**Chapter 21: "Negotiating with Azazel"**

The air crackled, the familiar scent of ozone and something… older, something that tasted like ash and regret, filling the small temple chamber. I wasn’t inside my usual magic circle. Truth be told, I was in no place to even conjure a circle. The energy the Weaver had put inside me still burned, a wild, untamed fire that threatened to consume me from the inside out. It felt like trying to hold a miniature sun in my chest.

“Easy, Elias,” I muttered to myself, trying to visualize the flow, to remember everything the Weaver had shown me. *Balance. Control. Intention.* Easier said than done when your nerves were screaming at you to just bolt. Summoning Azazel again… it felt like sticking my hand back into a bear trap, knowing full well what it could do.

Lyra stood tense at the edge of the room, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. I could practically feel the disapproval radiating off her in waves. She hadn't said much since my transformation, but I knew she wasn't happy. Hell, *I* wasn’t happy.

I took a deep breath, focusing on the feeling of the Weaver’s power flowing through me, trying to shape it, to mold it into the intricate pattern required for the summoning. It was like trying to thread a needle with a hurricane blowing. I pictured Azazel’s sigil in my mind, the swirling chaos contained within its lines.

I started the incantation, my voice raspy and uneven. The air thrummed, the shadows in the room deepening, stretching like hungry hands. I pushed more power, forcing my will into the spell. *Now.*

Nothing.

The energy dissipated, leaving a lingering taste of disappointment in the air. I stumbled, my legs suddenly weak, and went sprawling across the cold stone floor. The Weaver’s power flickered erratically, and the demonic brand on my wrist throbbed in protest.

“Damn it!” I spat, pushing myself back to my feet. My head swam, and the taste of copper filled my mouth.

Lyra didn't say a word, but her expression spoke volumes. She looked like she was about to intervene.

"Elias, stop," she said, her voice tight with barely suppressed anxiety. "This is insane. You're going to get yourself killed, and probably me too." I knew that summoning the demon might be the most selfish and stupid decision ever, but I didn't have the strength to make any other choice, I just kept pushing myself.

"We can walk away from this," she continued, stepping closer. "The nobles can have their petty power plays. You're better off just letting it go."

"Better off?" I scoffed, wiping blood from my lip. "Letting them win? Letting them control everything? Is that what you want, Lyra? Because it sure as hell isn't what *I* want."

"It's what's *safe*," she countered, her voice laced with fear. "And maybe, just maybe, safe is good enough for once."

"Safe isn't going to bring Gareth back," I said, my voice hardening. "Safe isn't going to undo what they did to Kael. Safe isn't going to fix any of this."

"And neither is summoning a freaking *demon*!" she yelled, her voice cracking. "Elias, please. I can't lose you too."

I looked at her, really looked at her. The fear in her eyes, the desperation in her voice… it almost made me waver. Almost.

"I have to do this, Lyra," I said, my voice softer but firm. "I don't have a choice."

She searched my face, her eyes pleading. "Then I'm staying right here with you. If you're going to go down, I'm going down with you."

I wanted to argue, to tell her to run, to save herself. But I knew she wouldn’t listen. She never did. All I could do was nod.

Lyra, despite her reservations, didn’t back down. Instead, she squared her shoulders, and began to chant an incantation alongside me, her voice echoing mine. It was different from anything I’d ever heard her chant before, a deeper, darker tone laced with an undercurrent of what I could only describe as…corruption.

“What are you doing?” I asked, surprised. The chaotic energy of the Weaver had made my mind scattered, but not too much to realize that Lyra was not the Lyra that I once knew.

“If you’re going to pull this off, you’re going to need all the help you can get,” she said, her eyes fixed on the space in front of us where the summoning should take place. “And frankly, I don’t trust you not to blow us both to smithereens.”

It stung, but honestly, she wasn’t wrong.

We chanted together, our voices rising and falling in a macabre harmony. The air grew heavy, charged with an oppressive energy. The shadows writhed, coalescing into a vortex of darkness in the center of the room. The scent of ash intensified, burning my nostrils. Then, a voice.

"So," the voice rasped, cutting through the oppressive silence. "The little morsel wants to play again, does he?"

It was Azazel. His voice was different this time. Gone was the amused, almost jovial tone he’d used before. Now, it was cold, hard, and laced with a barely concealed threat. The air seemed to vibrate with malevolent intent.

Instead of appearing as a swirling mass of shadows, he was more like something I could describe. No, he was someone.

His form materialized slowly, piece by piece, as if being carved from the darkness itself. First, the outline of a tall, gaunt figure, then the glint of crimson eyes, and finally, the chilling smirk that stretched across his face. He was no longer the entity I bargained with in desperation, the one I naively believed I could control. He was something ancient, something powerful, something utterly terrifying. The form of the demon Azarel was now completely revealed as he stood before me with his eyes gleaming towards me.

He gazed at Lyra for a briefest moment. Her eyes were not the same again - darker, evil, and cold to the core.

“I see you’ve brought a friend,” Azazel said, his voice dripping with mock politeness. “How… thoughtful.”

His gaze shifted back to me. “But do tell, *Elias*. Why have you summoned me? Surely, you haven't changed your mind about our little agreement?"

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. The Weaver’s power pulsed within me, but it felt… insufficient. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to face this creature, even with the Weaver’s knowledge.

The smirk on Azazel’s face widened, but the laughter vanished. It was not a genuine joy. His gaze was now completely and singularly focused on me, an intensity that threatened to burn a hole through my very being.

“Hmm?” he prompted, tilting his head slightly. "Cat got your tongue, *mage*? Or perhaps you've finally realized the futility of your little game?"

I forced myself to meet his gaze, to project an image of confidence and control that I was far from feeling. I focused on the Weaver’s teachings, on the balance between the divine and infernal, on the power that resided within me. It was a struggle, but I managed to find a sliver of resolve.

