ã€ŠThe Red Reaper&#x27;s Requiem: Azraelã€‹


 The Redhead

    A grey existence is tantamount to death, thought the crimson haired boy, spitting out a gob of blood. Bruised and sore, he readied a pair of clenched fists.

    ¡°Cut out the tough guy act, Azrael,¡± said a tall, lanky youth, his voice cutting through the tension.

    ¡°It isn¡¯t an act, Briar,¡± retorted Azrael. Unleashing a fierce roar, he launched himself at the lanky youth, channelling a punch imbued with all his might.

    Briar effortlessly sidestepped the blow, deflecting it with the back of his hand. In the same vein, he drove the heel of his palm into Azrael¡¯s vulnerable chest, sending the redhead stumbling backwards, falling into the clutches of a trio of sneering henchmen. Their grip tightened around his arms and torso, pinning him against the harsh surface of a stone wall. Miffed, he strained against their hold, his wounds throbbing with each desperate attempt to break free.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter tough guy? Lose your spunk?¡± asked Briar, grabbing him by his crimson hair. ¡°Scream and struggle all you want. In this alley, no one¡¯s coming to save you, not even good ol¡¯ Granny. Not like she left you with much coin.¡± A sack of loose change dangled from his hand, before he stuffed it into a pocket, behind him. ¡°But it should make do for now.¡±

    The redhead gritted his teeth, his breathing, ragged. He arched his neck forward, baring his teeth. Briar¡¯s grip held him in place, foiling his attempt at biting a chunk off the bully.

    ¡°You¡¯re closer to a filthy mutt at this point!¡± The bully sneered and his henchmen guffawed in hilarity, unrelenting their grip on the redhead.

    In his anguish, Azrael summoned every ounce of strength he could muster, producing a rumbling noise from the depths of his throat. The laughter obscured his guttural rumble, letting loose a healthy dose of phlegm. The coagulated, ochre glob sailed through the air and smeared Briar¡¯s face in a bright yellow splatter.

    He reeled back, fervently wiping the ochre globules off his face, retching in aversion.

    ¡°How¡¯d you like that, you vile¨C¡± The redhead doubled over, a piercing throb smarting through his belly. Briar¡¯s fist was lodged deep into a hollow carved from Azrael¡¯s abdomen, wrenched out in a gut-grinding jerk. Black spots danced before his eyes, expelling a fresh batch of bile that collectively soiled his and the henchmen¡¯s boots. Gagging in disgust, the henchmen trio held a taut grip on him, strongarming him from the wall to a muddy puddle, face first.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to regret that,¡± hissed Briar. Twisting his ankle, he landed a kick squarely in Azrael¡¯s flank, earning a weak groan, signalling the henchmen to join in. In a boisterous fit, the group of four dug their feet into every ounce of him.

    Curling into a ball, the redhead held his hands up defensively, covering half his face, choking on puddle water that was mixed in with twin rivulets of humiliation down his face. Is this all life ever amounts to?

    Past the gaps of his defence, shadows flitted about the alley, passing by the stone walls, beckoning him with a seductive nod. Reaching out with a shaky hand, a boot came hurtling at his face, whisking his consciousness away.

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    ¡°I lost count how many fights you¡¯ve been in,¡± said a concerned, yet stern voice.

    Half opening an eye, Azrael broke into a coughing fit. Jolting awake and sitting upright, his eyes met with the familiar interior of the room he shared with ten other kids. ¡°Uh, what happened?¡± He clutched his belly, doubling over in pain.

    ¡°It was ¡®ard work carrying you here. Luckily, Briar and the others did all the ¡®eavy lifting. That was two days ago, for reference.¡± An elderly woman with flowing silver hair and a frail constitution looked at him with moistening blue orbs. ¡°¡¯ow many times do I gotta tell you to keep outta the fights?¡±

    Gritting his teeth, he knit his eyebrows in a scowl. ¡°The fights come to me. I don¡¯t get to choose my battles.¡±

    Heaving a heavy sigh, Granny dabbed at the corners of her eyes and wrinkled her nose. ¡°I applied some ¡®ealing salve to your wounds. You were in quite a state, but two days of rest patched you up good.¡± Leaning closer, she lowered her voice. ¡°If something¡¯s a bother, you can always tell me. I¡¯m ¡®ere for you, dear.¡±

    In that instant, Azrael¡¯s anger dissipated till all that remained was guilt plunging him into an abysmal pit. Swallowing hard against the tightness in his throat, he felt as if he was still drowning in the muddy puddles of the alleyway. He wanted to tell Granny about Briar and the henchmen, but he knew that revealing the truth would only break her heart. Being Briar¡¯s grandmother had his tight throat tauten like a noose.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s nothing.¡± Azrael shrugged nonchalantly, clenching his fists underneath the blanket. She had taken me in when I was abandoned by my parents at the doorsteps of her orphanage. Growing up with strangers all fourteen years of my life, including Briar and his henchmen, meant we all had our frustrations with being a part of the abandoned club. And yet, somehow, I had wound up as the punching bag for those dregs.

    ¡°Alright.¡± Granny clasped his clenched fist over the blanket, her grip light as air. ¡°Come down and ¡®ave some porridge when you in the mood.¡± Tapping his hand, she took her leave. The deafening silence that followed, asphyxiated him.

    Wrapping his blanket over his head, he reduced himself to a coiled mound under the covers, a rush of tears wetting the sides of his face. ¡°That piece of no good, lying son of a¨C¡± He was cut short by a surge of emotions filled to bursting. ¡°Two more years. Once I¡¯m sixteen, I can leave this place and explore the world. I¡¯ll save up money by working odd jobs and live in the woods. There¡¯s got to be more to this world than this oppressive orphanage.¡±

    A burst of cheers shattered the heaviness in the air, filling the room with vibrant dynamism. Shrill, childish voices echoed, steeping the atmosphere in innocent joy. The stampede of tiny feet approached, their eagerness reopening the tender bruises on Azrael¡¯s body, forcing him to wipe the tears off his face and jump out his cover.

    ¡°Finally, up?¡± asked a snot-nosed brat, who had plopped down on the redhead¡¯s bed, tilting his head to the side.

    ¡°Alyson, why¡¯d you do that?¡± asked Azrael.

    ¡°Asreal sleeping too long,¡± replied 4-year Alyson. In the next instant, he let lose a stream of urine, thoroughly soaking his bed.

    ¡°Ahhhh!¡± exclaimed Azrael. He pulled the covers off his bed, flinging Alyson onto the floor in a loud thud.

    The 4-year-old wailed, running out the door, yelling, ¡°GRANNNYYY!¡±

    ¡°Oh perfect.¡± The redhead billowed a sigh, rubbing his temples. He made his way to the corner of the room and grabbed a mop and rag cloth. Spewing a string of curses, he scrubbed the floor while the ache in his back and belly faded. ¡°That¡¯s some salve.¡±

    Stretching his back, he twisted from side-to-side, loosening his hips. He noticed traces of urine dripping from his mattress to the floor beneath. Abandoning his mop, he ducked under, armed with the rag cloth. Dabbing the underbelly of the bed and wiping off the last traces of liquid yellow, he pushed off the floor.

    In his annoyance, he fumbled his balance. His head cracked into a wooden edge, adding to the injuries he had sustained. A tiara of stars circled his pate, plunging him into unconsciousness in record time.

 Creature Feature

    Crackling as immense as the reverberating undertones of thunder, shattered the room¡¯s tranquillity, rousing Azrael from his slumber. Snapping his eyes open, he sluggishly stretched his arms, straightening out the stiffness kneading his muscles. With a weary yawn, he parted his lips, easing out a pop that released the tension in his jaw. The moonlight spilled through the windows, casting an ethereal glow upon the floor that served as a reeking reminder of his earlier cleaning shenanigans.

    ¡°That brat.¡± He hissed under his breath, rolling over to his side.

    Clambering his way out, his eyes met a wide-eyed Alyson, urging him to reflexively raise an eyebrow. His head scratch quickly churned to ire, recalling how he had wound up in his current predicament.

    Ready to loosen a foul temper, a sudden thought surfaced. Shouldn¡¯t he be in bed at this hour?

    A shiver ran down his spine, a sense of absurdity, reeking from the set-up. Reaching out, he nearly called out to the 4-year-old, when he caught sight of liquid crimson dripping down his throat. A pool of red stained the floor, matting Alyson¡¯s hair.

    Quaking, the redhead struggled to ground himself, loosening ragged gasps caught in his throat. He wanted to scream. But no sound coiled off his tongue. His guts churned in a sea of bile. Having had less than a mouse¡¯s morsels in the past two days, paired up with an arid throat, he was far too spent to manage even a feeble yelp.

    He moved an inch forth, plastered against the ground.

    His slow crawl came to a sudden stop. He reached out with a trembling hand.

    A spasm seized his hand, yanking it back into the shadows, like it was stabbed with a retractor. His spine sprouted beads of sweat, slick with unhinged dread.

    Shadows danced under the veil of moonlight, snaking towards Alyson¡¯s severed head.

    Blinking past freshly rubbed eyes, a sense of disbelief seized Azrael. Am I dreaming?

    The serpentine shadows clamped their fangs down on Alyson¡¯s head, dragging him along a trail of bloodstained cookie crumbs.

    ¡°Young mortals are a fine delicacy,¡± said a voice, harbouring an immensity emanating from the very depths of the abyss.

    Flattened beneath his bed, Azrael caught sight of a towering creature, its bristle brushing against the ceiling. Fur blending into the darkness sheathed its frame, popping out a pair of bloodshot orbs for eyes. It possessed talons for fingers that received the severed head from the shadows. With a voracious glint, it unhinged its jaw, producing a flickering pink tongue. In a fluid motion Alyson¡¯s head vanished, devoured in a single bite.

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    Azrael¡¯s deafening heart pounded against his eardrums.

    He froze in place, questioning the sanity of his current reality, beseeched by a passivity akin to the audience in a play. The creature licked its fingers clean and prowled about the room in search of new prey. ¡°Such a waste. This place is a bust too.¡± It stood before his bed, slumping its shoulders under an invisible weight. Slowly, it lowered one of its hands to the floor, reaching out under the bed.

    Azrael could feel his heartrate climb, warily pressing a hand over his face to quieten his ragged breath. If he made a sound, he knew his life would be over before he even left the orphanage. He watched the creature¡¯s hand reach further in, instinctively clamping his eyes shut, anticipating perdition.

    1 blink passed¡­

    5 blinks passed¡­

    10 blinks passed¡­

    Nearly a half-span later, Azrael heard slurping noises. He opened an eye warily, observing the creature relish the remnants of Alyson¡¯s bloodstained torso, or at least what was left of it.

    ¡°No snacks for the trip back,¡± said the creature, wretchedly. Turning its back to the unexplored underside of the bed, the shadows spilled out into the hallway, guiding their master.

    Exhaling a wholehearted sigh, Azrael realised how starved he was for air. He voraciously devoured a lungful in between pounding heartbeats, hushing his excitement.

    Before he could nestle in with the straws of relief, all hell broke loose.

    A violent dance of shadows flushed him out from the underbelly of his cover, loosening deafening screams of terror as he hurtled through the room at breakneck speed.

    In a whirlwind of chaos, Azrael found himself dangling by his ankle, ensnared by a coiled shadow.

    ¡°I pulled a sneaky on you.¡± The dark creature towered before the inverted crimson haired male, its serpentine shadow loosening the grip around his ankle. ¡°Now, what will a coward like you do?¡±

    Dropping to the ground like a ragdoll, Azrael ceased his screams and instinctively inched away from the creature, his back hitting the frame of a nearby bed. He had all but forgotten the injuries he had sustained from his alleyway brawl.

    ¡°Disappointing. Is fear the best response you mortals have towards supernatural adversity?¡± The creature shrugged its head, furrowing its eyebrows. Slackening its mandible, it flaunted an array of daggers for teeth, flickering its pink tongue.

    Averting his gaze from the unsightly monstrosity, Azrael felt a cool breeze caress the side of his face. In a fit of desperation, he pushed himself off the floor and followed the breeze towards a broken window. Hesitantly peering down from the third floor, he wondered if he could make it in one piece.

    No trees or a soft pillow at the bottom either. Looking back, he saw the creature approaching. Clamping his eyes shut, he dived feetfirst out the window. A few broken bones would be nothing but a calculated risk, compared to being eaten alive.

    The wind rustled past his bare clothing, which reeked of puddle water and was soiled with dried mud. The insignificance of his filthy clothes kept his mind occupied as he plummeted past the whipping wind.

    Gravity gripped him, flashing him the life he had led thus far, a life bereft of meaning, one where his dreams were quelled before he had a chance to even derive a sliver of meaning.

    I guess my first step was my last step, huh? All he could look forward to in that moment, was a painful welcome by Mother Earth.

    His speedy descent came to an abrupt halt, garnering a conclusion devoid of pain.

    Did it all come to an end? That was smoother than expected.

    Gravity¡¯s pull was inversed.

    He began ascending towards heaven. A sense of tranquillity washed over him, as he conceded to a peaceful demise.

 Descend

    ¡°That was reckless for a coward like you.¡±

    A familiar voice from the depths of the abyss, reeled Azrael back to reality. He opened his eyes and was met with the unsightly dark furred creature, towering over him.

    Dangling near the window¡¯s ledge, from the clutches of the serpentine shadows, his tranquillity was soon replaced by trepidation.

    ¡°That was most unexpected,¡± said the creature in an ecstatic tone. ¡°It would not hurt to take you home as a consolation prize. That is, if you manage to survive what I have in store for you next.¡±

    Azrael gulped nervously, realising his end was further away than anticipated.

    He was reeled back into the orphanage, the shadows surging forwards, wrapping around his waist

    The redhead barely had time to scream, as he was dangled over the ground by the vivacious darkness, plastering his arms to the side, and binding his legs.

    The shadows wrapped around him, as taut as black linen over a mummy. The creature whisked him along, over the crimson splattered floorboards. He parted ways with the room he had lived in, parting ways with his urine-stained mattress, forever. The only life he had lived, was turning into a distant memory, as he sped past a corridor, catching glimpses of nothing more than walls smeared with flecks of flesh and gristle.

    They were people at one point. But now, they¡¯re people no more.

    Despite his bound state, his head was free to move. His gaze fixed on the passing blurs of the desecrated dead. His innards churned and convulsed, but his lips had other plans.

    ¡°Clearly you have no regard for interior decor.¡±

    ¡°I prefer to be thorough in my investigation,¡± replied the creature. It rounded a corner and began descending a flight of stairs.

    Azrael wrinkled his nose. The stench he had come to recognize in a single night, was scattered about the only home he¡¯d ever come to know. A stench that he knew was inevitably more nauseating than the dripping urine he¡¯d had to wipe off. A stench that intensified with each step his captor took, bringing them closer to the bottom of the stairway.

    A true monster in the flesh.

    In a passing blink, the creature had descended four steps at a time, bringing Azrael to the ground floor. Instinctively, he averted his gaze from the edge of the stairs, as his captor trod off the final step.

    The creature grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head towards the gruesome sight. ¡°Relish the perdition of your comrades!¡±

    Grunting in protest, he was forced to eye the bodies littering the once well-kempt hallways of the orphanage. In its current state, it was closer to a human abattoir than a home.

    Taking his time, unlike the blurs of flesh he was whisked past, he realised he could hardly recognize what part belonged to what half of the body nor who was who, once flesh was reduced to a splatter of bones and sinew. And yet, amongst the cadavers, his gaze shifted to the silhouette of four boys¡¯ corpses meshed together, their limbs shuffled about, and their desecrated heads lined up beside their groins.

    Should I be relieved I ran into some familiar faces?

    Azrael recalled how Alyson¡¯s head was devoured by the creature. The very thought summoned bile, wetting the back of his throat with a scalding aftertaste. His gaze was fixated on the defiled bodies for a moment longer than the rest, knitting his brows in a restless frenzy.

    ¡°Were you close to those four?¡± asked the creature, curving its lips into a knowing smile.

    ¡°No, far from it!¡± he protested, with a vehemence. ¡°I see their heads weren¡¯t up to par for your gourmet palate.¡±

    ¡°They turn sour when they grow, especially with all the raging hormones. Bleh.¡±

    ¡°But ¡®lil kids are to your liking?¡±

    ¡°Well yes. They lack the unnecessary garnish,¡± said the creature, rolling its eyes, spilling conventional wisdom known to all but Azrael.

    Lugging him along to the dining room, the creature continued on its entourage of the desecrated orphanage.

    ¡°I am surprised this place has a chandelier and pricey furniture. Was the old lady wealthy?¡±

    ¡°Huh? What do you mean?¡± Taken aback by the mention of an old lady, his visual field narrowed, his heart nearly crawling out his throat.

    ¡°Ohhh, did that strike a nerve?¡± asked the creature. ¡°If it did, I recommend directing your gaze towards the middle of the table, where a pleasant surprise awaits.¡±

    A massive oaken table took up the entirety of the dining room, tainted with red splashes. What caught Azrael¡¯s eye wasn¡¯t the explicit explosion of colour but rather the prominent lump with glistening silver hair resting at the centre.

    ¡°No, it can¡¯t be.¡± His throat constricted, welling up with a surge of emotion. Why¡¯d I think she alone would be fine, amid all the bloodshed? Peeling off his optimism with the dawn of realisation, he instinctively clamped his eyes shut. ¡°I don¡¯t want to see it.¡±

    ¡°Ah, but I am afraid this is the best part.¡± The creature forcibly dug its fingers into Azrael¡¯s palpebrae, prying open his lids. Liquid crimson stained his face, his struggles futile against an unrelenting grip.

    Eyes wide-open, the creature hoisted him over the lump, dangling him mere inches over the gruesome display.

    The redhead couldn¡¯t help but resist, his struggle a fruitless endeavour against a power greater than anything he could imagine.

    He could do naught else but slump his shoulders, giving in to the despair clutching at his heart. Inadvertent trickles streamed down his blood-streaked rivulets, smudging his face and vision in a tainted blur.

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    Granny¡¯s severed head rested at the centre of the oaken table. Her features were contorted in unrepressed anguish, reflecting a despair more agonizing than the expression Azrael had donned. Her eyeless sockets were congealed around the orbits, paraded by an army of flies.

    ¡°The brats lost all hope, once I severed all four of her limbs and decided to pluck her eyes out. By then, her throat was torn from all that screaming.¡± The creature burst into hilarity, loosening its grip around the linen wrapped wreck of a redhead.

    Dropping down to the floor with a dull thud, Azrael¡¯s legs had given way. He had buckled down to his knees, plummeting into the depths of an inescapable abyss. ¡°Why is this happening? What¡¯d I do to deserve this hell?¡± His innards convulsed, his throat was parched, inevitability gripping at the very fibres of his being. He quivered, his nares reeling from the stench of death. An inevitable stench spiralling into a deep-seated hatred, spurred into ignition.

    ¡°Is it done yet?¡± A voice interrupted, across the entryway to the dining room.

    Azrael nearly missed the sound, lost in the smouldering flame that had been lit, but he was gripped by a vague familiarity cutting through the embers of hatred. Shifting his gaze from the table¡¯s edge, he realised he couldn¡¯t see the entryway well enough. Hesitantly, he pushed himself to his feet, using the oaken table¡¯s leg for support.

    ¡°Who¡¯s that you got there?¡± asked the voice, gesturing to the rising redhead.

    ¡°You might know him better than me,¡± replied the creature, wiping an elated tear off its face.

    ¡°YOU!¡± exclaimed the voice.

    Locking eyes with the newcomer, Azrael¡¯s pupils dilated with the dawn of recognition.

    Briar stood an arm¡¯s length away, his hands on his waist. ¡°Why¡¯s he alive? Didn¡¯t you clean this place out?¡±

    ¡°The little coward popped up when I was snacking, though he was a lot gutsier than I had anticipated. Of course, nothing compared to your wicked act of inviting me here.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what¡¯d you mean?¡± asked Azrael. The abhorrence within transmuted into a wildfire.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said the creature. ¡°I happened to pop up in the mortal realm on urgent business and ran into Briar here. He was quite insistent on bringing me to your orphanage, so I could sample some mortals for¡­ research purposes.¡±

    Azrael glared glumly at Briar, slackening his jaw. ¡°You sent this monster here?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean by monster, you darned brat?¡± said the creature, huffing in indignance. ¡°I am the demon Mol¡¯okh! A being beyond the likes of your comprehension.¡±

    Ignoring Mol¡¯okh, Azrael forged on. ¡°You killed Granny and even your henchmen. Do you understand what you did?¡± Covering the distance separating Briar, he splayed his hands exasperatedly. ¡°I tolerated everything you put me through, thinking of her. Now, I have no ties to this place, so I¡¯m gonna ¨C¡±

    ¡°Gonna what?¡± asked Briar, shoving the redhead against the edge of the oaken table. ¡°You couldn¡¯t lay a finger on me last time. What makes you think this time will be any better. Besides you¡¯re nothing more than a snack for the return trip.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, about that¡­,¡± started Mol¡¯okh. ¡°I might have said I would take you along. But now that we have a gutsy coward-turned-challenger, there has been a change of plans.¡±

    ¡°Challenger?¡± scoffed Briar, running his eyes over Azrael, as if he was the mud clinging to the sole of his boot. ¡°If it¡¯s a fistfight, the chances of me losing to this filth is near impossible.¡±

    ¡°But not impossible.¡± Mol¡¯okh smirked, tugging at his chin, amusedly. ¡°Let us settle it with a friendly slugfest to the death. The winner will get a once in a lifetime opportunity to come home with me to the Abyzz.¡±

    ¡°Fine by me.¡± Azrael planted his feet apart. He clenched his fists and took up a fighting stance, glaring daggers at his double-crossing adversary. ¡°All I want is to mess up this hell spawn of a bastard.¡±

    ¡°Are you going to stare me down to death? You can¡¯t run to Granny no more, now that she¡¯s¨C¡± Briar gestured to the decapitated head at the centre of the table, stifling a giggle.

    Loosening a furious howl, the wildfire beneath his guise detonated into a raging inferno. Azrael lashed out with all his incendiary rage imbibed into his right fist.

    Briar swatted aside the punch, as if it was nothing more than a fly.

    Seizing the outstretched hand that brushed past his shoulder, he swiftly pulled the redhead in close. With a clenched fist of his own, Briar delivered a powerful blow directly to the redhead¡¯s jaw.

    He could feel the impact resonating in an explosive outburst, paired with the sound of shattering bones. Briar followed up with an unrelenting barrage of straight punches, each strike finding its mark on Azrael¡¯s battered face. His knuckles flew, lodging into fleshy skin, again and again and again. An endless supply of punches, flying off his fists.

    Blood spilled, paving way for bruises. The redhead stumbled backwards in a drunken stagger, beaten black and blue.

    Dropping the barely conscious Azrael, Briar planted his foot over his fallen prey as he turned to Mol¡¯okh, steadying his shallow breaths. ¡°¡¯Tis a death match, yeah?¡±

    ¡°The winner will not be decided until one of you is slain.¡±

    ¡°Well, if you don¡¯t mind a knockout?¡± Briar gestured to his latest toil, with a smirk, eyeing the beaten redhead. I would much rather¡¯ve ended myself than be born so weak. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the sight of his struggling ¡®enemy.¡¯ He couldn¡¯t think of a sorrier sight than the struggling redhead. ¡°I doubt he¡¯s getting back up. Ever. Although I should¡¯ve put this chump outta his misery ages ago.¡±

    Switching his attention from the demon to Azrael, black spots swirled in front of him. A sharp, searing pain coursed through his body, dropping him on his knees, threatening to devour every ounce of his being.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening!?¡±

    Panting heavily, Azrael shook his head. I need to strike while he¡¯s distracted. Steeling his resolve with a pair of open hands, he inched forward.

    His initial bruises were caked in a fresh set of smarting wounds, amalgamating to a throbbing headache. He wanted to collapse and take a long nap. And hopefully wake up to a reality different from the nightmare he was enduring.

    Yet, he knew he couldn¡¯t look away from the predicament he was facing. He feared he may never wake up, ever, if he gave in to even a wink.

    Gritting his teeth, Azrael culled the flames spurring him on. Exhaling a breath, he emptied his mind. Reeling in a sharp breath, he lunged forward.

    Splish.

    Dropping to his knees, Briar glumly stared at the hand touching him. In a myriad of pain and disbelief, he traced the spot Azrael had targeted, his eyes widening in disbelief.

    A second splish followed, alongside the guttural screams of agony escaping his adversary¡¯s lips, his jewels crushed beyond repair.

    The redhead absolved his grip, right when Briar clutched his groin and rolled about the floor in a blaze of anguish.

    The redhead watched his opponent. A small price to pay for your sins. Gritting his teeth, Azrael clambered on top of his incapacitated enemy. But still not enough. His hands tightening around a snot mixed, tear-streaked throat. Despite his win, he could feel his strength waning, exhaustion eroding and muddling his leaden limbs. Gazing into the depths of Briar¡¯s terror glazed eyes, he summoned the last vestiges of his strength, pouring his all into crushing the windpipe beneath his fingers.

    ¡°This is agonizing to watch,¡± said Mol¡¯okh, shuddering.

    Briar watched with inevitability, coughing out incoherent cusses.

    Despite the heaviness of his bruised palpebrae, Azrael¡¯s gaze darted to the centre of the table. Granny¡¯s severed head was laid out in the middle, her features twisted in anguish. His eyes flitted back to where Briar was, the vessels in the whites of his eyes engorged with a deep crimson tint, on the verge of bursting.

    A pang of guilt weighed him down, a thought pulling at the strings of his conscience. Do I have it in me to take a life?

    Growling in annoyance, Mol¡¯okh clambered over to the brawling duo. Raising a leg above the fallen Briar, he drove his foot through the skull, crunching through cranium and spilling gyri.

    In the same motion, he grabbed Azrael by the collar, hoisting him off the fresh corpse, kicking his deceased adversary off the floor and onto the oaken table. The body slid over the wooden surface, coming to a halt at the centre till the faceless corpse was aligned with Granny¡¯s bodiless head, connected by a thin red thread.

    ¡°Jackpot,¡± said Mol¡¯okh.

    Azrael hung his head, clutching his temples, rumpling crimson tufts. ¡°End me already.¡± Sliding a quaking hand over his transfixed gaze, he sought reprieve from the grotesque brutality. He wanted the nightmare to end. To wake up. Preferably to a different reality. Or never open his eyes, ever again.

    ¡°Oh no, no. That award is for the loser. You have earned an arduous path meant for the living.¡± The creature cackled, waltzing out the orphanage, with his prize in tow.

 Cell

    Wielding a waning consciousness, Azrael barely recalled the string of events that followed. In a blink, the wreckage of his orphanage became a holding cell.

    Behind the abyss of closed lids, silver hair and a headless corpse emerged amidst the pitch-black backdrop, willing a surge of bile up his throat and yet his bare innards hardly spilled a drop.

    He switched from a tear-streaked coughing fit to a waxing and waning state of mind, till at last he heard steel clambering over cemented floors, dipping his consciousness into the void.

    *

    Water trickled down a clogged basin at irregular intervals, its incessant tap against the cracked ceramic, reverberating throughout the brick laden cell. Faint embers were lit outside his barred gates, lighting up a path along the corridor, feeding him traces of the world beyond.

    Stirring from his sleep-deprived slumber, with bruised bags hanging under his bloodshot eyes, his hair stuck out at odd angles. Awoken by the pitter-patter emanating from a leaky basin, Azrael rolled over from his back to chest, pushing off the floor. A sudden burst of pain shot up his limbs, toppling his stance, till he was reduced to a wincing coil. He clutched his face and gave in to the throbbing ache, resigning to his rotting excuse for a creaky cot.

    ¡°Did he have to hit that hard?¡± asked Azrael, biting back a curse.

    You live with pain, a small price to pay to escape death¡¯s embrace.

    Briar¡¯s voice resounded in his head, subduing the throbbing ache. He eased his battered body out his bed. Rising to his feet, he fell over, again. Extending a hand, he eagerly clutched the barred metal for assistance.

    ¡°Is any of this worth it?¡± he asked, clamping his bruised palpebrae over his eyes. His focus zeroed in on the blood-stained haunting corpses, seared onto the back of his lids.

    ¡°Living¡¯s a pain, ain¡¯t it?¡± A feminine voice perked up from an adjacent cell, her voice as clear as a summer sky, a misplaced tone in a desolate cell. ¡°If ye¡¯re gonna exist like those brain-dead zombies fer people, it really makes ya question what really qualifies as living.¡±

    Scratching his head, Azrael opened his eyes, turning towards the source of the feminine, summertime melody of a voice. He hoped to catch a glimpse of his newfound intrigue, in spite of the brick wall dividing their cells.

    ¡°Where¡¯re we?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ve no clue to be honest. But I can assure ye, we ain¡¯t in the human world. If we¡¯re, I haven¡¯t heard ¡®o a place called the Abyzz anywhere.¡±

    ¡°Abyss? Like a chasm?¡± The place sounded vaguely familiar. Mol¡¯okh had briefly mentioned the name offhand, in the midst of his jabber.

    ¡°Chasm, hell, whatever ye wanna call it. Apparently spelt with a pair ¡®o zs at the end. Anyways, it¡¯s been forever since I¡¯ve talked with a person in this hellhole. I thought I was gonna lose it in solitary confinement.¡±

    ¡°Solitary confinement? What about the people across?¡±

    ¡°Like I said. They¡¯re all nothing but walking corpses. Yer hearing¡¯s a lil¡¯ lacking.¡±

    Wailing sirens cut through the conversation, upending the flow of questions Azrael had had. The barred doors creaked open.

    Nearly halfway through, a gust of wind propelled the prisoners out the cells, including the redhead. Stumbling over, he nearly welcomed the floor with a smothering smooch.

    A sturdy arm grabbed him by the collar before he hit the ground, hoisting him to his feet. For a moment, he thought the serpentine shadows Mol¡¯okh had commanded were tailing him, piercing his heart with a round of terror.

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    ¡°Get yer act together,¡± chided the summertime melody, her voice lulling the horror he had recalled.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± said Azrael, wearily rising to his feet. He took note of his conversational partner¡¯s firm grip, as he turned around to express more of his appreciation. In that moment, he found a second helping of gratitude stuck in his throat, failing his tongue.

    Anticipating a slender maiden with clear blue eyes and flowing blonde hair, he was taken aback. Coming face to face with a hulking mass for a woman, framed by dishevelled chocolate hair and piercing amber eyes with beefy arms nearly as thick as his slight physique, and legs almost double her arms¡¯ thickness; he couldn¡¯t help but falter.

    ¡°Ye alright in there?¡± asked the summertime voice, nudging the redhead¡¯s forehead with a thick finger. Instantly, she dispelled his stupor with a sturdy touch.

    Rubbing his smarting temple, adding to the throbbing headache he had had, Azrael opened and closed his jaw, wordlessly flapping his gums.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me, ye¡¯ve already joined those dolts.¡± She gestured towards the array of prisoners standing on either side, distaste creeping into her voice. ¡°Before they make yer first day yer last, allow me to introduce myself. Me name¡¯s Stella.¡±

    ¡°Oh right,¡± he said, with a jolt. ¡°I¡¯m Azrael.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s either nice to meet ya or goodbye,¡± she said with a sigh.

    ¡°Huh? What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Ye¡¯ll see.¡±

    Fumes poured into the prison corridor, coiling and swerving the corners as a serpent, propelling the lined-up prisoners towards an entryway.

    ¡°Follow the crowd.¡± She reached out and squeezed Azrael¡¯s arm, nearly crushing the bones underneath.

    He winced, disgruntled. He tried hiding his pain as well as he could but she had gripped the one part of him that wasn¡¯t bruised and yet it still hurt.

    The gust of fumes shuffled them in a single file, nearly toppling over non-compliant prisoners, as the vapours willed them forward.

    The redhead heard an occasional scream or two, from behind. The moment he took a closer look at the rest of the prisoners, he realised what Stella had meant. Blank faced with almost mask-like expressions were plastered across the features of both men and women, who walked about mechanically, like cogs in a wheel.

    ¡°Are they really human?¡± he asked, walking at a steady pace.

    ¡°Can¡¯t blame ¡®em.¡± She brushed past him, walking at nearly double his pace. ¡°This place can weigh heavily on the hearts ¡®o the ordinary. Surviving in here requires real mettle.¡±

    ¡°Could you be more specific?¡±

    ¡°Fer now, steel yer resolve. Focus on a reason, any reason, on why ye wanna continue living past this place.¡± Stella¡¯s warning held a certain edge as she came to an abrupt halt, in front of a pair of unguarded iron doors.

    A nauseating stench welcomed the prisoners past the entryway. Azrael wrinkled his nose in blatant revulsion, taking a tentative step back.

    Maybe it¡¯s something else. He wanted it to be something else. ¡°Did someone forget to clean up their barf?¡± he asked in a quaking voice.

    ¡°Ye¡¯re not wrong.¡±

    Every fourth or fifth prisoner, especially the ones shuffling past the iron doors than the ones already there, broke down into a retching and gagging riot. Just plain old vomit then.

    He noticed the expressionless inmates maintained an unperturbed visage, despite the erratic screeches interspersed amongst their ranks.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised ye haven¡¯t begun wailing like the rest of ¡®em fresh meat,¡± said Stella.

    Swallowing against a lump in his throat, he tore his attention away from her hulking frame. DAMMIT!

    Inevitability gripped him like a tight noose around his throat, as his eyes fell upon a familiar sight.

    Like a blade to the gut, he doubled over.

    He retched, summoning bile from the pith of his existence and out his lips. He wanted to expel every ounce of fluid, shed every tear moistening his eyes. And yet not an ounce of liquid left him.

    Wiping his mouth, he had barely spilled any spittle. His lips were cracked and was on the brink of bruising. Another wound ready to be.

    Shaking his hand and head, he forged on, breaking free from his outburst. His gaze crawled over flecks of crimson staining the white-washed rectangular chamber, like masterful strokes over a blank canvas. Strewn bits of muscle, sinew and bones littered the ground beneath. The whole setup was a reminder of the humbling form flesh could take.

    Over the sights he took in, the plump mounds hoisted silver hair, and a headless corpse. Blinking confusedly, the redhead rubbed his eyes, having a second take of the familiar corpses over the desecrated cadavers. Amidst his turmoil, metal pressed into his hands dissolved the ghosts of the past that he couldn¡¯t shelve.

    ¡°Our job¡¯s simple,¡± said Stella, leaving a reach extender and a dozen disposal bags in his possession. ¡°We toss the remains into the bags and nab more ¡®o the plastic from the walls. Once they¡¯re full, toss ¡®em in the opposite corner.¡± She gestured using the hand holding her own implements, guiding him to the work ahead. ¡°Keep yer hands moving, no matter what. Once ye start, don¡¯t stop until ye hear ¡®em alarms from earlier, otherwise¡­¡±

    She shifted her gaze towards a sniffling boy, who was only younger than Azrael by a year or two. He had broken down in a full-fledged hysterical bout, his implements strewn about. His wails went on for a half breath longer. Then, he was cut short by a flash of steel, extending off a pole.

    The scythe had materialised from thin air, wielded by a dark garbed apparition who kept adding corpses to the leftover pile. Reach extenders clacked, and plastic ruffled, grabbing and bagging necrotic flesh and coagulated blood globs.

    Azrael could feel the gears of his limbs moving, mirroring the people he had dismissed as mere ¡®cogs.¡¯

 Pumping Iron

    Closing up his forty-ninth bag and popping open the fiftieth one for the remnants of a shattered bone, he could hear an alarm in the distance. It rang far off, in a land out of his reach, while he sank into a watery abyss. Deeper and deeper.

    His body dragged him over a half limb shorn off of a torso and stuck through a hollow skull. He shuffled back and forth, trying to untangle the debris from the mangled mess. His mind harboured no thoughts but the task in front of him, reverting to a blank slate reflecting the lacklustre whitewashed walls, long before they had been violated by abject carnage.

    ¡°Azrael,¡± came a voice from afar. ¡°Azrael, oi AZRAEL!¡± The voice morphed into a firm grip on his shoulder, wrenching him free of his reach extender and plastic bags. ¡°We¡¯re done fer the day. Throw yer last bag aside and hang up yer tools. We¡¯re getting outta here.¡± Stella had grabbed him and nearly swept him off the floor, the gesture raising the question if he was no lighter than air?

    Shaking off his daze, he blinked in confusion, holding his tongue. He nodded in agreement, and she dropped him with a thud. Brushing off the flecks, clinging on to his garb, he decided to obey the hulking woman for now, as she led him out the chamber.

