[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/krDrRUi.png[/img]
[color=254f28][u][b]Location[/b][/u][/color]
💀 Mafioso Underground - Warehouse.

[color=254f28][u][b]Time[/b][/u][/color]
💀 Evening.

[color=254f28][u][b]Interactions[/b][/u][/color]
💀 [@Rabidporcupine]
💀 [@Hitman]
💀 [@canaryrose]
💀 [@Scarifar]
[/center][hr]

With Azhar’s gaze finding home upon Christina, the boy managed a small smile. She wasted no time in affording him a rundown of the situation, a quick and effective picture painted for what was to come. They were all soldiers in this war, irrelevant of age and experience. Indeed, Azhar had been trained throughout his life to harness the powers within. He had been taught how to conduct himself in combat, and how to best wield his abilities alongside others. Not everyone was afforded that privilege, as more than a few Heroes were plucked from the street. They had as much a reason to participate in this battle as anyone. A desire to protect not only those held close and dear, but everyone. [color=254f28]"I’ll do my best,"[/color] Zee commented, his smile a somewhat melancholy display. 

Where excitement for battle had always been present, an unmoving desire resting within Azhar’s heart, it had been replaced by glee. A sensation that clawed at him mercilessly, an addiction which was making itself known, as if withdrawals were choking the boy. Shifting his attention towards a ladder leading into the darkness of an ever-stretching tunnel, Azhar exhaled a labored breath. Something was building inside of him, a warcry slowly working itself towards the surface. One would be safe in claiming that the demonic mutant had completely forgotten about Joseph, despite the man’s presence. 

Without another word, Azhar proceeded onward. He slipped down the ladder, every motion bringing him closer towards the darkness beneath, his exposed skin responding with a dim glow. A Ghost in the shade, a Devil approaching through the blackness. Irony was not entirely discarded, however, as Azhar’s glow was more akin to that of an Angelic being, no matter how dimly he shone. 

It did not take very long for an imminent battle to ensue, ahead. The sound of explosions rattled the tunnel, and with wide eyes, Azhar picked up his pace. Weightless steps brought him further through the damp darkness, movements soon accelerating into a jog, which in turn formed itself into a sprint at the sound of combat. [color=254f28]"It’s begun..,"[/color] Azhar clenched his teeth, the boy’s heart beating against his ribs like a jackhammer. He didn’t know who was behind him, if Joseph had decided to come along, or not. He didn’t care. Only one thing mattered. With every single step, the rising adrenaline took complete control. A reasonable question would, however, be in regards to what that addictive sensation truly was. Adrenaline, or a base, natural desire. Time and time again had Azhar been called a Devil, or [i]Shaitan[/i] in Arabic. A slur he decided to own, one he claimed and wielded. Monster, Devil, Demon, Abomination, each one a term Azhar embraced wholeheartedly. However, with calm serenity replaced by something else entirely, statements of what Azhar had decided were endearing may have shifted, if only for the moment. 

A short string of time passed before Zee finally saw the outline of people, in the distance. He was lucky to have been blessed with greater sight in darkness, a tradeoff for his hampered gaze beneath a sunlit sky. Unable to prevent the aura of Spectral Energy now blanketing him as if a reflexive maneuver, a sharp-toothed grin bridged itself across Azhar’s lips. Jamie, Rumi, and Blake were all present. Goons had been blasted through, and with a large warehouse stretching itself across the continued interior, Azhar laid eyes on Blake who was yielding to a defensive stance, avoiding bullets heading towards him with furious speed. 

The deathly mutant was not a physical individual. The sprint he had performed would have tired him out, was it not for the peculiar emotion confiscating his every desire. Bloodlust. Extending a clawed hand, Azhar conjured forth a devastating wave of Necrotic Force which swallowed the mobsters attempting to riddle Blake with lead. Not a moment was spared to catch his breath, and he barely registered Rumi’s, nor Jamie’s presence. 

If one was to listen, a massive slew of footsteps were aimed at the underground warehouse. Blake’s arrival had made sure of that. However, where Azhar previously shook his head in response to abandoning caution entirely, he now stood trembling with excitement. Phantasmal Force licked itself across his body endlessly, as if a second layer of clothing. Every single breath exhaled a gust of continuous Deathly Energy, those large, black eyes fixed on the direction confessing to an influx of incoming enemies. [color=254f28]"Go..,"[/color] Zee spoke, his ghostly voice embraced by heavy breathing, an otherwise mystical voice with Demonic tones elevating its latter presence. [color=254f28]"Save your friends,"[/color] he continued, clawed hands trembling in delight as the Necrotic Powers coating him began to swirl in a dance around Azhar, akin to a violent wind. [color=254f28]"I’ll stay..,"[/color] that shark-like grin widened, a long breath revealing another gust of Necrotic Energy leaving Zee’s mouth, as if desperately trying to infect the very air around him. The blue light emanating from his bracelet began to flicker before eventually, fading entirely.