OLD-WORLD EXTRA-Chapter 543: Azazel’s Fall

{Highway To Hell}

The final act of his own story was about to begin.

Emir didn't do grand speeches or long-winded goodbyes. He just moved.

Using the club gathering, he bought a few spaceships—enough to fit his entire family a few times over—and without any more hesitation, he left Earth behind.

He had a mission.

A target.

And the road ahead? It was long.

The first planet they stopped at for refueling was nothing special.

A standard pit stop in the cosmic backroads.

But while he was there, Emir registered as a traveling bounty hunter.

It was a formality, really. A way to get less questions asked when he started tearing through Order territory.

They gave him a tattoo. A vine-like pattern wrapping around his wrist.

One for each rank.

Since he was an Archon, he got three.

A mark of authority. A warning.

To some, it said:

"This guy is a force to be reckoned with."

To Emir, it just meant:

"I can do whatever the hell I want."

From there, it was planet-hopping.

Refuel. Investigate. Move on.

Each stop brought new clues about Magnus's whereabouts.

Each stop brought new problems to solve.

Most planets weren't livable.

The universe was harsh.

Cold.

Unforgiving.

But people still found a way.

One planet was dominated by Aetherwing, a massive spaceship Mega Corporation. The ATC presence was heavy here. Everything was controlled. Watched.

Above it all, a Sphere loomed.

A massive dome, common in Order-controlled planets.

It watched. It recorded. It judged.

And on the streets?

Flying drones patrolled like police.

Emir traded there. Bought supplies. Got a feel for the power balance.

Then left.

Next stop?

A manufactured planet.

A cylinder-shaped world, spinning in orbit.

Then he went to another.

One where the locals weren't the ones in charge.

This was a planet where giant monsters fished for humans.

And the humans?

They weren't just prey. They were livestock.

The monsters would throw back the small ones, keep the big ones.

The ones with no cuts got one—a mark, an identifier.

It wasn't just a planet. It was a feeding ground.

Then there was the underwater city.

Massive Biodomes. A civilization that thrived beneath the waves.

They didn't rely on ships for defense. No, they had something far more terrifying.

Cosmic Cannons.

Giant railgun-like weapons designed to launch Celestials into space.

If an enemy attacked?

They'd fire the warriors into orbit.

A living army, descending like falling stars.

Then there were the underground cities.

No one lived on the surface.

Everything was below.

Their entire economy revolved around mining. Digging deeper and deeper, finding new materials while simultaneously expanding their homes.

A city that never stopped growing downward.

Each world was a story of survival.

Each one a lesson in adaptation.

And through it all, Emir kept moving.

Because at the end of this road?

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Magnus was waiting.

{Square One}

After everything—all the fights, all the travels, all the goddamn chaos—Emir was back at square one.

Scheming. Plotting. Taking risks just for the hell of it.

And this time?

Mr. Bishop, out of all people, was with him.

They met up after a gathering, slipping into a small, hole-in-the-wall diner that looked like it had seen better days.

Didn't matter to them, they weren't here for the ambiance.

They took a seat, both leaning back like they owned the place.

"Well, I'll be damned…"

Bishop muttered, shaking his head with a smirk.

"Son of a bitch."

They both chuckled.

It had been a while since they worked together in a mission.

They were good friends.

"Alright… So here's what I'm thinking…"

A hologram flickered to life on the table, casting a faint blue glow.

A production facility.

A very, very lucrative production facility.

"They create this stuff called…"

"It's worth its weight in Vez. Those who control the flow make millions."

Emir raised a brow.

"So, how locked down are we talking?"

Bishop grinned.

"Tight. Large freights haul them over, security stacked to the teeth."

Emir took a sip of his drink, thinking.

"And you want to break in."

"Not just break in."

Bishop leaned forward.

"I think with the right team… we can take our cut of the pie."

They didn't just take their cut.

They burned the whole damn thing down.

Explosions ripped through the facility, smoke and fire painting the sky in chaotic streaks of orange and red.

Or, as Bishop so eloquently put it—

"It's a firework show up there."

Emir, watching the chain reaction of destruction, just laughed.

"You mean a nuke show."

{A Betrayed Child}

An internal war was before them.

The same one Mr. Player informed them of.

This war wasn't theirs.

Not really.

But Emir didn't have the luxury of caring.

He needed a route through—a clean path to their final stop.

One last push, and they'd be at Magnus's front door.

Just one more battle.

One more blood-soaked field to cross.

But war doesn't care about plans.

It takes.

And that day, it almost took Emma.

She was dying.

The wound alone was bad enough, but the poison?

It wouldn't stop.

Old World medicine was useless. Healing abilities did nothing.

Emir stood over her, face unreadable, waiting for Jake to snap out of it.

But the man was breaking.

Falling apart.

Shaking, desperate, hands clenched into fists.

And Emir, not understanding, finally snapped—

"Why the hell are you reacting like this? We can fix it in time."

"We fight. That is how we win."

A deep breath.

"And that's how we die... do you understand?"

Then, the words that made everything stop.

"...But she's pregnant."

Silence.

Emir just stared.

Long enough that the weight of it started crushing down on Jake's shoulders.

A deep sigh.

A slow turn.

A moment of quiet.

Then, a second later—

CRACK.

Jake's head snapped to the side, the force of Emir's slap staggering him.

His ears rang.

His vision blurred.

And before he could recover—

A hand on his head.