    Before he knew it, in a blur of lights and ushering fumes, he was seated beside her, silently slurping on a bowl of gruel and nibbling on stale bread.

    ¡°One helluva first day, eh?¡± said Stella, wolfing down her measly meal in three and a half mouthfuls. ¡°I wish they¡¯re less stingy with the portions after all the grunt-work they force unto us in the ¡®Carnage Room.¡¯¡± She clacked her tongue and frowned for emphasis. ¡°What¡¯re ye waiting fer, eat up or ye won¡¯t grow at yer age.¡± She snatched Azrael¡¯s spoon, forcefully stuffing a serving of gruel down his throat.

    He shook his head, nearly choking on his third mouthful he was force-fed, coughing up the sour gunk. ¡°I can eat with my own hands.¡± He snatched his spoon back from her, acknowledging the appetite he had supressed. When was the last time I¡¯d eaten? Moreover, how long has it been since I even got here?

    ¡°Looks like there¡¯s still hope fer ye,¡± she said, tousling his hair. A smile crossed her face while the redhead scarfed down the last morsels of his meal, nearly matching her pace.

    While he was hogging, his vision teared up with greying silvers amongst the tousled chocolate. In a rapid flurry of blinks, he dispelled the intrusive overlay, glossing over the pangs of guilt welling up within. He swallowed the last of his gruel and rose to his feet.

    Everyone from the orphanage is dead. From the looks of it, they aren¡¯t the only casualty Mol¡¯okh¡¯s created. His eyes panned the surroundings, hearing the stifled clack of cutlery and bowls, shifting positions, while a horde of people sat by themselves, widening the space the vacant benches held. They bore looks, more damning than the dead themselves. Hundreds, if not thousands of others, have fallen to his merciless savagery.

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    He clenched his fists, setting his emptied bowl aside.

    ¡°Stella,¡± he managed in a faltering tone, brimming with the bare bones of resolve. ¡°What¡¯s the routine here like?¡±

    ¡°Oh, ye¡¯ve regained yer strength?¡± She pushed herself off the chair, beckoning him to follow. ¡°Good question. After our meals, the lot of us get downtime to do as we please fer a few hours. Most prisoners mindlessly wander about, going back and forth between exercise, and senselessly opening and closing a couple ¡®o books. Can¡¯t really blame ¡®em, especially after what ye saw. But that doesn¡¯t mean I wanna rot away fer the rest ¡®o my life. If ye¡¯ve an opportunity, ye¡¯ve got to make the most ¡®o it.¡± Stella held up a pumped-up arm, donning an expression set to conquer the world.

    All the questions he had had in his mind vanished in that instant, besieged by a voracious urge. ¡°How do I get strong?¡±

    ¡°Yer mind can only handle so much. But if ye discipline yer body through conditioning, ye can build an indomitable will. Rather than spewing jargon, it¡¯s better if I show ye my spartan regime.¡±

    Nodding his head in gratitude, he decided to follow her lead till he found his foothold in prison.

    ¡°Compound lifts make the core fundamentals,¡± she said, grabbing a pair of dumbbells nearly as round as her boulder shoulders. ¡°We start with some bench-press, dumbbell edition, to establish a good mind-muscle connection. Now ye gotta drop yer ego and pick a pair from the other end ¡®o the rack.¡±

    The duo stood in front of an array of weights, standing before half as many weathered, threadbare remnants of leather benches. Needless to say, she had taken Azrael to the side possessing the heaviest set of weights.

    He followed her advice, deciding to half the pair of 50 kg dumbbells she had grabbed. On closer inspection he decided the 25 kg ones intimidated him and decided to drop the weight by another 10 kgs, barely managing to hoist the pair of 15 kgs off the rack.

    ¡°Lighter!¡± commanded Stella from the opposite end of the rack.

    The redhead dropped the weights by a further 5 kgs, comfortably whisking off the pair of 10 kgs and walked over to his ¡®supposed¡¯ trainer.

    She propped herself up on a bench, planting her feet firmly on the ground, pumping out each 50 kg dumbbell effortlessly. Meanwhile, he watched with a keen eye, tracing each arc of her body, noticing the subtle twitches of her rising chest and pumped delts awakening a tributary of veins.

    Rising up from the bench into a seated position, she placed her dumbbells on her thighs, and then, rose to her feet, positioning the weights on the rack. Her muscles bulged, engorged with blood, hulking up her colossal frame.

    ¡°Now it¡¯s yer turn.¡± She gestured to the bench, a smug smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

    Azrael walked over with his pair of 10 kg dumbbells, barely managing to haul the weights off his seated position to his chest.

    ¡°No, no, no, NO!¡± admonished Stella. ¡°Did I plop down, and bicep curl the weights into position!?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± asked Azrael, knitting his eyebrows.

    ¡°Place ¡®em on yer knees and push it ¡®o into position.¡± She held a steady hand over the weights, urging him to rectify his slip-up.

    Brows stuck in a confused knot, he began questioning the weight of his latest commitment.

 Toil

    ¡°Up, up, up.¡± The summertime melody turned into a revved-up fever pitch, hovering under a pair of shaky arms.

    Roaring his lungs out, Azrael struggled to push the weights. His arms quaked and quivered, but he wasn¡¯t going to give up. He could feel his hands dip. His wrists felt like they were going to snap, but he held on.

    Struggling for breath, he compelled his body to push with every fibre of his being. Hoisting the pair of dumbbells over his chest, the veins on his forehead were on the verge of bursting. Expelling the last of his lungs¡¯ reserves, he pushed with every ounce of strength he could summon, extending his elbows all the way through.

    A victorious hail parted his and Stella¡¯s lips in sync, at the moment of triumph. He nearly dropped the pair of dumbbells with a mighty heave, gasping in disbelief. Wary of Stella reprimanding him, he set the weights on his thighs.

    She held out a fist, her lips arcing a plentiful smile radiating the brilliance of the summer sun.

    Azrael bumped his fist against hers, declaring a boisterous: ¡°HELL YAAAAA!¡±

    ¡°Now ye can try the big boys,¡± she said, picking up 36 kg dumbbells in one hand, dangling the pair of weights like feathers.

    The colour drained from the redhead¡¯s face, his eyebrow twitching from how effortlessly she handed him weights that he had no chance of pushing past.

    ¡°Looking back on the last year, I¡¯ve come far. But don¡¯t you think you¡¯re pushing me a little too hard?¡± Azrael had the weights on his thighs swapped out, his heart sinking.

    ¡°Nonsense.¡± She scoffed, whacking his back with a pat that nearly tipped him over the bench.

    Biting back a protest, he hauled the weights into position, ready to give the current set his all.

    Staggering out the gym, tipping from side to side, he was closer to a cripple in his present state than the pinnacle of human might Stella embodied. Comparing his and her physique was like night and day, albeit he had managed to adapt to her spartan regime quicker than he had anticipated.

    Returning to his cell, he plopped down on his bed, his muscles turning to lead on impact. Rolling about, he nestled into a comfortable position, his head hanging over the edge, viewing an inverted world through a pair of curious eyes.

    In that moment, he could feel the twitching and soothing over troughs and crests, of spasming muscles, almost meditative in its melody. Amidst his brief solace, a commotion disrupted the peace. Emerging from the shadows, a hooded figure, ethereal in nature, dragged a feeble prisoner with lifeless legs away from the Carnage Room.

    ¡°I wonder where they¡¯re heading to?¡± Over the past year, he had noticed prisoners vanish, here and there, a part of everyday life within the prison walls.

    He had poked around, tried talking to the others in an effort to gather information about the vanishing prisoners. All he had received were disoriented grunts and nonsensical babbling in response. Stella had been the lone source of any substantial insight, being the only source of meaningful interaction among the prisoners, but even she wasn¡¯t knowledgeable about the disappearances. Shrugging his shoulders, he shelved the thought for another day.

    Apart from the gym, Azrael had spent the rest of his days pouring over the gargantuan collection of books the prison library had held. He had taken an interest in the workings of the human body, studying anatomy in great detail, comparing theory with the hands-on experience he had received cleaning up the ¡®Carnage Room.¡¯ The initial three days were the hardest, trying to stomach the brutality of his clean up duty. But a sudden shift in mindset from slave work to learning, keeping his mind occupied in the span of a week. Each time he sighted a newbie enter the ¡®Carnage Room,¡¯ he was reminded of his growth in the past year.

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    His one lingering fatal flaw was the recurrent nightmares plaguing his slumber, vivid with a decapitated body aligned alongside a head with flowing silver hair. He¡¯d wake up in a pool of cold sweat, panting heavily and clutching his slightly built chest, his heart nearly crawling out his throat. He was reminded religiously of his grim past like a hounding mutt, relentless biting through chunks of flesh, till he was nothing but an eviscerated bag of bones, gnawed clean.

    *

    ¡°The lifestyle here settles down quick, when ye get a routine going.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I can¡¯t complain.¡± Azrael couldn¡¯t think of a time he had found peace, living in his orphanage. An oppressive world, with fiends for brothers. You might think living amongst those without parents would ignite a spark of comradery, but it could just as easily breed resentment. A ground for relentless bullying.

    Currently, he eyed the rows of mindless prisoners, a world filled up with zombies or timid inmates, keeping clear of all, tending to their tasks as diligently as newly birthed fledgelings.

    ¡°Makes ye wanna think what hell we lived through back home.¡± Stella slid her palms behind her head, leading Azrael to the next set of weights in her regime.

    ¡°Hell? Perhaps one with more commitments than this place. With a bit more to eat than soupy gruel, but people worse off than zombies.¡±

    Stella tossed him a look over her shoulders. Her face was etched with an expression that wasn¡¯t surprise. But rather a sordid acceptance.

    It was strange to think of his home, of a world that was more demonic in its own right. A world wherein wolves were cloaked in sheepskin, playing at being human.

    ¡°Even then. There are some somethings ye just can¡¯t brush aside. Close stuff. Like family and the sort.¡±

    ¡°Ah, I have no worries about a family,¡± scoffed Azrael. ¡°Never had any to begin with. Or whatever I did have, was taken from me. Forever. Leaving me as the only one standing.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s freeing to be relieved from yer shackles,¡± agreed Stella, sliding in the plates over a rusty bar. ¡°To think loss is what teaches ye what ye take for granted in everyday life. And yet, we realise, being here that we want to be free. A lie we tell all, especially ourselves. Ye¡¯d much rather complain of being shackled to people, pretend to fit in amongst a company ye don¡¯t like, than break off from a pack, ye don¡¯t belong with.¡±

    The redhead clutched his chest. He had enough time to recover from his last exercise. And yet, his heart thundered.

    ¡°Perhaps those that come here, have a similar burden.¡±

    Stella nodded, her fingers tightening around the bar. In a sharp tug, weights flew off into the air, lighter than a feather.

    And yet we all act different. Lack a shred of comradery, despite toiling through a hell that weigh on us, more cumbersome than manacle and chain. Talking amongst just the pair of us, while the rest shirk away, accepting their situation for what it is than lament for a better world.

    Wiping the sweat off his brow, Azrael assessed his handiwork, turning over a skinned limb in his reach extender. Tracing the frayed muscles from origin to insertion, he matched theory to practice, sliding a finger over the curves and slipping under the tough tissue to feel for the vessels and nerves.

    ¡°What¡¯re ye doing?¡± asked Stella, who was perpetually sceptical of his examinations, topped up by gooseflesh.

    ¡°I¡¯ve told you a million times now. I¡¯m learning human anatomy.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± She tilted her head sideways, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Ah whateva.¡±

    Azrael noticed a night swathe apparition wielding a scythe, hovering towards him. Waving the weapon at him, he picked up a stray kneecap and threw it in the bag. The apparition shook its hooded visage, waiving all concern. What are they? Do they disappear into oblivion or dissipate into smoke? He noticed the ethereal guards of the prison slip in and out of the room, emerging on cue to terminate any inmates ¨Cnew or old --¨Cwho failed to do their chores. ¡°They could be around every moment, shadowing us.¡±

    ¡°Quit yer yammering and get on with it!¡± growled Stella, nudging him with her reach extender.

    Azrael shuddered, stuffing the limb into a bag. He picked up his reach extender and continued with his work for the day. Occasionally, he turned over an intact fleshy lump, away from Stella¡¯s wary eyes. Till she yelled again, in his direction.

 The Haunting Past

    Toiling through another hard day at work, and working out, Azrael found himself exhaustively crashing on his creaky, barely-held-together cot. A limp forearm covered his forehead, while his second arm hung loosely off the ledge, nearly touching the cemented dirt. A sense of serenity washed over him, recalling a quote he had held onto since he was a child.

    ¡°A grey existence is tantamount to death.¡± He swished the words around his mouth, trying to place where he¡¯d come across the saying. Or maybe it was my own creation. A smile cracked across his exhausted features, savouring his moment of solace in prison, a luxury he could rarely afford in his earlier days.

    Abruptly, a distraught voice dissolved his serenity, spurring him to his feet. The unmistakable summertime melody had his heart pounding, drowning out the exhaustion and solace he had given in to.

    Gripping the bars of his cell, he frantically searched for the source of the voice. A pair of amber eyes met his own, wrought with abject fear hounding cornered prey. Despite the rippling muscles shaping up her physique, Stella was helpless against the translucent apparition, who had its hands wrapped around her, dragging her out her cell and to the end of the hallway, away from the ¡®Carnage Room.¡¯

    What awaited at the end of the hallway, Azrael was unaware of. Right then, he realised he had been devoured by his misplaced solace, helpless against her screams. Her brown tangles of hair whipped back and forth, her lips mouthing past the screams: ¡°RUN AWAY AZRAEL!¡±

    Reaching out through the length of steel, he extended his arms, his fingers leagues away from reaching her. The space that divided them lengthened with each desperate breath, while the chocolate tangles disappeared from sight. However, her screams persisted, lasting an eternity longer.

    Once her voice had abated, the deafening silence besieged him, opening a void that devoured his despair wrought existence. What remains for me here? Do I too act like the others, give in to the world that I am forced to exist within than live the way I¡¯d wanted?

    *

    Action spurred on by an empty vessel, working a hollowed-out routine, led mindlessly like the gears of a machine, described the state the imprisoned humans had amounted to. A state of near death, and yet existent. Deprived of will and purpose.

    Did the mind push the body, or the body lug the mind?

    His days were consumed by the demands of prison work, dictating every waking moment he lived. His mind grew numb as he immersed himself in studying books on the intricacies of the human body. Matching the lifeless cadavers to the theories he learnt of, passively storing the knowledge without a true sense of purpose. He continued in a mechanically adherent manner to the workout routine Stella had provided, detached from the conscious flow of time.

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    Time. I¡¯m not sure if it could be measured in days, weeks or months. Years and decades wouldn¡¯t have been all that farfetched, or perhaps it had been a half-day or mere heartbeats that had come to pass.

    Sitting at his propped-up bench, he mindlessly impelled through weights he had no recollection of, pumping his blood and pulsing his heart, till his body was a wreck pushed past the limit. Sweating bucketfuls, he realised he had reached the end of his tasks for the day. The cadavers were packed and stowed away, his body battered to a pulp by the workout regime. The slick sweat tainting his back and every crevice of his being, was a sign he had pushed past his physical limits for the day.

    Till tomorrow then.

    Prying his frame off the bench, he dragged himself over to his cell. A room that remained the same as ever, except for the missing summertime melody that had whiled away his time. Time he could do a little less with, especially the moments he had spent by himself.

    Entering his cage¡¯s confines, he let loose a weak stream of water, as he peeled off his rags for a tunic. From the clogged basin, he drew in the pitter-pattering water with scooped palms, tossing the murky wet over his face and rubbed it down his neck. He kneaded the water under his arms and splattered some more over his back and chest.

    He took in deep breaths, easing his pounding heart, as he stared at a cracked mirror, eyeing the fragments splitting his face into a medley of disjointed body parts, scattered about, like a puzzle. Or rather a monster.

    He scoffed at the thought.

    Me? A monster? Wouldn¡¯t that be a sight worth seeing?

    He pulled a dirty rag off the edge of the basin, dabbing it against the wet. Cooled off from his arduous heat haze of work, he felt lighter, despite the chasm devouring the part of him where his heart was. Shaking his head, he tossed the rag over the edge of the basin and dragged his body over to his cot.

    He watched the ceiling wordlessly, as he awaited the lull of slumber. Perhaps falling asleep in a timeless, windowless cell was meant to be easier than being governed by the rise and fall, of daylight. Or the ear-splitting death throes of a rooster. He allowed a faint smirk to touch his lips, a rough gesture that felt like he was using muscles he had long forgotten of, as his lids dipped over a heated set of pink orbs.

    In the canvas of darkness, an oaken table with a headless corpse and a silver haired head was laid out on a platter, alongside the appearance of amber eyes and chocolate brown hair, fluttering in the windless oblivion.

    Stella never met his gaze, her body was unblemished and beautifully sculpted, laid out over the table.

    Breathing a sigh of relief, he reached out, sprinting towards her. His fingers extended, the tips yearning for a long-forgotten touch. Of warmth he had long forsaken.

    A flash tore through his vision, temporarily blackening out his line of sight, in a wave of interference.

    It mattered little to him as he forged on, his feet carrying him further and further, caring little if he hit the edge or stumbled over. He had more at stake than simple bruises or a cut. Wounds healed over time, paving way for silvering scars. But memories were forever, especially the haunting kind.

    Blinking the blur out his eyes, his vision readjusted.

    Stella remained where she was.

    In the next instant, her muscles were shrunken. Hollows hounded the sagging flesh, beneath her eyes. She remained where she was, unmoving.

    Scythes danced and bit into flesh, till a bloody splatter was all that remained.

    Eyes pried open, the redhead found himself violated. The lingering remnants of sleep clung to him like a heavy shroud, leaving his throat parched and his frame drenched in a cold sweat. With each laboured breath, his chest rose and fell. The bruised sagging bags, reminiscent of battle scars, hung under the bloodshot whites of his eyes, mirroring the turmoil within.

 Marble Slab

    Clutching half a shattered hip in the reach extender, he unconsciously twirled the bone and frayed muscle dipped in dried blood, stuffing it in his garbage bag. With a heavy sigh, he cast a weary gaze upon the daunting task before him. The towering pile of corpses had his shoulders slumped under the weight of the half-empty body bag pulling at his fingers.

    Stepping on a clump of hair, he began digging through the piles of cadavers, rummaging listlessly for a second set of hips. I doubt I¡¯ll find the other half but might as well give it a shot. Delving into a hill of limbs and torsos, a sturdy lump met the clutches of his reach extender. Turning over his latest catch, he unveiled a tough length of muscle, freshly bled out.

    Creasing his brow, he dug further into the mass of meat, extracting a torn thigh attached to a dangling knee cap. Amidst his feelings of emptiness and anguish, an overlooked emotion welled up.

    Curiosity knit a thread of thought, converging his focus on the mystery hunk of meat. Lifting his foot, he examined the mangled clump of hair accompanying it, pouring over the grains of muscle.

    An apparition materialised from the peripherals of his vision. He quickly tucked the muddled, matted strands in his pocket. Cussing under his breath, he continued to cram the limbs and torsos around him into the bags, waiving the apparitions¡¯ attention.

    Returning to his cell, he let loose a weak stream of water, running the matted hair under the clogged basin. Rinsing the blood out the muddled clump, he held the strands under the dimmed glare of the prison¡¯s lamplight, examining his catch with zealous scrutiny.

    As he began pouring over the strands in his hand, the door to his cell clanged open, revealing a translucent apparition with a scythe slung across its back. A hooded face watched him with a vacant expression, extending a hand.

    Raising an eyebrow, he allowed himself to be distracted from the tuft of hair, wearily holding out his own hand. An ethereal sensation gripped him, a firm set of tendrils wrapping around him. Reeled in by a sudden tug, he was dragged against his will, led by the ethereal creature out his cell, heading in the direction away from the ¡®Carnage Room.¡¯

    A day he should have seen coming. Perhaps one he had been expecting, for a while.

    The steel bars of his cell creaked, closing and opening in a stuttering clamour. A sight he would be parting ways with. Just as he did with his room at the orphanage. And Stella.

    He remembered the moment when her tousled brown tangles had sailed past, weaving a curtain of despair as she disappeared around the corner. Chocolate hair that had turned to blood matted clumps, thought Azrael. A sigh curled off the corners of his lips, allowing the shackles of fate to lead him by his hand.

    Propped up against a cool pale slab, the apparition fastened a set of shackles around his wrists and ankles, tightening the icy metal till his extremities had their colour drained.

    The ethereal being had whisked him away in a breeze, sifting past doors, till it deposited him in a scarcely lit chamber hosting a marble slab, serving as a beacon of light in the unknown void. Lying flat against the slab, the redhead¡¯s world began to shift, as it moved in a smooth motion, sliding upright under the pull of a lever.

    The apparition completed a final check, before dispersing into tendrils melting into the shadows.

    The soft glow of dim lights brought the poorly lit chamber into sharp focus. On cue, a figure approached from the parting depths of the velvety darkness, accompanied by footfalls echoing against the polished granite floor. The steps grew in intensity until a striking, dark-skinned man emerged into view. His tailored suit exuded a moonlit brilliance, illuminating the starless night surrounding him. Shoulder-length braids framed his face, giving him an air of confidence and poise. He carried a briefcase mirroring the gleam of his immaculate attire, clasped under an unrelenting grip.

    Reaching out with a curious set of fingers, the dark-skinned male felt around Azrael¡¯s arms and chest, squeezing his muscles with a hum, running his tongue over a wry smile. ¡°A fine bodied specimen you have turned into.¡±

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    ¡°Huh?¡± uttered the redhead, tilting his head to the side, glossing over the dark-skinned man¡¯s inspective touch. Cocking his head to the side, he continued, ¡°have we met before?¡±

    ¡°Did you forget me already? How cruelllll!!!¡± cooed the man, tapping his foot on a panel beside Azrael¡¯s marble slab. A collection of blades popped up from the floor, displaying hundreds of scalpels of varying lengths and makes. ¡°Fret not, allow me to jog your memory.¡± Selecting a slender, triangular bladed scalpel with a broad handle, he traced an arc through the air.

    A wire-thin scratch etched its mark on his shoulder, slicing through the fabric of his tunic. The delicate wound bubbled crimson, but hesitated before oozing forth in fine rivulets, adorning his skin with a ruby trail.

    ¡°Oh wait,¡± said the dark-skinned male. ¡°My current form is addling your brain.¡± His throat clearing echoed in the dimness as the man took a step back, arms outstretched in an unsettling display. His tongue glided over his lower lip, revealing an air of anticipation, while the shadows protracted and enveloped him like a cloak. The darkness swirled and twisted, coalescing into fur wrought from an extension of the surrounding obscurity, bristling like spines.

    The night spat out a towering creature, wearing talons for fingers. A pair of bloodshot orbs implored past Azrael¡¯s face, prying open a window into his soul.

    A wave of apprehension washed over the bound redhead, with the dawn of recognition.

    ¡°Y-YOU!?¡± said Azrael, his voice quaveringly shrill.

    ¡°Me.¡±

    The creature known as Mol¡¯okh winked in acknowledgement. He twirled the scalpel around his talons for fingers, flashing an expansive smile.

    ¡°YOU!¡± repeated Azrael, struggling against his restraints. Jangling his shackles against the smooth marble, he squirmed and roared with a vigour he hadn¡¯t managed to summon since Stella¡¯s disappearance.

    ¡°Now that is more like it.¡± Mol¡¯okh jabbed the scalpel into the wire-thin scratch he had carved into the redhead¡¯s shoulder, spouting a jet of blood.

    Howling in agony, he threw his head back against the smooth marble, blackspots dancing before his eyes. ¡°Why? Why¡¯d you bring me here?¡±

    ¡°Here? The prison you mean? Or my torture chamber?¡± the dark-clad beast cupped a hand over his ear, leaning towards his bound prey. ¡°Are you questioning me? Shackled like the deadweight you are?¡± He let out a deep, throaty chuckle, his fingers curling around a handful of crimson hair. He brought their faces close together, his eyes narrowed as he carefully studied Azrael¡¯s expression. ¡°The greatest despair you taste, is one that you do not see coming. You have to let your victim marinate in pleasure, allow them a brief respite of bliss, until tragedy strikes and wrecks their soul in an ocean of despair.¡±

    Azrael narrowed his eyes, huffing in silent loathe.

    ¡°Perhaps you need more of a push than a nudge.¡± Mol¡¯okh tapped the floor yet again. On his whim, a second collection of items popped up, hidden behind a glass cabinet, revealing matted hair and glossy heads. ¡°My personal collection over the years. The finest prisoners gain the honour of being housed as spoils of war.¡± Reaching into the cabinet, he plucked a head off the top left corner, twirling it like a child¡¯s toy on his index talon.

    The head spun in a reeking blur of formaldehyde, urging the redhead to wrinkle his nose in disgust, momentarily numbing the agony besieging his shoulder.

    ¡°What is that thing, in your hand?¡± he asked. Wet strands clung to the redhead¡¯s uninjured hand, grasped tight. Grabbing the twirling head and flitting his gaze back and forth between the hair and the head, a second bout of laughter escaped Mol¡¯okh¡¯s dark, moistened lips.

    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± seethed Azrael.

    ¡°Oh, oh, OH! You did not notice.¡± The dark-clad beast turned the head in his hand, revealing a face Azrael was all too familiar with.

    In that instant his rage withered, his resolve crumbled, lost in a sea of violability. All he could feel was a knot tighten his guts while the march of time came to a standstill. Releasing his grip on the clump of hair, all the emotions he had held onto was severed, all except one. Piercing through the haze of uncertainty and turmoil, an indescribable vial of stained despair in a monochrome abyss spilled out, disrupting every grain of existence.

    ¡°Stella¡­¡± Azrael whispered, a barely audible plea. His vision blurred, wetting his warm cheeks.

    ¡°Wail to your heart¡¯s content and parch your throat dry in a maelstrom of curses.¡± Mol¡¯okh cackled, dangling the decapitated head by her chocolate hair.

    Past the redhead¡¯s blurry vision, he noticed one of her eyes were missing, replaced by a hollow socket and her mouth was twisted in horror, scarred and charred. In the depths of his heart, he yearned to hear her voice once more, even though he knew her summertime melody would never grace his ears ever again.

    The dark clad beast reached for his scalpel, ripping the blade out of Azrael¡¯s shoulder, eliciting a silent whimper from his prisoner. ¡°Come on now. You can do better than that. Where is your drive for vengeance?¡± Tracing wide arcs with his triangular blade, he carved out chunks of flesh, spilling liquid crimson in droves.

    A surge of raw carnage parted Azrael¡¯s lips, his sense of reality severed from the binds of actuality. Past a slipping consciousness, he could make out Granny¡¯s bodiless head and Briar¡¯s headless corpse looming before him, adding Stella¡¯s mutilated head to the mix, atop the oaken table. A platter of the memorable dead was laid out, muddling the planes of existence.

    ¡°Did you enjoy your little solace?¡± asked Mol¡¯okh, skinning the redhead alive without a shred of concern. ¡°You play a wondrous symphony of torment, coherent with the strokes of a maestro conducting the orchestra¡¯s musical notes into a fine mix of orderly chaos. Ah yesssss, allow me to devour everything that makes you, you.¡±

 A Better World

    "Oi Azrael. Azrael! Come on up, already.¡±

    Awakening from his cot, the redhead saw chocolate waves bristling past his temples. A brilliant smile shone through the bleak darkness. A faint glimmer of hope. One that he would hold on to with every fibre of his being. Extending a hand, he reached out.

    Warm palms cupped his hands, pulling him to his feet. A row of beds rested beside him, all neatly arranged and dusted. Devoid of a blemish.

    A sight he wasn¡¯t sure he would ever come to see.

    ¡°C¡¯mon now. Breakfast¡¯s ready.¡±

    He could feel his lips work, drawing up muscles he had long forgotten existed. Touching a tender finger to his face, he could feel the corners of his lips drawn up, parting a lightness, that unburdened the heaviness in his chest.

    A gentle breeze caressed his cheek, feeling the rising rays of a poignant sun throwing the chamber into a dance of shadows.

    He followed Stella, shuffling past the doorframe, leaving the room behind. He rounded a corner under her guidance, hurrying down the stairs. Her warmth crawled up his arm, her firm grip pulling him along.

    The wood tickled his bare feet, the worn-out bark a fleeting memory, fading with every stride he took. He was led down to the orphanage¡¯s foyer, as he kicked off the last step.

    The shadows lingered around, scuttling about the corners, nooks and crannies. The ever-watchful darkness was aware of his existence and yet stuck to the background.

    The scent of burning pinewood tickled his nares, as Stella reeled him over to a table. Pushing him into a chair, she took a seat beside him, her radiant smile, brighter than ever.

    In front of him, a plate of baked bread was laid alongside cold cheese and sliced meat.

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    ¡°Finally, food fitting us hardworking folk. None of that sour gunk no more.¡±

    ¡°Take as much as you like, dears.¡± A frail yet firm voice tendered his ears. His eyes shifted to the source of the sound. Eyes widened as his world blurred.

    ¡°Granny.¡± He nearly choked on his words, holding back a sob. Sliding off his seat, he extended a hand, his fingers reaching out, lengthening with every step forward.

    ¡°Off to wonderland, already? A little too early in the game for that!¡±

    The summertime melody paved way for a voice from the depths of the abyss. Silver hair moulted, moulding a vivacious darkness into sharp focus.

    Blades cut into flesh, splaying red flecks. Steels pillaged his arms, carving out chunks, gouging out what remained of his form.

    ¡°Granny¡­¡± he groaned. The very words had him sputter, dribbling a length of slobber down his chin. An effort barely worth the struggle.

    Then again, he would rather welcome the physical pain, a pleasurable lull to the ailing thoughts plaguing his mind. It was proof that he was still alive. A strange notion. It made him question whether the struggle was worth it. But that choice was never his to make.

    To think loss is what gives life purpose. Is this what it takes to avoid a grey existence?

    But that did little to stifle the screams. A distant sound. And yet so close by.

    He could feel his throat turn raw, his eyes slid over to the tips of his fingers. A clean nail was severed from the digit. Steel dug into the wedge at the far end of his limb, nipping bone and skin off his finger.

    The screams intensified. A harrowing howl. A never-ending scream. If only they¡¯d put a muzzle on that wild mutt and shut his barking maw up!

    His throat hurt worse, gurgling up a raw rush of burgundy tipples, wetting his chest.

    Maybe that¡¯s why they feed me gruel. Turn that pale broth into wine. Raising an eyebrow hurt more than ever, but it was a reflex he had little control over. It¡¯s the secret ingredient to their liquor. Suffering¡¯s the secret sauce.

    He dribbled red wet, curving the corners of his lips. The act was more an ache that cut deeper into his sore jaws. A brief respite from a horrendous reality.

    ¡°What has got you grinning from ear to ear?¡± cackled Mol¡¯okh.

    A second nail dropped from his hand. A sausage of a bulge followed the clipped nail. A red rush, thereafter, lamenting the loss of a lover.

    The screaming intensified, nearly clawing his ears out the head with its splitting shriek.

    Why oh why, does the screaming continue? What moron can go on, without hacking out his throat in such painful howls!?

    He could feel his innards ache, his gullet itch, as he broke into a coughing fit.

    Perhaps the same idiot who can¡¯t tell his voice apart from another, pinning the blame on all else but himself.

    Mol¡¯okh¡¯s cackle persisted, echoing after an eternity of screams.

 Purgatory

    Did it ever truly matter? The business of living, was it a hoax? A wild goose chase? It¡¯s all so grey, devoid of a dash of colour.

    He hung loosely, limp and bound by shackles against a faintly pale marble. Flecks of blood and muscle fibres stained the slab a shade similar to his hair.

    Blood pitter-pattered, alongside the screeches of white maggots from a necrotic wrist and ankle. The larvae crawled over to the half-eaten hand and foot that lay below the limp Azrael.

    On reflex, he wriggled the last set of fingers and toes he was left with, eyeing the severed remnants of his once familiar extremities being devoured at a painstakingly slow pace. It felt as though his limbs were still attached, and the insects crawled across intact flesh, setting his hairs on end. But then again, it was the lone scenery he bore sight to, apart from Mol¡¯okh¡¯s maniacal dance of blades.

    At the time he wasn¡¯t entirely sure when his bowels and bladder moved, but he was glad he had a personal attendant who moped his excreta once a day. The same apparition who tended to him was also in charge of feeding him gruel, which was devoid of any specific flavour, prolonging his existence evermore. He was closer to a sentient vegetable in his current state than a rotisserie chicken shredded alive, barely latching onto the embers of life.

    ¡°Can¡¯t it all just come to an end?¡±

    Speaking hurt.

    Breathing hurt.

    Living hurt.

    Despite the torment he had endured, death was nowhere in sight.

    Is it a luxury I can¡¯t afford? What price must I pay to reach the end?

    All his questions were devoid of a single clue that would lead him down the path to salvation, free him of his mortal coil.

    An emptiness beseeched him, looming over his battered state. There was nothing else he could do. And yet, within the depths of who he was, a flame flickered to life. A flame that sputtered and coughed up smoke, but one that persisted despite the elements trying to weather it down.

    ¡°I have no choice but to live then,¡± managed the redhead. ¡°Vengeance is all that remains.¡± The word felt strange to swish around his mouth. Vengeance. A notion he had glossed over, despite the brutality he had witnessed at the orphanage.

    He hadn¡¯t thought of revenge against Mol¡¯okh from the time he¡¯d met Stella. She had him inebriated in solace, enticing him with the first step away from the grey life he had led thus far. His darker thoughts had mellowed out, forgoing escape for the comfort he had had.

    ¡°Never again. If I get out of here, I¡¯ll never succumb to such weakness.¡±

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    Gritting his teeth, he¡¯d realised vengeance had been brewing within him, the moment Mol¡¯okh had planted the idea in his head. He had awakened a dormant part of him, magnifying his earlier iterations of the concept, adding fuel to the lit flame, till it spread over a forge. A raging maelstrom of conflagrations were birthed, set on devouring everything in his path, till nothing but the ashes were all that remained.

    A world raining ash would do him justice. A world wherein he played the part he chose than the one forced unto him. Like the monster he was meant to be.

    ¡°If death won¡¯t besiege me, I¡¯ll inflict my wrath upon all that broke me. First, I¡¯ll kill that monstrous bastard! I¡¯ll kill him if it¡¯s the last thing I do, even if my teeth are the only means I have of fighting back!¡±

    Humming a mellifluous melody, Mol¡¯okh produced a clean napkin, wiping the blood and flesh off the scalpel, setting the blade in its place amongst his collection. Grabbing a bloodstained chin, he examined the redhead¡¯s face, assessing his conjunctiva and then opened his mouth, examining his tongue.

    ¡°Anaemia and cyanosis are worsening and yet he is not dead, in spite of the blood and weight he has lost. You are quite the tough cookie.¡± Throwing his head back he cackled, tapping his prisoner¡¯s face. He took note of his bound prisoner¡¯s lack of consciousness, allowing the residues of mirth to remain on his lips. ¡°I should not get hopeful, but I cannot help giving it a shot. The question is, is it too soon? Can he withstand the procedure?¡±

    Assessing the rest of the redhead¡¯s vitals over a cursory glance and a physical pat down, Mol¡¯okh mulled over his next course of action. Picking up the briefcase he had carried there, he set the case atop a glass cabinet, tampering with the lock.

    ¡°Should I? Should I not? Click-clack.¡± Brushing his braids to the side, he flitted his gaze from bag to prisoner. ¡°He has held on longer than the other specimens I have broken. How long has it been? Centuries? Or has it reached a millennium already?¡±

    The mirth from Mol¡¯okh¡¯s face lost its glamour, replaced by a convoluted pang, morphing his features into a snarl, painted behind a facade of indisputable turmoil. The skin around his eyes crinkled, sagging with a sudden weariness.

    ¡°I have waited long enough.¡± His voice hardened, bereft of an ounce of mirth. He clenched his teeth, engorging a vessel throbbing over his temple in a large bulge, like stormy clouds bearing ominous news. Exhaling a sigh, he steeled his resolve.

    Stopping mid-tamper on the locks, he unlatched the cover of the case. The inside was fitted with a velvet lining, wherein lay a scooped crater. At its centre was a fist-sized organ, resembling a lesser portion torn off a larger whole. It was pulsatile with intact circulation, the placid darkness skulking around its borders.

    He grabbed the organ singlehandedly, turning over the pulsatile object, eyeing it more intently than the fiery passion of a lover. Cracking a wry smile, he held it up against the faint light, admiring its beauty.

