“There’s no such thing as a Krystalii, bro.” Arakiba shrugged. The sneer twisting his grinning lips put Azazel on edge. “And never heard of some guy named Tony.” He glanced at Asmodel standing next to Abalim. “Looks like he’s a little cray-cray. Dude doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
For the first time since he woke up, a sense of calm came over him. The beast inside grumbled, but for now kept a vigilant watch in the background. It was then that Azazel recognized where and what he was dealing with.
Clasping his hands in front of him, he gave his brothers a respectful nod. “Well played, Lord Baelon. But I assure you, I know you created this construct from images in my mind. They aren’t real.”
The image of his brother Arakiba clapped his hands before morphing into the crystal-blue form of the Krystalii autocrat, Lord Baelon. The background changed as well. Now he was in a chamber that pulsed with crystalline light emanating from every surface. It was as if the walls were alive, glimmering with alien purple-and-blue-hued facets that reflected his own distorted image back at him. The air carried a biting chill that had a metallic taste, sharp enough to feel like a warning. There wasn’t any visible door or entryway, only endless crystalline patterns flowing like frozen rivers across the walls, ceiling, and floor.
He tested his limbs. Resistance. A cage—not physical, but psychic. Tendrils of crystalline energy formed a lattice around him, translucent and crackling with electric blue light. When he probed the bonds, they pushed against his thoughts with a sharp, needling force. What was worse, he could feel them feeding off his energy. A trap. When he tried to move, he ended up with invisible tendrils of psychic energy snaking around his body, squeezing him with icy pressure. Each strand vibrated, resonating with the crystalline hum of the chamber, like a living program fabricated to sap his strength and suppress his abilities.
“You should’ve known better than to challenge me in my domain, you flesh-born wretch.” Lord Baelon’s crystalline form refracted the chamber’s light into eerie rainbows.
His body gleamed with cruel elegance, but Azazel’s sharp eyes caught something. The faintest cracks webbed Baelon’s glass-like skin, and his movements seemed less fluid than before, his steps almost... hesitant.
He radiated sharp angles and jagged edges, his form sculpted from deep blue apatite, with veins of silver and deep indigo threaded through his crystalline skin. His eyes, deeply set within his face were twin pools of multifaceted fire, and they narrowed as he studied Azazel.
Azazel exhaled, keeping himself centered. Surprisingly, his inner demon remained still and quiet. “Obviously, I didn’t know better,” he stated aloud in a patronizing tone that cut through the hum in the room. “Because your arrogant intentions are flawed.” He tilted his head, his calm gaze fixed on Baelon. “It appears your plans are ineffective in achieving your goal.”
Baelon’s smile twisted, and his mirrored eyes compressed into fine slits. “You flatter yourself. You are nothing but an echo of dust. I find your words as empty as the so-called rebellion you’ve joined with those traitors aboard this ship. I will break all of you without reservation.” His voice carried a resonant echo that sounded from everywhere at once. “You are a caged, flesh-bound animal. Broken.”
The tendrils around Azazel tightened, bruising his ribs. He didn’t allow his expression to falter. Instead, he focused inwardly. The pain was a distraction, a crude tool. He tilted his head, unruffled. “Broken? Hardly.” He flexed his mind again, not to escape but to test. The bonds strained under his touch, like taut wires stretched thin, as if ready to fray.Might be breakable, then.
Baelon’s expression flickered. The light within his body dimmed before flaring again. A tremor ran through him—brief but telling.
Azazel noted it, tucking the observation away. “You’re weakening,” he stated with a steady tone. He cocked his head when a thought came to him from a novel he’d read not so long ago. If he remembered correctly, the aliens attacking Earth in that story didn’t take into account the natural countermeasures the planet carried. H.G. Wells might’ve been on to something when he wroteWar of the Worlds.
“I suspect this dimension doesn’t suit you, does it?” He pursed his lips and examined the crystal man with an up-and-down glance. “Your inner light is dim, Baelon. And if I’m not mistaken, a good amount of your edges have dulled. I believe this universe is eating you alive,” he observed, his voice measured. “This dimension is rejecting you, isn’t it? Your kind wasn’t meant to stay here this long, was it?”
Baelon hissed, and the surrounding walls pulsated.
The psychic bonds around Azazel tightened and pressed into his mind. Pain lanced through his temples, but he met Baelon’s eyes. The crystal dictator’s crystalline face twitched—an almost imperceptible reaction, but enough for him to recognize his strike had landed.
“Let it go,” Azazel continued. “You and I both know that anger won’t fix what’s rotting inside you.” He softened his voice, sending tendrils of psychic energy to sift through Baelon’s fury in an unobtrusive fog of intent. “If you stay here, nothing will stop the cracks forming in your foundation. Not only with yourself, but with all Krystalii. You must recognize what this dimension is doing to all of you.”
“You know nothing of my kind,” Baelon snarled, stepping closer. His form shimmered as he grabbed Azazel’s wave of psychic energy and made it his own, ripping
into his mind like jagged glass.
“You’re nothing but a worthless organic being who does not have the intelligence to comprehend the grandiose Krystalii.”
Azazel winced as he blocked Baelon’s psychic intrusion with practiced precision and focused his thoughts on a single, unwavering point. Soon the assault rolled off him like water over stone. “I understand more than you think.” His tone was cutting and stern. “Your strength... it’s borrowed, isn’t it? Amplified by this ship, by your constructs. But it’s unsustainable. Every moment you remain here, your entire existence will erode around you.”
The chamber trembled, and the crystalline glow inside the Krystalii leader intensified. Baelon’s jagged features sharpened, but as Azazel watched, he saw tiny cracks along the other’s body spread, splinters that ran along the crystal being’s translucent skin.
Baelon laughed, a brittle, discordant sound. “You dare to psychoanalyze me? How quaint. Perhaps I should peel away your mind to see where your confidence originates.”
Azazel smiled, unfazed. “You could try, but we both know you won’t. You’re desperate to maintain control—not just over me, but over yourself. Your foundation is cracking, Baelon, and deep down, you know it.”
Baelon froze and his mirrored eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. The chamber’s hum faltered, the once-perfect resonance breaking into uneven vibrations.
Azazel had planted a seed of doubt—small, but significant. “You can keep me here,” he continued with a shrug, “but every second I fight weakens you. Every moment you remain in this dimension, it grinds you down. You’ve already lost, Baelon. You just refuse to face that inevitability.”
The walls trembled, and for the first time, Azazel felt the cage falter. A crack—not physical—but psychic in its structure. He allowed himself the faintest smile.
Baelon’s eyes flared as he stepped back. “I assure you, you will never leave this place alive.”
“Oh yes, I will. And perhaps I’ll take you with me.” Azazel allowed a slice of resolve to lace his tone. “And judging by the looks of you, you won’t have the strength to stop me.”
Before the last word left his lips, a blazing white light engulfed the room. Turning his head, Azazel did his best to shield his closed eyes and waited until he sensed the unexpected intense light had dimmed enough for him to open them. He peeked through slitted lids, and his head jerked as he took in the sigh before him.
