Following the sound of shattered glass, two entangled bodies rolled about in a frenzied dance, their momentum killed by plastic seats. Kneeling over the glass strewn floor, they held their breaths in anticipation, poised for battle.


    “Nearly gave me a heart attack there,” said Azrael, a mix of relief and adrenaline coursing through his veins as he propelled himself off the shard-strewn ground. His gaze fell upon the sight of his dagger still firmly lodged in Executioner’s foot.


    “Oops,” said the hooded assassin, with an almost nonchalant tone, swinging his axe. The steel edge sliced through the backs of plastic seats, grazing Azrael’s breastbone, nearly splitting him in two.


    Panting heavily, Executioner clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the handle of the dagger lodged in his foot. With a firm shrug, he pulled it free and flung the blade away. The weapon clattered into a corner, under the possession of a lifeless corpse nestled in the passageway separating the compartments.


    Wincing against the searing pain, he extended a tentacle from his back and plugged his wound, biting back the agonizing howl threatening his quaking lips.


    “Couldn’t you toss it here?” asked Azrael, running off the shredded seats, making his way past Executioner’s wide swings. Mid-air, he extended his miasma towards the corpse at the corner, urging it to pass him the blade. In a blink, he was banished from existence.


    “Where’d he go?” grunted Executioner.


    Confusion clouded Azrael’s mind. He blinked in disbelief. A hard lump from beneath, bit into his rear, urging a wince he had to stifle.


    Patting about the ground, his eyes fumbled over the corpse from earlier. He decided to make the most of his sudden stroke of luck, retrieving his dagger. He reached out with his other hand and seized the limp corpse. With a heavy heave, he hurled the body at Executioner, simultaneously sprinting towards his opponent.


    Without skipping a beat, the hooded assassin swung his axe on instinct, cleaving the corpse through the torso.


    In that instant, Azrael channelled a wave of miasma, setting his gaze on the halved corpse. He could feel his weight shift, flinging him out the cleanly-cut torso. He leapt off the axe’s handle and wrapped his frame around his hooded foe, sliding his dagger over his opponent’s throat.


    Howling in a second bout of agony, Executioner held a hand up defensively, allowing the blade to be driven through his palm and out the back of his hand. In the same vein, he seized hold of Azrael through his blade, sliding a grin through a grimace-stricken facade. Past a choking chuckle, he tossed the redhead, swinging him through rows of seats and steel poles, breaking plastic and bending metal.


    Azrael’s consciousness dipped in and out of the void. Bashed against steel and peppered with shards, he finally found himself hung above the glass splayed ground, while Executioner raised the axe over his head. “Any last words?”


    The redhead groaned, shaking his head.


    The hooded assassin gripped his weapon’s handle with renewed vigour. He dropped the redhead on the ground as he felled his blade. “It’s been fun.”


    Despite his lulled consciousness, Azrael could feel a thin thread of crimson trickle down the sides of his throat, around his Adam’s apple. The edge of the axe garnered momentum, as the blade dug into the layers of his throat, exiting out his spine.


    Executioner exhaled a relieved sigh, collapsing opposite his guillotined adversary, bleeding out the palm of his hand. “Damn. Whatever challenge awaits me at the end of this ride isn’t gonna end well.” His miasma faded, leaving him vulnerable if he chose to give in to the seductive overtures of the abyss. Not good.


    Coughing up a mouthful of blood, he turned to his left, wincing in a bout of agony. Wiping frothy pink off the corner of his mouth, he tried sitting up. A second bout of torment washed over the side of his thigh. A sign that all was not what it seemed.


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    Instinctively, he grabbed his axe and swung the blade.


    A cloud of dust was kicked up, alongside a fresh surge of pain. He could feel a heel planted firmly in his face, slipping his visage out the hood and onto the shattered shards. A tassel of crimson fell over the edge of his vision, widening his eyes at the looming threat, closing in around him, like the venomous fangs of a viper.


    “Miss me?” asked an obstinate annoyance.


    *


    The axe descended, its trajectory aimed at severing Azrael’s head from his body. A haze of grogginess clouded his senses. I’m screwed! Summoning his remaining strength, he realised his fate was inevitable. He pleaded with his body, a desperate command through his spine, compelling his body to attach, to hold on, with an iron grip.


    A searing stab of pain lanced through his consciousness, threatening to devour him. For a fleeting breath, Azrael succumbed to the void, his awareness swallowed by a chasm of unconsciousness.