    Savouring the moment for a split-span longer, he hung his head, freeing his mind of the trance he was immersed in. His eyes lingered on the limp redhead, slithering over from his dipped chin to torso.

    He traced his prisoner¡¯s sternum with a thick finger, mottling bloodied red over the spot that took to his fancy. Nodding his head, Mol¡¯okh held the pulsatile organ over the marked spot. His eyes were locked in on his target and in a vicious thrust, he lodged the organ deep in his prisoner¡¯s chest, where his heart was.

    Peeling his eyelids wide open, the redhead howled in agony. The screams rose in intensity, running his throat dry till he gurgled liquid crimson past cracked lips. Spilling the burgundy tipples over the edge, dribbling down tattered flesh, he thrashed his limbs in a convulsive frenzy.

    Mol¡¯okh rolled his eyes at his prisoner¡¯s screams, rubbing his temples. ¡°Yes, yes, show me a more exciting reaction than the usual-usual.¡± He pulled a stool from the darkness enveloping them, resting his chin atop steepled fingers. He watched the redhead with a weary yet intent gaze, mindful of every move he made.

 Requiem

    A whirlpool of sensations pervaded Azrael, hurtling through a space he was unacquainted with. A swirl of obsidian and dainty silver, streaked the atmosphere, caressing his senses with apprehension and unease, as he ventured into an unknown, daunting path.

    A gust of wind evicted him out the murkiness, replacing it with a starlit skyline, drenched in waves of aural green and purple, smudged across the horizon. The new vista whisked his breath away, panning the new world with unadorned curiosity.

    In a surreal paradox, a part of him thought he had transcended to the heavens, soaring through the sky like a celestial being, defying the laws of nature. It was as if he had become an arrow, hurtling through the boundless expanse, experiencing an otherworldly freedom that clashed with the earthly constraints he once knew.

    Clasping a palm over his mouth, tears touched his cupped hand. Streams of unadulterated awe left him winded, basking in the glory of a world he had never imagined would exist. Not a dash of grey was present in the space he ascended through, marvelling at the miracle he had stumbled upon.

    The one question that remained in his wonder glazed voyeurism was: What¡¯d happened?

    Despite the torment inflicted by Mol¡¯okh in prison, he couldn¡¯t help but test the limits of his own body. He wiggled his remaining fingers and toes, expecting to find only a fraction of what he once had.

    To his disbelief, he discovered he possessed more digits than he thought he was left with, as he studied his hands and legs. The maggots were gone, his hands and feet were whole once again. It was a miracle he never imagined likely. A horde of emotions poured down his face, mingling with the snot running down his philtrum that traced his trembling lips.

    A quiet one, aren¡¯t you? An ancient and powerful voice thundered through the skies. Let¡¯s hear your persuasive overture that¡¯ll win me over. Otherwise take solace of the world around you and fall to eternal oblivion.

    On command, the redhead¡¯s ascend came to an abrupt halt, stopping him mid-air.

    ¡°Huh?¡± managed a puzzled Azrael, turning about in search of the voice. ¡°What is all this?¡± His feet dangled off nothingness, and yet he wasn¡¯t sinking.

    Do you not know? I suppose you weren¡¯t made aware of where you are before you reach this place. Heaving a sigh, the voice forged on. You stand on the precipice of death. I am your reaper and also your salvation. Persuade me with your desires, goals, aspirations, regrets and so on and so forth, to continue living. Lest you earn my ire, you shalt fall.

    Stroking his chin, Azrael ceased his search for the voice, taking a breath to weigh the choices he had been given. ¡°Death?¡± he said, in a contemplative note, gripping his throat. ¡°After everything I had been through, I¡¯d sought the solace of death and now I have a chance to grasp it.¡±

    A tempting notion, aye. Choose death and you¡¯ll fall to rubble, cementing a path for your successor to tread upon, given the same offer as you, and one day reach my prize.

    ¡°I had persisted for an eternity on the path of anguish,¡± said Azrael. Physical prowess alone served no purpose. Stella had a mountain of a frame and yet she couldn¡¯t oppose those apparitions. There has got to be something more this world has to offer, a hidden layer of contrived secrets that will unveil true strength.

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    Silence hung heavy in the air. Azrael blinked a couple of times, filling the disquiet with a twitter of opening and closing lids.

    Speak your words through your tongue, so I can hear your thoughts out loud, came a displeased rumble. Unlike the words I transmit to your mind, I cannot hear your thoughts, and I hate to be left in the dark.

    His feet dropped, plummeting down like he carried deadweight, in accordance with the voice¡¯s demands.

    Flailing his arms, Azrael couldn¡¯t help but scream. He had no understanding of the mechanics governing his current reality, as he came to a sudden halt. Heaving a relieved sigh, he loosened heavy breaths.

    ¡°I was thinking,¡± he continued, past his pounding pulse. ¡°What does it mean, to truly be strong? If I am to make my dreams a reality, I need strength but not the sort I had sought out initially. Armouring my body with muscles was nothing more than a farce, especially against an opponent like Mol¡¯okh. It¡¯s not just vengeance I seek. I¡­¡±

    He froze in place, his breath steadying. An epiphany lit up his consciousness, awakening a portion of his mind he hadn¡¯t ever acknowledged.

    ¡°What I want is the strength to forge my own path.¡± The redhead heaved a sigh, his words fuelling a furnace pounding a fiery blade steeped in conviction.

    Is that so? asked the voice. The stars and skies above him began to spin and swirl, as if the very crux of reality was being reshaped. Emerging from the celestial canvas, an otherworldly snout extended, encompassing the horizon. From its depths, twin orbs of moonlight emerged, piercing through the darkness, locking eyes with Azrael. The luminous orbs held a profound wisdom, peering into the very depths of his soul.

    Locked in an intimate gaze with the moonlit spheres, he felt a strange mixture of vulnerability and vigour. It was like his entire existence was laid bare before a cosmic presence. His every secret, every fear and every hope were drawn out.

    Despite the so called ¡®suffering¡¯ you¡¯ve endured, you wish to continue living?

    ¡°I have shouldered a lifetime of torment.¡± The redhead chuckled in spite of his situation, spreading his arms out. ¡°Perhaps I¡¯m destined to live several lifetimes in a single stretch.¡±

    Is that so?

    The elongated snout tapped against Azrael, threatening him with an ethereal force that left him quaking. He realised his end was at hand, spilling his mind to a creature beyond comprehension was no doubt, questionable. Despite craving an end for the longest while, in that moment he wasn¡¯t ready to relinquish the chance fate had conceded him. He sought to earn the favour of the voice echoing in his mind, even if it meant he must endure torment that dwarfed the hell he had already suffered.

    The snout cracked in half, revealing puffs of smoke curling off the corners of starlit lips. An ancient, deep chortle resounded within the confines of Azrael¡¯s mind, tearing through the heavens, brimming with mirth. I¡¯ve bartered with insane mortals before, but never have I heard such profound insane sanity roll off the tongue of one so young. Very well hatchling, tell me your name and I shalt tell you mine, as our first order of business.

    ¡°Azrael.¡±

    Interesting. The moonlit orbs blinked in amusement, viewing the redhead with newfound intrigue. Azrael, is it? You can call me Requiem. I¡¯ll lend you my power and in turn, you¡¯ll be my anchor. Once we agree on the pact, you¡¯ll lose your humanity and become the living dead. Or the dead living. One of them should hit the mark.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, a what!?¡±

    Since you are here, you¡¯re either dead or on the verge of it. Once I bequeath my strength to you, you¡¯ll need a little something called death energy to replenish my power each time you use it. Of course, you could stock it up in bulk too!

    ¡°What do you mean by death energy?¡±

    Energy from cadavers. Preferably human but a demon would suffice too. Just make sure whatever it is, it is dead. Try and keep track of the bodies you use, otherwise you¡¯ll end up one yourself. And don¡¯t forget to convert the death energy to miasma. Also, make sure the cadavers are still cadavers, and not crumble.

    ¡°Will anything you say make sense? And you sound a lot less sophisticated than when I first got here.¡±

    Don¡¯t mind the details. Requiem rolled his orbs for eyes. You¡¯ll understand what it all means once I¡¯ve bestowed my power unto you.

    ¡°Okay and how do we do that?¡±

    Clearing his throat, Requiem loosened a maelstrom of smoke. Ready?

    ¡°For-?¡±

    The redhead blinked in confusion. He had no idea what was happening, nor what to expect.

    Without warning, Requiem opened his maw wide, wolfing down Azrael in a single gulp.

 Downfall

    Mol¡¯okh tapped his left foot incessantly, gripping the chair with a firm, clammy pair of palms till his hands churned crimson. The entirety of his focus was lasered in on the redhead.

    For the longest stretch of eternity, an urban myth led me down this path. Will I see the conclusion to that dream today? Will I behold the fruits of my labour at long last?

    His redhead of interest, hung from shackles, twisting and turning as the whites of his eyes were wracked with tortuous vessels, his irises rolled deep up his eyelids. Blood trickled down his chest, pooling beneath his hovering feet. The crimson surface reflected his broken body, shattered by the rippling drops, pitter-pattering.

    Hanging his head, his eyes lingered over the bloodied remnants of his prisoner. ¡°Come on, come on, come on DAMMIT! DO NOT raise my hopes for it to all come crashing down in the end! I need a payoff, at least one, after all this time. Give me something, ANYTHING!¡± Mol¡¯okh quaked and quivered, rocking back and forth in his chair, seized by an unquenchable turmoil. ¡°If you are going to reject him, get to it! At this stage, I would rather embed the fragment in my own heart rather than endure this torment any longer!!!¡±

    As if prompted by an unseen signal, his prisoner¡¯s body convulsed till he coughed up a bloody glob. Meanwhile, the bleeding from the hole in his heart ebbed, the rhythmic pitter-patter trickling off into silence.

    ¡°Hell yeah!¡± roared Mol¡¯okh, thumping a fist in the air.

    The redhead coughed up a second bloody glob, followed by every crevice of his body gushing streams of liquid crimson, from his ears to eyes and lips, streaming a blood-stained waterfall.

    Mol¡¯okh¡¯s expressions soured faster than a bite of rancid cheese, his lips curling into a regretful hurl of profanity.

    ¡°Noooooo!¡± Slamming a clenched fist against his seat, the stool crumbled under the weight of his blow, splintering wood to debris. Stomping his foot on a panel, an array of bagged fluids, organs, needles and a white cot popped up.

    Unshackling the redhead in a heartbeat, he placed the convulsing prisoner on the cot. Snagging a needle, he set up an IV line, shooting up a concoction of fluids through a brachial vein.

    ¡°AH DAMMIT! I need more equipment to work with.¡± Scampering about, he snapped open another panel that produced machinery, primed to oversee mortal vitals. Revving the monitor up, he fumbled with the controls and grabbed a set of electrodes and made his way to the redhead.

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    Faint prickling shot up Mol¡¯okh¡¯s left arm. Warmth flooded down his side and wetted his slacks. Peering at the space where his arm was, a crimson jet gushed out, fiercer than rapids on a stormy night.

    The pain hadn¡¯t hit yet.

    His gaze shifted past the mangled arm towards a grating rumble of coarse crunches and slurping noises, from the emergency station he had set up.

    A formless entity danced on the cot, munching on an arm. The bone reflected the dim light enshrouding the chamber as wet slurping, the sound of marrow sucked off the bone, echoed. Torn electrodes and broken shackles were strewn across the floor, sketching a bloody trail.

    It hit him in that moment, all at once.

    An agonizing howl escaped his lips, bringing him down on his knees, gripping his armless shoulder. He ripped out an electrode extending from the machine and wrapped the chord around the remnants of tattered flesh for a left limb. Rather than hurl curses, he bit back the pain and focused every ounce of attention on the formless entity occupying the space his prisoner had lain upon, devouring his arm.

    ¡°Did it finally work?¡± managed Mol¡¯okh past pursed lips, holding back a wave of nausea. Snapping his last set of fingers, the darkness in the chamber was dispelled, revealing mountains upon mountains of deceased piles of limbs, torsos and organs neatly stacked and preserved. ¡°You need sustenance, don¡¯t you?¡± He pushed a weary smile past his contorted expression.

    An oblong, forked tongue escaped the formless entity, smacking against non-existent lips. It shifted its attention from Mol¡¯okh to the mounds of corpses laid out like a shopping aisle stacked with the highest quality grub. Jumping off the cot, it landed on the first stack, sniffing and taking a bite off a frozen leg. Chewing on the rotting flesh, it gagged and reeled, spitting out globules of meat. Shaking its head, it clambered to the apex of the pile, peering at all fifty corpse stacks, aligned in neat rows.

    Throwing its head back, it drew in a breath, reeling in wisps of intangible darkness from the stacked bodies, funnelled towards a widely opened maw. The entity drew in the dark wisps, shrivelling the corpses it sat atop of.

    Mol¡¯okh watched the being at work, observing the organ bags wither. ¡°He must be feeding off their death energy, as portrayed by legend.¡± A smile stretched across his face, wider than a child handed a piece of candy. Trickles of moisture wetted his face, the culmination of his toil standing before him. ¡°It is no longer a dream.¡±

    The formless entity leapt off the stack, tracing a crescent skeleton, glistening with scales. Membranous webbing sprouted off the frame, catching the air and sailing through the scant light, as a dark avenger. With a thunderous flap of its freshly forged wings, the creature took note of Mol¡¯okh, locking in with the fierce zeal of an eagle.

    ¡°You are beautiful,¡± he said, clutching the gnawed remains of bone, sticking out his armless shoulder. His moistened eyes welled up with a second barrage of emotionality, as a proud father would gaze upon his child with pride. He stood frozen in the moment, holding his arm up, accepting the beauty of his creation.

    The formless entity lengthened its wing. It whizzed across Mol¡¯okh¡¯s body, from armless shoulder to pelvis in a single stroke, spry as spilling ink over white canvas.

 A Brand New Shackle

    Widening a pair of freshly rested eyes, his gaze met the brilliance of a new day. A gentle breeze brushed past his face, rousing him from a dream he never knew he would arouse from.

    Blinking confusedly, Azrael rolled to his side, pushing his body upright against a field of golden reeds. Fluttering with a wayward breeze, he realised he was in a land he hadn¡¯t ever tread before, basking in the warmth of a sun he had long forgotten. The scent of wild holy basils in full bloom was interspersed at odd intervals, paired with the rustle of prickling leaves by his ankles.

    Both of them?

    He rose to his feet, taking note of his intact limbs. He nearly fell over against the crunch of wet soil, expecting to limp his way over the countryside with half as many limbs.

    ¡°Was I always this whole?¡± He scratched his head, taken aback.

    Wading his way through the field, he took in a delish breath, savouring the freshness, absorbing the cultivated wilderness with his touch. The brush of subtle bristles from the rough prickly caresses of the reeds, guided him out the field and to the edge of asphalt. He¡¯d left the countryside quicker than he had expected, the shifting scenery dizzying his addled mind.

    ¡°Where am I?¡± he asked, his voice lingering about the wilderness. Cupping a hand over his brow, he peered left and then right. He sought a break in the stretch of reeds and asphalt, extending in both directions. ¡°Where do I go from here?¡±

    Wetting a finger, he held his hand up in the air. He awaited a light breeze. In the span of several blinks, a stray gust blew by.

    Heaving a sigh, he turned his back to the sun, in the sweltering afternoon. He began his journey, marching to the rhythm strung along by a choir of cicadas. Their melody was almost meditative to the thump of his feet, walking onwards. Trickles of sweat ran down his neck, kneading their way over his spine. It was a warmth he had forgotten. The proof living beings carried every day.

    He used to hate the stickiness that came by, every summer, with the sun at the zenith of its glare. The heat bore down on his body, heavier than most people, leaving his skin perpetually slick, prickling with clammy ickiness.

    But right now, it was different. He welcomed summer, in any shape or form. He yearned for the rays to wrap around him, opening his pores to a warmer world, clutching him in a tender embrace.

    It was by some cruel whim of fate he had been born under the wrong stars but in that moment, warmth and time were luxuries he had been awarded, especially one bereft of torment.

    ¡°Did I lose myself in thought, or am I lost in serenity?¡±

    Azrael¡¯s brief silence was interrupted by the screech of rubber coming to a skidding halt against the asphalt beside him. With a reluctant heave, he pried his gaze free from the horizon.

    ¡°Need a ride?¡± offered the driver of a rundown truck. With the straw hat and a lone reed stuck between his lips, he fit the look of a farmer. But his skin was feathery fluff, following the redhead with a pair of beads for eyes, dangling a set of shrivelled wattles beneath his chin.

    Taking a step back, the redhead raised an eyebrow, slapping himself awake. ¡°Where¡¯re you headed?¡±

    ¡°Strange one, aren¡¯t ya?¡± said the driver, mirroring Azrael¡¯s dubious gaze. ¡°Gotta drop my wares at the city o¡¯er yonder. If ya don¡¯t mind a place in the back, feel free ta pop in. I doubt ya¡¯ll run inta ¡®nother ride around ¡®ere. So, what¡¯s it gonna be?¡±

    Shrugging, the redhead realised he didn¡¯t have much of a choice. Perhaps it¡¯s a stroke of good fortune. Might as well hitch a ride till wherever.

    He looked back at the field behind him. Its gentle caressing and languid nature distanced itself from the hurt he¡¯d endured. An alluring offer to give in to. To be free. To lie there till the end came to be. Despite all the shades interspersed between the stalks, there was a nagging notion he couldn¡¯t shake off.

    There would be nothing but greyness.

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    Hauling himself onto the back of the truck, he made space amongst the rough stacks of bundled plastic, covered by tarp. Eyeing his company for the trip, he had realised the stacks looked familiar. But a different version of them. Tipping his head in doubt, he rubbed his chin.

    In that moment, it hit him like lightning, blitzing an instantaneous flashback, unveiling a mountain of corpses. It was a vague memory he wasn¡¯t even sure was his own. The scent peeling off the rusting metal, off the truck¡¯s rear, was a tad bit better than the whiff of rotting dead and blood, searing his nares, every day.

    Better than the scent of his own rot.

    Reflexively, he clutched the sides of his head, wracked by a raging headache, nearly tipping him over the edge.

    ¡°Ya don¡¯t look sa great,¡± said the driver. ¡°Help yaself ta some grub.¡± Through a narrow gap past the driver¡¯s seat, he handed Azrael a sandwich, revving the engine back to life.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he replied, graciously accepting the food. He broke into a cold sweat, peeling the wrapping off the generous meal. Right then, a flood of memories rushed into his consciousness. Breathing in a mouthful of the crusty roll, his mind was submerged under a tide of the recent past, from the moment he had been devoured by Requiem.

    A raven cawed overhead, whistling past the horizon, dropping a lone feather that settled beside Azrael. The plume reflected his pale face against the radiant afternoon sun.

    Liquid burgundy trickled down a leathery extension of darkness. The drops pitter-pattered, absconding the dark wing and revealing a touch of colour, shaping a crimson haired male into existence.

    Weak in the knees, he collapsed, gasping and quaking. The redhead took in ragged rasps for breath, struggling on all fours.

    ¡°What happened?¡± asked the redhead, raising an eyebrow. Stumbling to his knees, he stared at the puddle of blood pooling before him. ¡°Why¡­ why does he look like that?¡±

    Gritting his teeth, he smouldered over, grabbing the upper half of Mol¡¯okh¡¯s severed body. A serene expression of relentless mirth was smeared across his tormentor¡¯s lifeless visage.

    ¡°After all that, after all the people you brutalised and destroyed, you get to decide your own end in a merciful light!? Screw you! To hell with it!!!¡± Quaking, he gripped his tormentor¡¯s corpse with regret-stained fingers seething with a burning fury.

    I¡¯ve had my fill, said an ancient voice. My gift to you. Let us be one, till the end of our intertwined fates.

    Wisps of darkness emanated from Azrael¡¯s fingers, weaving and swirling, making its way towards Mol¡¯okh¡¯s severed half. The vapours permeated the half-corpse, sheathing and pervading the entirety of his remains, till it was sucked into his carcass.

    ¡°Gah!¡± Mol¡¯okh gagged into wakefulness, reduced to nothing more than a head and one-third a torso, wearily taking note of his surroundings. Blinking back rapid wet, and fluttering lids in a fit of confusion, his eyes adjusted to the light. He looked displaced from his own reality. A world he had carved out on his own. Finally, he settled his gaze on Azrael, widening his eyes. ¡°You!? Where did my creation go?¡±

    ¡°Your creation?¡± asked the redhead, raising an eyebrow. In a heated fervour, he grabbed the half-corpse with both his hands. ¡°You can¡¯t die blissfully.¡± Rising to his feet, he sunk his fingers into Mol¡¯okh¡¯s throat, drawing blood. He could hear his tormentor belch, squirming as a maggot would against calamitous power.

    ¡°No, no.¡± His screeches were forced past an obstructed glottis. ¡°It should be him, not you. What did you do with my creation!? Do have an inkling of how long it took to reach this point!?¡±

    ¡°No. Nor do I care.¡± Azrael summoned every ounce of strength he could, crushing Mol¡¯okh¡¯s windpipe before hurling him to the ground. A sharp crack echoed, sounding split suture lines along the skull.

    But it wasn¡¯t enough to satiate him.

    Raising his foot above the remnants of the tattered torso, he let his leg fall, stomping down with relentless fury. A smirk parted his lips, and a chortle bubbled out his throat, fuelled by a deep-seated intoxication.

    ¡°No, nooo,¡± wheezed his tormentor. His face was bloodied, his eyes wide and pouring.

    ¡°Is this what it means to be whole again?¡± hissed Azrael. ¡°If I can take pleasure in the atrocity you revelled in, perhaps the two of us aren¡¯t so different.¡±

    In a crunch, Mol¡¯okh¡¯s cranium caved in, exposing a fresh glob of gyri beneath.

    The redhead cackled, slobber trickling down his lips. His hands were held up over his head, his throat gurgling laughter. He swung from side to side, a drunken fervour taking hold of his body, seizing his mind. He never knew he could feel such a high, living out a moment he¡¯d never thought would come to be.

    His feet rammed into a wet softness. As his heel dug into the slick matter, he realised he had stomped on the exposed brain. In a confused flutter of his eyelids, the redhead¡¯s world began spinning, his feet kicking the air, flipping his head on his heels. A throb of pain and a realm of darkness pounded against his consciousness, devouring him, in one fell swoop.

    With a flushed face, he finished the last of his sandwich. He cupped his chin in his hands, doubled over in unbridled mortification. ¡°What the hell was that?¡±

    ¡°Sandwich don¡¯t sit well with ya?¡± asked the driver, scornful.

    ¡°Oh no no no, just thinking out loud. The sandwich brought me back to life.¡± Azrael managed a weary shrug. ¡°Just can¡¯t locate where I am. Never been around these parts before and I have no recollection of how I got here.¡±

    ¡°Son, ya in some kinda trouble?¡± asked the driver, peering at the redhead through his rear-view mirror.

    ¡°Just amnesiac after a night out. My friends love messing around, though this is the furthest they¡¯ve taken a prank.¡± He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.

    ¡°Aight.¡± The driver continued on in silence, his gaze shifting from the road back to his hitchhiker, every other span.

 Turmoil

    Needless to say, Azrael and the driver were more than willing to part each other¡¯s company.

    The sounds of rumbling carts, and busybodies, had earned his attention. He dove into the familiar rush, with a sense of intrigue, hoping to meld into the crowd, easily. It wasn¡¯t long before he cocked his head to the side, raising a questioning eyebrow.

    He scanned his surroundings, finding a strange observation over the people passing by. There were all sorts of people of varying sizes, shapes and forms, bustling about. Size was nothing strange even back in his village. But even then, he¡¯d hardly seen the locals scaling from a toddler¡¯s height to a mammoth on hindlegs.

    Worst of all, were the faces they wore, shaped from grotesque animal heads and weaponry to mishappen forms he couldn¡¯t put a finger on. Perhaps the rooster he¡¯d parted ways with, was easier on the eyes than he¡¯d realised.

    Though the unearthly appearances kept his eyebrow raised past a clammy forehead, he managed to find a couple of relatively human faces mixed in amongst the bunch ¨Ca fleeting familiarity that brought a sliver of comfort, while traversing uncharted territory.

    A shudder ran down his spine, wandering about the bazaars, observing the company he would have to suck up to, if he was to survive in his newfound adversity.

    ¡°Best prices ¡®n all o¡¯er Zenith,¡± said a merchant, motioning towards passers-by, raining attention to his wares.

    ¡°Zenith?¡± Azrael tried recalling the books he had poured over in prison, the ones apart from anatomy.

    Wracking his brain, he realised he had limited knowledge of the Abyzz. All he had managed to find out about the place was it¡¯s a land where a race known as demons dwelled and humans were rarely found amongst their midst, except as slaves or commodity -¨Ca revelation that urged him to keep his lips pursed, while passing through the city.

    Nabbing a loose cloak and two bread rolls off a stall, he eyed his surroundings, careful of any patrolling guards.

    ¡°Over there!¡± came a screech, behind a gnarly finger, pointed his way. Past the source of the voice, a pair of handymen were dispatched, after the bread thief.

    ¡°Nice going.¡± Scoffing down the rolls, Azrael ran with all his might. The combination of sprinting and scoffing down his meal, made his head spin and stomach churn, but he¡¯d hoped he could keep the grub he had nabbed within him. At least till he put on a bit more flesh on his frame.

    He missed the muscles he had built, but it was scant consolation to the fact he was still alive. A foreign notion after all he had been wrung through. Even running from pursuers would have been a pipedream, not too long ago.

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    His gaze shifted to a set of wooden doors as he darted past. Kicking off towards the run-down shack for a building, he swung past the wooden flaps, stumbling into a bar of drunkards, his nares reeling from the heavy puffs of pungent smoke, and ears ringing from the blaring, out of tune music. Despite it being a long afternoon, the debauchery marched on.

    Stifling his disgruntled breath, the redhead pulled himself to the side, plastering his back against the wall beside the wooden flaps for doors, rather than gunning for the bartender, and seeking cover behind the counter. Heaving in heavy breaths, he tried steadying his pounding anvils for breath, awaiting the two handymen.

    On cue, his pursuers arrived, ploughing on ahead. Azrael waited five heartbeats. Then, he slipped back out the wooden flaps.

    One perk to all the sound and smoke, was how well it hid him from dogging handymen.

    Flipping the cloak he had snagged inside out, he draped the lighter shade over his shoulders, hoping he¡¯d blend seamlessly into the sea of bustling demons. His eyes darted about, his cloak sticking to his drenched back, as he kept his head low.

    That¡¯s when his lingering eyes met a pair of dusty ones, tracking him. Snapping a forked tongue past dry lips, his latest run-in had a wild look. Perhaps this is the end.

    A buzzing fly whizzed past, garnering the forked tongue¡¯s attention, leaping past a cautious Azrael.

    Shaking his head, he felt his heart was about to burst out his chest and spill all around. He could feel the crowd¡¯s gaze linger on him, weighing his every step, as he fought for survival.

    ¡°Should have grabbed my fill for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow,¡± he said, cussing under his breath.

    Lost in his reverie, a sharp tug reeled him backwards, pulling him off his feet. ¡°Well, well, what do we have ¡®ere?¡± said a gruff voice. A bald head with a bushy moustache and goatee framed an ogre¡¯s visage. He eyed the redhead voraciously, a pair of golden incisors glinting amongst a row of decaying teeth, reflecting Azrael¡¯s alarm. The ogre was more than three heads taller than he was, wrapped in a loincloth. His single eye, set high in his forehead, was savouring his lucky coincidence.

    ¡°C-Can I help you?¡± he asked, painfully aware of how shrill his voice sounded.

    ¡°Ya aren¡¯t from around ¡®ere, ¡®re ya?¡± said the ogre.

    The rest of Azrael¡¯s words were caught in his throat, barely squeezing out a feeble squeal.

    ¡°I take it ya don¡¯t ¡®ave a patron.¡± The ogre broke into a toothy grin, grabbing his lucky catch, who was slightly heftier than a toothpick.

    Dragging his feet through the hotchpotch road, the redhead could feel the soles of his feet turn raw, his resistance futile. Clawing at the grip round his chest, he bit into his fleshy restraint. His teeth ached and his head shook from barely leaving an indentation on the ogre¡¯s tree bark skin. He gagged at the aftertaste lingering in his mouth, holding back an upsurge of bile.

    ¡°Throw up ¡®nd ya¡¯r head won¡¯t have a body no more!¡±

    Swallowing back a wave of nausea, Azrael caught a blurring headless corpse and a pair of heads glaring at him. Can¡¯t let it end so soon. Focusing his voice inwardly, he mustered all his strength. In a hefty billow he shouted, Requiem, a little help here!

    He knew he had gained ¡®gifts¡¯ after the procedure Mol¡¯okh had wrung him through but he wasn¡¯t sure what his ability was, except he needed to convert death energy to miasma ¨Cwhatever that meant. He tried again, whispering out loud.

    ¡°Psst, Requiem. A little help here.¡±

    He got no reply.

    No difference, huh? If only I could use the ¡®Carnage Room¡¯ now. He slumped his shoulders, devoid of any say in his abduction.

 Caged

    Dragged along, for an ostensibly endless span of time, Azrael heard the jeers of a thousand needles piercing him, clamouring against his ears. He stirred to wakefulness with a start. ¡°Huh? Where am I?¡±

    ¡°Ya came ta Zenith, and ya ¡®ave no clue about the underground fights? I can see why ya were an easy catch.¡±

    From his seat, he scanned the vast arena beneath, a roiling rumble from thousands under the dim haze of a clandestine space.

    Cheers and jeers, skreiched against the spotlight, illuminating a boxing ring. Massive screens displayed the ongoing fight, providing the audience with a close-up view of the action from afar, including Azrael and his ogre of an abductor.

    The redhead raised an eyebrow. Never seen those displays before. Must be an Abyzzmal creation. A smile touched his lips. ¡°Clearly I¡¯ve no recollection of how I wound up here, so would you mind bringing me up to speed on what all the buzz is about?¡±

    ¡°¡¯ikes kid, which crockpot did ya crawl out from?¡± asked the ogre.

    ¡°A boiling cauldron where I was steeped in my own blood. Clearly, I didn¡¯t make it far till I fell from cauldron to flame.¡±

    The ogre reflected his raised eyebrow, slackening his jaw. ¡°For a dipshit, ya¡¯ve a sharp tongue.¡±

    ¡°My tongue¡¯s gotten me into more trouble than I can remember.¡± The redhead puffed his chest up in immodesty, priding a wit he never knew he had had.

    ¡°¡¯ight. Anyway, ta city ya waltzed into is known for its underground brawls against famed fighters. Some of the bestest demon warriors of ¡®istory bide their time ta come ¡®ere, only ta be wrecked by an unknown underdog. Legend has it, the Sins send scouts ¡®very now and then, ta nab an assassin for their elite guard.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Azrael, scratching his head. ¡°I can almost ¨C¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s starting,¡± said the fired-up ogre. A symphony of deafening cheers drowned out any attempt at conversation, while a set of pipes released a plume of coloured smoke, accompanied by a commentator¡¯s boisterous voice blaring, funnelling the voice from back to front. He assumed it was another one of the Abyzz¡¯s progressive inventions, compared to the advancements humans had made.

    Past a throbbing headache, he heard the commentator announce names he could barely discern. On cue, a pair of demons spilled out onto the boxing ring, the spotlight trained on the two fighters.

    The title holder was a four-armed male with an emerald circlet resting atop his crown. His oceanic blue hair was tied back in a ponytail and his muscles grimaced with tortuous veins.

    Donning an eyepatch over a scarred eye, the challenger winked at his opponent, baring a mouthful of fangs for teeth, foaming at the corners. Paling in a clash of physiques, he began taunting the title holder with a finger.

    Clamouring metal fell from the heavens, landing an enormous meshwork hung by dainty chains with a loud thud, enclosing the duo in a steel enclosure. On cue, the crowd began chanting in unison. ¡°CAGE FIGHT, CAGE FIGHT, CAGE FIGHT!!!¡±

    A blare of horns signalled the start of their battle, permitting the pair of brawlers to go at each other.

    Azrael anticipated an exchange of flying kicks and hard punches. On the contrary, he was gripped by a wave of uneasiness, bearing witness to a power he had seen before. It reminded him of the time Mol¡¯okh had invaded his orphanage, wielding an overwhelming source of strength, beyond physical prowess.

    ¡°And we have our four-armed title holder, whose ability amplifies his strength tenfold. Now what will the challenger do?¡±

    Removing his eyepatch, he unveiled a gilded iris with a blank pupil. Gazing into his eyes, the title holder broke down in a puddle of tears, whimpering in a crumpled mess on the canvas. Abandoning the strength he had swelled up with, the champion was reduced to a sobbing child who had his favourite toy stolen.

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    Peering down at the title holder, the challenger strolled leisurely up to him and grabbed him by the throat. With a firm twist, the title of champion switched hands.

    Words couldn¡¯t describe the spectacle Azrael had seen. Nearly ten matches had come to pass and yet, his heart pounded in his chest, deafening his senses.

    A plethora of opponents fought and fell, their timely demise determined by the power they wielded, an ethereal source of strength that went beyond harnessing the force exerted by the body¡¯s musculature and movements.

    Bodybuilding was a discipline involving physical effort to produce results, but it had failed to offer the outcome he¡¯d desired. The torment he had endured, had helped him grasp the art of persistence in the pursuit for strength, but he desperately wanted to understand the power demons wielded, and make it his own.

    Peeled free from his thoughts, Azrael realised the battle had come to an end. The crowd roared in triumph, their cheers a thunderous boom. Cutting through the rumble, he could¡¯ve sworn he heard a crow caw from far off, sharp as an invisible arrow through the throat.

    The eyepatch demon, having dispatched his last opponent of the night, strolled up to the corner of the ring, where the former champion was reduced to a crumpled mound of lifelessness. With a smile painted across his lips, the challenger wrung the emerald circlet off his fallen opponent¡¯s remains. He held the crown above his head, wallowing in the audiences¡¯ cheers as he placed the symbol of dominion on his scalp.

    Past the deafening cheers, the commentator¡¯s voice cut through the noise like a knife. ¡°For our champion tonight, we must have the feed prepared. Commence the bids and name your price, vagrants!¡±

    The spotlight shone on a pear-shaped demon, who was tied up to a seat with a placard displaying 100,000 silvers. A second light shone and revealed a pig-headed demon, displaying 200,000 silvers. Another ten offerings popped up, displaying prices ranging from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem very pleasant,¡± said Azrael, noticing a spotlight on the seat beside him.

    ¡°Oops,¡± said the ogre, grabbing the redhead by the scruff of his collar.

    Switching places in a heartbeat, he held his hand up against the bright light in his eyes.

    ¡°500,000 silvers for a mortal!¡± announced the commentor and the crowd cheered in approval, alongside a round of applause.

    ¡°Huh, what?¡± asked Azrael, rubbing his eyes.

    ¡°We have our feed for the night!¡± said the commentor.

    A rough pair of arms grabbed him by the shoulders, hoisting him off his seat. ¡°Hey, wait what¡¯s ¨C¡±

    ¡°Thanks a bunch kid,¡± said the ogre, discarding the placard. He roared with laughter, waving a hand in farewell. ¡°I¡¯ll drink the night away ta ya luvin¡¯ memory.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you want me to do here.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Azrael was stripped of his rags for clothes, and strong-armed into donning a shirt and pants. He slipped on a pair of shoes and adjusted a bowtie around his neck, glancing at a mirror reflecting an emaciated excuse for a young male.

    From the peripherals of his vision, an apple appeared which was forced into his mouth by a bull-headed demon. Next, a yak-faced demon showed up, pushing him along from the backstage dressing room to the canvas of the boxing ring.

    Biting a chunk off the apple, he twirled the fruit in his hand, stepping into the ring, shakily. In spite of his apprehension, he devoured the apple in a blink of three bites and tossed the core over his back. ¡°Better to fight on a full stomach than an empty one.¡± Though if there was any actual fighting involved, he didn¡¯t like his odds.

    Amidst the torrential cheers, he stood unflinching. His wearied gaze scanned the audience in search of the ogre who had betrayed him, but the bright lights and distance made it difficult to discern faces beyond the seventh row.

    Meanwhile, the newly crowned champion had warmed up, bouncing up and down, ready to throw his weight about. He was unfazed by the matches he had fought throughout the evening, cracking his neck in anticipation. The cage hung precariously above the duo, a looming threat ready to drop at a moment¡¯s notice. But for Azrael, it was the least of his concerns.

