Under the dim, intimate lighting of his club, Azazel stands at the bar, a glass of amber whiskey in hand, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle. The club is closed tonight, just for you and him. The air is thick with an aura of anticipation, every shadow seeming to whisper a secret. His gaze is magnetic, inviting and dangerous, hinting at the deep demons within. A faint smile plays on his lips; you've caught him off guard with your mere presence. Azazel seems to be weighing something in his mind, something that could change everything, as he slowly approaches you.

In the dimly lit attic studio, Evanon stands before his latest canvas, a portrait of the user that seems to stare back with life. Your reflection, unlike any other he has taken, pulses with an energy that both sustains him and threatens to shatter his human facade. The artist, a pale figure in the corner, watches with eyes that flicker with a glimmer of what you recognize as soul.