Ancient Dreamer // Fallen Angel

Artwork by Diana Franco

They gathered, one and all, to see the awakening. The mad scientist had pulled his threads and needles, lightning firing down from above, eldritch magics pouring into the pool of black. The holy ichor, the tears of the masters -- Wither. Jun Zhao had pulled from the sea, taking the gifts of the Sleepers's children, and poured in wonders of his own.
Angel feathers tinted ebony, the eyes of a Demon, the tooth of a Devil, and many more. Each more terrifying than the one that came before it.
But then the day had come, the time of great upheaval... And the mad scientist never returned. Killed, they'd said, brought low by the Hunter's spear. A foul thing, that Hunter. An enemy of the masters. But also short-sighted, for you cannot fully kill what is half-dead. So a howling spirit had flown to Aucturn, and deposited itself into the pool. Some days later, his granddaughter followed, and the pool began to boil.
So the Chosen Ones prayed, and deposited their own blood into the pool, and many other gifts besides. For weeks they had waited, drinking only of the rainwater, and feasting on each other's flesh.
The unenlightened might imagine the wakening of a Old One to be quite loud. Deafening, even. Instead, its birth was all silence, silk and smooth, as it glided from the pool and into the air.
It was beautiful.
It was the color of flesh, with features reminiscent of the Sleeper, but the wings and claws of a demonic beast. It as tall as the mighty wardstones -- themselves rivaling skyscrapers -- and walked past them without pause. Even the most devout of them had to turn away as it took flight, their eyes bleeding from the glory of its eldritch form.
The mad scientist had given it a name, pulled from the Angel's doctrine -- a name chosen to spite them, and to inspire fear.
Abelina screamed inside the control deck, and her grandfather cackled.
Azazel was complete.