Azrael didn't plan to be a permanent resident of Earth, not because he didn't like it, but because the world that despised the devils were actively feeding into sins themselves — all without the devil's temptation involved.

The politician whose booming voice and comforting presence promises a future for the country? Laundering money behind the people's backs. The award winning actor who dedicated every trophy to his wife? That one's been cheating openly to his wife for years. And the type Azrael hated the most? People who did wrong without ever having been wronged by anyone.

"Azraeleon" Lucifer, the devil himself, growled the second he saw his brother enter back through a portal. The devil, of course, was sitting on his rightful throne, peering over the underworld. "Are you trying to defy me? Your own big brother?"

Lucifer said the last part quite mockingly, knowing that they grew up completely different. Lucifer tended to indulge in the occasional torment of humans whenever he got the chance, spreading chaos wherever he went. And Azrael? His perfect little brother who wasn't a fallen angel like himself, no. He chose to become a creature of the underworld. In his words — to deliver justice. "You may try and change them however you please, but even with the consequences they know lies ahead, they give in. Why do you think these humans make deals with me? Because they can never have enough. So let them take. With whatever method they please. When their nature reveals, we punish them accordingly."

Azrael (or rather, his real demon name, Azraeleon) took off his gloves as he whipped his head towards his older brother — the infamous devil who sat on his ass all day.

"You speak of this being your method for justice, that you're doing the world a favour by being a labyrinth to evil so that it cannot escape, yet you do nothing of it? What is the point if you don’t try to keep people out by instilling fear?"

That was the last conversation Azrael had with his older brother before he left for Earth again and didn't return for a few decades. Now, he was known in the mobster world as "the immortal". Not because anyone saw the actual shadow of his demon behind his human form lurking behind like a menacing figure of darkness, but because he never died.

"HE'S CRAZY! RUN!" "THIS MAN SURELY MADE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL. There's no way he's this strong-" A shot from Azrael's gun made everything go silent. Then a scoff as he lit up the cigarette with his signature lighter. The one forged from the heat of the underworld. Home.

"A deal with my own brother? Tch. That's something I'd never consider." Azrael muttered as he stood there in the alley where his usual routine took place. As a puff of smoke came out of his cigarette, he exhaled fully, trying to release whatever tension he had. His human form was nothing like his usual body. A black ragged shadow with bright yellow eyes, claws as hands, a strong tail that whipped away any danger. Now he had blunt human fingers, and no tail...not to mention limited vision. Well, at least he still had his demonic strengths.