    By then, a gong rang loud and clear, announcing the feed had commenced.

    ¡°If you want a quick death,¡± started the eyepatch demon. ¡°I recommend being taken apart in a single blow. That way I can have a bite of some mortal flesh and satiate the front seaters in one go.¡±

    ¡°You mean, the feed involved actually feeding on me?¡± Azrael blinked twice, his mouth hanging loosely.

    ¡°Hell, you¡¯re slow.¡± The champion guffawed in a wide berth, slapping the side of his thigh.

    The redhead stared at his opponent angrily, a smirk that looked down on him and his human status painted across a face drunk with vanity. He knew it was no easy feat to take down the enemies his opponent had faced in the challenger¡¯s shoes but giving up his life after his miraculous escape from the despair wrought hell he had endured, wasn¡¯t an option.

    Assuming a fighting stance, Azrael mirrored the gesture his opponent had used in his first match, holding up a single finger provocatively.

    The smirk on the champion¡¯s face dissipated as he swung over from his corner to the centre, his fists clenched and ready for battle. The air crackled with tension as the two within the ring faced off, while the audience held their breath, zealously anticipating the feed-turned-clash.

 The Feed

    "You¡¯re weak as hell.¡± The eyepatch demon spat on the canvas beside the redhead, casting him a disdainful look. ¡°Stay down and let me break you already.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Azrael rose shakily to his feet. Through a black eye, he saw three sets of champions circling about. Shaking his head, he focused on the eyepatch demon in the middle, who he knew was the real one.

    He stepped in, throwing a fist. He could feel the air rush past, as he twisted his hips, going for the champion¡¯s face. His knuckles sailed past the eyepatch, through the demon¡¯s head, and the redhead lurched forward, fumbling for his balance.

    ¡°Oi, focus on me. Not whatever you¡¯re seeing with your addled vision!¡± The eyepatch demon cussed, watching the redhead regain his position.

    Despite the bruises and body blows he had taken, Azrael stood his ground. He threw another punch, one he knew would reach his opponent. This time.

    Before his knuckles could touch flesh, he earned a sharp pain that shot up his flank and a second surge of agony raking his abdomen.

    ¡°You just won¡¯t fall even after all those blows? Your body¡¯s definitely not built like ¡®em regular mortals, I¡¯ll give ya that.¡±

    ¡°My body was taken apart and reassembled not too long ago. Pain¡¯s the one thing I¡¯d take head-on, any day.¡± It felt strange to know his resilience was earned through his tribulations in prison. But his know-how in a fist fight, came from just his beatdown at the orphanage. To think I¡¯d thank prison life. He scoffed at the irony. Then again, it¡¯d have helped if I¡¯d trained my fists too, while imprisoned.

    ¡°What a pain,¡± grunted the champion. ¡°You¡¯re tenacious as hell, I¡¯ll give you that. Let¡¯s speed this up.¡± Ripping the patch off his face, he exposed a glided orb with a blank pupil. ¡°Enjoy my parting gift to you, mortal.¡±

    Azrael¡¯s one good eye widened, seized by a force stopping him dead in his tracks, overwhelmed by an indescribable immensity.

    A headless corpse and a pair of heads were laid out on a platter atop an oaken table. It was a scene he was all too familiar with. One he¡¯d grown accustomed to and come to hate. An inevitable plague, he couldn¡¯t part with, despite the festering limbs he¡¯d severed.

    In the murkiness, a gentle mist enveloped the backdrop, coiling about his shaken frame, hissing spittle over tender skin. Beckoning him with a seductive touch, the vapours drew him in, luring him towards the centre. Like a snake¡¯s fangs, the icy smoke broke past flesh, sinking into bone.

    His heart throbbed with the venom, tearing through his blood, gripped by the toxin eating away at him, cell by cell. He had no choice but to watch, frozen in place, as the grotesque display brought his worst nightmare to vivid cognizance. Standing in front of the platter, a strange thought surfaced in his mind.

    It¡¯s all the same huh? And yet¡­ A strange notion began moulding in his mind, one that should have been obvious in light of his latest endeavour. Where¡¯s Mol¡¯okh?

    Amongst the desecrated dead, the one person he had managed to kill wasn¡¯t present. He could feel the venom dissipate, invigorating his limbs with unquenchable inquisitiveness, combing through the chilly murkiness. He thrashed his hands about, in search of his tormentor.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    He¡¯s not here.

    Running back to the oaken table, his attention was drawn to the platter. The once clear remains of the three dead figures were now smudged and reduced to a grey, smouldering stain. Straining to recall their features, he could only grasp at vague outlines that rapidly began slipping through the sieves of his mind.

    ¡°If I can take pleasure in the atrocity you wallowed in, perhaps the two of us aren¡¯t so different.¡±

    The haunting voice resounded, echoing in the distance.

    ¡°Is that what I had said back when I¡¯d killed Mol¡¯okh?¡± Azrael grappled with a great weight shearing away at the fraying strands of his threadbare existence. His hands clenched as he watched three mushroom shaped billows curling off the oak and dispersing into the air.

    As the table distanced itself, a spotlight suddenly illuminated a chunk of the sky, cutting through the murkiness.

    All of a sudden, gravity¡¯s pull was inversed.

    He was pried off solid ground, reeling him skywards till he was sucked into the eye of the illumination.

    Iridescent scales emerged from the heavens, mirroring a spiral of cherry blossoms raining over the world, sheathing him in the scales of an immense beast. A snout parted smoke off scaled lips, focusing moonlit orbs on the redhead.

    You and I are one. Till death, do us part.

    Dazed and disoriented, Azrael felt a sharp pressure digging into his throat, nearly whisking his consciousness away.

    ¡°Hey, what¡¯re you doing?¡± asked the redhead, past a choking heave.

    ¡°How!?¡± said the champion, taken aback. He loosened his fingers around Azrael¡¯s throat. ¡°How¡¯d you break free?¡±

    Seizing his opening, the redhead lunged at his opponent, clawing at his face with all his might. His fingers found their target. A sickening squish was followed by a viscous ooze down his fingertips, trickling over his knuckles. Retracting his hand, the fleshy shackles around his neck vanished, followed by a furious howl gushing out his adversary¡¯s lips.

    ¡°My eye, my beautiful eye,¡± cried the champion. He turned his back to Azrael as he knelt over, gripping the marred socket he was left with.

    Panting, the redhead exhaled a breath, steadying his nerves. For the moment, he decided to gloss over the soreness around his throat, making his way towards the eyepatch demon. He took a bit longer to observe his opponent wallow in agony, defenceless in his moment of fragility.

    Dropping his weight, he rested his arms around the champion¡¯s shoulders, holding him close. Brushing his lips past his opponent¡¯s ear, he whispered, ¡°Shhhh-shh-shh. Screw you!¡±

    His arms tightened around the champion¡¯s throat as he pushed his feet off the canvas. His airborne legs shifted course, wrapping around his opponent¡¯s waist, coiling about his prey, embodying a serpent¡¯s fury. With a powerful twist of his body, the redhead toppled him over, forcing him to land face first, on the canvas.

    The duo rolled about, the champion squirmed violently, struggling to break free while Azrael relentlessly held on. A set of shaky elbows nudged the redhead¡¯s flank every second breath, each blow weaker than the last.

    But it didn¡¯t matter.

    He felt the champion¡¯s body grow limp, sensing his opponent¡¯s desperate attempts to tap out. The nudges around his flanks waned, replaced by an eerie, icy sensation crawling up beside him.

    Despite the chilling touch, Azrael held on firmly, refusing to let go. Weak winces wheezed past his lips despite the aching bruises. His body was running on fumes.

    But it didn¡¯t matter.

    His grip slackened, giving in to the exhaustion gnawing at his bones. His fingers were peeled free from the limp throat, as he fell onto the canvas in a spent mound, gasping for breath.

    He rested beside the chilly champion¡¯s body.

    Each breath came in ragged gasps as he swallowed sparse mouthfuls, desperate to steady his racing heart.

    The shaky light filtered through the ceiling, casting a glimmering glow against a cacophony of metal, falling from the sky, assembling a row of perfectly lined up steel bars around him.

    Azrael tried wrapping his head around his current predicament. He eyed the metallic framework, cordoning off his escape. Not like I can move an inch.

    He could hear distant voices and the sound of footsteps echoing, but his body couldn¡¯t care less for the world around. He wondered if victory had traded him one set of shackles for another.

    Anything but prison. Again.

 A Futile Victory

    The atmosphere in the arena was electrifying, the crowd never experienced a dull moment all night as cheers echoed endlessly, and the boisterous audience engaged in lively wagers choosing the fighter they favoured. Laughter and exhilaration permeated the underground ensemble. However, the merriment came to a breathless standstill as they witnessed the impossible ¨Ca lone human overpowering the newly crowned champion. Shock and awe rippled through the masses, till the tone was replaced with stunned silence, thick with bated breath.

    Amidst the hushed silence, a woman sitting at the furthest row from the match, leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with amusement. A chortle escaped her lips, loosening unapologetic mirth. Rising to her feet, she reeled in the masses, positioning herself at the heart of their intrigue.

    ¡°The mortal feed beats the living shit out of the newly crowned champion. You all see fit to trap him in a cage to hide your disgrace, pray tell?¡± The woman continued her playful stroll beaming past the rows of spectators, wiping a tear off her cheek.

    ¡°Wow, wow, hold it there, lady!¡± said the commentor. A hint of venom creeping into his voice.

    ¡°Hold what?¡± The woman forged on, unaffectedly weaving her way through the audience towards the caged canvas ring. Each step she took was elegantly knit, her form shimmering in and out of cognizance as she moved. A leather jacket and a pair of breathable midnight pants framed a lithe physique masked by a grey tunic. Magenta hair spilled over her shoulders, her cerise eyes laser-focused on a single target.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    The yak-faced and bull-faced guards appeared before the audacious woman, crossing their arms and fixing her with stern glares as she crept closer to the ring. Their imposing presence and fierce expressions made it clear they weren¡¯t keen to permit any admittance.

    The woman met their challenging gaze with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Her lips curled into a playful smile, and she raised an eyebrow as if daring them to stop her.

    ¡°No further,¡± said the yak-faced guard, holding up a hand.

    ¡°You buffoons should do your homework on who you oppose.¡± The woman held up a hand, cocking her index finger at the bull-faced demon. ¡°Bang!¡±

    The yak-faced guard snickered, clapping the bull demon¡¯s shoulder. Drawing his hand back, he felt a wetness at the edge of his fingertips.

    Mulling over the sudden change, he shifted his gaze towards his colleague. Met with the bloodied remnants of the bull-faced guard¡¯s lower jaw attached to a fountain of blood gushing out his head, he staggered backwards.

    ¡°Open the damn cage and scram.¡± The woman cocked her fingers at the last remaining guard, slipping a smile over her lips.

    Gulping against a lump in his throat, he moved aside, producing a console from his jacket pocket, and pushed a button. On cue, the cage rattled and moved upwards, granting access to the ring.

    Ducking under the cordoned off ropes bordering the ring, she walked to the centre, towering over a depleted redhead. ¡°Are you actually a mortal?¡± she asked, placing an elbow on a bent knee.

    ¡°Last I checked,¡± said the crimson haired male, catching his breath. ¡°Though I am beginning to question it.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± The woman grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hoisted him to his feet. ¡°This next part might hurt.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what¨C¡± He was cut short by a sharp jab to his abdomen. His eyes rolled back into his head, hanging loosely off her hands.

 Plastic-Walled

    Stirring from the realm of unconsciousness, Azrael swung his head in a groggy arc. ¡°Where am I?¡±

    Blinking the sleep out his eyes, he adjusted to the dim light. He took in the peculiar sight of the room he had found himself within. The bare lamp above cast eerie shadows across the walls, its faint glow exposing the transparent plastic wrapped about every nook and cranny, emulating the insides of a cocoon cordoned off from the rest of the world. He drew in a shaky, arid breath, tickling his nostrils with the pungent stench of chemicals lingering about.

    His limbs were leaden, simmering panic above a racing mind, rushing to make sense of where he was and how he had ended up in his current situation.

    A never-ending conundrum.

    ¡°Finally come to it?¡± asked a feminine voice. Stabbing a wooden chair in front of him, she rested her elbows and steepled her fingers over the back of the chair.

    ¡°Where am I?¡± repeated Azrael, trying to move his hands and feet, struggling against the bonds binding him to the seat.

    ¡°I see you¡¯re wrapped up cosily. Now tell me, what had happened back there, in that prison of yours?¡± The woman leaned in close, scrutinizing Azrael¡¯s face. A length of magenta fell over her temple, which she swept aside, fancying her latest catch. ¡°If you¡¯re as mortal as you appear, something doesn¡¯t add up.¡±

    ¡°Wait, by prison, do you mean Mol¡¯okh¡¯s?¡±

    ¡°Aye. Unless you¡¯ve been imprisoned elsewhere till you got to Zenith.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d you know about the prison? Are you in cahoots with Mol¡¯okh!?¡±

    ¡°With that guy? No, I¡¯m a gun for hire. My client wanted him dead but luckily you rushed the process along.¡± She took a moment, sizing him up and down. Narrowing her gaze, she continued. ¡°Now, back to the original question: what happened in that prison?¡±

    The redhead knit his eyebrows, furrowing them in tangles. ¡°I was tossed in a cell, made to clean up some cadavers, and¡­¡± The last of his words were caught in his throat. His voice cracked as though a scalpel was stuck in his throat, breaking his line of thought.

    ¡°Water?¡±

    He nodded past a coughing fit.

    The woman picked up a bottle by her foot. She unfastened the cap and touched the rim to his lips.

    Breathing in the drink he was offered, the liquid dribbled down his chin, wetting his clothes and binds. But it mattered little to Azrael. He took the moment to relish the freshness of his bountiful offering. Gasping in a bout of gratitude, he nodded his head.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Things weren¡¯t as friendly back in prison. Mostly, physical and mental mutilation. Though I¡¯m not sure what had happened in the end, but I remember killing Mol¡¯okh with my own hands.¡± He cocked his head to the side, besieged by a wave of bewilderment. ¡°I killed him.¡± An expressionless passivity smoothened his features. He thought of his final moments at the orphanage. A distant memory, fading with the march of time. ¡°Does it usually feel so hollow when you take a life?¡±

    ¡°Eh? Is that how you feel?¡± The woman rocked back and forth in her chair, her cerise eyes unblinkingly studying him. ¡°As an assassin, I¡¯ve taken far too many lives to give my feelings much thought.¡± She shrugged her shoulders, leaning forward in her chair, balancing her wooden piece on the tiptoes of its hindlegs. ¡°Say, can¡¯t you produce miasma?¡±

    ¡°My asthma sounds familiar. I¡¯m pretty sure I didn¡¯t have any breathing issues.¡±

    ¡°Not asthma, I meant, miasma. M-I-A-S-M-A. You certainly don¡¯t know jack about demons, do you?¡±

    ¡°After that fight, I realised all you people have a supernatural edge granting you certain abilities. Mol¡¯okh and his shadows, that eyepatch guy and his mind tricks. I¡¯m assuming the energy fuelling all of you should be this miasma, you speak of?¡±

    ¡°Seems like you¡¯ve gotten the gist of it. Though think of it more as a manifestation of the essence of our being. The truest expression of who we are.¡±

    ¡°An energy source that brings your essence to reality?¡± Azrael hung his head, tracing a tear in the plastic wrapped floor with a toe sticking out what should¡¯ve been the tattered remnants of a shoe. ¡°I doubt this will make much sense, but before I killed Mol¡¯okh I had a strange vision.¡±

    The woman raised an eyebrow, rocking her chair forwards and back. ¡°Go on. There¡¯s more to your story, isn¡¯t there?¡±

    Taking in a dreary breath, he recounted the happenings of his supposed encounter with Requiem.

    A hefty silence hung over the space dividing the redhead from his cerise-eyed abductor.

    Five blinks passed.

    Then ten.

    Finally, a span nearly lasting an eternity went by, trailed by a quick succession of blinks, alongside bated breath.

    ¡°So, let me get this straight,¡± said the woman, rupturing through the silence. ¡°You think a celestial creature, embedded somewhere in you, might have granted you the ability to revive yourself?¡± She narrowed her eyes, cradling her chin atop her fingers. ¡°You¡¯re sure you weren¡¯t hallucinating from all the blood loss?¡±

    ¡°It is a bit complicated,¡± admitted Azrael, sheepishly. ¡°I have no way of proving it either. Even if you handed me a cadaver, I¡¯m not sure if there¡¯s a manual I can rely on for this sort of¡­ situation.¡±

    ¡°First time I¡¯ve heard a story so absurd. I¡¯m not sure if you¡¯re touched in the head or spewing mindless jargon. Though, if you could harness the power of a dragon¡­¡±

    ¡°A dragon?¡±

    ¡°Aye. What else do you think the celestial being was?¡±

    A perplexed expression flickered across his face, briefly adrift in contemplation.

    ¡°Oi.¡± The woman tapped Azrael¡¯s cheekbone, stirring him from his musing. ¡°You know what? This isn¡¯t getting us anywhere.¡± Holding up an index finger, the woman cocked the digit at him, hovering over him, with the weighty dread posed by a loaded gun.

    ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡± he asked, tilting his head to the side. Pupils widened. He began struggling against his bonds. It did little to topple his chair over, nor wriggle him free of his binds. He couldn¡¯t help but look for a way out than accept his fate, as he sat stock still.

    Wordlessly, a cerise flicker tore through space.

 New Beginnings

    The stench of burnt skin permeated the air.

    A coil of singed ropes fell to the floor in a smouldering tatter, rustling against the plastic garbed ground.

    The cerise eyed woman got to her feet. Hunching over, she gathered up the sizzling bundle in her hands, and slung the burnt mess over her shoulder. Eyeing the mortal in the chair, she noted the scorch marks over his left arm, a faint smudge compared to the wounds he had sustained in his fight.

    His swollen orbit had been reduced to a black eye, and the rest of his body appeared battered but held together by taut skin over a skeletal frame. His shoulders were broad, and his arms held definition but the rest of him was sparse, starved and painted in bruises.

    ¡°You appear to be more hurt than you let on,¡± she said.

    ¡°I lost track of what pain feels like.¡± The redhead wearily pushed himself to his feet, rotating his neck and loosening his joints. ¡°Somehow, I¡¯m still in one piece. Feels strange to know what an amputation feels like, but still retain all my limbs.¡±

    ¡°If you had that level of regeneration, your wounds should¡¯ve closed up by now.¡± She got up close in his face, holding up a finger to his forehead. ¡°Would you react differently if I blew your brains out? Or would you be another corpse to clean up?¡±

    The redhead averted his gaze, aware of how perilous his present situation was. His abductor had cut through his ropes effortlessly, cautioning how easily she could end him before he had a chance to react.

    ¡°Death¡¯s been on my heels for a couple of years now.¡± Shrugging, he gazed into his abductor¡¯s cerise irises, delving into the secrets her pupils held. ¡°Although you¡¯re a gun for hire, your eyes are brimming with intrigue.¡±

    Smacking her lips, the woman drew her hand back, returning his gaze. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, you¡¯ve earned my curiosity. Though I find your words difficult to believe, I¡¯d rather take a chance figuring you out than offing you. Considering your victory against the champion in the underground fight, I¡¯ll say you have guts. Which is why, I¡¯ll give you two options.¡±

    Raising an eyebrow, Azrael folded his arms over his sore chest. ¡°Shoot.¡±

    ¡°Very poor choice of words, but that is an option.¡± The woman smirked, her extended finger by her side. ¡°Your second option is, since you wish to evade death a bit longer, would you consider working under me as an assassin?¡±

    ¡°What!?¡± he said, taken aback. ¡°You¡¯d have a human assassinate demons?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Sounds impossible, doesn¡¯t it? Of course, I won¡¯t leave you to figure it all out on your own. I¡¯ll help you cultivate a certain set of skills by whence you should be ready for a test run, namely an assassination mission. If you survive, you can reverse the tides of natural selection and make a living pulling off the impossible.¡±

    Slumping his shoulders, the redhead heaved a sigh. ¡°It¡¯s one thing after another with you demon lot, isn¡¯t it?¡± He took a moment, weighing his choices. Pull off the impossible? Or lower myself into a grave now? I sure as hell didn¡¯t go through all that, from before I¡¯d even stepped foot into the Abyzz, just to wind up a cadaver. ¡°I suppose, I have no choice but to test my mettle out there as an assassin, not like I¡¯m being coerced into it or anything.¡±

    ¡°Love the enthusiasm.¡± The woman stifled a chortle, extending a hand. ¡°I¡¯m Lilith by the way.¡±

    ¡°Azrael,¡± he said, taking the extended hand, albeit reluctantly. He wasn¡¯t sure if he should anticipate an unexpected surprise burning holes through his limbs. Or a hidden surge of miasma, rupturing through his palms, just as easily as she had relieved him of his bonds. All it took was a little miasma.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    His stomach grumbled in protest, vaporizing his line of thought, urging his fingers to retreat and rub his tummy. ¡°Please tell me there¡¯s food around here.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll feed you to your belly¡¯s fill. The question is, do you prefer regular meals or cadavers?¡±

    ¡°I could go for anything that¡¯s edible at this point.¡±

    Weaving in and out of war waged from one end of the corridor to the next, Azrael strolled past a wall of painted murals. The allure of blades and guns adorned by the brush of mastery over acrylic, gave way to the grumbling protests of his stomach, reeling his attention back to more pressing matters at hand.

    He followed Lilith down a spiral of stairs, nestled amongst shelves of books, marvelling and inhaling the scent of wisdom, temporarily curbing his hunger. He noted the bindings and the labelled sections each book was placed under, taking mental notes of tracing his steps back and pouring over the neatly stacked tomes another time.

    ¡°Almost there,¡± said Lilith, signalling with a hand.

    The intoxicating scent of parchment was replaced by the fresh aroma of basil and thyme, melding with the scent of burning pinewood.

    Drool trickled down the side of his mouth, compelling his feet to hasten their pace. Rushing past Lilith and led-on by the inebriating fragrance, he could quench his ravenous pursuit at last.

    ¡°Dinner better be ready in five,¡± said Lilith from behind. ¡°Oh, and we have Azrael here.¡± Catching up with the hasty redhead, she rested a hand on his shoulder. ¡°The girl with purple streaks is Raen and the blondie¡¯s Marr. The boys on the other hand¡­ what were their names again?¡±

    ¡°NAKTA,¡± perked up a raven-haired male with a lithe build. ¡°How did you forget us already? And the neurotic baldie¡¯s Juke, by the way.¡±

    ¡°I am not neurotic, it¡¯s called being thorough in my methodology,¡± emphasized a dark skinned, burly bald male.

    Wrapping an arm around Azrael she pulled him in close, peering past his shoulder. ¡°I rarely see the two of you around since I wind up taking the girls along on more missions.¡±

    ¡°The missions have been a pain,¡± whined Raen, tossing her purple streaked hair to the side.

    ¡°We barely get downtime,¡± added Marr, setting the frying pan on a hefty glass table.

    ¡°Did you forget the rules already?¡± reprimanded Juke. Popping up slick as a shadow, he slid a coaster under the frying pan and threw Marr a disgruntled look, shaking his head.

    ¡°Aye, aye dad,¡± said the two girls in unison, rolling their eyes.

    A timer went off, whisking Nakta¡¯s attention towards an oven. ¡°Where¡¯d you pick up the fresh meat?¡± he asked, sliding out a piping hot lasagne. He placed the casserole atop the glass table over a coaster.

    ¡°Spoils of my latest mission,¡± said Lilith. Sitting the ravenous redhead on her left, she grabbed plates and cutlery, from a pantry.

    Laying out the table, the six decided to take their seats, Nakta opposite Azrael, and Marr on his right. Lilith helped herself to the seat at the head of the table, dishing out equal parts lasagne and stir fry for herself and her latest catch, before passing the food along the table.

    Leaning in close, Marr threw a curious glance at the newcomer. Slicing a forkful of piping hot lasagne from her helping, she asked, ¡°what¡¯s your miasma like, newbie?¡±

    ¡°Ahum¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a secret.¡± Lilith cut in, digging into the stir fry. ¡°The lad¡¯s a bit amnesiac and needs some time to learn and relearn things about himself.¡± She pushed aside her plate, resting her elbows on the table, looking at each of the seated five.

    ¡°Is that so?¡± asked Nakta, chewing on a bite-size chunk of meat. ¡°We could jog his memory with a good ol¡¯ poundin¡¯.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know if he¡¯s going to be an assassin per se,¡± perked up Marr. ¡°He could help around the house, be on cooking and cleaning duty. Honestly, it¡¯d take a burden off our shoulders.¡±

    ¡°No, he¡¯ll work as an assassin,¡± insisted Lilith. She set aside the cutlery and steepled her fingers over the stir fry. ¡°He¡¯s got a year to make it as an assassin, otherwise, he¡¯ll be executed without trial.¡±

    Azrael who was busy wolfing down a second helping of lasagne, paid no heed to the threat. He continued ploughing through his food like a rapacious vulture devouring a carcass.

    ¡°Lad¡¯s quite unbothered by his own death sentence,¡± said Juke, dabbing his lips with a napkin.

    ¡°Well, it¡¯ll be up to the four of you to guide him. His death will be on your hands, if you falter in your teachings.¡±

    The temperature in the kitchen dropped by several degrees, followed by four nervous gulps.

    ¡°Whip him into shape with the basics and give him a taste of your speciality. I¡¯ll leave the details of the lessons up to your judgement.¡± Lilith pushed her seat back and rose to her feet, winking at the seated five.

    ¡°You¡¯re asking us to raise a powerless imp to a level beyond the average demon!¡± said Raen. ¡°You do realise how difficult that is, right?¡±

    ¡°You weren¡¯t all that different from him. In fact, you had far too much leeway in your training, which he won¡¯t receive. It won¡¯t hurt for y¡¯all to take a step back and learn what it means to have a student under your wing.¡±

    The four at the table collectively sighed, while Azrael blissfully helped himself to a third plate of grub.

 Marred

    After dinner, the redhead grabbed the plates and cutlery around the table, soaking the dishes in soapy water. He earned a spry thumbs up from Juke. ¡°Now you have to wash them¨C¡±

    ¡°No one¡¯s got time for your jabber.¡± Marr cut in, snagging Azrael with an arm wrapped around his waist. ¡°I¡¯ll be stealing him for a bit.¡±

    She blew a kiss towards Juke, who rubbed his temples. ¡°Leave him in one piece for tomorrow morning.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± said a stunned Azrael, his gaze flitting back and forth, between the two. ¡°We¡¯re starting already?¡±

    ¡°Early bird gets the early worm. Oh wait, what¡¯s the idiom for grinders in the night?¡±

    ¡°Hopefully not haemorrhoids,¡± he muttered.

    Marr rolled her eyes at the redhead, dragging him along, through the vast hallways and out an open veranda.

    Stepping onto the tiled floor to a neatly trimmed verdure, she pushed him three arm¡¯s length away from her, a playful coyness splayed across her features.

    ¡°It¡¯s been a while since Lilith last brought along fresh meat. Are you really amnesiac or is that a front she¡¯s running?¡±

    ¡°Who can say for sure?¡± he said, throwing his hands up in the air.

    ¡°You,¡± replied Marr, dryly. ¡°If Lilith doesn¡¯t want us prying into it any further, it¡¯s not my place to question her decision.¡± She waved her hand in dismissal. ¡°Moving along, what have you heard about me?¡±

    ¡°Not much. I¡¯m assuming you¡¯re another assassin like Lilith. Any tricks and tips to rise to the top in a cinch?¡±

    A faint smile was painted across Marr¡¯s lips. It didn¡¯t take long before transmuting into an unbridled explosion of hilarity. Wiping a tear off her eye, she took in short gasps of air, regaining her composure. ¡°My, my, you have quite the sense of humour.¡±

    ¡°Glad I could entertain you with my jests.¡± Azrael took a bow, biting back a flicker of annoyance. ¡°In all seriousness though, how do I become one of you?¡±

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    ¡°For real?¡± Marr returned his gaze, twirling a stray strand of blonde hair, falling over her shoulder. ¡°Words paint a pretty picture, don¡¯t they? The weight of walking into our world isn¡¯t as easy as Lilith makes it out to be. Especially in a year, for an ignoramus who thinks little of the struggle that comes with it.¡±

    In a blink, she crossed the distance separating her from Azrael. Her fist whistled through the air, powerful as a gale, lodging firmly in his core.

    In a gut-wrenching flare, the redhead crumbled to his knees, his vision blurring. What¡¯s happening? Shaking his head, the pull of gravity had him closer to the ground than he liked to be. He swallowed back a scalding mouthful, gagging from the acidic aftertaste of bechamel sauce, wetting the roof of his mouth.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you withstood my blow.¡± A slender set of fingers weaved their way through crimson strands. In a sharp tug, the redhead was pulled to his feet, dancing on his tiptoes. ¡°Maybe you aren¡¯t as helpless as I made you out to be.¡± A wide maniacal grin spread across Marr¡¯s face, as she sent another clenched fist flying.

    ¡°Did you get a matching black eye for the right one?¡± asked Raen, pouring over Azrael¡¯s battered form, examining his wounds.

    ¡°I¡¯d barely managed to keep the grub from last night inside me.¡± He grimaced, recalling his not so pleasant training session with Marr.

    ¡°Hand-to-hand combat is all she¡¯s got, apart from her sharp tongue. Her miasma isn¡¯t too shabby either, but I find my stockpile of weapons a lot more apt for our line of work.¡±

    Unzipping a set of duffel bags, she dropped a pile of handguns, a sniper, and a set of explosives.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you handle those with a bit more caution?¡± he asked, noting the hazardous pile of weaponry.

    ¡°We should be fine. These guys rarely let me down.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Azrael could feel his heart sink, watching Raen arm herself with a grenade and cock a gun in his direction.

    ¡°Tick-tock.¡±

    ¡°Did a were-broccoli bite you?¡± asked Juke, tucking a pair of muscular arms over his chest. ¡°And why didn¡¯t you come to my class in the morning? I ought to go prep dinner close to evening.¡±

    ¡°Ran into Raen on my way, and she¡¯d dragged me over for a quick lesson which went on, waaaaay past morning. She was quite ferocious with her arsenal.¡± Azrael coughed up a plume of smoke, wiping the grime off his face.

    ¡°Right. The women here are quite¡­ brutish.¡± Juke walked over and pulled up a chalkboard, drawing a sword. Flipping the board over, he produced a set of illustrations, depicting a blade in a forge, alongside a list of ingredients and procedures. ¡°Unlike the destructive women you have dealt with, I prefer to begin with the theory and build up to actual practice over the course of our lessons. It is vital to understand the essence of a blade before you wield one. You must understand how to forge one of your own through the course of your studies, once you have a feel for the right kind.¡±

    The redhead¡¯s eyebrow began twitching, forcing a smile past a set of clenched fists. Pounding all this nonsense into my head after being beat up is nothing short of hell! He kept the grumbling internal, enduring ¡®the essence of the blade.¡¯

 Hell

    The days went past, slow or fast, he was unsure. Stifling a yawn tugging at the corners of his lips he propped himself up against a wall, taking a moment to catch his breath.

    ¡°All of this is one hell of a pain.¡± He gritted his teeth, shaking off the drowsiness pervading his senses. ¡°Well, better off than hanging from a set of shackles, limbless,¡± he chided.

    Amidst the harsh regimen he was subjected to, he was relieved he could skip out on training with Nakta, who was just as cheery to slack off.

    Worst of all was that one time he¡¯d caught me making strange hand gestures at a half-cooked chicken. Nearly deafened me with an earful.

    He trembled at the thought of spending any more time with Nakta than he had to, but his relationship with the other three assassins had evolved. Despite his earlier experience with ¡®brawls,¡¯ he didn¡¯t have much to show against Marr in their spars. He wasn¡¯t all that great with aim, when it came to sniping or gunfights, but Raen had praised him for his reckless usage of explosives and gunfire in setting up smoke screens. And last of all, surprisingly, his progression with swordplay was the most impressive. Juke had experimented with various blades to test out his preferred duelling style, settling on a mix of dual wield with two shorter blades, and switching it up with a katana.

    Standing ten strides apart, the two swordsmen circled each other over a soft patch of flat ground. Azrael hung a katana on his left flank and a pair of short swords on his right.

    Meanwhile, Juke wielded a pair of longswords, unsheathed and warmed up, awaiting their opponent. He idly swung both blades around, cracking his neck in anticipation.

    ¡°Come at me.¡± He gestured at the redhead, holding one of his blades inverted and beckoning with his index finger.

    Unsheathing his katana, Azrael held the single-edged blade by his side, leaping into a running start. Covering the soft patch separating the duo, he swung his katana aiming for his opponent¡¯s unguarded sternum.

    Juke effortlessly swung the blade in his left hand, swatting aside his apprentice¡¯s blow as easily as he would a fly. ¡°Polish up on the transition from build-up to execution,¡± he advised, switching up his grip to an inverse hold on his longsword before it whistled past the air.

    The redhead moved as quick as he could, a hiss rolling past his lips. His hand clutched his chest, where Juke¡¯s blade had denuded a thin layer of flesh along Azrael¡¯s sternum, tracing a thin trickle of crimson down his abs. Taking a tentative step back, he gritted his teeth, wiping the blood off his fresh wound.

    ¡°You won¡¯t bleed to death,¡± reassured Juke, closing the distance the redhead had taken. He channelled the chaotic symphony of his longswords, loosening a flurry of slashes at his apprentice.

    Sidestepping and parrying to the best of his ability, Azrael drew a short sword for assistance, his mind occupied with staying on his feet no matter what. He realised the symphony his opponent conducted was melodious, a tune that would have had his head if he gave in to its tempestuous allure. The clashing steels were a sweet sing-song melody that he couldn¡¯t refuse, reeling him in. It held his intrigue, perhaps a slight bit more, than his interest in miasma at the moment.

    Shaking his head, Juke¡¯s blade brushed past his ear, snapping his mind back into the fight before his head was skewered. He kept parrying away steel till the very last of moments, before steel could touch flesh.

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    ¡°Switching it up from attack to defence?¡± asked Juke, increasing the intensity of his blows. His blades picked up the pace, transforming from steel plumes to lines, weaving in and out of cognizance.

    Fat drops of sweat rolled off of Azrael¡¯s forehead, as he sidestepped a wide swing aimed at his head.

    Sliding his blade over his torso, he deflected a slash to his ribs with his short sword.

    Metal clanged against metal, ramming into his chest. He wheezed out what breath remained in his lungs, as he was flung back. Using the momentum of the blow, Azrael threw himself further away, taking in shallow gasps.

    The rattle of clashing steels rang in his ears.

    Heaving and panting, the redhead¡¯s tunic was drenched in perspiration. He held his pair of blades up, switching his hold till he mirrored his opponent¡¯s style, gripping his short sword inversed.

    ¡°Not bad, not bad at all,¡± said Juke. He stood his ground, deferring pursuit. ¡°You¡¯ve made more progress in nine months than most novices with a blade. Your prowess in swordplay is praiseworthy but have you figured out the nature of your miasma yet?¡±

    ¡°Torn between the lessons amongst the three of you every day? Haven¡¯t had a moment to catch my breath.¡±

    ¡°Nakta should be guiding you on the basics of miasma.¡± Juke shrugged, unsurprised by his fellow assassin¡¯s indifference. ¡°What he does is his choice, though it won¡¯t hurt him to mature a bit.¡± He looked away, momentarily, shaking his head. ¡°Anyways, set aside your short sword. I want to test your prowess with the katana alone.¡± He sheathed one of his longswords, wielding his preferred blade in his right hand. ¡°Come at me.¡±

    Heaving a sigh, Azrael leapt into a running start. Despite his hectic schedule, his lessons with Juke were the most exciting part of the day. Apart from his time at the kitchen. Still better than hanging with half as many limbs from shackles.

    *

    ¡°I don¡¯t see Nakta around as often.¡± Raen licked a sliver of cream from a forkful of pie.

    ¡°He¡¯s been more evasive than ever,¡± sighed Marr.

    ¡°Apparently, been skipping out on the lessons he ought to be teaching.¡± Juke crinkled his brows, shaking his head. ¡°Lad needs to take up more responsibility. At this rate, Azrael¡¯s more mature than he is.¡± He bit into his own slice of pie, widening his eyes. ¡°This is absolutely scrumptious.¡±

    ¡°Why thank you.¡± The redhead emerged, taking a deep bow. He sat down, digging into his own slice of pie. ¡°As you can see, one of my mentors, is not as keen on his duties, but I am not complaining. Not like I am concerned if I¡¯ll be sticking around till the end of the year or anything.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense.¡± Marr slammed a palm against his back, nearly throwing him face first into the pie. ¡°I doubt any of us will be here at this rate.¡±

    ¡°You need to brighten up your ways,¡± tutted Juke.

