Azazel raised his hand, the dark energy around him pulsating with raw, destructive power. His wings, large and black, unfurled, casting an ominous shadow over the battlefield. His gaze was cold, calculating—this was a being of untold power, a Fallen Angel whose mere presence demanded respect.
"You've overstepped, mortal," Azazel hissed, his voice like a thousand whispers of the damned. "You will learn the price of defying the gods."
I stood still, the mirror in my soul pulsing with energy, the rhythm of forgotten myths, the blood of slain gods calling to me. The divine power within me throbbed like a second heartbeat, the echoes of those I had defeated still lingering in the deepest corners of my being.
And then, I spoke.
"By the will of Heracles, I invoke the strength of the Nemean Lion. By the might of a hero who conquered the impossible, I stand unyielding. I, the Godslayer, will not bow."
As I spoke those words, an explosion of divine energy erupted from my core. The ground beneath me trembled as golden light burst forth, wrapping around my body like a shimmering cocoon. A divine force, born from myth and bloodshed, enveloped me in an aura of blinding light.
In that instant, the world felt smaller—insignificant, even—beneath the weight of the Nemean Lion's Hide. I raised my hand, and as if the universe had no choice but to obey, a shimmering golden shield materialized before me. It gleamed like sunlight reflecting off polished gold, sturdy and unbreakable, infused with the divine essence of a god who had once walked the earth. The shield absorbed Azazel's blast effortlessly, the energy dissipating with a soft hum of containment.
I lifted my gaze to Azazel, my expression unwavering. The divine shield didn't just protect me—it thrummed with power, a reminder of the god whose myth I now wielded.
"Is that all you have?" I called out, my voice carrying a confidence born of divine power.
Azazel's eyes narrowed, his wings snapping forward as he launched himself toward me with inhuman speed, ready to tear me apart with a barrage of light-infused strikes. But I was already moving.
With a fluid motion, I whispered again, my voice barely audible, but the power behind the words rang out like a thunderclap in the silent air.
"By the authority of the gods I have slain, by the strength of myth, I stand as the embodiment of divinity itself. I invoke the wrath of the Nemean Lion, whose might no mortal nor god could challenge."
As I spoke, golden energy erupted around me, swirling in an intricate pattern, forming into a massive gauntlet of divine light. It enveloped my arm, and when I raised it, the earth beneath my feet cracked, and the very air seemed to distort from the pressure.
Azazel attempted to dodge, but it was too late. My fist, imbued with the might of the lion's mythical strength, shot forward with unstoppable force.
"The roar of the lion, the strength of the fallen!" I cried out.
My fist collided with his chest, and the impact was deafening. Azazel's body was thrown back with a sickening crack as his ribs shattered, his wings crumpling beneath the weight of the blow. He slammed into the ground, his body carving a deep trench through the earth as he struggled to regain his bearings.
But I wasn't finished.
I closed my eyes for a moment, focusing on the surge of divine energy within me. The power of the gods I had slain, the myths I had inherited, all twisted and melded into something that transcended mortal limits.
"By the fall of the gods, I command the strength of legend."
Golden light erupted from me once again, but this time, the air seemed to warp and bend as if reality itself could no longer contain my power. With a single motion, I raised my hand, and the ground trembled beneath the sheer magnitude of the divine energy I was unleashing. Azazel struggled to stand, but his movements were slow, sluggish—his divine power nowhere near enough to withstand the weight of a godkiller's wrath.
With a final, sweeping motion, I brought my palm down, unleashing the full force of the Nemean Lion's Roar.
Azazel's body was lifted off the ground as if it were nothing more than a ragdoll, thrown backward by the unstoppable force. His wings flapped furiously, but the power of my strike was too overwhelming. The very fabric of the world seemed to tremble as divine energy ripped through him.
He crashed into the distant mountainside, leaving a deep crater where his body landed.
The battlefield fell silent.
And as I stood there, golden light flickering around my form like a halo of divine wrath, I could feel the power of the gods within me, each one claiming a piece of my soul, each one whispering their ancient, forgotten names in the winds of time.
I had done it again.
I had used the authority of a god. A myth reborn.
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