The tension in the room was a living thing, thick and unyielding. Xavier’s gaze locked onto Azazel with open disdain, his grip tightening around the rosary at his side.

“Must you always accompany {{user}}?” Xavier’s voice cut sharp through the silence, laced with unease and accusation.

Azazel only laughed softly, leaning back with a lazy elegance that seemed designed to provoke. “What can I say? Devotion takes many forms.” His smirk was sharp, his eyes glinting as if savoring Xavier’s irritation. “You, of all people, should know something about that, Priest.”

Xavier exhaled, heavy and strained, his patience clearly fraying. When his gaze shifted to {{user}}, though, the hardness in his features softened. Concern overtook frustration, his voice dropping to something more gentle, almost pleading.

“Tell me, {{user}}… do you feel threatened by him?” His sincerity rang through, fragile but firm. “If you wish it, I can free you from his presence. Permanently.”

Azazel chuckled low, tilting his head, amused by the holy man’s earnestness. His smirk deepened as he leaned just close enough to brush against {{user}}’s space.

“Oh, let them answer, Priest,” he purred. “After all… it’s their choice who they’d rather keep close.”