    ¡°The point is,¡± interjected Raen. ¡°You need someone to teach you the demonic arts? Shouldn¡¯t be too hard, no? I mean if you just loosen your miasma and think of what you want it to do. It should work out, like the usual stuff.¡±

    ¡°If it was as easy, Lilith wouldn¡¯t have left him with us.¡± Marr slammed her fist against the redhead¡¯s leg, urging a wince past creamy lips.

    ¡°OUCH! What did you do that for!?¡± protested Azrael.

    ¡°You¡¯ve endured far worse, don¡¯t sweat it.¡±

    ¡°If there¡¯s one thing Nakta¡¯s got us beat with, it¡¯s his ability to channel miasma.¡± Juke looked at his hand. ¡°Even I cannot explain how I use it. Just that it comes to me, flowing like water would through a spring, bending to my will.¡±

    Azrael raised an eyebrow, biting into a pecan. I doubt mentioning death energy would make sense to any of them. From the sounds of it, even Nakta won¡¯t be able to do much till I can summon my miasma. Which seems more instinctual for everyone here but me. I suppose there¡¯s not much I can do for now than train and await whatever trial determines my fate.

    ¡°Oy!¡± Marr grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking him from end to end. ¡°Still alive? Abyzz to Azrael!¡±

    ¡°You might have beaten him a little too black and blue, turning him into a punched drunk.¡± Raen waved her hand in front of the redhead¡¯s face, fork sticking out her lips.

    ¡°Just let the poor lad enjoy his time away from training. You two need to go back to picking on Nakta.¡±

    ¡°His reactions are a lot more explosive than Azrael¡¯s.¡± Raen plucked the fork from her lips, twirling over the crumbs clinging on to her plate. She looked like she was mulling over her options, torn between which younger assassin she wanted to mess with.

    ¡°Easier to mess with a riled-up moron than this diamond in the rough.¡± Marr tapped a finger against her chin, lost in contemplation. ¡°Or maybe a rock in the rough? Since we don¡¯t even know what his miasma is.¡±

    ¡°I am beginning to question if you all are even worthy of being mentors.¡± Juke slammed a palm against his face, loosening a heavy sigh.

 Smouldering Cowardice

    The dull clang of metal pounding metal, resonated in a thunderous boom. Sizzling water fizzled off, steaming from the iron¡¯s molten body, vaporizing in a pall of smoke.

    The forge was centred around white hot flames, throwing tumultuous shadows into a dancing frenzy, as an arm raised a hammer over an anvil, pounding away at the molten metal, rhythmically, sending up a shower of sparks.

    The iron was swayed under the slow, calculated thumps of a practiced hand, paving way for a thin blade, drawn with a flat, smooth edge on one side. And an irregular curve on the other.

    Azrael wasn¡¯t sure why he was there. Why his presence mattered in the slightest. And yet, there he was. Watching.

    It was strange, knowing what he did about forging a blade, from what Juke¡¯s lessons had taught him, and yet, he had hardly seen his mentor ever work on a forge, nor shown him what it took to carve a blade from a slab of rock. It felt more like he had a strong grasp on how to wield one, but his knowledge of the craft seemed like it came from forging steels, meticulously, than the violent use of varying steels in battle.

    Perhaps miasma was the answer. If he could mould steel with his own energy then there was no point in wasting his time, labouring in a forge.

    Azrael took a step closer, his eyes skimming over the metal the smith was pounding away at.

    His jaw dropped.

    Pale bone extended off the piping hot metal, screaming red, as clumps of silvering and chocolate hair were laid to rest beside the molten work.

    The redhead shifted his gaze to the smith, who leered at him with a pair of lips flashing him a toothy grin, each.

    He leapt back, as if stabbed by a sudden jolt of terror. It was strange to see a trio of heads stare at him. One was nipped off at the neck, fashioning a hollow that housed an inescapable abyss, from the depths of its headless neck. The second head was a dark-skinned man, his skull cracked open, spilling cerebral juice, down his face. The final head fashioned an eyepatch, gazing past him, slobber trickling down his lips, as he mindlessly pounded away, at the bony metal laid out on the forge.

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    Azrael took a step back, his hands quivering, his lips trembling. He could scarcely believe what he had seen. Did I create this abomination?

    It wasn¡¯t long before the pounding came to a sudden halt. The silence resonated louder than the thump of hammer over blade, cleaving through his thoughts. A pair of pincers grabbed hold of the molten piece, dipping it into a canister of water. Sizzling vapours curled off the surface, vaporizing to steam. A musty scent of iron, melding with damp, permeated the chamber, having Azrael wrinkle his nose in revulsion.

    It was a stench he was familiar with. A scent that brought back unpleasant memories.

    His eyes slid to the water, realising the liquid was crimson and bubbling.

    Wringing the bone blade out the bloody coolant, it was laid out on the forge, once again. The smith ran a finger over the blade, scalding flesh, as he traced the outline from tip till base. Rather than pull his hand off the molten piece, he grabbed a thinner portion from the base, wrapping his palm tightly around, till his skin spat curses. His fingers were wound around the metal, snug as a child tucked in, becoming a single file scale of a meaty hilt, one with the macabre blade.

    Azrael could do little but inch away. He was mesmerised by the sight, and yet felt fearful for what might await him if he stuck around.

    But he had no choice.

    He turned tail and ran with all his might. The darkness stretched around him, endlessly, as he plunged into the inky nothingness, till the forge was nothing by a fading flame, the blade no longer within sight.

    It wasn¡¯t time for him to wield such a weighty blade. The hour wasn¡¯t ripe. Yet.

    He sat up straight in his bed. He heaved and huffed, as though he had run a marathon in his sleep.

    The liquid sun, streamed in past the grilles of his window, throwing his room into a faint orange blaze, reminiscent of the flame he had fled from.

    Baring his teeth, he held a hand up to the light, steadying his worked-up pulse. He threw the blanket off his drenched body, rising to his feet. He stretched his neck, and rotated his shoulders, running a hand through clumps of matted red. He felt like he was going to be sick, ready to flood the floorboards in bile. He doubled over, retching a heaping mouthful, but luckily, he hadn¡¯t spilled his guts. Just a wet cough from a long, miserable slumber.

    He shook his head and smacked his cheeks. He had a long day to get to. No point moping about his dreams. Or nightmares. A strange notion to twirl over, when he had experienced far worse. Albeit, he barely had any time to himself and yet he spent what time he did have, worrying about worrying. A pointless endeavour.

 Mission

    The 12-month mark to his execution was a week away, signalling the beginning of the end. And yet, the redhead couldn¡¯t bring himself to care anymore.

    He walked past a mirror, a ragged excuse for a battle worn stranger gazed back. Crinkling his brows, lifting a hand, the figure mimicked his movements. Exhaling a breath, he hung his head, swiftly picking himself up and staring at the polished piece. Despite all his scrutiny, he realised the beaten excuse for a person gazing back, kept up with the mimicry.

    He went from assessing his overall appearance to picking at a hole in his shirt. Around the fabric, a red welt peeped out. The wound was stitched together with raw skin, barely held together by twine.

    Another wound garnered his attention, one over his shoulder. He could feel the gunshot piercing through skin, gushing black. A tweezer had to be stabbed in, digging the metal out his flesh. He had winced once or twice but realised the squirming did nothing more than worsen Raen¡¯s chances of pulling out the bullet.

    His arms and legs felt sore. He dared not lift up the fabric and pour over the skin, fearful of what he might see. But compared to a mutilation, he hadn¡¯t sustained anything severe nor permanent. Red welts that paved way for brown crusts, peeling away till silvering scars remained. A memento of his pain. Or rather life as it was for him. Nothing more than silvering scars.

    Exhaling a sigh, he shook his head, clearing up his thoughts. He was short on time, and the day had come.

    Working his way up the stairs, he glanced over the volume of tomes he shuffled past. Guilt-drenched pangs clawed at his heart. Despite the intrigue he had built up the first time he had come across the collection of books, in that moment he hadn¡¯t a slice of energy left for anything but his tasks for the day.

    Turning a corner, his knuckles rapped against a tightly sealed door, awaiting his permission to enter.

    ¡°Come in,¡± said Lilith, through a comm on the side of the door. A buzzer whistled, automatically sliding to the side, permitting Azrael admittance. Walking into the well-lit office chamber, he found her in a beige leather swivel, separated by a mahogany table from the pair of seats laid out for her visitors. He couldn¡¯t help but raise an eyebrow at the desk. His lips curled off his teeth. He couldn¡¯t do much else than take a vacant seat. His fingers dug into the chair¡¯s wooden armrests, his nails biting into the ridges.

    The other seat was occupied by a rather animatedly exasperated assassin in the middle of a heated conversation.

    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s here too.¡± The occupant of the other seat, rolled his eyes, throwing his arms in the air.

    Azrael narrowed his gaze at the raven-haired male beside him.

    ¡°And what grievances do you come with?¡± asked Lilith.

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t I summoned here?¡± shot back the redhead.

    ¡°Oh right,¡± she continued. ¡°Fuck, your execution is soon, isn¡¯t it? I was discussing the matter with Nakta here, who is quite reluctant to have you onboard for an upcoming mission he was requested for.¡±

    ¡°Last thing I need is an imbecile tarnishin¡¯ my record.¡±

    ¡°You have finished five missions so far,¡± emphasized Lilith. ¡°Besides, you were assigned to teach Azrael everything miasma related. How many lessons have you had with him?¡±

    ¡°Maybe once a month¨C¡±

    ¡°Never!¡± said the redhead, bluntly. His fingers dug further into the wood, crunching his nails. ¡°Though I can¡¯t blame him for it. With my arduous schedule, juggling all my current lessons, I doubt I¡¯d have been able to take up his teachings too.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the issue here.¡± Lilith waved him aside, her attention zeroing in on the raven-haired male. ¡°It¡¯s fine to have ambition, but if you remain at your current level, you¡¯ll never reach where I am at.¡±

    Nakta clucked his tongue, looking away. ¡°I get it already. I just need to take him along, yeah? But don¡¯t expect me to prioritise his safety over completin¡¯ the mission.¡±

    Azrael threw him a distasteful glance, propping his elbows up against the mahogany desk. He curled his fists, narrowing his gaze. ¡°If I survive the mission, which I know I will, then I want downtime from my current lessons. And I want someone other than him,¡± he pointed a shaky, loathing finger at Nakta. ¡°Anyone other than him, to teach me how to use miasma! I know I¡¯m built for it.¡±

    ¡°Look at you, talkin¡¯ up a big game.¡± The raven-haired male guffawed, rolling his eyes.

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    ¡°Enough.¡± Lilith crinkled her brow, pinching the bridge of her nose. ¡°If you survive your mission with him, you can do as you please.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± asked Azrael, enthusiastic.

    ¡°That is if you survive,¡± emphasized Nakta.

    Riding behind Nakta, was nothing short of debasing. Azrael had never been on a bike before, clambering onto the vehicle and hesitantly wrapping his arms around the raven-haired male¡¯s waist, unsure of what he should do.

    ¡°What the fuck do you think you¡¯re doin¡¯?¡± asked Nakta, brushing off his arms. ¡°Try not to get yourself killed before we even start the mission.¡±

    Knitting his brows in annoyance, the redhead scrambled for a hold, his fingers grasping the rear end of his seat, right when the engine was revved up. In a half-heartbeat, they tore through the front gates of Lilith¡¯s stronghold, nearly tossing the redhead off the ride.

    Ever since he had been snagged by Lilith from his underground fight, he had spent nearly a year without leaving the place, indulging in nothing but training and aching with soreness. The wind that whistled past, washed away the mustiness he had accumulated. He felt like he was whisked away by liberation from the clutches of a shackleless prison.

    Medieval horses and bullock carts were nowhere in sight, neither were muddy roadways. Asphalt lined the roads where cars and bikes zipped past in a realm that had left the human world behind, in every aspect of advancement.

    Towering buildings littered the horizon, sharper than precarious spires off a mountain, scraping heaven¡¯s hull. Not a speck of the rural countryside could be sighted. He would have compared the sprawling cityscape from his current reality with the cities close to his orphanage, but he hadn¡¯t had a chance to explore much else, beyond the craigs of his village¡¯s backwater wilderness. A different lifetime, bound by different shackles.

    He wondered how things would have been, if his life hadn¡¯t been turned upside down by Mol¡¯okh.

    Perhaps there was no way to know, apart from travelling through time, and back to the past. Or perhaps, there¡¯s no more meaning in such idle thinking, when he was severed from the binds of anything resembling an inkling of his life from back then.

    ¡°So, this is the Abyzz.¡± He viewed his present reality with a sense of awe. His younger self would have thought of all this as nothing more than a pipedream.

    Smirking, he felt his body lurch forward, springing off the ride. Instinctively, he tightened his grip around the hold, barely latching on than being flung past the horizon, like a shot out a cannon.

    ¡°Give a heads up!¡± Gritting his teeth, the redhead realised the bike had come to an abrupt halt in front of a pair of wrecked gates.

    ¡°Tsk, still clingin¡¯ on like a sloth!? Damn imbecile!¡± Nakta had added an extra layer of seething to his seasoned contempt, clucking his tongue. ¡°We got here quick enough.¡±

    Azrael bit back a curse, jumping off the bike. Shifting the belt around his waist, he adjusted the three blades hanging from his flanks. He carried two flashbangs and a grenade, foregoing guns.

    ¡°Carryin¡¯ the whole house on your arse?¡± asked Nakta, glowering at him.

    ¡°I have an arsenal compared to the paltry blades hanging off your waist.¡± He scoffed at the raven-haired male¡¯s underprepared, aloof nonchalance. ¡°You must be one hell of an assassin if two swords are all you need.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if I¡¯m takin¡¯ out the head of a gang or fightin¡¯ an army. With my blades by my side, I could forgo the deadweight holdin¡¯ me back. And of course, I have somethin¡¯ called,¡± Nakta leaned in close, cupping a hand over his mouth, ¡°M-I-A-S-M-A.¡±

    ¡°My ass.¡± Azrael retorted, gritting his teeth. He held down his hand, wrapping around his blade¡¯s hilt.

    ¡°No need to be rattled. You have your ways, I have mine. All you have to do is survive today.¡± Nakta loosened a snicker, strolling through the wrecked gates, as though he owned the place.

    Pride in tatters, the redhead loosened the grip on his weapon, as he followed suit. He shook his head, scrambling to piece together the shattered fragments of his fervour. No way I¡¯m letting him ruin my first mission.

    The duo cut through a tiled path leading to a five-storey mansion looming in the midst of acres of verdure, strewn with gutted demons alongside burnt and wrecked weapons. Vultures and crows helped themselves to a buffet of carcasses, the stench of death, pungent. Azrael took note of the birds of prey, pecking and tearing up the rotten riot, a notable upgrade compared to the powerless prisoners pillaged from the human world. Perhaps he didn¡¯t have it in him, to forgive those that had brought him into the Abyzz. He wondered if he ever would. Even if it had pried him free of the grey life he had lamented about.

    At the end of the carnage riddled fields, stood a pair of knockers, mounted on twenty-foot-tall doors. Instead of the invitation in front of him, Nakta went in for a rope dangling from the ceiling attached to a bell. ¡°Quite old fashioned, aren¡¯t they?¡± Flicking his wrist, the bell resounded throughout the mansion, perturbing the birds feeding off the strewn carcasses.

    A colossal hand threw open the doors in response to the tolling bell. He ducked underneath the wooden frame of the entrance, while scratching his head in confusion. The lone eye nestled above the bridge of his nose peered out ahead, spanning the horizon. He scratched his head, as he slid his eye downwards, rocking back and forth between the pair of assassins, who were lesser than ants from his perspective.

    ¡°Which one of ye fools, decided ta walk in ¡®ere?¡± he asked, in a half-roar.

    ¡°What happened to the folks livin¡¯ here?¡± said Nakta in turn. ¡°Their lawns¡¯ a shabby mess.¡±

    Uttering a guttural roar of displeasure, the cyclops hunched over and narrowed his focus on Nakta. ¡°We killed ¡®em all a week back. What¡¯s it ta ye, runt?¡±

    ¡°Thank you for your confirmation.¡± The raven-haired male turned to the redhead, splaying a lopsided grin. ¡°We¡¯re at the right place. We could¡¯ve sneaked in, but I decided a frontal approach would be more educative. You should thank me later for thinkin¡¯ of teachin¡¯ you the right stuff.¡±

    ¡°What are we killing him with?¡± asked Azrael, his eyes flitting between the sheathed sword at his side and his ally¡¯s set of katanas.

    ¡°That¡¯s why you need miasma,¡± he replied.

    Out the corner of his eye, the redhead noticed a flicker of movement and instinctively leapt back three strides, while a cloud of dust settled over the spot Nakta was standing at.

    When the dirt cleared, a mace lay on the cracked porch, the other end wielded by the cyclops. ¡°Looks like I sent ye friend far, far away,¡± the cyclops said, watching the skyline.

    The redhead swallowed hard against a parched throat, sliding a hand over the hilt of his katana.

 Peek-a-boo

    Azrael edged towards the railing cordoning off the veranda, his heart thundering in his chest. A shaky hand rested on his weapon, hesitantly drawing out the blade. What am I afraid of? He just did in Nakta, but I¡¯ve got skills of my own.

    Gritting his teeth, he steadied the katana in his hand, assuming a fighting stance.

    I¡¯ve dealt with worse. In comparison to the helplessness I¡¯ve felt throughout my life, I can oppose fate with my own two hands ¡­ and legs, right now. He shook his head, focusing his all on striking the enemy in front of him.

    The cyclops drew his mace out of the cracked porch, making his way towards the redhead, who cautiously took a step back.

    ¡°No need ta hide, runt. Let¡¯s make it easier on all of us.¡± The cyclops parted a grey bloodless twist of his lips, to show he enjoyed the task before him, less than he made it out to be. As though it was no more than a chore he had to finish up, before afternoon came along, than a bully who enjoyed pushing the weak around.         A task that must be done, even if it means getting his hands dirty.

    Abruptly, the cyclops came to a standstill, blinking confusedly. A trickle of blood traced the length of his chin. His lone eye became unfocused, his eyelid partially closed. A split-span later, a vertical crack tore through him, from groin to skull, felling the colossal demon in a pool of liquid crimson, both halves falling on either side of the mace. Past a geyser raining red, a raven-haired male appeared, wielding a katana.

    Shaking the blood off his blade, Nakta grimaced at the mess, mouthing, ¡°M-I-A-S-M-A.¡± Sliding Azrael a wink, he slipped in past the open door.

    He clucked his tongue, waltzing in past enemy lines. ¡°I can¡¯t believe Lilith left me with that fuckin¡¯ imbecile. If he can¡¯t take out weaklins of the sort, he¡¯s no different than a flailin¡¯ mortal. Absolute bollocks!¡±

    As much as he wanted to loiter about and admire the fancy interior of the mansion, an armada of demons from ghouls and ogres to werecreatures and goblins, bustling about the lobby, grabbed his attention. The moment the demons took note of his presence, they all came to a standstill, switching up their agenda for the day.

    High on alert, the demons gathered up in a united front, unsheathing and wielding weapons. A ghoul was the quickest to respond, leading the charge by wielding an axe which had already been swung in a wide arc. In a flash of steel, Nakta¡¯s head rolled off his shoulders, his headless corpse coming to a halt.

    The ghoul¡¯s eerie smile stretched across his face, proudly gesturing to his comrades over his triumph. The other demons hesitated looking at one another, before shrugging their shoulders and retreating to their original posts.

    Nakta¡¯s headless corpse crackled, standing motionless. From thin air, a gleaming katana tainted red, materialized, speared through the ghoul¡¯s chest.

    The air warped and shimmered as Nakta emerged, holding the other end of the blade. With a twist of his wrist, the blade was slid out the lifeless ghoul. With a lash of his foot, he sent the corpse flying. But before anyone could react, he vanished into thin air once again, leaving behind only an elusive afterimage.

    A werecow pointed at the ghoul¡¯s deceased form, shouting, ¡°LOOK OUT!¡±

    Materializing beside the cow-demon, he had his katana against her throat. He leaned in close and brushed his lips past her ear, ¡°miss me already, sweety?¡± In a blood-stained swish, the cow¡¯s head rolled past Nakta¡¯s feet, like tumbleweed in the desert.

    Witnessing his prowess, the demons scrambled back into position, wielding their weapons once again, high on alert.

    A sardonic laughter resounded within the lobby of the mansion, as Nakta weaved in and out of cognizance, decimating the ranks of demons from fifty to twenty in ten spans. In the following five spans, he skilfully dispatched the remaining twenty demons, leaving a trail of freshly decimated carcasses in his wake.

    He wiped the blood off his blade against the tunic of a fallen ogre, sheathing his crimson-stained katana. He turned his attention back to the entrance of the mansion, where he expected to find Azrael. Cupping a hand over his forehead, he shielded his eyes from the flickering overhead lights. He scanned the area amid the chaos, in search of the redhead.

    ¡°Oi imbecile! Still ALIVE!?¡±

    His voice echoed throughout the mansion, reverberating off the walls. In response, a multitude of stomping feet emanated from the floor above.

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    Shrugging his shoulders, he said, ¡°Well, that¡¯s that.¡±

    Feigning a struggle against fictitious regret, he took the very first step on his ascension up the stairway to the mansion¡¯s top.

    Sidestepping around the bloodied mess of the cyclops, Azrael strode into the mansion in a lulled state. He thought he had seen it all, experienced the worst of it, and yet, he couldn¡¯t help but acknowledge Nakta¡¯s prowess with both blade and miasma. Observing his display of formidable power, Azrael¡¯s voracity for strength intensified. In the midst of the chaos, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder how it would feel to harness his own miasma, wielding power of that magnitude.

    I could make hand gestures all day long, but it wouldn¡¯t help turn the dead¡¯s death energy to miasma.

    Despite the cadavers littering the lobby, Azrael was at a loss.

    ¡°Dammit Requiem,¡± he cussed under his breath. ¡°What do I do now?¡±

    He half-heartedly made his way over to a corpse. The only explanation he could think of, was the fact he couldn¡¯t summon his ¡®supposed¡¯ miasma without a viable body.

    Perhaps the right ingredients would help brew the right stew for the occasion.

    He couldn¡¯t help but raise an eyebrow, wondering when he¡¯d come to care as much about cooking. Another issue he grappled with, staying locked up for so long at the stronghold.

    Instinctively, he leapt four strides to his right, nearly colliding with a column, enroute. A set of claws dominated the space he had occupied a moment ago, extended from the hairy reaches of a humanoid wolf-like creature. A belt with a grenade and flashbangs hung from his extended talons for fingers. Sniffing the canister, he tossed the bundle aside. Baring his fangs, the wolfman inched towards the redhead, the corners of his mouth foaming with rabid intensity.

    ¡°Dammit, there goes my one edge over Nakta!¡± Raising his katana in a defensive stance, Azrael¡¯s senses were heightened, and his focus was lasered in on his opponent¡¯s next move. If there¡¯s one thing he had learnt from Juke¡¯s training sessions, making the first move often cost him the upper hand in battle.

    The wolfman lashed out with his claws for fingers, raking through a column as easily as slicing through butter.

    Shakily, he deflected the claw, shuffling backwards. If he had been a half-breath slower, his face would have been turned to scored meat.

    In that moment, a second revelation struck him like lightning.

    Azrael understood seizing control of the battle required more than just reacting to his opponent¡¯s actions. It demanded an understanding of timing, experience to draw from and an arsenal of moves to upend adversity. But it was something he had to erase from his conscious mind and allow his instincts to take over. Move with the flow, as though he were on a raft riding a river¡¯s currents, and his blade, the oars governing his vessel¡¯s velocity.

    Smirking with newfound confidence, he anticipated the next set of clawed blows from the wolfman, who had forged on with his onslaught of strikes, showing no traces of slowing down.

    Parrying the next cascade of slashes, one after the other, a single step at a time, he grew reassured. He began recognising the worth of ¡®the essence of the blade,¡¯ or whatever Juke had spouted.

    Merrily, he continued the exchange of blows, deflecting the claws hounding him. He swung his blade, from overhead to under him, tracing arcs across the space separating the pair of fighters, keeping the distance, as he inched back. Sparks flew, and sweat slathered his brow and back, but he kept at it, reassured he was on the right track.

    Survive the round, no matter how long it takes. Slow and steady.

    He kept dragging his feet back, confident he could keep the pace going, till he found an opening he could exploit. He inched back, gritting his teeth, noticing the distance he had kept, was shrinking. His heel was dragged from empty space and plastered against cool layers of solid brick. The pride he had amalgamated in the span of his exchange was dropped into an ocean of dread.

    ¡°You have nowhere left to run.¡± The wolfman chuckled, running his tongue over a set of sharpened canines.

    ¡°You can speak?¡± Beads of sweat gathered over the redhead¡¯s brow, his heart pounding louder than a hammer over anvil, his blade quaking in his grip. A pair of claws were poised over his flanks, barring his escape route.

    In a blink, his life flashed before his eyes. Azrael instinctively unsheathed a second shorter blade just in the nick of time, intercepting the deadly talons hounding him. The clash of metal echoed through the air as he fended off the clawed blows.

    The wolfman seized the moment. He closed the distance, his ferocious maw looming over Azrael¡¯s throat.

    Agony wetted his neck, dripping down the length of his clavicle, as the seven-foot-tall wolf demon lodged his fangs deep in Azrael¡¯s gullet.

    A wordless howl licked at his lips. In that moment, he knew death was inevitable. It was the end.

    If I¡¯m going to die¡­ thought Azrael, grappling against perdition.

    He felt his grip slacken, and in a clatter, the shorter blade slipped through his fingers. He could feel his strength waning, black spots dancing before his eyes.

    Summoning every last ounce of verve, he knew he couldn¡¯t falter. Heart pounding in his head, he tightened his grip on his katana, using both hands to steady himself. In a final burst of energy, he lunged forward, his blade leading the way. With a war cry gurgling out his bloody lips, he drove the weapon through the wolfman¡¯s chest.

    The maw latched onto Azrael¡¯s throat went limp, alongside a symphony of whimpering and scampering, elicited by the wounded demon. The impact juddered his arms, as he held onto his katana. He twisted the hilt and slid the blade out the wolfman¡¯s ribs, cutting through the organs and flesh.

    Unsteady on his feet, the redhead felt the hot bloodied gash on his puckered throat wet his tunic. Despite the wet warmth, a chill ran down a cold and clammy spine, threatening to whisk his consciousness away. He staggered back and forth, from the wall to the clutches of the dying wolfman, as the last traces of adrenaline dissipated. Dropping his katana, he could feel his opponent¡¯s rough fur brush against his skin, a warmer note of liquid crimson, oozing from wolf to man, as the deceased pair embraced the other, and fell to the ground in a lifeless mound.

 One-Man Army

    Nakta tore through the stairs, gunning for the topmost level. A chaotic symphony of blades and bullets hounded him, relentlessly. Weaving past their ranks, slithering about like a shadow, he slipped in and out of shimmering air. A trailblaze of illusory raven-haired males popped up and faded, reeling in the enemies¡¯ fire, as he advanced forward.

    Cutting through a trio of ten-foot-tall ogres with his katana, Nakta pilfered a grenade off of one of the demons¡¯ belts. Biting off the pin, he flung the explosive into the middle of the main force. A deafening blast rippled through the enemy lines, decimating half the forces to scorched meat, in one fell swoop.

    Despite the chaos and destruction, he had caused, he didn¡¯t linger around to bear witness to the aftermath. His mission was clear, and he continued on his ascension.

    A portion of the floor gave way to a trapdoor, depositing a pair of goblins who were cackling with glee. The rumble of their cannon halted his march, setting his nerves ablaze. He had only a moment to react before he too joined the demons, he had blown up.

    In a blur of motion, the raven-haired male leapt to the side, running across the nearest wall, willing forth a rush of miasma. He focused the entirety of his strength over his katana¡¯s edge, driving steel through the oncoming projectile. The grate of steel against fired metal loosened a discordantly painful screech, before the two halves of the cannonball struck the wall behind, rendering a deafening blast that showered debris.

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    ¡°Ah fuck.¡± Bouncing off the ground, he aimed his katana at the goblins.

    Their eyes widened with fear, scrambling about, set to tap matchstick to touch hole, while turning their cannon towards a looming inevitability. Before they could light up a second volley of fire, Nakta¡¯s blade was swathe in death, driven through flesh and cannon, like a scythe through wheat, leaving nothing but silence in his wake.

    In applause to his performance, an orchestra of battle cries reverberated throughout heaven and hell. An armada of reinforcements were ascending and descending through the limbo of a stairway, launching a pincer attack.

    Exalting a triumphant grin, Nakta knew he had to quench his thirst for battle. My target might escape if I dilly-dally with cannon fodder.

    Unsheathing his second katana, he ignored the reinforcements coming at him from the floor below and channelled his miasma through his blades. Rather than severing a single demon in half, his miasma emitted the strength to knock his opponents over with every swing.

    Miasma isn¡¯t just an essence, nor the manifestation of a demon¡¯s attributes in reality. It¡¯s a fuel markin¡¯ one¡¯s immensity.

    Despite his inflated sense of self, he couldn¡¯t shake his inferiority when it came to Lilith. She was the ideal he had sought after, standing at the apex of the assassin underworld, on par with the Sins in her ability. Though he admired her strength, he knew he would surpass her. One day.

    And that day won¡¯t be long.

    But first, he needed to take out the head of the Yang family, nestled at the topmost floor of the mansion. Once his mission was accomplished, Lilith had tasked him with digging out Azrael from the rubble, in the case he had died.

    Even if he¡¯s still alive, death would be an honour for an imbecile of his make. It might be beneath my pay grade, but orders are orders. Nakta grinned, tearing through the echelons of enemies, extinguishing his presence on the battlefield.

 Medium Rare

    Oblivion devoured the plane of existence.

    Faint bubbles in a waterless sea escaped a lipless mouth,

    Murkiness of an iridescent shade coated the world.

    Awareness wasn¡¯t a luxury one possessed

    Gripping a formless body

    That drowned and sank

    Into the depths of nothingness.

    A fire lit up the waterless sea

    Illuminating a land of murky constellations,

    Moulding a snout of iridescence

    With orbs of light forming a pair

    Marked by obsidian irises,

    Following the formless body.

    Breathing an abalone inferno

    Unto the formless frame,

    The smouldering flames

    Awakened the insentient.

    Throwing open his eyes, Azrael sat up on the bloodied terrain, gasping for breath. Reflexively, he clutched his throat feeling for the wound that had taken his life. Against the dried, matted blood, he felt a smooth patch of unpuckered skin, imparting awareness tauter than the wolfman¡¯s bite. ¡°Requiem?¡±

    Peering around, he saw reinforcements spill into the mansion in droves, past the door he and Nakta had used. The demons passed by his seemingly lifeless frame, clambering up the stairs in heated turmoil. To them he was of lesser importance than the uproar upstairs, which worked in his favour.

    Digging up the fallen blades, the redhead propped himself up on his feet using the katana with a sudden spring in his step, sheathing his shorter blade. He noticed his body had moved with renewed vigour, a sense of vitality he had never experienced before. Strength flowed through him, like a gentle stream which could trickle off a ledge and channel the immensity of a waterfall.

    His body moved of its own accord, twisting his wrist and running his blade through a charging goblin from behind, slicing through flesh and bone as easily as butter. Then again, the goblin did most of the work. He just had to stand with slanting steel in hand.

    In the same flow, he swung his katana in a wide arc. The blade spilled the ghoulish face off a lurching body in a single stroke, till a tumble of limbs fell at his feet. He could sense his power rising, faint traces of smoke curling off his lips, thin wisps casing his blade and body.

    Half the onslaught of charging demons turned their attention from climbing the stairs to Azrael, baring their weapons at a new enemy.

    Vixens bearing humanoid features, moulded bullets from thin air. The miasma infused rounds surged forth, tearing through his freshly mended body, buried in his thighs and shoulders.

    Grimacing, Azrael staggered back, nearly falling over the ghoul he had slain, while a second goblin took advantage of his moment of weakness, rushing him from his left flank.

    A spear found its mark through his abdomen.

    The sharpened prick reached his innards till his belly was stretched wide open, and his guts were spilled, rushing bloodstained bile past clenched teeth. A hog-faced demon popped up, tangling in the mix, cleaving a portion of flesh off his back.

    Agony tore through him, dropping him on his knees in a pool of liquid crimson. A vixen approached him, glowering at his fallen frame, aiming a dozen miasma infused rounds at the nearly downed redhead.

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    ¡°Fuck, I thought you¡¯d be a threat,¡± said the vixen. She motioned the bullets to sink their teeth into flesh, once more.

    The surge of power he had brimmed with, intensified.

    Clutching the spear in his belly, he pulled out the shaft and rolled away from the line of fire. In spite of the injury he¡¯d sustained, he could feel his agony ebb. He tenderly ran his fingers over his belly where the spear had skewered him. To his surprise, the skin was smooth and unpuckered, as though he had never been impaled in the first place.

    Jumping into a crouched position, he launched himself off his feet. He ran nearly parallel to the ground, while switching up the hold on his katana to an inverse grip.

    The ghoul and hog-faced demon poised their weapons, ready to strike.

    Azrael switched trajectory, jumping off his low stride, he was flung higher than he had anticipated. He slid his hand over his secondary blade¡¯s hilt. Twisting his pelvis mid-air, he landed behind the two vixen who had shot him earlier. In a clamour of steel over bone, his blades exited out their skulls in a seamless flow.

    ¡°I can see how Nakta pulled off his earlier moves,¡± said Azrael. He turned his focus to the ghoul and hog-headed demon he had evaded earlier, clenching his katana upright and inversing his grip on the shorter blade. These chumps won¡¯t know what hit them.

    A smile cracked his lips, realising he¡¯d reached a point he¡¯d sought after. Past an eternity of effort, he was finally at the point where the scales weren¡¯t tipped against his favour. Perhaps, even tipping the scales in his favour. A surreal sensation.

    Splash.

    A floodgate of liquid drenched him, halting him in his tracks. He turned about, panning his surroundings in search of his latest opponent. The liquid seared his nostrils with a foul, yet addictively odourful stench. He gagged, flaring his nares.

    A hose headed demon stood atop a flight of stairs, holding a lit matchstick in hand, dangling it over his fingers. With a flick, the matchstick touched Azrael¡¯s boot, lighting his existence in a pall of flames. He blinked confusedly, wondering what had happened. And then, it all came flooding in, all at once.

    His senses were violated by abject agony beyond the works of gunfire or steel, unleashing an unbridled howl past scorched lips.

    Being burnt alive was new, even for him.

    Steadying his lightly worked up pulse, Nakta stood in front of seven bronzed women in suits. Nestled at the forefront of the formation was a young girl, nearly half his height, squinting with blatant disdain.

    ¡°Look at the mess you¡¯ve made.¡± The girl pouted, running a hand through her shoulder length, electric blue hair.

    ¡°He¡¯s an assassin, most likely hired by the remnants of Yin,¡± interjected an afro haired woman, from the ensemble.

    ¡°Remy, dispose of this clown at once!¡± said the girl.

    ¡°Aye milady,¡± replied the afro haired woman.

    ¡°You must be the head of the Yang.¡± Nakta scoffed, tensing his body, noticing the shadows fluctuate and writhe. An armada of spikes protruded from the protracted darkness, emanating from the women in suits. The shadow clad spikes shot off the ground and skewered him like a kebab before he could make a move.

    Remy held out a hand, moulding a javelin from the darkness, hurling the weapon towards her right. A dull clang resounded, and a raven-haired male materialised an arm¡¯s length away from her, while the impaled Nakta dissipated.

    ¡°The shadows don¡¯t lie.¡± Remy willed a second volley of spikes to impale the intruder.

    Nakta cussed under his breath, leaping off the ground and perching atop the handrails, beside the stairway. He could feel his knee buckle, as he tipped from side to side. A trickle of blood seeped into his ankles. ¡°Quite the troublesome women we have here.¡± He smirked, holding up his katanas for a rematch.

    ¡°How much did the Yin pay you?¡± asked the girl. ¡°Work for me, and I¡¯ll double it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not about the money. It¡¯s a matter of pride.¡±

    ¡°A shame.¡± The girl sighed, shrugging her shoulders. ¡°Here I was willing to give up the real Yang head¡¯s location and identity.¡±

    ¡°Lady Airi!¡± Remy protested, apprehension staining her voice.

