chaos saw the Azazel first, drifting along the level just above him and his companions.
It was a graceful thing, cloud white with wingish forelimbs. The storm within was calmed.
It turned.
It had been someone once, and when chaos saw the featureless expanse where its face should have been, he saw who it wasn't. He could feel its malice rising.
His friends had ranged themselves into a combat formation while he'd studied the Azazel. They weren't aware of the lack of a "whom."
It charged until it loomed over them, limbs poised to attack.
The Azazel wanted to play.