Things didn't slow down — things got worse.
The turbulence around Azrael continued, but it was no longer merely chaotic. The pulses in the air sharpened, became more uneven, like something forming inside him that didn't know how. The earth blinked below his feet, sometimes there, sometimes not, and the heavens above were only just being ripped apart as Heaven pressed in ever greater numbers into Hell.
Charlie could feel control slipping. Any moment she had conjured before — it was disappearing.
"Azrael…" she said again, though more softly this time.
He didn't respond.
Because he was concentrating on other things.
Alastor.
The transition was subtle, but it existed. Alastor wasn't just watching anymore. He had decided to act.
He tapped his cane once.
The sound traveled strangely, playing across the space like interference rather than echo. A fine coat of red static started to slither outward, across the ground — hardly visible at first, but not fading.
It stayed.
Vaggie noticed immediately. "…No."
Charlie turned too late.
The static had already spread.
Azrael turned his sight to Alastor.
"…You're still here," he said.
Alastor smiled wider. "Of course I am."
The static grew.
It didn't resist Azrael's distortion—it entered into it. That alone was wrong. The bent space surrounding Azrael accepted it. It accepted it.
And then it changed.
Azrael was beginning to change the chaotic pulses around him. Instead of expanding and collapsing randomly, they began to line up — not obviously at first, but then more clearly. The instability didn't disappear.
It focused.
Charlie's eyes widened. "…What did you do?"
"I helped," Alastor said.
Azrael reacted immediately. The distortion around him flared outward — but the static held.
"…You shouldn't be able to do that," he said.
Alastor tilted his head. "I'm not supposed to be able to do a lot of things."
The static tightened.
And suddenly, Azrael's power changed.
It stopped being wild.
It became precise.
The space surrounding him condensed into sharper shapes, no longer topsy-turvy but focused. The random flickers of reality popping in and out started to develop a rhythm — ordered, purposeful.
But not by him.
Charlie stepped forward. "No—stop—this isn't helping!"
"It is, of course," Alastor said mildly. "Right now, he's unraveling. I'm simply… organizing the process."
Azrael's body tensed.
"…You're forcing structure."
Alastor stepped closer.
"…I'm giving you one."
The higher angel reacted instantly. "…Eliminate secondary anomaly."
They advanced on Alastor, blade slicing through the space between them—but the red static flared upward, bending the blow just enough to deflect it.
Alastor didn't even glance their way.
His attention stayed on Azrael.
"…Now," he said.
Something clicked.
Azrael's head lifted slowly.
The distortion surrounding him sharpened once more — and this time, it reacted in full.
The distance between him and the angel crumpled like paper.
No movement.
No delay.
The angel was struck — not with force, but with reality sliding under them. Their form flickered violently backward, their structure destabilized outward for the first time with visible impact.
Charlie took a step back, shaking her head. "…This is worse. You're making it worse."
Alastor finally looked at her.
And smiled.
"Oh, I know."
Azrael stood still again.
But now—
The chaos was gone.
Replaced by a much more dangerous thing.
Control.
Just not his.
"…Stop," Azrael said quietly.
Alastor didn't.
Because this wasn't about helping.
It was a matter of seeing what Azrael actually was.
And now—
He was close.