The triad of light

In the desolate heart of the ancient fortress, a structure of obsidian stone that seemed to claw at the sky with jagged spires, where shadows danced like restless spirits, twisting and contorting in the dim light, and the air perpetually carried the chill of forgotten ages, a dampness that seeped into the very bones, Azrael stood before a crumbling stone dais. The dais, once an altar for some dark ritual, was now cracked and scarred, a testament to the passage of time and the decay that permeated the fortress. The faint, ethereal glow of the three stars, even filtered through the decaying ceiling, their light dimmed and distorted by the oppressive atmosphere, seemed to irritate his senses, a constant reminder of the burgeoning hope he was determined to extinguish, a light that threatened to pierce the darkness he so carefully cultivated.

His gaunt face, pale and sharp, usually masked by an unsettling calm, an almost unnerving serenity that concealed the darkness within, was etched with a rare display of impatience. A thin, cruel line creased his brow, and his eyes, dark and piercing, flickered with a hint of agitation. Reports from his remaining spies in Aethelgard, pathetic remnants of the initial scouting force, their numbers dwindled by the city's defenses and the watchful eyes of its inhabitants, spoke of an anomaly – a young noble girl, Anya Valerius, who had inexplicably awakened to the power of all five elements during her adventurer ranking. Such a display of raw, versatile talent, a power that resonated with an ancient energy, was… concerning, a potential threat to their carefully laid plans.

"A flicker of divine potential,"

Azrael murmured, his voice a low, chilling rasp that echoed in the cavernous chamber, his words carrying a sibilant quality that seemed to slither through the air, sending a shiver down the spine.

"Too bright, too soon. It reeks of the cycle, the cursed cycle of rebirth and conflict."

He clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palm, a surge of dark energy pulsing through him.

The awakening of the three stars was accelerating the regeneration of his master, the Demon King Malice. Though still a shadow of his former terrifying glory, his essence scattered and weakened, Malice's soul was slowly knitting itself back together, piece by agonizing piece. The process was agonizingly slow, a torturous ordeal, but the momentum was building, the darkness growing stronger with each passing day. They could not afford any interference, any "heroes" rising to challenge their master's imminent return and disrupt the delicate balance of power. The thought of failure was intolerable.

"These pests, these insignificant sparks of light, must be dealt with swiftly and decisively,"

Azrael hissed, his gaze hardening, his eyes flashing with a cold, unwavering determination.

"Before their nascent powers can blossom into true defiance, before they can become a real threat."

He could sense the potential within them, the echoes of the past, and he knew they had to be eliminated before they could fulfill their destinies.

With a flick of his wrist, a gesture that seemed to command the very shadows, a swirling vortex of dark energy materialized in the center of the chamber, crackling with malevolent power. The air grew colder, the darkness deeper, as the portal opened, a gateway to the abyss. From its depths, a figure began to coalesce, the shadows solidifying, taking on a monstrous form both grotesque and powerful. He stood nearly seven feet tall, his hulking frame radiating brute strength, his skin a mottled grey, thick with bony protrusions and jagged spines that seemed to shift and writhe. Two massive, leathery wings, the color of dried blood and stretched taut across his back, unfurled with a leathery snap, casting the chamber in deeper shadow, plunging the already dim space into near darkness. His eyes glowed with a malevolent green light, burning with an unholy fire, and a jagged, obsidian greatsword, its edges serrated and dripping with dark energy, rested across his broad shoulders, a weapon of immense power and destruction. This was Vorlag, the Brutal, one of Malice's most formidable generals, a creature of pure destructive instinct and unwavering loyalty.

Vorlag lumbered forward, his heavy steps causing the stone floor to crack beneath his weight, his guttural voice a rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the fortress.

"You summoned me, Azrael?"

His tone was impatient, eager for violence.

"Indeed, General,"

Azrael replied, his tone sharp and devoid of any warmth or emotion, his voice cold and precise.

"There is a… complication in Aethelgard. A potential harbinger of the reborn heroes, a threat that must be eliminated. A girl named Anya Valerius. She has demonstrated an unusual affinity for multiple elements, a power that is… unsettling."

Vorlag's green eyes narrowed, a flicker of something akin to annoyance crossing his brutish features. He craved battle, not delicate assassinations.

"A child? Is this task worthy of my attention, Azrael? I am a general, not an assassin."

"Under normal circumstances, no,"

Azrael conceded, his voice laced with a hint of impatience.

"But the timing is critical. Malice's resurrection draws nearer with each passing cycle of the stars, each beat of the cosmic heart. We cannot risk any interference, any disruption to our plans. This one… she resonates with a power that is unsettlingly familiar, a power that could potentially disrupt our master's return. Eliminate her. Swiftly and decisively. Leave no room for doubt."

Vorlag grunted, hefting his massive greatsword, its obsidian blade seeming to drink the surrounding light, leaving a trail of darkness in its wake.

"As you command, Azrael. I will make an example of this… 'hero'."

A cruel, jagged smile stretched across his monstrous face, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth, each capable of tearing through flesh and bone.

"A swift end, you say? For a 'bright flicker,' I can certainly oblige."

He relished the thought of crushing the girl's hope.

"Do not underestimate her potential, Vorlag,"

Azrael warned, his voice laced with a hint of urgency, a flicker of concern betraying his usual composure.

"While she may be young, the awakening of the stars has amplified latent abilities, awakened powers that lie dormant within these reborn heroes. Be thorough, leave no room for error. And avoid unnecessary attention. We do not wish to reveal our hand prematurely, not until our master is fully restored."

Vorlag scoffed.

"Attention? The only attention they will receive is the cold embrace of death, the silence of the grave. I will leave for this 'Aethelgard' at once, and I will not fail you."

With a powerful beat of his leathery wings, a gust of wind that extinguished the few remaining torches in the chamber, the demon general launched himself into the swirling vortex of dark energy, the portal flickering and then dissipating with a final surge of darkness, leaving Azrael once again alone in the echoing silence of the fortress.

Azrael watched the spot where Vorlag had vanished, his gaze cold and calculating, his mind already moving on to the next stage of his plan.

"One less potential obstacle,"

He murmured, his voice barely audible, a chilling whisper in the oppressive silence.

"But the other two… they will require more… delicate handling, a more subtle approach."

The hunt had intensified, the stakes raised. The shadow had moved, and a direct threat, a force of pure destruction, was now descending upon the unsuspecting city of Aethelgard, its citizens unaware of the danger that lurked on the horizon.