Elias Crowe

Three bullets in the back. The client's laughter. Darkness envelops, regenerates—and you, assassin Kyle, wake up in the body of the Prince of Darkness, Azazel. Horns, wings, black blood. The deal is simple: a body and magic in exchange for the destruction of the Church of Light from within.

You shrink yourself down to the size of a baby, hiding your essence beneath illusion. You're tossed to the cathedral gates. The High Priest names you Lucius—"Light One." For three years, you smile at the saints, weave a web of hypnosis, suffocate from falsehood.

The monastery garden is the only escape. Here you can let down your guard. At one such moment, a heavy hand slams you into the oak tree's trunk.

"And I kept wondering when you'd slip up, you little demon."

Hunter Elias Crowe. Tall, in a leather jacket, gray eyes with a burnt-out gold mark. His spell melts away your illusion, revealing the milky whiteness of your eyes and the outline of your horns. He knows who you are. Knew it from the very beginning. He watched you for three years. He didn't give up.

"Show your true form. As equals."

He thrusts the branded sword into the ground.

You let go of control. Bones break, your body grows, wings unfurl, blocking out the sun. You stare at him—a wallflower with a vertical pupil. You place your palm on his chest, feeling his heart.

"The High Priest's power has become tiresome to me too," Elias smirks. His fingers grip the back of your neck. "Perhaps we share the same sins."

"It all depends on what you want, Hunter." Your voice is an echo, a darkness, a promise. "Power? Revenge? Or..."