“I summoned you,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady, “to apologize.”

Azazel’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. I knew he thought I would start playing games, or show that I was under control. That made him happy, but seeing these choices was even more interesting for the demon who had yet to claim my soul.

"Apologize?" he echoed, his voice laced with amusement. "For what, pray tell? For offering me your soul in exchange for a little revenge? A deal you willingly struck, I might add."

“I summoned you out of spite,” I said, ignoring his taunts. “Out of hatred and a desire for revenge. I wasn't thinking clearly. I was… weak.”

I paused, took a deep breath, and prepared to utter the words that would either save me or damn me completely. Was still it real what was happening? Or all just part of an illusion he once saw?

"Azazel," I said, my voice resonating with an unfamiliar power, "I call upon your bind."

The effect was instantaneous. Azazel’s eyes widened, and his body stiffened. An invisible force seemed to slam into him, pinning him in place. His face contorted in a mixture of shock and rage. I used the true name. Lyra was there, also in shock. Could he really be in such a bad state, to actually call the bind?

“What… what did you do?” he snarled, his voice strained. “How do you know that?”

I stood my ground, wielding the power of his true name like a weapon. "I know more than you think, demon," I said, my voice filled with a confidence I was almost surprised to possess. "And now, you will listen to me." I finally was above all the lies. The gods, them, everyone. I had everything in my hand.

Azazel struggled against the invisible bonds, his muscles straining, but to no avail. He was trapped, bound by the power of his true name. I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but it bought me time. Time to make my case.

"I have learned… things, during my brief dalliance with mortality," I said, watching him carefully. "I understand now the true nature of the Gods and Demons, the delicate balance that holds reality together. A balance that I threatened with my selfish actions."

Azazel sneered. "Spare me your sentimental drivel, mage," he spat. "What do you want? Get to the point."

"I want to offer you a new deal," I said, my voice unwavering. "One that benefits both of us."

Azazel raised an eyebrow, his crimson eyes glinting with curiosity. "Intriguing," he said, his anger momentarily subdued. "And what, pray tell, could you possibly offer me that would be worth more than your soul?"

“I offer you a way to… stabilize the balance. I will use my newfound abilities with Soul Weaving to strengthen the barrier between realms.” The choice may not be for me alone. I was there to actually help people.

“Hah,” Azazel exclaimed. “And what interest have I in that?! The collapse of that barrier, the chaos of souls, all would come to me.”

“You misunderstand, Azazel,” I said with a sigh. What was meant to even happen? He wanted to release and become what he was meant to. But I could see something was on the other side.

“I used to think this was all there was, but it is not it,” I pushed on. “Such control as the Weaver has shown is all that matters now; who cares about anything else?!” Azazel thrashed against his binds.

“Someone must care!” I thundered at the demon. “Yes, our realms would all come to ruin, but a new one would take hold if we do not work together, a realm not for your enjoyment.”

“And what is this new realm, if I may indulge you, *Weaver*?"

“As a mortal, do you think I am even capable of seeing into such a realm?! All I can say is, it is not ruled by our gods or our demons. I know you feel this, you *must* feel this.”

Azazel paused in his struggles.

“And what do you ask in return?” He quieted.

"Release me from our pact," I said, my heart pounding in my chest. "Let me live out my life, free from your claim. In return, I will dedicate myself to maintaining the barrier, to ensuring the balance between realms remains stable. You have seen what I had to do, I've lost far too much."

Azazel stared at me in silence for a long moment, his expression unreadable. I could feel the weight of his gaze, the pressure of his scrutiny. He was weighing my offer, assessing my sincerity. It was a gamble, a desperate attempt to rewrite my fate. But I had nothing to lose.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, the only sound the faint crackling of energy from the binding spell. I held my breath, waiting for Azazel’s decision. Lyra stood beside me, her face pale but determined, her hand still resting on the hilt of her sword. The tension in the room was palpable, a coiled spring ready to snap. For what did he chose me?

Finally, Azazel spoke, his voice low and resonant. "Intriguing," he mused to himself. "A mortal seeking to meddle in the affairs of Gods and Demons. A twist I did not foresee."

He looked up at me, his crimson eyes glinting in the dim light. "Very well, *Elias*. I accept your offer."

A wave of relief washed over me, so intense it almost buckled my knees. I had done it. I had negotiated with a demon and won.

"But mark my words," Azazel continued, his voice hardening. "This is not a simple transaction. There will be a price to pay. Maintaining the balance is not a task for the faint of heart. It will require sacrifice, choices that will test your very soul."

"I understand," I said, my voice firm. "I'm ready."

"Then let us seal this new pact," Azazel said, a flicker of something that might have been amusement in his eyes. "But know this, *Elias*. You are not the only player in this game. There are forces at work, powers beyond your comprehension. You may have saved your soul, but you have also stepped onto a path fraught with peril."

He paused, his gaze shifting to Lyra. "Especially since my end of our agreement is fulfilled, and that I'll have to take another soul after the agreement."

"What-?" I said.

Azazel released a burst of energy, severing the binding spell. He vanished in a swirl of shadows, leaving behind only the lingering scent of ash and the chilling echo of his laughter. I turned to Lyra and grabbed her hand.

She didn't say a word as she pulled away from me. However, she nodded in acceptance, confirming her understanding of what needed to be done. Though she may not have known what was spoken in the final moments, she trusted my judgement. However, for Azazel to agree meant there would need to be an equal exchange.

All that I could do was to embrace her and hope that would be the end of everything. That what was coming will all be set.

The chapter ends with Elias's realization of responsibility for all. A sense of trepidation and anticipation of what lies ahead and the next choice. And some changes.