepare contingencies. His thoughts whirred.

Private Sanctum disabled all teleportation. Tyson's, Illyana's, and Azazel's as well. Could he break it? No. Counter it? No. They were trapped… but so was Azazel. Why would he use that spell when he was already at a disadvantage?

Unable to free himself from Tyson's draining grasp and growing weaker with each passing second, Azazel made a desperate move. His rapier, gleaming menacingly, thrust toward Illyana's heart. The sharp tip of the sword shimmered as it sailed through the air, aimed with lethal precision. 

Tyson finally recognized the trap.

With his current position, if he maintained his grip on Azazel, Illyana would die. 

Tyson tried to teleport them both away but nothing happened thanks to Azazel's prepared spell. Until the spell ended or Azazel willingly dismissed it, they'd be unable to teleport. 

Tyson relinquished his hold on Azazel, using his free hand to alter the sword's trajectory. The blade missed her by inches as he deflected it away from Illyana.

Illyana, finally free of the trance, saw the scene unfold. She watched as Tyson sacrificed his advantageous position to save her. She saw the flash of Azazel's sword and the determination in Tyson's eyes. She barely had a chance to begin to react as the blade sailed harmlessly away. 

Tyson swiped his claws in a jab toward Azazel. Beside him, Illyana's Soulsword blazed with renewed light as she prepared to join the fight once again, positioning it defensively in front of her. But with a mumbled word from Azazel, Tyson felt him release his spell. The crimson flash that heralded Azazel's teleport away was never accompanied by his reappearance. Instead, a thick haze of red smoke wafted around the spot where he'd last stood. It dissipated slowly, revealing nothing. No Azazel. The room, previously alive with the sounds of battle, fell silent.

Tyson and Illyana exchanged a cautious look. They remained on edge, their every muscle coiled and ready for an ambush. Minutes felt like hours, but the anticipated attack from the cunning demon never came. As the weight of the silence bore down on them, Illyana finally let out an exhale. "Do you think he's gone?" she asked, lowering her Soulsword slightly but not dismissing it.

Tyson flexed his hand, feeling the familiar sting as his claws retracted. "I think so. I felt when he released his spell, he wouldn't have been able to retreat otherwise." He paused, mulling over the experience. "When I held him, I felt… his memories, his magic, everything. He is powerful and cunning, but I think I took enough out of him to force a retreat. At least for now."

Illyana looked at Tyson, a hint of gratitude leaked through her heavy accent. "You saved me back there. That's two I owe you now. Thank you." Her eyes roved over Tyson, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I wonder," she began, her tone teasing, "was he afraid to fight us, or another devil? The look suits you." She gestured to his now reddish skin and the long, sinuous tail that snaked behind him.

The change had felt so natural, Tyson hadn't noticed when he grew a tail and took on the appearance of a devil. He considered Illyana might be right. The fight had turned when he absorbed Azazel's life force. His appearance may have been as much a factor in deterring the devil as his strength. Fighting two teens was far less daunting than fighting one who was allied with another hidden devil.

When their gazes met again a deep urge overcame Tyson. A small voice tried to speak, but it was drowned out by predatory instincts and a conquering drive. A spark ignited in his eyes, and Illyana couldn't look away. Low, cryptic words tumbled from his mouth before he could discern their meaning. "She kissed a devil, and in return, the hellfire no longer burned." His tone returned to normal and a sly grin plastered itself on his face. "Why don't you come closer and inspect? Tell me you like what you see."

The mischievous sparkle in Illyana's eyes dulled for a moment, replaced by an almost trance-like state. Then her eyes regained their sharpness and she began to walk towards him. With the grace of a predatory cat, she circled him, her eyes not missing a single change. The weight of her gaze sent shivers down Tyson's spine.

"Hmm," she murmured, her voice dripping with a sultriness Tyson had never heard before. "The color of your skin, that tail…"

He swallowed hard, "Illyana?" he questioned, "Are you okay?"

She stopped in front of him, her face inches away. The intense look in her eyes was slowly replaced by her usual fiery spirit, but the sultriness remained. "Just admiring the view," she whispered, smirking. "I like what I see."

A chill seeped into Tyson's bones. It began to spread through his chest, then spilled down to fill the pit that had formed in his stomach. He could feel the power of Azazel's charm. He'd unintentionally used the ability on her. Illyana stood in front of him, her eyes were now uncertain; they reflected a mix of confusion and vulnerability. 

Tyson wanted to push away the intoxicating lure of this newfound power. He wanted to apologize. But then, another voice whispered in the depths of his mind. It was seductive and commanding, pulling at his basest desires. 

Use it, the voice seemed to purr. She's never been this vulnerable. 

Tyson shook his head violently as if physically trying to dislodge the insidious thoughts. Sabertooth's wild instincts roared in agreement with Azazel's sultry suggestions, and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of a dangerous precipice.

Illyana's fingers lightly brushed against his shirt. She looked up at him with wanting eyes.

Illyana whispered, her voice barely audible. Tyson was so much taller that he had to lean down to hear her words. Once he was closer, she leaned in as if telling a secret, but instead placed a chaste, tentative kiss on his cheek. Her uncertainty made her seem all the more appealing, stoking the fires of the primal urges battling within him.

"Stop," he growled, his voice low and threatening. But there was a hint of desperation in his tone, a plea for her to resist the pull he unintentionally exerted over her.

She blinked as if waking from a dream. "What did you do?" There was no accusation in her voice, just a lingering confusion.

"I... I didn't mean to," Tyson stammered, horrified by his fleeting desire to wield Azazel's charm maliciously. "It was Azazel. I…"

He could feel the internal pull of Azazel's powers urging him to take control, to exert his dominance. But he was determined to resist, to prevent himself from harming Illyana or anyone else. He teleported to the opposite side of the cavernous room putting some space between himself and Illyana, hoping that the physical distance would lessen the instinctual pressures.

Tyson held up his hand to ensure Illyana didn't approach. He delved into Azazel's memories and began explaining. "He's like you, he can teleport across dimensions. He stumbled upon Limbo by accident and he set about conquering it," he called out to Illyana, trying to keep his voice even. "Check on the rest of the dimension. I'll wait here until this power fades. It shouldn't take longer than a few minutes." He didn't trust himself around her right now.

Illyana's armor glowed a brilliant blue as she disappeared in her signature bright teleportation. The room was silent. Tyson focused on his breathing, mentally counting each exhalation. With every passing second, the allure of Azazel's power waned, the seductive call growing fainter. Several minutes passed, feeling like hours, before Illyana's distinct teleportation portal erupted in the center of the room. She stepped out, her hair slightly disheveled, a concerned frown on her face.

Tyson looked at his hands, relieved to see that the reddish hue of Azazel's influence had faded. "It's gone," he whispered.

Illyana's face softened, but her eyes remained wary. "There are hundreds of demons scattered around Limbo," her tone grave was grave as she reported, "It seems that when Azazel left, their coordination was broken. They're disorganized, but there are too many for me to hunt down." Illyana continued, "I should bring you back to the institute now. "

Tyson agreed. With a nod from Illyana, she grabbed his shirt and opened a portal.