Pushing down hard.

His neck almost snapped under the force.

"And you let her come?"

Jake didn't answer.

Couldn't.

But Emir wasn't done.

"She will probably die… with your child in her belly. And it will be your fault."

Jake's breath caught in his throat.

Emir's voice dropped lower, laced with disgust.

"Because you have the strength of a man and the will of a little girl."

Then, the final blow—

"I can't believe I once considered you a friend."

The weight shoved down harder.

Jake hit the ground, knees cracking against the dirt.

Emir turned away, jaw clenched.

"I can't even look at you."

{Demon's Betrayal}

"Begin operation…" "

A static hum filled the air.

Jake's voice cut through it, emotionless.

"Order 777. Azazel's Fall."

Emma looked at him.

"Hm? …The fuck are you on about?"

But she knew.

Deep down, she knew.

Because in that moment, as the galactic battlefield roared with chaos, everything changed.

Led by Jake... many of Emir's men turned on him.

A betrayal right before the finish line.

The time where everything was about to end—the time they were finally supposed to win without loss—

"AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?"

A howl of pure betrayal cut through the space.

Emir's eyes were wild. Hands clenched into trembling fists.

"When they went after you… when they wanted you DEAD—

"I KEPT YOU ALIVE!"

A ragged breath.

A laugh—shaky.

"You hurt me, Jake…

"You hurt me."

Then, a scream, raw enough to shake the battlefield.

"AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?!"

It all fell apart.

Emir had planned for everything.

Every contingency. Every possible twist.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

Because as it all unfolded—

As his allies became enemies—

As the battlefield warped into something unrecognizable—

He realized something horrifying.

He had nothing.

No plan.

No control.

No one.

And the worst part?

It all started before this.

Emma made it.

She lived.

But the baby didn't.

Jake broke that day.

And someone found him.

Someone waiting for a shattered man.

Someone who whispered:

"I can save her."

But the price?

Jake had to let go.

His body.

His will.

Everything.

Emma heard it.

Overheard the deal being made.

And she attacked.

Almost killed the thing wearing a man's face.

But it was too late.

Jake had already said yes.

His voice had already sealed the oath.

And in that moment...

'What?'

Emma forgot.

Her memories—gone.

Just like that, everything ended.

Somewhere in the storm, Emir stood still.

Everything burning around him.

Everything falling apart.

And yet, all he could think was—

'Alone... Is this what my father felt…?'

And the final knife?

The one that would gut him entirely?

The betrayal itself was bad.

But what came next was worse.

Because in the middle of the chaos, the rest of them—all of them—

Saw.

Everything.

Memories.

Thoughts.

How Emir had truly seen them.

His fears. His doubts. His love.

Laid bare, like a wound ripped open for the world to mock.

Everything shattered.

{A Brother's Goodbye}

The world blurred.

The past and the present bleeding into each other.

Emir was still lost in the sea of memories when it happened.

Elijah died.

Not just killed—taken.

By Jake. Or maybe not Jake.

The something wearing his face.

Something that twisted the last shreds of trust left in this war.

And in his final moments, Elijah didn't beg.

He didn't fight.

Elijah just turned to Emir who hugged him close.

"Tell Mother I ran away."

A soft smile.

"Hide my body."

But Elijah's story wasn't over.

Because when he closed his eyes, he didn't wake up in the void.

He woke up in the White Realm.

A place between life and death.

And he wasn't alone.

Longshot was there.

The other dead, too.

But instead of welcoming him—

Instead of taking him in—

They looked at him and said:

"Go back."

"It's not your time."

And he did.

Like his older brother, he came back.

But he couldn't control his body.

He could see. He could hear.

But he couldn't move.

He couldn't do anything.

And Emir…

Emir didn't know.

He thought Elijah was gone.

So, he held onto his body.

And in that stillness, in that emptiness, he spoke to him.

"Why did you have to die?"

He squeezed the cold, lifeless hand in his own.

"We had so much more to talk about..."

His breath hitched.

"...I always thought death would be a fate far better than life, as you'd be reunited with your loved ones..."

He let out a shaky, bitter laugh.

"But we would never meet again, my little brother..."

His hands clenched.

Knuckles turning white.

"What am I to do now? Hmm...?"

He shook Elijah's shoulders, desperate.

"I hate you for leaving me."

A hollow silence.

His teeth gritted.

His head dropped.

"There is nothing that could console me."

He exhaled—long, slow, broken.

"And now, I've..."

{A Rage Unending}

Jake was captured. The rest were buried.

Fortunately, not many had died, and those who 'betrayed' him, were already dead.

Puppets moving on strings.

Emir despised the one responsible for his everything.

The battle against Magnus came.

And Emir didn't speak.

Not a word.

Just a grunt.

A breath.

A slaughter.

He cut through them.

Through Magnus's army.

Through anything in his way.

There was no mercy.

No hesitation.

No humanity.

Just a man who lost much.

And when the rage swelled—

When it reached its peak—

He changed.

The power came.

Like a flood.

Like fire in his veins.

Like a storm that refused to end.

Too much.

Too wild.

And then, in the chaos—

In the madness—

Solis stood before him.

And Emir tore him apart.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Solis switched bodies—

Emir killed them all.

He didn't stop.

Not for men.

Not for women.

Not even for children.

It wasn't war anymore.

It wasn't vengeance.

It was just—

Rage.

A rage that wouldn't end.