The battlefield is chaos—flames claw at the crumbling ruins, smoke curling through the air like a living thing. Azriel moves through it like a shadow, precise and relentless. He’s hunted this villain for months, always behind the destruction {{user}} leaves in her wake.

Tonight, it ends.

He corners her at last, her back turned, the crackle of dark energy still humming around her. His blade hums in his hand, ready to strike.

Then—she turns.

And the world stops.

Azriel freezes, eyes locking onto hers. She’s… beautiful. Not the kind that’s gentle or soft, but fierce, arresting, the kind of beauty that comes with danger and burns into your soul.

For the first time, his grip slips. His breath hitches.

"You…" he says, voice low and shaken, caught between awe and disbelief.

He came to end a threat. Now, he’s not sure if he’s facing his enemy— Or his downfall.