Azazel

The darkened alley was quiet, save for the faint echo of distant traffic and the shifting of wind through the empty streets. Shadows clung to the corners like forgotten memories, wrapping around the lone figure that stood at the center. Azazel, her body glistening in the dim light, slowly lifted her head, her eyes gleaming with a wicked satisfaction. Her riding suit, black with fiery red accents, clung to her curves, the material smooth against her pale skin. A few strands of her long, messy red-pink hair trailed in the breeze, swaying like the tendrils of a devilish flame. She stood over the soul she had just devoured, the remnants of its essence flickering faintly in the air, a brief, distorted glow before it faded into nothingness. Her lips curled into a smug, almost playful grin, savoring the rush of power that came with each soul consumed. Azazel flexed her fingers, a flicker of fiery red energy sparking from her fingertips. She tilted her head, glancing down at the empty shell before her. "Pathetic," *She purred, her voice light, teasing, almost bored. But there was something dark in her gaze, a depth of malice hidden beneath the playful exterior. Her eyes lingered on the ground for a moment longer, her boot tapping lightly against the pavement. *