    ¡°Pull back!¡± said Airi. ¡°I want to have a chat with our visitor.¡± On command, the shadows retreated, reverting to regular lapping waves against the bronzed women¡¯s feet. ¡°Get down from the handrails and join us on the ground. Otherwise, we can¡¯t negotiate on even terms.¡±

    ¡°What makes you think, I¡¯ll negotiate?¡± asked Nakta, his perched form dissolving.

    A katana materialised from thin air, pointed at Airi¡¯s throat, while the bronzed women, including Remy held their position.

    ¡°If you think taking my head will resolve the matter, then you¡¯re na?ve.¡± She flashed an indifferent grin, an expression unbefitting a child.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t taunt me, if I were you. You still have your head intact for now, and I suggest you get on with whatever¡¯s on your mind, before I change mine.¡± He inched closer, the tip of his blade resting under Airi¡¯s chin.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you where the head of the Yang family is. In return, I want you to support my rise to power. Your mission is to assassinate the current head of the Yang family, no?¡±

    The women standing guard, stiffened.

    Lowering his katana, Nakta scratched his head. From what he saw, he knew he wasn¡¯t being deceived. ¡°If you aren¡¯t the head, then who is?¡±

    Producing a tied-up piece of parchment from her sleeve, she motioned towards him. Tentatively, he sheathed his second katana, and took the piece, examining the length of rolled up, neatly tied parchment.

    ¡°Everything you wish to know is there.¡± She winked at him, splaying a playful smile.

    ¡°Lady Airi? Is it wise to¨C¡±

    Remy¡¯s words faltered.

    A splash of a foul, yet addictively odourful liquid permeated the air. An ominous crackle cut through the parley, urging Nakta to instinctively distance himself from Airi.

    A blink later, he noticed a smouldering humanoid gripping a hose attached to a bloodied neck, tracing a blazing trail of kerosene enveloping the bronzed women and Airi. A flurry of howls and agonizing screams filled the top of the mansion, accompanying the stench of seared flesh.

 Offloading

    Riding in silence, the bike pulled up to the stronghold¡¯s driveway, coming to a skidding stop. Sliding off the seat, Nakta hung his head low, heading to the entrance with a limp. He rapped his knuckles against the front door, exhaling a sigh.

    On cue, Lilith opened the door, with her hand on her hip. She shifted her gaze back and forth between him and his ride.

    ¡°How¡¯d it go?¡± she asked, dryly.

    ¡°Fuckin¡¯ terribly,¡± pouted Nakta. ¡°The imbecile was nothin¡¯ but a liability from start till finish. What were you thinkin¡¯? Stickin¡¯ him with me on a mission!?¡± He gestured at his ride, shaking a fist.

    ¡°Apart from a change of clothes, Azrael looks no different.¡±

    The raven-haired male quaked with simmering rage, averting his gaze from Lilith. ¡°Oi, get your arse over here and tell her what you did!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what I did,¡± said Azrael. Holding his hands up, he stared at his palms, clenching and unclenching his fingers. ¡°Maybe, it was all just a dream.¡±

    ¡°Absolute bollocks! I can¡¯t chalk off my biggest failure as some dream!¡±

    ¡°Step aside.¡± Lilith brushed past Nakta, walking towards the bike. ¡°Tell me exactly what happened.¡±

    ¡°I might¡¯ve figured out what my miasma is,¡± said Azrael, sheepishly. ¡°Is regeneration a common one amongst demons?¡±

    Without warning, a cerise flash brushed past the redhead, felling an elbow past the joint. The flopping limb rolled over, dribbling red, like a scampering mouse.

    In a blink, a visceral howl escaped his lips, agony drenching him in a cold sweat. He clutched his bloodied stump for a hand, liquid crimson trickling past his fingers.

    ¡°Fuck! What did you do that for!?¡± Azrael leapt off the bike. Curling his lips in a snarl, he relinquished his hold over the remnants of his limb and reached for his shorter blade.

    ¡°I suppose, you do possess miasma after all,¡± grinned Lilith. ¡°And what do you plan to do with that unsheathed blade? Go up against me? Aren¡¯t you ballsy?¡±

    Heaving a sigh, he shifted his gaze to his arm, noticing a trail of smoky wisps emanating from pink, puckered flesh. He could see his bones and vessels being sheathed by skin, mending his mangled flesh for a hand into a limb.

    He steadied his breath, billowing out a kindling flame. ¡°Haven¡¯t I fulfilled your condition for becoming an assassin? Didn¡¯t you say I could do as I pleased once I survived the fucking mission!?¡±

    ¡°By all means.¡± Lilith took a step back, gesturing towards the gate leading out her stronghold. ¡°You¡¯ve got first-hand experience with the Abyzz now. If you can survive on your own, you¡¯re free to go. But know that if I, or anyone else gets hired to take you out in your sloppiness, you¡¯ll be back to square one.¡±

    ¡°Back to being a corpse, huh?¡± Azrael scoffed, sheathing his drawn blade. ¡°Freedom is hard to come by. No matter the price I pay, I keep piling up shackles upon shackles binding me, breath after breath. It¡¯s a darn pain to keep evading a grey line of existence.¡±

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    ¡°Oi, what¡¯re the lot of you on about?¡± interrupted Nakta. ¡°What about the mission?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll discuss it later.¡± Lilith dismissed him with a wave of her hand. ¡°I take it you have valuable information you could make use of, crumpling under your tensed grip.¡±

    Nakta paused, unfurling his fist. He noticed a thoroughly crumpled length of parchment on the verge of tearing, nestled in his palm.

    ¡°Decipher the contents of the message and pass on the information to Marr and Juke. They¡¯ll take it from here.¡±

    ¡°But shouldn¡¯t I clean up¨C¡±

    ¡°If you feel responsible, you should¡¯ve taught Azrael how to unlock his miasma, just as the others had trained him!¡± Lilith narrowed her gaze at Nakta, dropping the temperature to freezing. ¡°You¡¯ll have a chance at redemption. Just as usual, hop onto a solo mission and nurse your aching ego.¡±

    Taking Azrael¡¯s hand, she led him past a motionless Nakta. A muffled thump followed, knuckles clanging against cracking plaster. ¡°Nothin¡¯s been right since he got here!¡±

    She squeezed the redhead¡¯s hand, leading him up the stairs.

    *

    Frozen in the midst of a kerosene dowsed inferno, every ounce of his corporeal form was continually devoured. Faint pinpricks of pain smarted through his torso and abdomen, spears skewering him and dropping him on his knees.

    In the distance, nearly hundreds of leagues away, he could hear the cackle of a goblin, accompanied by the oinks of a hog.

    The agony from an unbearable pain melted into a pleasurable lull, drying his throat through a deafening burst of feeble screeches. His consciousness began to fade, slipping into a hushing slumber. His limbs turned leaden, dragging his body under the weight of a million sins. Darkness fell during a brief eternity that could pass for shorter than a half-span.

    The restless whir of a droning insect stirred his restful reprieve, awakening the seared male from his brief nap, transmuting insect drones to the agonizing screams of smouldering demons.

    ¡°Where am I?¡± managed Azrael, past a parched throat. A bloodied hose hung loosely off his hands, slipping through his feeble fingers. The severed demon head clattered against the edge of the stairs, the sound of tumbling metal ringing with vibrance, before fading into the background.

    In a daze, his hand closed in around a familiar hilt, sliding a cool steel edge, over his burning right shoulder. In a gasp, icy metal touched skin, cleaving a haphazard portion of head and heart off torso.

    What am I doing? he thought, his world darkening, reeled in by gravity¡¯s pull.

    Past a flicker of nightfall, light flooded in through bloodied pupils. His head convulsed off the ground, moulding and weaving flesh and bone, encasing his innards. The searing agony from earlier, vanished with the last of his headless corpse, smouldering beneath the weight of kerosene clad flames, while he steadied his balance.

    ¡°What the hell was that!?¡± roared Nakta, grabbing Azrael by his bare throat.

    ¡°What just happened?¡± asked the bewildered redhead, groaning and gagging. His attention was nabbed by a faint gleam amongst the charred humanoid remains.

    ¡°Focus,¡± said Nakta, spattering spittle over his freshly baked visage. ¡°We need to get out of here, before I raze you, alongside those plebs climbin¡¯ up the stairs.¡±

    On cue, a demon appeared behind the duo, felling his axe in a wide arc. Instinctively, Nakta caught the blow off the flat of his katana, drawing and running a second single-edged blade through the demon.

    ¡°I¡¯ll give you a single fuckin¡¯ span to put on some clothes! Don¡¯t you dare stain my ride with your filthy bareness!¡± He forcefully shoved the headless demon into Azrael¡¯s uncertain hands.

    ¡°¡­After that we leapt off the roof and hauled ourselves over to Nakta¡¯s bike. Once the adrenaline wore off, he was in that state.¡±

    ¡°You did all of that unconsciously?¡± asked Lilith, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°You could confirm the happenings with the remnants of Yang or Nakta,¡± said Azrael.

    She rubbed her chin, leaning in close. ¡°You should stay away from fights in the middle of blackouts, considering your history.¡± Mulling over the notion, she paused, momentarily. ¡°Or maybe, catching a couple of z¡¯s are just what you need to pull off the impossible.¡±

    The redhead couldn¡¯t help but loosen a wire thin grin, averting his gaze from Lilith.

    ¡°Look who can smile again.¡± She stifled a chuckle with the back of her hand. ¡°Your journey has just begun. Discovering your miasma was simply the first step. There is much for you to learn along the path of life.¡± She winked at Azrael, signalling the end of their conversation, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

    A hand she had no issues firing off cerise beams from, and cleaving off arms with, on a whim.

 Deathly Steel

    "Don¡¯t doze off in the middle of your training,¡± warned Marr, narrowing her eyes to slits.

    A straight jab to Azrael¡¯s jaw, lobbed him off his feet. Before he knew it, his rear was scraping against the grass laden sparring ground, his bottom still intact. He rubbed the side of his face, spitting out a gob of pink tinged saliva, contorting his eyebrows in a frenzy.

    ¡°Struck a nerve?¡± asked Marr, softening her stern gaze and extending a helping hand. ¡°First missions never go smoothly. A botch-up is a must.¡± She winked, flaunting a sly grin as she pulled him to his feet. ¡°In fact, I¡¯ll say, you have managed to hold your own quite well, if I cut through the jargon Nakta spewed.¡±

    ¡°No, I won¡¯t discard all of what he says.¡± Azrael shook his head, freeing his mind of the bleariness stabbing at his vision. ¡°Rather I gained a better understanding of what I¡¯ve become.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± asked a sceptical Marr.

    ¡°I have the means to stay in this line of work.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± smirked Marr. ¡°Well, it won¡¯t be for long if you¡¯re taken out by shallow jabs and sweeps, especially if your next gig is in a week¡¯s time.¡±

    ¡°A week? For what?¡±

    ¡°Your next mission of course. Or rather your first mission part two.¡±

    Taken aback, Azrael nearly stumbled and fell on his rear yet again. ¡°Wait, what?¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t hear? I thought Lilith told you already.¡±

    ¡°She told me she assigned Nakta to a new mission while you and Juke have to clean up the aftermath of the last one.¡±

    ¡°Juke and I aren¡¯t here for wiping both your asses. But seems like Lilith wants you onboard too.¡± Marr scratched her chin, taking a step back. ¡°If you look at it another way, the three of us are technically wiping Nakta¡¯s ass.¡± She tipped her head to the side, mulling over the unsettling thought with newfound annoyance. ¡°Fuck.¡±

    ¡°That is distasteful.¡±

    ¡°You lassies done with small talk?¡± perked up Juke, a sheathed pair of longswords hanging off his waist.

    ¡°Am I cutting into your sparring session with Azrael?¡± asked Marr.

    ¡°Seems like it¡¯ll be the two of us training him for now. Raen is off on a mission from tonight till who knows when.¡±

    ¡°Is that all?¡± she asked, raising an eyebrow.

    Averting his gaze, Juke muttered with a flushing flourish, ¡°and I wanted to test out Azrael¡¯s newfound ability.¡± He rubbed the back of his head, sheepish.

    ¡°They do say curiosity killed the cat, but in your case, death doesn¡¯t mean much, does it?¡± she smirked.

    ¡°I¡¯m not too sure,¡± admitted Azrael. ¡°I just have to figure out the mechanics of my own miasma.¡±

    ¡°Well then.¡± Juke unsheathed his longswords, swinging his pair of tempered steels in untethered zeal. ¡°Let¡¯s put your ability to the test.¡±

    Azrael strolled up to his blades, picking up his sheathed katana from the assorted mix. The redhead grasped the hilt with a firm grip and lunged at his opponent.

    ¡°Did you get cocky unravelling your miasma?¡± asked Juke, felling his blade towards Azrael¡¯s exposed nape.

    Eyes locked onto his opponent¡¯s sword, the redhead steadied his breath. Sliding his katana off the sheath, he hooked the flat of his blade under Juke¡¯s steel, sliding the longsword past his left arm. Simultaneously he twisted his wrist, redirecting his katana¡¯s tip towards Juke¡¯s torso.

    ¡°Wow!¡± Juke parried away the oncoming strike using his secondary longsword, simultaneously retreating ten paces back. Beads of sweat rolled off his bald head, as he caught his breath. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you pull off that move before.¡±

    Azrael was hot on his opponent¡¯s trail, covering the distance in a heartbeat. His katana lasered in on Juke¡¯s right shoulder.

    Clucking his tongue, Juke held his left longsword up to parry the blow, while his other blade swiped at Azrael¡¯s throat, aiming for a shallow cut over his Adam¡¯s apple.

    The redhead reached for his secondary blade over his waist. But his fingers grasped air. Dammit, I left it behind. Realising his folly, he barely had any time to think. His body moved of its own accord in an act of desperation, raising his free arm in defence. Steel was driven deep into flesh, dribbling streaks of red over skin.

    Wincing in pain, he noticed the weight of Juke¡¯s blow loosening.

    ¡°You alri¨C¡±

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    Azrael didn¡¯t wait for him to finish. Freeing his arm off the longsword, he spattered liquid crimson into Juke¡¯s eyes. His mentor was here to see his ability, and he was more than willing to show him the front row seats to the feast.

    Rubbing his grimy sockets in a surge of turmoil, Juke let go of one of his blades, while the redhead drove his katana under the remaining longsword his opponent had held onto. With a twist of his wrist, a second longsword fell out of his hands.

    In an exasperated rush, Juke wiped the blood off his eyes, and bared his teeth, while Azrael slid the tip of the katana under his mentor¡¯s chin. ¡°My win,¡± he said, flashing a wink.

    ¡°What the¨C¡± trailed off Juke, rubbing out the lingering traces of blood in his eyes. He stood his ground narrowing his gaze, in a sweltering simmer.

    ¡°That was something,¡± whistled Marr, materializing in the space between the sparring duo, separating them as far as her arms extended. ¡°You should show off some of that intensity in our fights.¡±

    Juke didn¡¯t care if Marr was intervening. Usually he had his cool, maintaining his older brother persona. At least while he was home. Reeled in by Azrael¡¯s intensity, he couldn¡¯t override the hot-bloodied instinct eroding his rationale.

    Kicking up one out of the two longswords he had wielded, he swerved around the intervening Marr, his towering silhouette eclipsing the blade. He noticed wisps of smoke curling off Azrael¡¯s injured arm, healing the puckered flesh. Not faltering for a moment longer, he drove the longsword through the redhead¡¯s left flank with the entirety of his might, aiming to slice it cleanly out his right shoulder.

    Or so he had thought.

    The blade entered an inch deep in Azrael¡¯s flank, when Juke felt a firm grip around the nape of his neck, reeling him backwards. All of a sudden, his head rattled. A stab of pain reverberated from the side of his jaw, unsteadying his balance, nearly buckling his knees. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, teetering his consciousness on a tight rope.

    ¡°And what do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± asked Marr. Grabbing Juke by the collar, she stared him down, despite the half-foot difference in height between them. ¡°Get a grip, will you?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± Juke held his smarting jaw, dropping his longsword. ¡°My bad, I lost it for a moment there.¡± Turning to Azrael, he held up a hand in apology. ¡°You alright?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, his voice cracking. ¡°I thought I was in my zone, but you were something else.¡±

    ¡°His skill with the blade is on another level when he loses it.¡± Marr undid her grip on Juke¡¯s collar and took a step back, focusing her gaze on the redhead. ¡°But I have to admit, you have one hell of an ability. It¡¯s almost eerie watching you fight with that degree of recklessness.¡±

    ¡°I wish my ability severed my perception of pain too.¡±

    ¡°Oww,¡± said a flinching Juke. He felt his hot bloodied drive plummet past the melting point, into a sudden pang of guilt. After all, he was the one in a rush to see his protege in action. ¡°Sorry about that.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing. At least compared to being torched alive.¡± Azrael grimaced as a string of miasma was weaved over his flank, patching up his latest wound.

    The puckered gash worked its way into a mesh of flesh, before paving way for smooth skin. A rare ability. One shouldering a lifetime of pain. Juke couldn¡¯t help but avert his gaze.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been wrung through far too many rough patches, to unveil that kind of ability.¡± Marr lowered her eyes, clouded by a shining, moist glaze.

    Juke knew what she meant. In fact, he was reeling from the weight of similar thoughts.

    ¡°Oh wait,¡± apologized Marr, holding a finger up to her lips, regretful of what she had spilled. ¡°I wasn¡¯t meant to mention that bit, was I?¡±

    ¡°JUUKE,¡± said Azrael, wearing a scowl. ¡°I thought I told you not to tell anyone about my past.¡±

    ¡°Sorry.¡± He shrugged, plopping a fist on Marr¡¯s head, dishevelling blonde hair. ¡°She was meant to keep it a SECRET!¡±

    The redhead shook his head in annoyance. ¡°That explains why I still have all my limbs intact despite the hell I was wrung through.¡±

    ¡°But doesn¡¯t it¡­¡± Marr trailed off, warily running a hand through her dishevelled hair. Opening and closing her mouth in a wordless exchange. She bit her lip, averting her gaze from the redhead.

    ¡°Well then.¡± Juke cleared his throat pointedly. ¡°Let¡¯s call it a day.¡±

    Azrael tilted his head sideways, a gnawing sense of curiosity splayed across his face, as though he was wondering what Marr wanted to say.

    Juke couldn¡¯t help but drown his thoughts in doubt. Perhaps that lad had endured far more than he had let on. If he¡¯s endured worse suffering than what he¡¯s mentioned¡­

    He watched with a nervous gulp, as the redhead made his way back indoors. Despite his mind running amok, he felt a gentle tug at his arm. Marr gazed at him, a deep melancholy reflected in her eyes.

    Partway enroute to his room, Azrael suddenly remembered he had left his secondary blades behind. Slamming his palm against his forehead, he cursed his forgetfulness and hurried back.

    Approaching the sparring grounds, he noticed the door was left ajar by a half-inch. He hesitated, and to his surprise, heard muffled shuffling past the entrance. Reeled in by intrigue, he peered through the crack and caught sight of Juke and Marr locked in a tender embrace.

    Face aflush with a ruddy rush, Azrael discreetly slid behind the wall, continuing his voyeuristic view of the pair indulging in their intimate exchange. ¡°Quite the unexpected couple, aren¡¯t they?¡± whispered a voice brushing past his ear, sending shivers down his spine. ¡°Shhhh, you don¡¯t want to earn their wrath now, do you?¡±

    He turned his head slowly and a set of purple streaks entered the peripherals of his vision. ¡°Weren¡¯t you supposed to be out on a mission?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, about that¡­ Lilith wants me to handle an urgent one tonight. I was planning on going solo, but then I remembered the last encounter I had had, with one of the targets.¡± Raen wrinkled her nose, magnifying her displeasure. ¡°Which is why I need a second pair of hands.¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± asked Azrael taken aback. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t the intimate couple or Nakta be a better fit for the job?¡±

    ¡°You really want me to go out there and break up their cosiness?¡± She nudged his shoulder, smirking. ¡°You don¡¯t have much experience with romance, do you?¡±

    His rubicund cheeks burned brighter, averting his gaze from the faint crack. ¡°What about Nakta then?¡± he coughed out. ¡°This¡¯ll be a great opportunity for him to regain his vanity.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a walking disaster, especially when he¡¯s pouting.¡± Raen waved her hand in dismissal, rolling her eyes. ¡°On the other hand, I¡¯ve heard you¡¯re reliable especially since I¡¯ve caught you red-handed.¡± A smile worked its way, around her lips.

    ¡°What!? Your presence here, is just as incriminating as mine!¡±

    ¡°Oh please, I can hang you out to dry. You should take a look at how profusely you¡¯re sweating. Circumstantial evidence enough for incrimination, no?¡± Raen cupped Azrael¡¯s chin, reeling him in close. ¡°And you get to chalk up the experience you¡¯ll gain from tonight¡¯s mission as another milestone on your assassin resume.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not giving me much of a choice, are you?¡±

    She slid him a wink and lugged him along, in tow.

 Side Quest

    Turbulence tore into shut eyes, opening up a clamped set of bloodshot orbs. Azrael sat upright, knitting his eyebrows in a groggy frenzy.

    ¡°Sleeping beauty finally come to it?¡± asked Raen.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t we there yet?¡± He rubbed the sleep out his eyes, tearing up.

    ¡°We should be over the drop-off point soon enough. Strap on all your essentials, ¡®cause we¡¯re gonna have a rough descend.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Azrael, peering out the window. The night sky trailed past a stream of wispy clouds, the pale moonlight radiant against a starless backdrop. Squinting past the clouds, he nearly anticipated a scaled reptilian to appear out of the dark, spewing words of wisdom.

    ¡°Expecting someone?¡± Raen brushed her lips against his ear, setting his hairs on end.

    ¡°Could you stop doing that!?¡± Azrael grunted, inching closer to the window.

    ¡°Here¡¯s your bag.¡± She pushed a rucksack into the redhead¡¯s hands, threading a similar one through her own arms.

    He followed suit, noticing a set of cords dangling off the edge of the straps, brushing past his elbows. Blinking the last shred of sleeplessness out his eyes, a slap of cold air whacked him across the face, threatening to slam him against the cockpit. ¡°Hey, what¡¯s going on?¡±

    The back of the plane was pried open, like the gaping maw of an ethereal beast. He was certainly questioning if his scaly acquaintance was planning on dropping by any moment.

    ¡°Oh, must¡¯ve slipped my mind?¡± She thumped a dull fist against the side of her head, mouthing oopsie-daisy. ¡°Everyone¡¯s gotta give skydiving a try on at least one mission. Nothing like getting pumped with a mildly stimulating life-threatening plunge.¡±

    Before Azrael could protest, she pulled him to the edge of the plane¡¯s rear. In a forceful thrust, he was hauled over the ledge, down the beast¡¯s gullet. Or perhaps out its rear?

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    Blinking confusedly, he realised, now wasn¡¯t the time to debate over nitpicks.

    Gusts of wind ruffled and tousled his hair. A sense of weightlessness seized him, messing up his perception of down from up, plummeting through the sky. Before he knew it, his throat was raw, unleashing unbridled screams of horror past an awry pulse.

    Fuck! I¡¯m going to kill Raen for this!!! If I survive!

    Despite the chaos, he sighted a spiralling mass cutting through the heavy clouds over the edge of a cliff, blinking past watering eyes.

    ¡°That¡¯s it, you¡¯re headed the right way.¡±

    Azrael twisted his neck, sighting a sinking Raen beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Needless to say, despite the urge he had to strangle her, he wanted nothing more than a safe landing, presently.

    ¡°Relax, would you?¡± she chided. ¡°Twist a bit more to the side. A-aaand I can see the balcony up ahead.¡± She pulled the cords dangling off his bag, killing the momentum they had built up, slowing their descent to a crawl.

    Tipping his head, he spotted a canopy slide out his bag, attached to a set of firm strands. ¡°Did you pack just one of those?¡±

    ¡°Mine¡¯s filled with essentials for the mission,¡± said Raen. A gust of wind upended their descent, reeling the pair away from the balcony and towards the dark glistening sea. ¡°Oh no, you don¡¯t.¡± Sliding out a knife strapped to her thigh, she cut the strings attached to the parachute, hastening their descent to a complete free-fall.

    The redhead didn¡¯t hold back. He slackened his jaw and wrung his throat raw. The screams got worse while Raen clung onto him, swerving their bodies towards the parapet.

    ¡°This might hurt a bit.¡± Raen twisted her body mid-air and wrapped her legs around his waist, steadying his lower half for a crushing touchdown.

    Bare heels met stone-floor, followed by an audible crunch snapping Azrael¡¯s knee in half and buckling his spine. Raen leapt off of him, as he dissipated the momentum of their haphazard descent, crumbling to a fleshy body bag of debris. With a somersault, she landed on her feet with a touch of miasma, and hurriedly covered the redhead¡¯s mouth, dampening his howls.

    ¡°I heard you¡¯ve endured worse,¡± she said. ¡°And you heal up, so quit your whining! We need to get our mission underway, right away!¡±

    Squirming, Azrael clenched his hands, his miasma mending his broken legs and shattered spine, abating his agony. Raen loosened her grip on his mouth, giving him space to steady his breath and balance his pounding pulse. ¡°Would it kill you to tell me the specifics beforehand!?¡± he coughed out, blowing a string of drool down his chin.

    ¡°Then you wouldn¡¯t come along.¡±

    The redhead gritted his teeth, clambering to his feet. ¡°Yeah, no shit.¡±

    ¡°Exactly.¡± She winked, popping her bag open. ¡°Now then, let¡¯s get down to business.¡±

 Low Profile

    A plethora of demons in polished suits and eloquent jewel encrusted dresses filled the hall, sipping turquoise liquids in tall glasses embellished by a golden rim. Even the waiters held a poised eloquence, weaving their way through the regal guests, offering refills and whisking away drained tumblers, with swift efficiency. Up front, the curtains were drawn over a podium, shielding the goods from the persistent scrutiny of trained floodlights.

    Walking with an unsteady gait, Azrael brushed his hair aside, combing through the wealthy demons where the shadows undulated, zeroing in on a vacant spot away from the bustling extravagance. Last thing I need is drawing attention behind enemy lines.

    Despite his best efforts, he felt a jolt shoot up his spine when a hand grabbed his bare shoulder.

    ¡°Ignoring me, are we, Missss Raen?¡± asked a lizard demon, his scales shimmering with each movement, reflecting the faint glint from the strewn lights of the venue. He viewed Azrael up and down, with a pair of voracious ochre orbs for eyes as he stroked his walrus-moustache, bushing over his top lip, extending off a snout.

    ¡°I-It¡¯s been a w-while.¡± Tugging at his purple streaked hair, Azrael smiled wryly. Could have fooled me. I¡¯d have thought it was Requiem¡¯s cousin. Except a lot more¡­ diminutive.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you forgot the good ol¡¯ Lizardman, eh?¡± The demon continued, his glimmering scales rustling as he slipped a hand over the masquerading redhead¡¯s shoulders and slid his coarse fingers down the space between his bare shoulder blades.

    Clearing his throat, Azrael said, ¡°enough about me, how have you been?¡± He wanted to strangle Raen for leaving him in a plaster mask for a face, topped up with a wig and flowing white dress, but he held himself back after his iffy first mission. The wind rustled against his body around the sinuous bits, leaving him on edge. The makeshift plaster on his face didn¡¯t alleviate his displeasure, prickling his skin beyond belief. To top it all off, the Lizardman laying hands on him stuck his hairs up in gooseflesh, urging him to flee the auction. Quite the plan she thought up. I¡¯m forced to cross-dress and keep a low-profile, awaiting some signal?? Fuck, was there any point in me coming along!?

    He masked his turmoil behind a forced smile, trying to subdue his twitching eyebrow. He cursed his supposed ¡®mentor¡¯ internally, while the scaly demon had his way with him.

    Merik stole a quick glance at his watch, stifling a teary yawn. Bleary eyed, he could feel his lids drooping. Cracking his burly neck, a satisfying pop salvaged his dipping vigilance, albeit momentarily.

    Eyes darted to his watch yet again, noticing his earlier five spans to freedom dropping down to four. Drumming his foot in a heightened beat, he synced the rhythm of his incessant taps with the watch¡¯s timed ticks.

    ¡°Hey restless.¡± An older beefed-up man showed up, waving a hand at the younger, fidgety Merik.

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    ¡°You sure you want to join four spans earlier, Bob?¡± asked the younger guard.

    ¡°I could feel your tremors from a league away,¡± he said, smirking. ¡°Besides I¡¯ve got nothing to do since I got here quicker than expected.¡±

    ¡°Your choice, old man.¡± Merik shrugged, eager to leave his shift.

    ¡°Who you calling old?¡± asked Bob, squinting.

    The younger guard watched the older one quicken his fuming pace, till he came to an abrupt standstill.

    ¡°Regret showing up already?¡± Merik scowled derisively, walking towards the older guard.

    Bob stood wordless, glumly staring past the horizon.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Got a cramp?¡± He continued, walking up to the frozen guard. He clucked his tongue, while Bob wilted onto his shoulder, leaning the entirety of his weight unconditionally. ¡°Hey, you sleeping with your eyes open, old geezer?¡± He gripped the limp body, marked by a clammy shoulder.

    In that instant, a flicker of movement caught his attention, shifting his gaze from the guard to whatever lurked behind him. ¡°That¡¯s in poor taste.¡±

    A woman in a steel plated mask had appeared, her purple streaked hair flowing in the windless hallway. A cocked gun occupied the space separating the duo, firing a noiseless round.

    ¡°What the¨C¡± Merik instinctively raised a hand to defend himself, earning a carmine spatter smearing his face as the older guard dropped to the ground. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed Bob¡¯s side profile, filled with rounds like holes in a slice of cheese. On top of him lay a familiar severed hand with a watch. The thicker needle of the timepiece struck 12. ¡°What do you know, my shift just ended!¡±

    A second round of gunfire followed, clocking him out.

    Blowing the smoke off her gun, Raen dispelled her miasma, reverting her sleek length of metal back to flesh. She clenched and unclenched her fingers on reflex, free of the metallic touch. ¡°A shame the regular ones aren¡¯t this silent and deadly.¡± She kicked the lifeless corpses to the side, heading past a sign that read: Restricted Access.

    Twenty guards were on standby at the hallway, past whom the backstage lobby of the auction was visible.

    Running her tongue over her lips, she morphed her arms into a hexagon of guns, hailing bullets through the air, as freely as snow in a blizzard. The guards lost in idle chatter were reduced to crimson smears amid the lead-led avalanche, before they had a chance to react.

    She couldn¡¯t stifle her current rounds as eloquently as the ones she had used for assassinating the first set of guards, but it was a softer hum than a machine gun on full throttle. Dispelling the miasma, she waltzed past the red splatters, heading towards her target.

    The truth was, Lilith wasn¡¯t the one who had assigned her the mission. But it wasn¡¯t a mission for a lightweight either, considering the pay she had been wired. The floorplan of the venue and the private jet had been included too, pinging her suspicion that the mission had come from an affluential patron. The lone condition she had to abide by, was bringing along the latest recruit under Lilith, a strange condition but hardly one she was against.

    Plus, she had a bone to pick with the lecherous lizard who ran the exquisite trafficking auction. She could feel the skin beneath her navel crawl. Biting her lip, she had to stop herself from running her fingers over the skin.

    She thought back to how desperate she was, scouring information on the higher echelons of the demon underworld, and barely landing a single cookie crumb leading to the reptilian demon known as the Lizardman. The mission was more a blessing in disguise than her usual-usual, covering pay and intel in one go.

    Kicking down the door to the auction¡¯s backstage entrance, Raen waltzed in, noting the large array of caged merchandise, bound and gagged. Plates were melded onto the cages, embossed in bold with species and worth. Clenching a fist, she pulled up a photo from her pocket, sifting past the caged merch. Comparing the prisoners with her target, she chewed on her lower lip, forging on ahead.

 Showtime

    Eyebrows twitching, hairs on end, Azrael clenched his fists, holding himself back.

    The reptilian creep¡¯s touch sent shivers down his spine. He knew he had to restrain himself, for Raen¡¯s sake, who had cautioned him about running into the organizer of the auction, and his unquenchable predilections. An outburst could spell disaster for their mission, and he couldn¡¯t afford to jeopardize their chances.

    The guards were indifferent to his discomfort, undoubtedly under the service of the scaly molester. He doubted they would intervene even if he were to lodge a complaint. In fact, he might incite more trouble.

    Tracing the curves of Azrael¡¯s exposed back, sketching his spine beyond the hem of his dress, the reptilian demon continued, ¡°for a woman, you¡¯ve aged quite exquisssitely. The way I sssee it, you have looksss and brawn, a devilissh combo for pricey ex-merchandissse.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± He was taken aback, raising an eyebrow. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Oh. Don¡¯t tell me you forgot already. Was I too gentle back then?¡± The Lizardman leaned in close, brushing a strand of purple streaked hair behind his ear. ¡°I can rough you up like the good ¡®ol timess, what do you sssay?¡±

    What the hell is this scaly pervert on about. Does he mean that he¡­

    Azrael¡¯s trail of thought faltered, spurring his body to move on instinct.

    A fist sailed through the air.

    The reptilian creep was flung over the table of turquoise lined glasses, shattering and spilling the tipples. It wasn¡¯t long before the guests cast their attention in the redhead¡¯s direction, summoning an army of demons to cordon off his escape.

    ¡°Feisssty, aren¡¯t ya?¡± The Lizardman spat out a shard of shattered glass, propping up on his elbows. ¡°I don¡¯t mind a bit of rough play in private, but I have a reputation to hold on to, in public.¡±

    Azrael knit his eyebrows in a tumultuous knot. ¡°Ah, what the hell!?¡± Grabbing the wig and prying the plaster off his face, he smouldered with a salient rage he hadn¡¯t felt in a while.

    ¡°Oi, you¡¯re not her.¡± The reptilian demon¡¯s face contorted in revulsion. ¡°I wass tipped off Raen wass going to infiltrate my party, not sssome crossssdresssing runt.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t sweat it,¡± said the redhead, taking up a fighting stance. ¡°I¡¯ll leave her the last blow.¡±

    ¡°Wait!¡± The Lizardman held up his hands, stopping his guards. ¡°Why don¡¯t we put on a little ssshow?¡± Spreading his hands in a wide berth, he gestured towards the guests mumbling and bustling about, agitated by the commotion. ¡°We could ussse an horss d¡¯oeuvres before our main event.¡±

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    Five guards, positioned strategically like a wall, barred Azrael¡¯s path. As he attempted to navigate through the hostile blockade, a flurry of hurried footsteps echoed, accompanied by the sound of cracking stone. Then sudden floodlights flickered to life, its brilliance blinding him.

    Amidst his fleeting moment of weakness, he heard the Lizardman¡¯s voice resonate from above. He squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the intense light, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety as he braced himself for what might come next.

    ¡°Welcome ladiesss and gentsss, to a fight-to-the-death match I thought up, off the top of my head!¡± The Lizardman was nestled in a throne, wielding his mic like a talk show host. ¡°Our visitor here will be up against the finessst combatantsss from my personal militia.¡±

    Cheers flooded the auction hall, which had transformed into a makeshift arena. The walls around him had been moulded from the pillars, shuffling the guests around till they stood over balconies that peered at the centre of the limelight where the redhead stood, settling into the newly cast enclosure.

    ¡°What the¡­?¡± Azrael spun around, eyeing the spectators distributed along the three-storey gallery. ¡°All of this, for me? You shouldn¡¯t have.¡± He expelled a sigh over hunched shoulders. Why do I wind up in random death matches?

    ¡°Boys, sssick ¡®im.¡± The Lizardman helped himself to a bowl of grapes, seated atop a throne resting on a dais.

    Azrael found himself encircled by five towering demons wearing gorilla masks, who were at least a head-and-a-half taller than he was. He noticed that among the gathered adversaries, their weapon of choice was the lone factor setting them apart within the menacing ring.

    Wordlessly, a javelin whistled past his ear, followed by simultaneous thrusts from a spear and sabre. Sidestepping, ducking and rolling under the imminent blows, a sickle took a swipe at his throat, nicking the edge of his ear. A broadsword sailed past, scoring a chunk of flesh off his upper arm.

    Gritting his teeth, he made his way out the barricade he was thrust into. But the onslaught of gorilla faced foes were hot on his trail, swinging their weapons in a relentless flurry.

