It was Azrael who moved first. There was no warning, save the distance closing between them. One moment, Azrael was twenty paces away, and the next, his hand was around Azazel's throat, his wings propelling him forward like he was the final end. The air exploded outward from the force of impact, sending shockwaves through the plain and throwing back the remaining fighters who had witnessed the battle.
Azazel caught Azrael's outstretched wrist with the ease of someone used to dealing with gods. The force nearly ended the fight, sending cracks of power rippling into the ground and rings of dust and debris into the air.
"You talk too much for a dead man," growled death itself.
Azazel's smile was tight and cruel. "And you hesitate too much for Death."
