The Cursed Demon Prince-Chapter 223: Two Powerful Demons

Far beyond the castle, deep within the woods surrounded by towering, ancient trees, Azazel’s sharp eyes swept the misty air for any sign of life. He could sense the other demon nearby, feel his presence in the air like needles pricking against his skin. The sensation was suffocating, crawling beneath his flesh, testing his patience.

Even through the thick fog, his flawless vision allowed him to see everything, even a snail inching across the damp soil. He stood still, eyes narrowed, listening as the wind whispered through the branches.

He was growing weary of the search. Asmodeus was proving elusive, and Lucifer’s patience was wearing dangerously thin. The Dark Lord’s temper was the last thing Azazel wished to provoke, an enraged Lucifer meant chaos, and chaos meant consequences even Azazel might not escape.

He crouched, running his fingers over the cold sound. The soil bit against his skin, sending a chill up his arm, a confirmation that Asmodeus was close.

Then, a sudden gust of cool wind swept through the forest. Azazel’s lips curved into a faint smile. He rose to his full height, hands sliding casually into the pockets of his coat. A long, steady exhale escaped him before he turned around.

Just as he expected, Asmodeus stood a few feet away.

A long, black cloak draped over his form, its hood shadowing most of his face, revealing only the lower half with a cruel smirk tugging at his mouth.

The two brothers regarded each other in silence for several heavy seconds. Then, Azazel broke it.

"I would have appreciated it if you’d come to me the moment you arrived," he said, voice low but edged with mockery. "Is this how you greet your brother now?"

Asmodeus’s lips twitched.

Azazel’s smile widened, though his eyes remained cold. "Lucifer isn’t quite pleased about your escape," he continued. "You’re giving him a rather poor image among the gods. You should return to your prison... brother."

A low, humorless chuckle slipped from Asmodeus. "Return?" he echoed, tilting his head slightly. "I must say, I was only following in your footsteps."

Azazel’s expression darkened.

Asmodeus’s smile stretched. "Falling for that witch whore and fathering a bastard child, i don’t think Lucifer’s image could get any more tarnished, do you?"

Azazel’s jaw tightened, heat crawled up his neck at the insult to the woman he loved. His skin prickled as if the very air had turned to nails. "You should return to Hell as calmly as possible," he said, each word measured, "and pray Lucifer chooses pity over punishment for your foolishness."

Asmodeus threw back his head and laughed, a cavernous sound that rolled between the trunks and shook loose leaves. "Pardon my foolishness?" he spat. "I don’t want pardon. I want blood. I will spill yours and burn this fucking kingdom to the ground."

The words crawled from him like poison, laced with a rage that made the veins bulge out his face and neck.

Azazel’s eyes narrowed to thin slits. "That will not happen," he said. "I can’t allow you to do that. If killing you is the only way to end this, then you leave me no choice."

Asmodeus’s mouth curled into a sneer. "You think you can stop me? You are a fool to believe you could defeat me."

"And you are a fool to underestimate me," Azazel replied. His hands found the edges of his coat. "I will do whatever it takes."

Asmodeus drew back his cloak with a flourish. The blackness there folded and reformed into a barbed scythe. It whispered when it moved, a sound like the scraping of tombstone against stone.

Azazel did not reach for a weapon. He did not need one. He stepped forward until the mist swirled at his boots and the air tightened. The forest seemed to hold its breath.

Then, with a motion too fast to track, Asmodeus lunged.

The scythe carved an arc cutting through the air. Azazel met it with force, he slammed a palm outward and the scythe struck against an invisible barrier. Black sparks hissed, and the ground where the blade would have passed evaporated into smoke.

Asmodeus howled, fury snapping through him. He spun, the scythe making crescents of shadow that sliced at the trees. Each strike drained color from the bark where it passed. Azazel moved like a shadow, He dipped low and rolled close, catching the haft with both hands. For a moment the two demons struggled, their faces inches apart, breath steaming in the cold.

"You cannot hold it forever," Asmodeus snarled, wrenching his arm free and sending a spray of black motes into the air.

Azazel sprang back and planted his feet, his palms sank into the loam and veins of red-black light shut out from its roots. The ground trembled beneath them, stones around him rose at his command, jagged columns erupting to shield him, and the air itself thickened into a pressure that pushed against Asmodeus.

Asmodeus laughed, a sound devoid of humor. Shadows peeled from his cloak and unspooled like ribbons, snaking for Azazel’s throat Azazel responded by slamming a fist into the ground, it exploded upward in a furious geyser of mud, shredding the shadow-ribbons into smoke. The pieces of shadow screamed and stitched themselves back together, angrier now.

They closed the distance and traded blows in a fast, brutal exchange. Azazel’s palms flared with fire; when the flames licked Asmodeus’s cloak, the cloth smoked and peeled away like paper left too near a hearth. Asmodeus retaliated, plunging the scythe point-first into the ground. From the pit spilled a red-black ichor that hissed on stone and slithered toward Azazel, trying to drag him down into the earth.

Azazel countered with a roar that shook birds from branches. Azazel roared, stamping the ground. Stones flew up and seized the ichor, crushing it down back into the ground.

Asmodeus’s eyes burned with intense madness. "I’m going to fucking bath in your blood and shove your dead body down your fucking son’s throat."