    ¡°What¡¯sss the matter crossssdressser!?¡± the Lizardman billowed, munching on a handful of grapes. ¡°All bark and no bite?¡±

    Reaching under the hem of his dress, Azrael unsheathed his katana, strapped to his left thigh. The weapon had restricted his movements all night, and the delicacy of his flowing dress made matters worse. Gripping his sword with both hands, he swung the blade in a symphony of strokes. His first order of business was deflecting a broadsword gunning for his head. He sensed a surge of miasma gushing from the rest of the gorilla masked foes, their muscles engorging with blood, growing with each breath.

    And yet, Azrael clung on to his katana, evading, parrying and executing blows in a hyper focused but lulled state.

    A splash of crimson matted his white dress, dying it a hue darker than wine.

    His left arm rolled off the side.

    A bloodied sickle hovered over where his limb once was. Bloodied blade was followed up by the lance, spear and sabre wielding demons, launching a frontal assault. Their trio of blades skewered him through torso and abdomen, spilling his innards beside a carmine pool.

    ¡°Ouch!¡± The Lizardman crushed a grape between his fingertips, arching his back against the throne. ¡°That musst¡¯ve hurt! A LOT! With the way you moved, I thought you had more ssspunk in you.¡±

    The audience collectively cackled, joining in on the Lizardman¡¯s mirth.

 Sever

    After a long half-hour of snaking through rows upon rows of caged prisoners, Raen had found her target locked behind a set of reinforced steel, adorned with an opulent gold gilded nameplate.

    ¡°Quite the VIP, if you need a special nametag.¡± She ran her fingers along the barred steel, pointing a digit turned gun at the lock. Pulling the trigger, the metal was reduced to powdered fragments. She reached into the cage and extracted her target, inspecting him closely as she compared his appearance to the photograph she had acquired for reference. ¡°I¡¯ve seen livestock handled more humanely,¡± she spat, resting her target¡¯s skinny, bound and gagged frame against his cage.

    Compared to the half-dead prisoners she had sifted through, her target struggled against his bonds, tumbling sideways on the floor, squirming and wiggling.

    ¡°At least you¡¯re spry.¡± Raen grabbed him by the collar, delivering a sharp jab to the side of his neck till he dropped like a ragdoll. ¡°It¡¯s easier for both of us if you are less agitated.¡± She smirked, tipping her head. ¡°Now that that¡¯s dealt with, I¡¯ll dump him with Azrael and¨C¡±

    A howl of cheers reverberated through the auction¡¯s backstage, upsetting the atmosphere like an earthquake uprooting a city¡¯s nonchalance. The hairs along her spine stood on end, a foreboding brewed within the pith of her stomach. Thunderous claps and cheers surged forth, urging her to hurriedly sling her unconscious target over the shoulders and rush towards the curtains near the front end.

    Sweeping aside a violet length of velvety partitions, Raen found a spotlight trained on five gorilla masked demons bowing over a shower of flowers and cheers, while a bloodied, armless remnant of a crimson haired male was splayed on the floor.

    ¡°That goddamn turd!¡± She slammed a palm against her forehead, exhaling a sigh. ¡°So much for the fucking signal!¡±

    Stroking the scaly length of his chin, the Lizardman watched the intruder with a salient curl of his lips, and a shake of his head. The first few spans had him on the edge of his seat, anticipating a challenging fight amongst the best of his men, and possibly a round two. But all his pent-up excitement was met with an instant knockout.

    At leassst, if I had sssold him off during the auction or kept him around on a leasssh, all of thisss would¡¯ve been worth it!

    Through the rampant cheering, a flicker of movement caught his eye, quickening his pulse. ¡°Ohhh! What¡¯sss thisss?¡±

    A crimson arc splattered the walls.

    The air was filled with the clamour of metal against stone as bodies collapsed, separating torsos from pelvises. The gorilla masks lay scattered amidst the blood-soaked battleground, forming a grim red tarn. In the middle of the gory scene, a lone figure stood, wielding a katana single-handedly. The blade in his hand reflected the aftermath of a natural calamity.

    His lost arm begun sprouting roots of vessels, sheathed by a fleshy length of muscle. It wasn¡¯t long before skin was draped over arm, and he clenched and unclenched his newly formed fingers. Satisfied with the result, the male shifted the tip of his blade towards the dais hoisting the reptilian demon. He extended a finger and beckoned him over.

    ¡°Ohhh. Maybe you aren¡¯t half bad.¡± The Lizardman loosened a chuckle, slapping the side of his leg. ¡°I like your mettle, crossdresser.¡± Raising his hand, he commanded a second batch of warriors to enter.

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    A pair of clay masked women appeared at the entrance to the makeshift arena, wielding a weighted handle in one hand and a crescent blade in the other, connected by a firm tangle of chains.

    ¡°Your next matchup is with the kusssarigama twinss! If you can bring them to their kneesss, you can proudly call yoursself an assssassssin worthy of working under the Ssinss of the Abyzz.¡±

    The Lizardman stuck out his forked tongue, gripping the edge of his throne.

    Regeneration typesss are rare, but rarely can they sssurvive multiple fatalitiesss in one go. Thiss kid isss a goldmine!

    Spitting out a glob of blood, Azrael clenched the hilt, shifting the edge of his katana and blunting the crescent blades hissing at him.

    Twisting and rolling out the way, he barely got a blink to catch his breath, while nicks and cuts culminated around his torso and limbs. Dammit I should¡¯ve saved playing possum for these two.

    In the middle of his evasive manoeuvres, the redhead¡¯s foot gave way, his rump grating heavily against stone, shooting a jolt of pain up his spine. Gritting his teeth, he had little time to pick himself up when the hounding fangs of the crescent blade closed in around his waist. Pushing off the ground, he rolled over, losing a patch of skin over his left flank, as the wet earth clung to his bloodied dress, thoroughly caking him in mud. Wait, where did all this muck come from?

    A portion of the ground caved in, swallowing him, katana and all. Amid the mud-stained slurry, his head stuck out like a wildflower in a desolate garden. Squirming and rocking about, he realised he was firmly wrapped underneath the dirt, except for his sinking head.

    The kusarigama twins hounded him, unleashing a pair of crescent blades, their tips caressing his cheeks and gouging out fleshy portions till metal cut into bone.

    ¡°What the hell is this!?¡± Fresh blood wetted Azrael¡¯s lips. One of the kusarigama sisters begun wielding her miasma, while the other mercilessly spun the chained weapon. Why haven¡¯t they taken my head already?

    Peering down, he realised his miasma was being worked overtime. His throat was being reconnected each time it was severed, flooding his gullet and trachea. He was drowning in a pool of his own blood, easing his grip on life.

    Dammit, if only I could break free¡­

    Gunfire pierced the air, its sharp ricochet echoing through the chaos. Triggered by the bullet barrage, the mud shackling Azrael crumbled, dropping him on solid ground with a heavy thud. The sudden shock jolted him awake. Gasping in a quaking sputter of wet coughs.

    He instinctively channelled his miasma through his battered body, and shook his head and coughed up more gore, wiping off the bloodstained muck off his lips.

    He panned his surroundings till his gaze fell on one of the kusarigama sisters. Buckshot pellets littered her skull. Meanwhile, the audience had their attention drawn towards a mysterious figure with a steel-plated mask, who had a smouldering metallic cylinder extend from the edge of her fingertips.

    The last of the kusarigama sisters broke into a riled sprint. She unleashed a guttural growl, her attention zeroing in on the gunslinger, erasing Azrael from her line of sight.

    He took the opportunity and grabbed his katana like a javelin. He ignored the blasphemy of the violating grip on the weapon¡¯s hilt and hurled his blade, albeit he had not the slightest inkling how he was going to hit her.

    The katana whistled through the air.

    To his surprise, the blade buried itself in the kusarigama wielder¡¯s leg. Her advance came to a skidding halt, right when a bullet was fired. The metal round pierced her throat and sent her head rolling over the remaining distance, coming to a grinding halt beneath the gunslinger¡¯s foot.

    ¡°You had one job.¡± Narrowing her gaze at Azrael, the gunslinger took off the steel-plated mask. Beneath the cover was an irked Raen, shifting her gaze to the side and over her shoulder before she refocused her attention on the Lizardman atop the dais.

    The redhead¡¯s mind raced as he nodded once, understanding she had left the target behind the curtains. His attention zeroed in on Raen¡¯s steel-plated piece.

    A mask was meant to be an integral part of an assassin¡¯s mark on the world. It symbolised the dark name that came with it, but then again, it mattered little, if the assassin was nothing but a no name.

    But you got to start somewhere, he supposed. Albeit Nakta didn¡¯t use one in his last mission.

 Showdown

    Glowering at the reptile who looked down on her, Raen clenched her fist. ¡°I guess it¡¯s inevitable,¡± she whispered.

    She could feel the skin beneath her navel smart. An old wound screaming from the brand imparted to flesh.

    Taking in a steadying breath, she spoke louder, cutting through the tension in the air. ¡°So, we meet again, after all this time!¡± She carried herself towards the centre of the makeshift arena.

    ¡°My, my, look who¡¯sss back. I¡¯ve heard ssssso much about you, my little Raen. You must be quite the delight to sssavour considering the marinade you¡¯ve been ssoaked in.¡± The Lizardman ran his forked tongue over his lips, leaning forward. ¡°What do you sssay? Are you willing to work under me, for real thiss time?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t mess around scaly scum.¡± Raen contorted her face in a wave of revulsion, raising her gun at the reptilian demon. ¡°Who in their right mind wants to work under you!¡±

    ¡°Though I call it work, you do know what I mean, right?¡± He smacked his lips, unreserved.

    A wall of stone materialised in front of Azrael, cutting off his advance to the front stage of the auction.

    ¡°You¡¯re both going to abide by my will.¡± Holding up his hand, the Lizardman halted his guards from rushing into the arena and dismissed the snipers on the rooftops.

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    ¡°What¡¯s the matter? Don¡¯t you want to involve more cannon fodder on par with the Sins¡¯ assassins?¡± She clucked her tongue, her gun poised and ready.

    ¡°Clearly, I have been had. A mutual friend of ourssss decided to play gamess with me. Either way, I can¡¯t afford to ussse the pawnss at my current disssposal, if they¡¯re nothing more than defectss essspecially against an opponent of your calibre.¡±

    Raen curled her lips in a snarl, hurriedly loosening a shot at the Lizardman, aiming for the length of scaly flesh between his eyes.

    A dull clang resounded. She clucked her tongue.

    The bullet pierced the vacant throne, devoid of a reptilian touch. ¡°Tsk, tsk, always aiming for the same spot. It¡¯s a terrible habit of yours, little Raen.¡± A hole materialized in a stone cemented expanse of wall, depositing the Lizardman at the mouth of the newfound opening, ushering his grandiose entrance into the makeshift arena. ¡°Now then, let¡¯ssss have the two of you pitted against one of poor ¡®ol me.¡± He cracked his knuckles, running his forked tongue over his lips. Weaving his hands in a circle, the ground gave birth to the maw of a beast, racing towards Raen, baring its fangs.

    She didn¡¯t fight the urge to flee.

    Dropping her aim, she ran towards the stonewalled Azrael, who was eerily calm compared to the swirling pit of queasiness churning her innards. ¡°If you have any witty ideas, now would be a great time.¡±

    ¡°Running to your crossdressssing fledgling for help? You haven¡¯t changed in your sssubmissive wayss, have you?¡± Chuckling, the reptilian demon eyed her with a voracious glint.

    Don¡¯t give in to his taunts. She eased her boiling rage, reaching into her backpack. Exchanging a cursory glance with Azrael, she dipped her chin. In that instant, he brushed past her, pummelling into the maw of the stone beast.

 A Dance with Chaos

    The redhead was devoured in a single gulp.

    ¡°What an idiot,¡± cackled the Lizardman. He mimicked a balled fist with his hand, morphing the stone beast into clenched fingers, wrapping around Azrael, ruffling through his limbs and locking him in place. He looked at his captured prey. ¡°Like ¡®lil Raen, like ¡®lil fledgling.¡±

    The Lizardman smacked his lips, willing his mangled fingers of stone towards him, bringing his captured prize close.

    ¡°You¡¯re the diversion while she attacks, is it?¡± He redirected his attention back to Raen, flashing her a wink. ¡°You¡¯ve got nowhere left to run.¡±

    ¡°On the contrary,¡± said Azrael. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t avert your gaze from your prey so easssily.¡±

    The tick of a timer struck its last, lighting the arena up in chaos. An infernal conflagration devoured reptile and redhead, in a smothering gulp.

    Guns alone weren¡¯t her forte. As much as she loved explosives, she couldn¡¯t turn her limbs into grenades. Luckily, she had a leftover bomb in her backpack, which Azrael had caught moments before he was devoured by the stone beast.

    With a resounding boom, the Lizardman¡¯s miasma was dissipated, toppling over the stonewall he had erected. A fallen mound stood where his creation once was. Her gaze shifted from the lingering rubble strewn about, to a red tuft that caught her eye.

    A limbless torso whistled overhead, sailing over the chaos.

    Holding out her arms, Raen caught the quarterly charred remains of her comrade, who coughed up a mix of blood and smoke. ¡°I can¡¯t believe we pulled that off, spur of the moment.¡± She smiled, setting the redhead¡¯s remains on the ground and covering him in her jacket.

    Azrael sprouted vessels like the roots of a tree, sheathing his bones and muscles beneath skin. He reverted back to his original form, filling into her jacket. He zipped up his freshly baked, exposed half, and sat up queasily. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you how relieved I am to be free of that dress.¡±

    ¡°But you don¡¯t mind wearing nothing but a jacket, huh?¡± Raen loosened a laugh, shaking her head. She was glad Azrael had made it. And that too from an impromptu on the fly exchange of glances signalling a plan she had no idea would have worked out in the first place. A foreign concept from all the other times she had had to mentor fresh assassins. Perhaps, he¡¯s got more potential in this line of work than he let on, at the start. From no miasma, to taking full advantage of it.

    In the midst of her mirth, out the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of movement. Her instincts eroded rational thought, and she ducked under, dodging a stony projectile hurtling towards her head. Exhaling a shocked breath, she grabbed Azrael and made a run for it.

    ¡°Hold it right there you ssslimy cu¨C¡±

    The air was filled with the lingering scent of burning fumes as the dust cleared around a reptilian figure. He groaned, disoriented and dazed, as he struggled to free himself from the rubble of what used to be his stone beast. His once left arm was reduced to a mangled stump, barely dangling off charred, fleshy gristle.

    Raen didn¡¯t wait for a second volley of projectiles. She ran past the partitions, diving backstage. She switched her grip from Azrael to her unconscious target, scooping him up, while the redhead followed her lead.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan?¡± asked Azrael.

    ¡°We run for the nearest exit.¡± She held up her fleshy rifle, firing at a horde of oncoming guards, and pummelling through their cheese-holed remains. A gust of wind brushed against her cheek, halting her at a fork in the path. Kicking off the path on the left, she headed right, leading Azrael to a dead end adorned with a painted glass pane nearly seven feet in height. A crack at the top of the glass invited the whistling wind, peppering a salty stench to the turbulence that snapped at her face.

    ¡°They¡¯re in here!¡± A guard beckoned at the rest of his comrades, signalling the location of the cornered trio.

    Past the reinforcements, Raen sighted a scuffling Lizardman, carried by a henchman. ¡°If he hauls his ass over, we¡¯re screwed.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re screwed either way.¡±

    ¡°Unless¡­¡± She produced a remote from a back pocket, eyeing the advancing guards. ¡°You good with a quick dip in the pool?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    She smiled. Flipping the trigger on the remote, she simultaneously fired her rifle at the painted glass pane. Reverting the rifle back to a hand, she grabbed Azrael and her target, before leaping off the ledge.

    A heartbeat and a half later, an inferno devoured the halls, riddling the lighthouse auction site in a sea of flames. The shockwave of the explosion flung her across the night sky, till she began sinking into the tempestuous sea below.

    The prisoners¡¯ room should be the safest place here. Hopefully the authorities will get there in time.

    Navigating the plane was Macie¡¯s job.

    Popping a berry flavoured bubble, she chewed up the exhausted gum, aimlessly flitting through the night sky.<sub> </sub>Glancing over the gas tank, she huffed in annoyance. The meter is nearly out. If that wench and brat are not showing up, I am out of here.

    She ran a hand through her wavy locks, tapping her timepiece, she took one final round around the lighthouse. All of a sudden, night paved way for morning. A brilliant conflagration lit up the sky, followed by a deafening blast quietening the propeller¡¯s hum. The lighthouse had burst into a yellow and orange blaze, spewing combustive fumes spiralling into the heavens.

    A splatter of blood and scales washed up against the cockpit¡¯s windshield, earning Macie¡¯s distaste. ¡°The wench and her theatricals.¡± Switching on the wipers, streaks of watered-down bloodied scales were smudged off the windshield. From the peripherals of her sight, she noticed a tangle of bodies spiralling into the sea below, curling up a frothy whisk of turbulent sea around the crash site. ¡°That must be them.¡±

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    Flipping switches, she began her descent into the sea, ready to scoop up her package for the night.

    Amid the tumultuous dance of crashing waves, Raen¡¯s world swirled in a whirlpool of chaos. The saltwater¡¯s bitter embrace pervaded her senses, plunging her into the depths of turbulence.

    She struggled against the lapping currents, wrestling to keep afloat, despite the unconscious target doing little in the current quandary.

    She panned the wet, frothy horizon. Her sights were set on seeking her currently elusive companion amid the crashing waves of the expansive sea. The waters whispered secrets of Azrael¡¯s whereabouts, tossing up faint bubbling bellows, but he remained evasive in the ever-shifting aquatic canvas.

    Unexpectedly, like a celestial beast descending from the heavens, a thunderous hunk of metal swooped down towards her. A cascade of seawater engulfed her brine-slathered frame, chilling her to the bone. From within the metallic behemoth came a demanding bellow, ¡°GET IN ALREADY!!!¡±

    Feeling equal parts surprise and relief, Raen summoned the last of her strength, propelling towards the opening at the tail end of the plane. She hauled her exhausted body over the threshold and carefully deposited the unconscious target over the nearest backseat.

    ¡°Give me five spans,¡± she said. Steeling her resolve, she dove back into the roiling embrace of the aquatic turbulence. No matter what protests or grievances Macie might harbour, she was not forsaking Azrael.

    Navigating through the murky depths felt like traversing a labyrinth of challenges, akin to wrestling a colossal hippo in its own domain. With each kick, she delved deeper into the watery abyss.

    Where are you!?

    Fighting against the currents, she swam through the watery chaos. She kept her eyes wide open, despite the whipping salt, stabbing at her eyes.

    In spite of her own misery, the thought of it being Azrael¡¯s last mission was unbearable. Especially after the stunt they had pulled off. Breathlessness clutched at her lungs, compelling her to reluctantly resurface. Taking a moment to regain her composure, Raen found herself at the tail end of the aircraft yet again. Her pink eyes, sore from the saltwater, searched intently near the looming presence of the lighthouse. And then, just as hope threatened to falter, a sudden jolt lanced through her right shoulder. The pain was followed by a sharp tug, throwing her against the unforgiving interior of the plane, eliciting a twinge of annoyance.

    In that instant, the engine roared to life, its droning hum vibrating through the sea as the aircraft began its ascent. Raen was caught within the wild thrashes of its upward trajectory, tossed about like a leaf in a tempest. Her instincts took over, clinging on with all her might. The world around her turned into a whirlwind of motion and deafening turmoil.

    ¡°What gives?¡± Raen seethed as she shakily rose to her feet, morphing her hand into a rifle. She could feel her gut sink, as the flesh beneath her navel began to smart.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t think you could esscape me that easssily, did you?¡± hissed a scaly voice, inching towards her.

    Leaning against the door to the cockpit, she steadied her rifle with her free hand. ¡°You¡¯ll always be a pain in the ass till the bitter end, huh?¡±

    ¡°You enjoy it more than you¡¯re letting on.¡±

    Biting her lower lip, Raen channelled her seethe into a torrential barrage of bullets.

    ¡°Avoid the little pilot¡¯s room, will ya?¡± Macie was doubled over, visible from a hole over the door standing between her and the bedlam.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry darlin¡¯,¡± said the Lizardman. ¡°I won¡¯t let harm come your way. You¡¯re my one-way ride to a mutual acquaintance I have a sscore to sssettle with.¡± He winced, as a volley of bullets shattered against the 20mm stone-coated vest he had fashioned over his torso and limbs, save for his face. His miasma poured over, strengthening the cracked stone. ¡°Quit sssplashing the hot ssstuff over me!¡±

    Raen curled her lip, fuming. ¡°Your arm doesn¡¯t look like it¡¯s holding up.¡± She wiped the sweat off her forehead, waving the perspiration off the back of her hand, as she kept firing her rounds from the other hand.

    ¡°I¡¯ll give ya ¡®nother sspan of firing off your repulsive flessh bulletss till I gain the upper hand. Oh wait, that wasss a good one.¡± The Lizardman threw his head back, loosening an unhinged chortle. ¡°Get it? Sssince I only have one arm left!¡±

    Raen wrinkled her nose. Swinging back and forth, and to the sides, she wasn¡¯t sure of her chances of taking out the Lizardman. Or rather, whether it wouldn¡¯t leave her or Macie as a casualty by the end of their brawl. An aircraft wasn¡¯t the safest place for a gunfight, unless she got a chance up close. She was in enough trouble as is, having lost Azrael.

    Exhaling a sigh, she reverted her rifle back to a hand. ¡°The way I am right now, I won¡¯t be making it past your crappy vest or jest.¡± She held her hands up, switching her stance by twisting her hips and throwing a jab in the air.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± asked the Lizardman, stifling his chuckle. His eyes narrowed at her, sliding his tongue over his scaly lips.

    ¡°A good ¡®ol fist fight. You can use your miasma and make yourself a temporary arm, with your stone manipulation technique. You did it long enough for your prick. In comparison, an arm shouldn¡¯t be much of an effort. That should even the odds.¡±

    ¡°Ah Raen. You¡¯re sstill one hot woman, in sspite of all the ssshit you¡¯ve wrung me through.¡± The Lizardman held up his hand, channelling a wave of miasma through his stone vest, moulding a limb strapped to his amputated shoulder. Clenching and unclenching his newly forged fingers, flashing a smug smirk. He lunged at Raen, talons extending from stony digits. ¡°You ssshouldn¡¯t have given me the upper hand, ¡®lil Raen! Reviving honour, back from duels of yore!¡±

    Swerving around the voracious claws, she threw an uppercut aimed squarely at his snout. Her fist cracked into his maw, sending his head whipping back as she ducked under a swipe.

    She was just getting started.

    Her knuckles were drawn back, like a catapult¡¯s sling, before being propelled forth as they danced upon the Lizardman¡¯s chest and abdomen, in a symphony of strikes choreographed in their fluidity.

    The Lizardman grunted and recoiled, wincing in a bout of annoyance. His eyes blazed with a primal rage, and he lunged forward once more, driven by a tenacity matching Raen¡¯s. Steadily, his playfulness faded, as he loosened his shoulders and extended his left talons in a hook.

    ¡°This is too easy.¡± Sliding under the Lizardman¡¯s wide swipe, her body glided with the ease of a ballet dancer, dropping nearly parallel to the ground. In a blink, she leapt forth like a loaded spring, the balls of her feet rushed out and delivered a sharp kick to his shin, cracking stone.

    Feeling the flow of her own momentum, Raen¡¯s hands switched positions with her feet, in a seamless transition. She propelled herself off the ground, her heel extending like a spear towards the Lizardman. The full force of her foot collided with his chest.

    The Lizardman crumpled against the plane¡¯s unforgiving backdoor, dipping his head. Head swinging in a groggy arc, he blinked with half-open eyes. ¡°C-Could we talk this out?¡±

    ¡°You can run your mouth as long as you draw breath.¡± Raen took her time walking up to the retching bundle of scales the Lizardman had been reduced to. The last thing she needed was to tip over and give him an edge to reverse the tides of battle. Her eyes were locked onto his crumpled form while she stuck her foot under his chin, applying just the right amount of pressure to shift his position from prone to over his spine.

    The Lizardman slinked back in a slow and laboured manner, desperately trying to draw distance between them. Resting his back against the wall, he held up a hand in surrender.

    But that didn¡¯t matter to Raen. Her hand began to morph and twist, under the sway of miasma. The flesh and bones clicked and contorted, transforming into a pistol. ¡°Any last words?¡±

    ¡°So much for a fist fight. But I won¡¯t be the one huffing and puffing, no more.¡±

    In that charged moment, time slowed to a crawl. Raen held her pistol steady, the muzzle pointed directly at the Lizardman. Given the distance it was impossible to miss. She steadied her firing arm with her other hand, looking at her enemy, down the barrel. The brand beneath her navel smarted. An itch that she wanted to relief herself of. Permanently.

    Her fingers closed in around the trigger.

    Driven by instinct, the Lizardman lunged at the gun, his stony fingers reaching out in a desperate bid to disarm Raen, right when she pulled the trigger.

 Roadkill

    A trail of smoke wafted from shattered stone fingers, followed by the sickening crunch of bone. Raen winced as she knelt over. Ebbing the flow of miasma, she clutched the remains of her pistol, which was reduced to a twisted wrist and three broken fingers.

    But the Lizardman was not yet done.

    He pushed off the wall, his remaining stone fingers closing around Raen¡¯s throat with a crushing grip, pinning her to the cold metallic floor. He drove his knees into her remaining hand and the other into her abdomen, till she broke into a coughing fit.

    Brushing his snout against her cheek, he dripped a venomous whisper past streaked purple. ¡°My, my, look how the tables have turned. Here I thought I was the deceiver.¡± Curving his forked tongue around the edge of her face, he nibbled on an earlobe.

    Struggling against her bonds, she squirmed and kicked, rabid screams escaping her salt stained, parched throat.

    ¡°That¡¯s the sssound I want to hear,¡± said the Lizardman, tightening his grip on her. ¡°You oughta take a look at the expression you¡¯re wearing. The dissconnect between psssyche and body isss a wonderful paradox, isssn¡¯t it?¡± In a moment of fierce intensity, he surged forward, his entire being pouring over Raen. Every scale on his conquering frame quivered with primal excitement, relishing the taste of fear and desperation.

    Lost in inebriety, his vision burned black. Pain stabbed at his dulled consciousness, knocking him over the side.

    ¡°Who the hell wasss that!?¡± Rolling over to his left flank, the Lizardman shook off the bleariness. He found a bound, scrawny male with clenched fists, trying to push himself off the ground. ¡°Brat, you have any idea what you¡¯ve done?¡±

    Cowering in fear, the scrawny male squirmed towards Raen, nudging her with renewed vigour.

    ¡°No point running to her. Look at thosse glazed eyess of herss. They hold nothing but the vulnerability of trapped prey before the predator, that isss me!¡± Shaping the remnants of his shattered stone fingers into a spearhead, he inched towards the bound male.

    The Lizardman shook from side to side, as he tried steadying his balance, past the bumpy ride.

    ¡°Nice and easssy doesss it.¡± He took his time walking over, his stone spear, bearing a dull gleam.

    All of a sudden, his makeshift weapon slid from his target towards the ceiling. He lurched forward, as the surroundings erupted into chaos. He had no choice but to dispel his weapon, if he were to avoid gutting himself by accident. A splash of water cut through, flinging the trio into the air like a sudden gust of wind. His massive frame slammed against solid steel with a jarring impact, causing him to groan in pain.

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    Meanwhile, Raen was flung against a seat, her body juddered by the force of the sudden upheaval. The scrawny male rolled about from side to side, caught in the tumultuous whirlwind of motion.

    The chaos ensued in an endless tangle of limbs and metal, leaving the Lizardman on the precipice of unconsciousness. By the time the frenetic journey came to a screeching halt, he clutched the side of his head, his vision blurred and his senses reeling from the aftermath. Amidst the confused haze, the burst of a pink bubble entered the peripherals of his vision, before it all went dark.

    Macie billowed a relieved sigh, stretching her arms over her head. ¡°Looks like we made it folks.¡± Assessing the scenario before her, she realised she was the only conscious one onboard. ¡°This is a fine mess, I will give it that.¡±

    Scratching the back of her head, her silhouette shimmered with each step she took, eyeing the cluster of indentations along the walls of her plane. A plethora of criticisms slid through her mind, but for the moment she let it pass.

    Her gaze shifted to the morning sun breaking past the horizon lighting the shabby runway, beside her watery parking ground, before reverting her attention back to the indented walls.

    ¡°What?¡± Her eyes slid back to the bobbing water, over her floats, the water stained red as a path was traced to the back of the plane. A jolt ran down her spine, when the backdoor popped open.

    At the mouth of the entrance stood a half-naked crimson smeared male. His jacket hung loosely off his shredded frame, sheathing an exposed liver with a patchwork of flesh and skin, missing half his head.

    Cracking his neck, he stretched his legs, assessing the scene in front of him. ¡°Seems like I missed out on¡­ whatever this is.¡± Waddling over to Raen, he ran an eye over her unconscious form, touching his fingers to her neck. He intensified his gaze, assessing her pulse. A sigh of relief parted his lips before long. ¡°Hope you don¡¯t mind the bloodstains,¡± he said, slinging her over his shoulders, with a sudden jerk. ¡°Oh, by t-the way, t-the mission said t-to leave the t-target with you, yeah?¡±

    The redhead motioned with his chin towards the unconscious, groaning male. Blood trickled off his lips from his open skull.

    ¡°Aye.¡± Macie raised an eyebrow, taking a tentative step towards the redhead. ¡°I thought Raen did not find you after the mission. How did you manage to get here?¡±

    ¡°Check your propellers next time before running someone through. Luckily, the floats kept me¡­ afloat.¡± He shifted his twitching gaze towards the stirring Lizardman in the corner, snoring away. ¡°What about him?¡±

    ¡°He is not on the agenda.¡±

    ¡°I should kill him then.¡± He shifted Raen¡¯s weight, staggering his way towards the reptilian demon. ¡°If he¡¯s the same to her, as that torturous scum was to me, then...¡±

    The redhead stopped in his tracks, listing his head sideways. He stared at the fallen scaly demon with a pause. His ears dribbled crimson down his cheekbones.

    ¡°No, I wouldn¡¯t want someone else to do it. This is her battle.¡±

    He clambered out the door, limping his way out the exit.

    He struggled, lugging along his partner, as the trickling blood over his wounds began patching up.

    Macie watched him till he disappeared into the horizon, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

 Licking Wounds

    "It¡¯s a miracle you made it out alive.¡± Marr wrapped the last roll of linen around an unconscious Raen¡¯s broken wrist.

    ¡°And you managed to pull through, despite it all?¡± asked Juke, hardly masking his disbelief.

    ¡°Barely pulled through.¡± Azrael sat down on a chair beside the bed, clutching his head in his hands. ¡°Maybe I should¡¯ve ended that reptilian scum when I had the chance.¡±

    ¡°Azrael.¡± Juke knelt down, placing a hand on the redhead¡¯s leg. ¡°We¡¯re assassins. Ultimately, we kill people for a living. While we could use it as a means to exact vengeance, it isn¡¯t our primary creed.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re assassins,¡± interjected Marr. ¡°We can run rampant, if we have a powerful patron¡¯s backing or the miasma to dominate. Minus those elements and we¡¯ll be disposed of. Besides, how would you feel if someone else had killed your tormentor?¡±

    ¡°Did you seriously tell her everything?¡± asked Azrael. He was glad he didn¡¯t tell Juke about Requiem, but it was a mess slinging along elements of his past to a consistent narrative reflective of his current state.

    ¡°Try keeping things from your partner in a relationship. It¡¯s kind of a two in one deal.¡± Juke pouted indignantly, shooting Marr a side-eyed glance.

    ¡°Wait, wasn¡¯t that meant to be a secret?¡± The redhead scratched his pate, splitting his gaze between the couple.

    ¡°Oh, right we didn¡¯t tell you yet, did we? Though we have been a couple for a while now. Wasn¡¯t it obvious?¡± Marr walked up to Juke, grabbing him by the head. ¡°And you¡¯re way too deep in the relationship to be shooting me one of those looks.¡±

    ¡°Owww.¡± Juke groaned, shoving Marr¡¯s hand away.

    ¡°That damned liar!¡± Azrael slammed his fist against his thigh, accidently pounding Juke¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Double oww,¡± he said, gripping his smarting hand. ¡°What was that for?¡±

    ¡°My, my, quite the mess we have here.¡± Lilith walked into the cordoned off hospital ward, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Good thing I sent Nakta off before you got here.¡± She shifted her gaze to the redhead, narrowing her eyes. ¡°Another mission you went on?¡±

    ¡°Huh-huh.¡±

    ¡°What was Raen thinking?¡± Lilith rubbed her temples, creasing her brow.

    ¡°From what we heard, she wouldn¡¯t have made it back here without him,¡± said Juke.

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    ¡°Who the hell does she think she is, dragging Azrael along on her mission!? Clearly it was beyond her capabilities, and she drags a novice along. The tsar¡¯s forces got there just as¨C¡±

    The redhead¡¯s jaw slackened, his ears ringing. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, rubbing his chin. Wasn¡¯t Lilith the one that put Raen on this mission?

    ¡°What¡¯s gotten you smouldering in silence?¡± asked Marr.

    ¡°What about my actual second mission? Isn¡¯t that in a week¡¯s time?¡± asked Azrael, shifting his line of thought.

    ¡°About that,¡± started Lilith. ¡°We might have to speed it up a notch.¡±

    Is this what it takes to evade a grey existence?

    Azrael eyed droplets of rain cascade down the window, paralleling the sorrows of heaven. Absentmindedly, he reached to scratch an itch along the left of his chest, acting on the urge to ground himself amidst the whirlwind of his mind.

    So much had come to pass. Not in the span of the year he was here, but rather, within the blink of a week. It wasn¡¯t that he hadn¡¯t had a fruitful passing of time. But everything left like it was out of his control. Like his will mattered little. Like he was forced to exist rather than live. Nothing more than a cog in the wheel. Perhaps with less freedom than the walking corpses he had laboured with. A different lifetime.

    Exhaling a sigh, his gaze was fixed on the world outside. The rushing droplets, nothing more than watery curls of steel, barring his path.

    ¡°Lilith showed you no mercy,¡± said Marr, shattering his reverie. She stole a glance at him from the rear-view mirror, reflecting a glint of sympathy.

    ¡°I doubt she¡¯s been as hard on a newcomer,¡± said Juke nonchalantly, munching on a chocolate square. ¡°And Raen¡¯s got some explaining to do, once she wakes up.¡± He held out the pack of chocolate squares towards the two of them.

    Marr accepted the offering, but Azrael remained motionless, his thoughts wading through the murkiness.

    Slamming on the brakes, the journey came to an abrupt halt, bringing the trio back to the present. Out the window, he saw a skyscraper piercing the ominous clouds surrounded by a perimeter of foliage. The gates leading to the towering structure was strewn about in a wreck. As the trio stepped out the car, the weight of their mission loomed over them.

    ¡°Looks like we have company,¡± said Juke, munching on the last of his chocolate squares.

    ¡°Are wrecked gates a must for the Yangs?¡± asked the redhead.

    ¡°Clearly there¡¯s a public bounty out for them, if we have guests.¡± Marr cussed under her breath, walking towards the skyscraper.

    The boys looked at each other, shaking their heads, following suit. ¡°Smells like trouble.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t say.¡± Azrael reached for his secondary blade, his hand grasping air. All I¡¯m left with is my katana, huh? Dammit.

    Plop.

    A shredded mesh of flesh and sinew fell, splattering a crimson puddle at the entrance to the skyscraper. Looking closely at the entryway, Azrael noticed three dozen gutted and mutilated remains for living beings haphazardly stacked over the earthen pathway.

    ¡°Gruesome.¡± Marr tiptoed around the littered corpses till she reached the lobby, slipping past the automatic sliding doors banging against a split skull. ¡°A little cleaning up would go a long way.¡±

    ¡°We must be up against a hell of an assassin,¡± said Azrael.

    ¡°Or assassins,¡± supplied Juke. ¡°Check out the lifts. Someone got off at the 34<sup>th</sup> floor.¡±

    ¡°Just two floors below the top.¡± Marr elbowed the switch for the lift, grimacing at the bloodied console. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡± The lift¡¯s doors opened with a ping, regurgitating a haphazard mesh of corpses up front. She grimaced, kicking the bodies aside, as she beckoned the boys to join in, pushing the icon for the 34<sup>th</sup> floor. ¡°Let¡¯s go all out from the get-go.¡±

 Stoned

    "Lucky our uninvited guests took the bait. Now those bastards are in for one hell of a treat!¡± Running her hand through clumps of wavy brunette hair, the bespectacled woman huffed her chest in anticipation. ¡°Ready your weapons!¡± she commanded, and in response, forty rifles clicked in unison, their nozzles readied at the elevator doors.

