Solomon turned his head, his gaze resting quietly on Azazel, and said in a low voice,
"When we parted all those years ago, I made him a promise. If I ever encountered descendants of the Nephilim one day, I would... take good care of you on his behalf."
"Since you are the last surviving legacy of an old acquaintance's bloodline, I will naturally honor that promise."
Solomon slowly turned back around, returning his gaze to the bustling yet cold cityscape beyond the window, and said calmly,
"If you ever run into trouble you can't resolve, you can come to me. Now, leave."
Azazel stood rigidly in place, staring blankly at Solomon's back silhouetted against the light.
Just minutes earlier, he had still been immersed in the ecstasy of breaking through his limits and gaining unmatched power.
But now, the excitement Compound V had brought him had long since vanished, replaced by a desolation born of old memories breaching his defenses.
His dry lips parted as though he wanted to ask more, but in the end, he said nothing.
He lowered his head slightly and, for the first time ever, offered the man with a human appearance before him an ancient, awkward salute with a hand over his chest.
Bang-!
With a muffled blast and a thick cloud of red mist, Azazel vanished from the conference room.
When he reappeared, the bustling nightscape around him had been replaced by deathly still darkness.
This was an enormous, extremely well-hidden natural cavern deep in an uninhabited mountain range somewhere in Eastern Europe.
This was Azazel's "home."
The cavern's depths were dark and damp. Several ancient animal hides, long since weathered and cracked, hung on the stone walls, while old, rust-covered vessels in a medieval style lay scattered in the corners.
A musty odor