    There was nothingness. Peaceful nothingness.


    Solace gripped his chaotic existence, turning his vision darker than the lingering murkiness of the abyss beneath. He could be put to rest, at last.


    After a brief eternity of darkness, a pinprick of light seeded his vision, lighting up his consciousness. He regained awareness of his surroundings and the use of his limbs, emerging once more, stirring awake.


    He clambered to his feet, standing tall over the fallen Executioner. Without a moment’s hesitation, he unleashed a swift kick to the hooded assassin’s thigh. Reeling his knees in to his chest, he leapt, evading the oncoming axe. In a supple swirl, he stuck the landing with the grace of a ballet dancer, over his opponent’s face.


    A grin played at the corner of Azrael’s lips as he surveyed the figure beneath him. “Miss me?”


    “How the hell did you–” Executioner faltered, in a wincing scowl.


    “I’ll be taking that.” The redhead grabbed the dagger stuck in the hooded assassin’s hand, inversing the grip.


    Executioner whimpered. His resolve was as taut as the grip over his blade, as he swung the axe through the air. Unlike the previous swings, Azrael could sense the ebbing strength from his opponent. Nonchalantly, he stabbed his dagger into the enemy’s forearm, culling the axe’s momentum.


    A guttural cry parted Executioner’s lips. Loosening his grip on the shaft, the axe slipped from his grip, hurtling out a shattered window and disappeared into the yawning abyss below.


    Azrael discarded the embedded dagger in Executioner’s forearm, harnessing the impetus of his attack. He knelt over his fallen opponent, unleashing a storm of pent-up wrath. Blow after blow, the redhead’s fists rained down upon the hooded assassin. Unlike the unbridled madness he was once consumed by, he tempered the flames of his rage, harnessing the strength of his emotions.


    His knuckles rained down in quick succession, the skin peeling off and exposing the pale bones underneath, crunching and splattering blood, from his hands and his fallen opponent. Perhaps he wasn’t in as much control of his fire as he’d expected.


    The relentless barrage continued on, pounding into the insentient Executioner, his battered form lying motionless beneath the onslaught. Nothing more than a battle worn casualty, leaking black out the plugged wounds, and bruised and bloody, from the flurry of blows pummelled into him.


    Perspiration streamed down the redhead’s face, mingling with the blood on his knuckles. He loosened his breath in shallow gasps, as he rose to his feet. A tremor besieged him, toppling his balance. In a desperate bid for stability, he clutched the edge of a broken seat, using it as a crutch to steady his shaky frame. In his moment of respite, Azrael surveyed the scene, the remnants of their clash scattered around him, savouring the taste of victory paired with the bitter tang of exhaustion.


    “I’ll question him when he wakes up. From the looks of it, seems like Lilith’s pitting me against the assassins gunning for Zarovar’s elite guard. Why the fuck on earth… or the Abyzz, would she do that?” He shrugged his shoulders.


    Crackles ruptured through space, powering a screen that materialised from thin air. The oblong screen unveiled a chamber with an all too familiar desk and leather swivel, awash in monochrome.


    “What now?” Azrael tossed his hands in the air, rolling his eyes.


    Lilith stood in front of her beige leather swivel, her back towards the screen, her finger poised at the doorway.


    A hazy figure entered her office, taking a few steps forward, hidden from his field of view, but exposed well enough for Lilith to see, dropping her into the leather swivel.


    She quivered in her seat, lowering her hand, and tipped her head. The grind of metallic wheels against rails forced Azrael to strain his ears, vaguely latching onto the words rolling off Lilith’s tongue. “All that black and not a dash of white. If only I could’ve dyed my existence grey.”


    “No,” uttered Azrael, clenching his teeth and fists.


    An explosion resonated, temporarily whitening out the screen, rumpling waves of interference through the transmission.


    “Show the rest of it!” The redhead howled, his hands running through the illusory screen, waiting with bated breath. “What the hell! LILITH!?”


    The screen flashed back to life, but the hazy figure was nowhere in sight. Lilith was still in the swivel, which tilted back and forth, listlessly. A clump of her hair fell to the ground, alongside a weight rolling off her shoulders, tumbling over.


    “It is all your fault, my dear Azrael,” said a fleeting androgynous voice, right when the screen burst into plumes of smoke, dissolving into oblivion. A motionless redhead was left behind, gazing into the abyss looming beyond the fumes.