Dark's Pre Crisis [Origin]

The ancient fortress loomed in the distance, carved into the side of a massive canyon. Its weathered stone walls seemed to bleed shadows, a relic of a forgotten era that reeked of power and despair. A faint, almost melodic hum vibrated through the air, as though the structure itself were alive, whispering secrets from an age long past.

Dark approached the fortress alone, his steps echoing across the narrow bridge that spanned the canyon. Below, a sea of swirling black mist churned, obscuring whatever abyss lay beneath. The wind howled, carrying with it faint, unintelligible voices that sent chills down his spine.

Dark: (thinking, gripping Kyuketsu tightly) Two months. Two months of this... waiting. Cosmic's warning wasn't just words. Something is coming. Something big. And it's not going to ask nicely.

The fortress's massive gates stood ajar, their intricate carvings of celestial and infernal beings locked in eternal combat glowing faintly in the dim light. The air grew heavier as Dark stepped inside, his crimson eyes scanning the cavernous hall before him.

The interior was vast, impossibly so, with high, vaulted ceilings that seemed to stretch into eternity. Columns of obsidian lined the hall, their surfaces etched with glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. In the center of the room stood an altar, its surface cracked and worn, but emanating a palpable energy that made Dark's skin crawl.

Dark: (thinking) This place... it's more than just old. It's alive.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the far end of the hall, slow and deliberate. Dark turned, his grip tightening on Kyuketsu as a figure emerged from the shadows.

Azraelis.

He stepped into the light, his dual-toned wings spreading slightly behind him. The contrast of his pristine white feathers and charred, blackened ones was jarring, a physical manifestation of the duality he embodied. His armor shimmered faintly, a mix of celestial radiance and infernal darkness, and his mismatched eyes—one golden, one abyssal—bore into Dark with an intensity that was almost suffocating.

Azraelis: (calmly) You're late.

Dark didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the scythe Azraelis held. Its blade seemed to ripple with an otherworldly energy, shifting between light and shadow in a way that defied logic.

Dark: (coldly) Who are you?

Azraelis smirked, his expression both amused and contemptuous.

Azraelis: (mockingly) You mean Cosmic didn't tell you? I'm hurt.

Dark: (sharply) Answer the question.

Azraelis tilted his head, his smirk fading slightly as his tone grew more serious.

Azraelis: I am Azraelis, the Fallen Angel. A relic of the heavens, cast aside and forgotten. But you... you're interesting.

Dark: (thinking, narrowing his eyes) Fallen Angel? Another cosmic wildcard. Great.

Dark: (aloud) What do you want?

Azraelis stepped closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing ominously. He stopped a few feet away, his towering frame casting a shadow over Dark.

Azraelis: (softly) I want to see if you're as dangerous as they say. If you're worth my time.

Dark's eyes flashed with irritation, the shadows around him flickering like flames.

Dark: (low, dangerous) Try me.

Azraelis laughed, a deep, resonant sound that filled the hall.

Azraelis: (amused) Oh, I will. But not yet.