The relic sat in the center of what had once been a demon warlord's trophy room, radiating power that made even the oath-bound Forsaken hesitate at the threshold.

Azrael stood in the doorway, wings partially spread, feeling the pull of something deeply familiar yet utterly alien. The strike against the demon supply line had been brutal—twelve Forsaken casualties against four times as many demon dead. But they'd secured the warehouse and everything in it.

Including this.

"We should ...