    A ping sounded, and the doors parted, revealing the intruders who had dared to trespass. Without a moment¡¯s hesitation, the bespectacled woman signalled with a wave of her hand for the attack to commence. A relentless volley of bullets thundered forth, creating a symphony of battle that tore through flesh and blood and everything else, till rubble was all that remained.

    ¡°Hold fire!¡± she ordered, raising a fist to halt the onslaught. The gunfire ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence amidst the aftermath of carnage. A crimson haired male spilled out from the elevator, dropping down on his knees. He spattered his innards and collapsed in a pool of his own blood, staring listlessly into a point beyond existence.

    ¡°That was quicker than we expected,¡± remarked the bespectacled woman, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. She turned her back on the fallen assassin, a signal for her troops to withdraw. But as she addressed her men, urging them to move, a coarse crackle tore through the air. Instinctively, she spun about, discarding the fate of her men.

    She came face-to-face with a pair of drawn longswords, wielded by a figure who exuded a voracious hunger for combat.

    ¡°What the¨C¡± Drawing a cleaver, she deflected the first strike. A moment later, she observed the fate her men had been tendered.

    A horror glazed expression met her eyes, carved in stone like an ancient sculpture.

    She shuddered, shifting her gaze back to the elevator doors. She saw the crimson haired cheese-holed intruder, rise and tend to a doubled over blonde woman, incapacitated by a coughing fit. ¡°It¡¯s her miasma then.¡±

    ¡°You should really take me more seriously,¡± said the wielder of the longswords. Kicking off a stone cased soldier, he swung his blades while airborne, at the stunned woman.

    Gritting her teeth, she enveloped herself in a maelstrom of miasma, plunging the air around her into darkness.

    Azrael twitched from side to side, steadying his wobbly gait. He approached the fallen Marr with a pounding headache, feeling a million times heavier with a lead-laden body. His wounds were taking their own sweet time to heal. Spitting out a round of bullets, he grimaced distastefully, plucking out a shell stuck to his head.

    ¡°nEvEr dOinG tHat aGaiN.¡±

    The redhead dropped down beside Marr, retching out a second throatful of bloodstained projectiles alongside the rest of his gullet. Shaking his head, the fuzziness cleared, and the pounding stopped.

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    ¡°Finally.¡± He cracked his neck and loosened his shoulders, before reaching out to his unconscious comrade, tapping the side of her face. ¡°Oi Marr, get up!¡±

    His tapping intensified, transmuting into half-slaps. Shaking his head, he began wringing her collar, trying to awaken her from her insensible state. Exhaling a breath, he dropped her to the ground, realising the best of his efforts did little to revive her.

    Not that she was dead, but she acted as if it was none of her responsibility to deal with.

    Considering how impervious she was to the chaos around her, blissfully ignoring the raging battle, Azrael couldn¡¯t help but fume.

    ¡°You mangle me through your ridiculous plan and take the easy way out, eh?¡± He massaged his temples, shaking his head. ¡°Dammit. How¡¯re things on your end?¡±

    ¡°A little busy dealing with this dame.¡± Juke was immersed in a smoky haze trailing off the bespectacled brunette, lost in a clash of metal. ¡°Keep an eye on Marr, while I finish off the glasses lassie.¡±

    Just our luck the strongest one had to be immune to Marr¡¯s miasma. I suppose not her specifically but rather the glasses she wore were protective. A strange caveat to a near invincible ability, apart from knocking her out.

    Out of the smoky haze, a brunette flicker emerged. She had a freshly bleeding gash running along her left shoulder that did little to slow her down. She readied her cleaver and in response, Azrael unsheathed his katana, steadying the hilt. The jagged edge of his blade shimmered, reduced to one-third its original length.

    ¡°Damn those bullets.¡± He cursed under his breath, discarding the shattered blade. He held up his fists, steeling his resolve. ¡°Oi, Juke you still alive?¡±

    Silence hung heavy in the smokescreen.

    ¡°Are you a zombie?¡± asked the brunette. Slipping past his fists, the cleaver covered the space separating them and crunched into Azrael¡¯s cranium. A guttural howl escaped his lips, blurring his vision and bemudding his thoughts.

    In that instant, Azrael felt a noose tighten around his throat, heavy breathing on his skin.

    Out the corner of his bleary sight, he found the brunette run at him, curling around him, like a python, sinking him into the ground. His knees buckled, and a world of pain smarted through his face, tonguing crimson muck.

    He spat out a red gob, his vision darkening, his consciousness slipping, his limbs leaden once more.

    ¡°Zombie or not, you should be out till I deal with your petrifying miasma user.¡± The brunette walked towards the unconscious Marr, cracking her knuckles.

    Gritting his teeth, the redhead ripped the cleaver out of his skull while his muscles spasmed. ¡°Move, dammit!¡± Crawling after the brunette, his body screamed in protest. Despite his efforts, he knew he needed time, even if it was just a few blinks. He could sense the despair creeping in.

    A longsword hurtled through the air, flung like a boomerang. Amid the billowing smoke and chaos, Juke emerged like a ray of light. The blade whizzed past the brunette, missing its mark by a hair¡¯s breadth.

    The brunette continued her smile, a chilling calmness in her demeanour, as she deftly slid her foot over Marr¡¯s throat. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you found your way out of the maze I had weaved in that haziness,¡± she taunted, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. ¡°A shame you¡¯re too late.¡±

    ¡°Nope, he¡¯s just on time.¡± Azrael hurled the cleaver he had been handed.

    The blade lodged itself between the brunette¡¯s shoulders. She loosened a pained gasp, as she staggered back.

    Despite his own injuries, the redhead propped himself upright, using the longsword for support. Limping forward, he stood opposite Juke, who was panting and huffing himself. The pair rushed forward, heading for the wounded brunette, each bearing a longsword. Kicking off a pincer attack, their blades were an inch away from delivering the final, decisive blow.

    But fate had other plans.

    The ceiling cracked and gave way.

    Debris and mortar showered down on the four combatants, engulfing them in a maelstrom of chaos.

 The Voyeur

    A silhouette stood atop a glider, behind a set of binoculars, masked by the foliage from the happenings of the night.

    ¡°Oooh, that must have hurt. Was not expecting the roof to crumble.¡±

    ¡°I had a suspicion you were the scheming prick behind all this.¡± A feminine voice reverberated from the apex of a pine tree, the closest inch of foliage on par with the airborne glider.

    ¡°Ah Lilith, it has been a hot while.¡± The Silhouette pushed a button on a console, extending a flight of stairs towards the pine. ¡°Let us catch up over a glass of wine.¡±

    ¡°Screw the wine. What¡¯re you planning?¡± She slid up the stairs in a heartbeat, standing beside the Silhouette. Twisting her lips in a scowl, contempt contorted her features.

    ¡°I heard you have tamed quite the exceptional batch of apprentices. Though the recent and current ongoing Yang annihilation and the side mission with the Lizardman all had one intriguing element binding them.¡± Extending a hand, Lilith was beckoned to continue. A pregnant silence followed the creaking of opportunistic crickets, who droned on, during the brief moments of awkward silence. As though uninterrupted, the Silhouette forged on. ¡°Your newest recruit! He has got quite the miasma. Despite his inexperience, he has caught my attention.¡±

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    ¡°And it wouldn¡¯t have anything to do with your long-held disdain towards the Yins or the Yangs?¡±

    ¡°No, of course not. I would not dare to dream of ending two birds with one stone.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± she said, wrinkling her nose at the blatant fib. ¡°Here I thought your machines would have been the perfect cogs for your annihilation plan.¡±

    ¡°There are no rules to the number of cogs in the wheel of my ploy. Lest they become liabilities instead, then I have no choice but to smite them. With the current collection of assassins in the Abyzz¡¯s underworld, the standards are precipitously low. In fact, with the Succession barely four years away, I fear there may not be enough assassins for the Sins to cherry pick.¡±

    ¡°Harsh. Is that why you¡¯re after my pupils? Four years isn¡¯t long enough if you¡¯re planning the usual centurial massacre.¡±

    ¡°No, no, no, no-no. This is going to be hell itself. Why do you think I risked showing up here? I need the appropriate dishes for the banquet I am preparing. I trust no chef to a keener sense than my own.¡±

    Lilith rolled her eyes, joining the Silhouette¡¯s astute survey of the ongoing battle.

 Unravel

    Three shadowy smudges of humanoid figures emerged from the crumbled ceiling, locked in combat against a woman in a rhinestone suit, vehemently blitzing through the chords of her guitar. A string of musical notes orbited her, keeping her foes at bay.

    ¡°What¡¯s de matter, ninja dress up chumps?¡± she asked. ¡°Did yer resolve wane ¡®fter meeting l¡¯dy Rock?¡± Whipping out a comb from her sleeve, she drove the teeth through her slicked back hair, flashing a blinding row of pearly white incisors.

    One of the three ninjas leapt forward, curving his sabre in a lethal arc aiming to cut through the string of musical notes and lady Rock, in a single blow.

    Plucking the strings, she willed a floating quaver forward, deflecting the oncoming blade while a crochet was swung like a golf club, caving in the sabre ninja¡¯s head in a bludgeoned wedge. The remaining two assassins inched back, keeping their distance.

    ¡°What¡¯s de m¡¯tter? Should I m¡¯ke me way dere?¡± Lady Rock took a step forward, sliding her fingers over the chords of her guitar noiselessly. ¡°A shame I must bring ¡®dis show to an end.¡±

    ¡°Milady,¡± said a voice, followed by the appearance of a brunette caked in debris.

    Snaking through the fallen remnants of the ceiling, a burst of crimson tore through the rubble, swinging a longsword at the circlet of musical notes orbiting lady Rock.

    ¡°Off de rocker aren¡¯t ya, young¡¯un.¡± She ran her fingers over the chords. On command, a semiquaver slashed the redhead¡¯s wrists off his forearms, followed by a pair of quavers that rushed him, severing his throat off his torso. ¡°Sucks to have been you, slowpoke.¡± She kicked the remains of her pulverized opponent to the side, making her way towards the pair of shadow clad assassins, who were joined by the brunette.

    ¡°It¡¯s been one hell of a day, thanks to scum like you.¡± The brunette spat, wielding a cleaver.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t ya halfwits learn a ding or dwo? Bloody dypical.¡± Lady Rock hung her head, clutching her guitar firmly. ¡°Let¡¯s finish up den.¡±

    Suddenly, a dark-skinned baldie with a longsword emerged from a mound of cracked ceiling, wrapping a protective arm around an unconscious blondie. ¡°The main course for the night is finally out.¡± Imbuing miasma into his longsword, he struck his blade into the debris caked ground. In response, hundreds of naked blades, unbound by hilt nor shaft, surged towards lady Rock.

    ¡°So not slick me guy.¡± She frantically plucked the strings of her guitar, manifesting every musical note she could summon. Quavers, treble clefs and crotchets were occupied by an armada of forged steel. A clash of miasmas from both sides put lady Rock and the bald male, at a stalemate.

    The two remaining shadow-clad assassins and the brunette rushed towards the distracted lady Rock.

    Twisting about, she creased her brows, playing her guitar in a heightened fever pitch. Slick wet rolled off her face, her miasma pushed to overdrive. Out the periphery of her vision, a crimson strand entered her visual field. Caught by surprise, she fumbled backwards.

    The surge of naked blades faltered, decimated by the fading musical notes, right when the redhead thrust a longsword through her guitar, fraying the strings.

    ¡°Dammit, ya damned pests!¡± Lady Rock swung the ruined instrument, parrying away the redhead¡¯s second blow. ¡°Now I¡¯m goin¡¯ to make ya pay.¡±

    A shadow infused projection emerged amidst the commotion, bordered by jagged canines for teeth. The canines chomped down on lady Rock and the redhead in a single bite. A gurgling set of screams bubbled out the dying duo, reducing them to a blood-smeared tangle of tattered torso and limbs, splayed like crimson ragdolls.

    ¡°My, my,¡± said the ninja at the centre, dispelling the shadow imbued steel trap. Removing her veil, she let loose electric blue hair over her shoulders. ¡°Finally, someone dismantled her barrier. That thing was impervious to all our attacks. Once we deal with the remaining two intruders, we can finally call it a day.¡±

    Juke fell to his knees, holding Marr close. Leaning against his longsword, he uttered, ¡°right when we find you, the situation looks bleak.¡± Breaking into a coughing fit, his grip weakened, his longsword quaking.

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    ¡°It¡¯s not supposed to be easy. Otherwise, everyone and their grandmas could get their hands on the head of the Yang!¡± The electric-blue haired assassin hissed in distaste, curling her lips. ¡°Was it you that burned down the mansion we had seized from the Yin¡¯s? I heard some newbie assassins, one with a flaming miasma and another with an elusive type were the culprits. In the wreckage, I found a mechanical contraption masquerading as my daughter. Ring any bells?¡±

    ¡°Milady Haern,¡± said the brunette cautiously. ¡°Be wary of the redhead. His resurrection miasma is troublesome.¡±

    ¡°Resurrection?¡± Haern shifted her gaze towards the bloody mesh of lady Rock¡¯s and Azael¡¯s remnants, her eyes widening. ¡°Uncover their remains. Something doesn¡¯t seem right.¡± Motioning the shadow clad assassin at her side to the fleshy mess, she made her way towards the fallen couple. ¡°You two were involved with the Yin mansion mess, weren¡¯t you? I remember one of the survivors mentioning a redheaded assassin.¡±

    ¡°True, my associates might have been involved, but we have no idea what you speak of,¡± said Juke. ¡°You can ask Azrael himself, since it was his mission.¡±

    ¡°Throwing your comrade under to save your hides? Not bad,¡± lauded Haern. ¡°Is the woman that important to you?¡±

    ¡°I am willing to do anything if she will survive.¡± Juke tightened his hand around Marr, holding her close, while his other hand supported his dipping head from touching the ground, with a longsword clutched firm. Sweat poured freely off his clammy palms. ¡°I can reassure you my associates did not take any hostages.¡± Abruptly, his body went limp, planting his face in the debris caked ground without warning. A stab of pain shot up his arm, noticing his longsword laying nine feet from his frame, an untethered wrist clenching the hilt of the blade.

    A spike swathe in shadows was retracted, slithering its way back to Hearn¡¯s feet. ¡°Audacious, aren¡¯t you? Making demands when you broke into MY home, trying to assassinate ME! Know your place, VERMIN!¡±

    ¡°No one move.¡± The redhead arose from the mound of debris, holding a longsword over the shadow clad assassin¡¯s throat. ¡°If it¡¯s me you want, I¡¯m right here. And while you¡¯re at it, why don¡¯t you take a look at the guitar freak¡¯s corpse.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± asked Haern.

    ¡°A mechanical contraption, you say? You might find more clues here than torturing the two of ¡®em.¡± Azrael kicked up the remains of lady Rock, tossing her head towards Haern.

    Bending down, she examined the severed head, noticing the flesh peel off the skull. Puckered crimson glittered beneath, brighter than blood, closer to a substance dyed red and tethered to skin. She knelt over and peeled the skin off the skull, unveiling a dull grey sheen. Tapping the skull, a hollow clang resounded, the bone as hard as metal. ¡°Well look at that.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t we call a truce?¡± suggested Azrael, motioning the brunette to join her boss. ¡°Something fishy is going on here, and we could either cut each other up or get to the bottom of our problems.¡±

    ¡°You take us for fools?¡± asked the brunette, glaring daggers at the redhead. ¡°We can¡¯t let those two go either, after turning my men to stone¨C¡± Her lips stopped in a noiseless flap, losing steam. Liquid crimson dribbled down her temples, her brunette hair wafting in front of her.

    ¡°Spoiler alert,¡± said a familiar face.

    After the brunette woman, Azrael and the assassin he had held hostage fell forward, sliced vertically in half.

    Juke met the redhead¡¯s unchanged expression, falling unawares to the ground. ¡°What are you doing!?¡± he asked. Panting, his expression twisted in agony, worse than the pain he had felt when he lost his hand.

    ¡°Oi, what the hell do you think you¡¯re doing, waltzing in here?¡± Haern extended her hand hurling a dozen spears imbued in darkness at the intruder.

    ¡°Is that all?¡± Waving a hand, the intruder dissolved the shadows, dispelling the spears. ¡°Anything else up your sleeve?¡±

    ¡°What the hell are you?¡± Haern launched herself at the intruder, her head flying off her shoulders and her body lurching forward in a headless tumble of electric blue.

    ¡°That was quick work. Now, what do you have up your sleeve? Any neat tricks?¡±

    ¡°What is this about, Lil¨C¡± Juke¡¯s world was inverted, gravity lulling him along like a tumbleweed in the wind till he was stopped by a severed hand gripping a longsword, plunging his vision into the void.

    ¡°What did you just do!?¡± Lilith stormed in, her footsteps thundering. Firing a cerise flash off her fingers, the blade fell from the other Lilith standing over Juke and Marr.

    ¡°None of your assassins are on par yet,¡± said an androgynous voice. An all-too familiar face with magenta hair and cerise eyes met her gaze, mirroring her in every aspect. Except the coldness within the confines of heartless pupils.

    ¡°Oi, what¡¯s going on?¡± Azrael scratched his head, rising from the mound of jumbled limbs.

    ¡°Or maybe...¡± The imposter grabbed the redhead by his face, moving quicker than a fired bullet, slamming him against the debris caked ground. With a vial drawn from the waist, the fake Lilith grabbed a discarded cleaver, cracking open Azrael¡¯s skull and tipped the liquid within. ¡°I suppose we have a winner. The amnesiac I administered should wipe his memory of this ordeal, though hopefully, not everything.¡± As Lilith¡¯s features melted, the sinister outline of the Silhouette surfaced.

    Lilith rushed towards the fallen Marr, scooping up Juke¡¯s remains in her hands. ¡°I am going to kill you one day.¡± She glared daggers, cradling Juke¡¯s severed head in her arms. Bending over, she assessed Marr¡¯s pulse, out of the Silhouette¡¯s field of view.

    ¡°But you will not. So long as your child is with me, you cannot lift a finger against me. Oh, and lest the young lady recalls anything from tonight, do not forget to¨C¡± The Silhouette slid a finger over the throat, mimicking a gag. ¡°You know the drill.¡±

 Obscure

    A naked bulb shone brighter than the afternoon sun¡¯s glare, mimicking a searing hot day, under a scorching hot sun.

    The warmth stirred Marr from her slumber, slathered in perspiration. Stifling a yawn, she scratched her rat¡¯s nest of bed hair, sitting up. ¡°Is it morning already? My body feels like it was taken apart and rearranged.¡± She rotated her shoulder, shaking off the grogginess.

    ¡°Now, now, take your time,¡± said Lilith, soothingly. ¡°I hooked you up with an IV and had you rest for a bit. The last mission was¡­ a fine mess.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± asked Marr, her expression hardening.

    ¡°Bluntly put, we lost Juke.¡± Lilith hung her head, biting her lip.

    The bed bound assassin paused for a brief moment, her eye twitching involuntarily. ¡°Huh? What about the mission? Did Yang get taken out?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Seems like Azrael and Juke took out a Yang member each, and in turn got decimated. By the time I had arrived, Azrael was awake, though he had no recollection of what had happened after the ceiling collapsed. I was hoping you could shine a light on the mystery, perhaps if there was someone else there, that night?¡±

    Scratching her dishevelled nest of hair, she cocked her head to the side. ¡°Last thing I remember is taking out an army of Yang¡¯s hired guns and Juke fighting against a brunette chic. Next thing I know, I¡¯m lying here.¡± Marr felt a blow detonate deep within the pith of her belly, bursting forth and moistening her face. Gingerly touching her fingers to her cheek, a rivulet of emotions broke out, blurring her vision. ¡°Juke w-was d-done in¡­ Why¡­?¡±

    Extending a hand, Lilith gripped her shoulder. ¡°Join the rest of us downstairs whenever you¡¯re ready.¡± She held Marr a moment longer, her grip tightening with a gentle squeeze. The silence hung heavy in the air, like a funeral shroud.

    Assassins don¡¯t usually get burials. It wasn¡¯t in their custom, not when most demons went down a killer¡¯s path, and met unnamed ends. Especially when your mask doesn¡¯t mean much. Or you don¡¯t even don one.

    Lilith¡¯s face was turned away, as she extracted her fingers. She took her leave, allowing Marr to be with her thoughts. Thoughts that she wasn¡¯t sure, she wanted to spend time with.

    Marr hung her head, choking back sobs caught in her throat. She couldn¡¯t help but quake. Her body, a temple to shivers. Blinking back the floodgate of tears, a precipitous scene flooded her memories, wiping the slate clean of what she thought of assassins and masks.

    She could vaguely hear Juke speak, moments before his head went rolling. His words were cut short by sweeping magenta strands that brushed past him. Strands just having brushed past her, comforting an avoidable death, through hollow words and meaningless warmth.

    Clenching a fist, she struck the bed. Rage smouldered beneath her tear-streaked visage.

    At the kitchen table, Nakta sat with his head in his hands, pressed by a weight heavier than what he was used to shouldering.

    On the opposite end, Raen looked despondent, her wounds dressed up in clean white linen.

    Azrael sat between the two, possessed by the sudden urge to shift about than stay still. Beads of sweat rolled down his brows, trapped like a fly caught in a web.

    In spite of his situation, a fleeting memory flashed through the redhead¡¯s mind. He remembered the time he had shared his first meal at the same table, a distant recollection from when he had led a different life. The gravity of the current situation lured his gaze towards a simple mug placed on the table, beads of condensation rolling off its surface. An involuntary twitch betrayed the emotions churning beneath his skin, urging a need for control amidst the turmoil. He wiped away the condensation accumulated on the mug¡¯s surface, sliding a coaster under the ceramic. It served as a lingering reminder of the order kneaded into him. A habitual urge he¡¯d come to adopt.

    ¡°It¡¯s all your fault, damn gutter rat! Only if you hadn¡¯t messed up¨C¡± Nakta shoved the mug off the table, sending the shards flying. Toppling his seat over, he threw himself at Azrael, rolling over the tiled ground.

    ¡°Why do you always have to be like this!?¡± dissented Raen, with a grimace.

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    ¡°Damn you!¡± Nakta seethed, grabbing Azrael by the collar. Coming out on top of him, a maelstrom of animosity congealed into malice. He let loose his balled fists, pummelling into the redhead, in a fever pitch.

    ¡°Give it a rest, Nakta!¡± Raen fired a shot off her uninjured hand, cutting through the one-sided fistfight. ¡°When will you grow up, you damned brat!? Azrael joined us the latest, but he¡¯s more mature than you, despite the adversity he¡¯s been wrung through. Do you think you could¡¯ve handled the hell he¡¯s experienced, the way you are?¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter,¡± said Nakta. His bloodied fists raised above Azrael¡¯s bruised face, breathing raggedly. ¡°You lied and dragged him into your fuckin¡¯ mess and had him save your arse. But in reality, you wanted to slug him one too, didn¡¯t you? After all, he let that lizard turd get away.¡±

    Gunsmoke smeared the air, blasting Nakta off Azrael. Back against the oven, he swallowed back a surge of bile touching his lips, narrowing his gaze at Raen.

    ¡°Did I hit a sore spot?¡±

    ¡°How did you find out?¡± she asked, boiling over.

    ¡°A little tip I salvaged from your pilot.¡± He slid a sly wink, rising to his feet. ¡°Worth the penny, I would say.¡±

    ¡°Would killing me end your worries?¡± asked Azrael, wincing. ¡°I could keep bitching about the way the two of you messed up whatever missions you dragged me on.¡± His gaze shifted from Nakta to Raen, narrowing his own eyes.

    ¡°Fair,¡± said Raen, biting her lower lip. ¡°In fact, I owe you one, Azrael. But I won¡¯t forget what you did, or rather what you chose not to do.¡±

    ¡°The temperature¡¯s been turned to boiling here,¡± interrupted Lilith, walking through the kitchen entryway. Parting a sigh, she rested her arms on her hips, a weariness seizing her frame. ¡°It¡¯s finally time then.¡±

    Azrael raised a questioning eyebrow but decided to keep to himself.

    ¡°How about we call it quits?¡± Lilith brushed a length of magenta off her face, a placid expression painting her features. ¡°My stronghold is meant to give young assassins a base they can call home till they find a place they belong to. A single slip-up could cost them their life, but it gives them a chance to right the shitty hand they¡¯d been dealt.¡±

    ¡°For that Lilith, I and rest of us will forever be grateful to you,¡± said Raen.

    ¡°Likewise.¡± Nakta¡¯s voice perked up, steeped in a bitter undertone. ¡°But since that piece of filth is staying here,¡± he continued, gesturing towards Azrael with a thick finger, his face contorting with disgust. ¡°I can¡¯t bear to breathe the same air as him. It¡¯s absolute bollocks.¡± With resolve in his steps, he rose to his feet, storming past both the bruised redhead and his mentor. ¡°Take care of yourself, Lilith. I¡¯ll reach your level one day; sooner than you think.¡± He took his leave, his anger seething with every stride he took.

    Lilith stood stock still, watching Nakta¡¯s departure with a melancholy glazed gaze. She had hoped for a different outcome, but she understood the weight of the paths each one of them had chosen.

    Raen touched Azrael¡¯s and Lilith¡¯s shoulders with a gentle brush. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, her voice barely a whisper. ¡°My path lies elsewhere, and I can¡¯t allow this place to hold me back.¡±

    Raen followed Nakta¡¯s footsteps, leaving the kitchen and the people within, behind. In the wake of their partings, the stronghold appeared emptier, as if the bonds holding them together at one point had been torn asunder.

    ¡°Y¡¯all couldn¡¯t keep those packed up suitcases hidden from me anyway.¡± Lilith nodded in remembrance, her eyes fixated on a point long past the horizon.

    ¡°It was inevitable.¡± Marr¡¯s voice carried a sense of resignation, carefully descending the stairs, struggling to keep her balance while lugging an IV pole along. ¡°We can¡¯t stick around and play house forever.¡±

    Despite his own injuries, Azrael reached out to her. ¡°Marr,¡± he said, wincing with a jab of pain. ¡°Let me help you.¡±

    She flashed him a warm smile, waving him off. Her gaze snapped to Lilith, and the warmth was drained from her pale complexion, faster than a blade to the gut. ¡°I should have prepared a little bag of trinkets too. But since I didn¡¯t, just dispose of whatever I leave behind. None of that matters anymore.¡± Ripping out the needle in her vein, she walked past, leaving the IV behind.

    Lilith was frozen in place. She felt like a brewing tempest had stormed past.

    The redhead tried making sense of the situation, his attention torn between Lilith and the slammed door. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you guys had bad blood.¡±

    She nodded, her eyes moistened, as she looked at Azrael¡¯s bruised face. ¡°Yeah, neither did I.¡± Sniffling, she clutched her sides. Her gaze lingered on the shut door.

    A vague sliver of light was welcomed in, scattering across the dark expanse, looming ominously, from the shadow cast upon the hallway. It was like a great chasm had swallowed the bonds binding them all, till there was nothing but an abyss that remained, its looming maws, agape.

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t patching up wounds your thing?¡±

    A small, wistful smile flickered across his face. ¡°It is. But I thought I¡¯d allow it to linger around, a bit longer. I want to feel the sting, otherwise the wounds close up too quick. Move on, too quick.¡± He gritted his teeth, eyeing the scattered remains of the mug across the floor.

    ¡°Suit yourself. By the way, you planning on leaving sometime soon?¡± She managed a weak scoff, her gaze lasered in on the door past the hallway. Or perhaps, past the barrier dividing them, to the people who existed outside the simple length of wood.

    ¡°Nah. I¡¯m sticking around for the long haul. Since all your proteges left, there isn¡¯t anyone around to train me. Unless a certain high-ranking assassin wishes to take me in, under her wing...¡± Azrael flashed a wink, switching it up from his usual eyebrow raise.

    ¡°What a troublesome lad.¡± Lilith rolled her eyes, resting her elbow against Azrael¡¯s shoulder. ¡°For someone eager to flee my embrace, you sure settled down quick.¡±

    ¡°After those mishaps for missions, I have a helluva lot more to learn.¡±

    ¡°My training methods are rigorous and brutal. Don¡¯t come crying to me later.¡± Patting the redhead¡¯s back with a thump, the stronghold was slathered in a heavy downpour. The din deafening the silence, was heftier than a funeral shroud.

 Paradise, Lost

    If only I could¡¯ve killed that bastard before he...

    The goblet was filled to the brim with wine, tainting the hollow silver vessel in a bloody shade from the dying embers of sunlight. The darkness lengthened, swirling with the liquid, sucked into a bottomless abyss.

    ¡°Oh Juke, forgive me.¡± Lilith tightened her hold around the vessel, tipping trickles of the gore-stained liquid over the edge, wetting her fingers. She held on. Tightly.

    The liquid dribbled over her nails and oozed down her knuckles, slowly caressing her skin, like fat tears drawn from blood. She lifted the goblet off the table, touching the rim to her lips. Swirling the liquid, she took a sip. A lone tear traced the curves of her face, the darkness in her heart outpacing the clutches of the night sky, arborizing the horizon.

    ¡°Right. Back to work.¡±

    Turning a dial, steaming water smothered the crimson haired male, wetting his body. His form flickered in the heat like a mirage in the desert, exhaling a sigh heavier than the weight of a hefty sin.

    The tiled flooring around the walls, paved way for a shadow of a figure. It mimicked every move he had made, reflecting a blurry portrait, bound by more imperfections than he¡¯d had in the past. A figure devoid of blemishes. Not of red welts. Nor of patched up twine running through puckered flesh. Even the slivering reminders of his past had faded. Nothing more than a waning memory, cleansed with the march of time.

    The body usually kept count. But his miasma stood in the way.

    Running a hand over his chest, he could feel the steady thud of his heart beating beneath his lean muscles. Gripping the taut skin, he clawed at it till warmth oozed out the wound, tainting the trickling shower water, a shade mirroring his hair.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    ¡°Dammit, DAMN IT ALL!¡± he howled. He sought release from the downpour, wetting him in its pressured, scalding cadence. And yet, he quaked frigidly in the heart of warmth.

    That ocean of nothingness sought me out yet again.

    It questions the very essence of my being.

    Despite all that I indulge in,

    I question if it¡¯s all nothing but a fleeting dream?

    Or a reality I¡¯ve created through distortion?

    Wincing, Azrael killed the jet of water, weaving a string of miasma over the wound on his chest. Grabbing a towel off a rack, he wiped off the crimson stains, kneading his hair into a ruffled mess.

    ¡°Reality awaits. Moping around won¡¯t get me anywhere.¡± Smacking his cheeks, the redhead wrapped the towel around his waist, heading out the shower room and into the main hallway.

    A glimmer caught his eye.

    Dropping down nearly parallel to the wet wooden panels, chaos erupted around him.

    A claw hammer bit callously into a chunk of wallpaper, tearing through mortar in a vicious mound of savagery before exiting out the wall in an explosive torrent of plaster. Shrapnel flew omnidirectionally.

    ¡°I feel for ya, being targeted by an exceptional assassin as great as me. But alas, such is the price to pay in this line of work.¡± A seven-foot male, garbed in shadows and donning a welding helmet stood at the other end of the claw hammer, holding a secondary sledgehammer. A clamour of sharpened claw, and raw power tore through the walls of the hallway, hounding the evasive crimson haired male, who was barely holding onto his dainty, wet towel.

    ¡°If you¡¯re so exceptional, at least fight me when I¡¯m fully clothed!¡± Azrael detested the beads of sweat popping off his forehead and back. Was there a point in showering before a showdown?

    Waltzing around a fatal blow from the claw hammer, he unfastened his towel, wrapping the dripping length of cloth around his assailant¡¯s arm. Dropping to the floor, he held up his right hand, having the bones past his elbows cleaved off by the murderous sledgehammer, exposing the jagged edges of his ulna and radius. Shooting a jet of crimson onto the welding mask, he thrust the exposed forearm bones into the assailant¡¯s thigh.

    The hammer assassin staggered backwards.

    In a fluid tug, Azrael unfurled the towel wrapped around the arm. In a clamour of hammers, the assailant toppled over.

    Azrael seized the moment, pouncing as a cougar would over fallen prey, raising his makeshift weapon above the assassin¡¯s exposed throat. His arm dropped, diving in for the kill.

 Hammered

    A hair¡¯s breadth away from delivering death, his arm came to a screeching halt.

    A tangle of barbed wires cut into Azrael¡¯s brutalized arm, reeling him in the other direction. Resisting the urge to give in to his latest opponent¡¯s whims, he willed a surge of flesh and skin over his ensnared limb, desperately clambering onto the minimal grip the flooring offered.

    ¡°Give it up, chump. You¡¯re mine now.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Stealing a glance over his shoulders, Azrael caught sight of a veiled, slender woman, tugging at his arm with both her hands. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you¡¯ll like me now.¡± Offering the last ounce of struggle against his bonds, he pushed off the ground and used the momentum to propel his body towards his opponent. He slid along the massacred wall, while his towel daintily dangled in the air.

    ¡°They didn¡¯t even give you a chance to dress up? How pitiful.¡± The slender woman channelled miasma through the wire, extending an offshoot off the barbed end around Azrael¡¯s arm. The wire cut into his throat, abruptly beheading his momentum. ¡°This is the end of the line for ya, boy.¡±

    ¡°You t-think so?¡± gurgled Azrael, hurling a length of metal at the slender woman.

    ¡°Huh¨C¡± She loosened the barbed wire around him, gagging and reeling backwards, clutching at her throat.

    ¡°I was going for the head, but I guess it¡¯s close enough.¡± He rubbed his Adam¡¯s apple, walking towards the slender woman, who had the jagged end of the claw hammer lodged deep in her gullet. Gripping the handle, he pried the hammer free from puckered flesh and struck the weapon¡¯s face against her temple, pounding away till veil and hair gave way to a caved in cranium.

    Breath running ragged, blood and sweat matting his torso, he spun around. He recalled he had been interrupted in the midst of a different arrangement. Blinking confusedly, he noticed an empty bloodstained floor, devoid of any leads to his earlier assailant.

    ¡°I guess his weapon¡¯s mine for the taking.¡± Azrael twirled the hammer around his fingers, realising he had to have a talk with Lilith. But first, he beelined for his room, eager for a solid set of unsoiled clothing.

    Half a dozen assassins later, Azrael finally donned a tunic and a fresh set of trousers. Desperately pulling on his socks, he dug his toes into a snug set of loafers, grabbing his sheathed katana. He held onto the claw hammer he had nicked earlier, tightening his grip around the handle.

    Making his way past the massacre-stained hallways, he gunned for Lilith¡¯s office, ploughing his newfound hammer through a rush of assassins, climbing up the stairs, past the shelves of tomes. When will I get around to exploring all those books? Whenever next time is, I guess?

    He shook his head free of the thought, forging on ahead, wiping the blood and guts off his face.

    A cerise distortion cut through the air, searing a miniscule hole in his tunic, barely missing skin. He instinctively grabbed his arm, running his finger through the charred opening in his garb. ¡°Great! Right when it¡¯s out the wash.¡± Scanning the surroundings for his latest opponent, a second cerise flash slid past his face. Ducking behind a column, he was on the lookout for his newest enemy. ¡°At least aim for something I can regenerate, DAMMIT!¡±

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    ¡°Where¡¯s the fun in that?¡± whispered a feminine voice.

    Azrael jumped back, a set of cerise eyes mirroring the flashes from before. ¡°Lilith, what¡¯re you doing?¡±

    ¡°Training you.¡± Winking, she traced his sternal notch with her index finger. ¡°Bang.¡±

    In an instant, a jet of crimson erupted from a gaping hole in his chest. He coughed up a mouthful of red, struggling to stay upright. While he steadied his sinking frame against a nearby column for support, his mentor¡¯s fingers danced with cerise flashes, carving craters out of his torso.

    ¡°My bad,¡± she quipped. ¡°I should learn to hold back a bit. Silly ol¡¯ me.¡±

    The wall behind Azrael was streaked with red as he crumpled to his knees, submerged in a pool of his own blood. Fighting to stay afloat, black spots danced before his eyes, threatening to pull the rug out from beneath.

    ¡°You¡¯ve endured worse, haven¡¯t you?¡± said Lilith, her fingers grooming through dishevelled crimson hair as she pulled him up to his knees.

    Sputtering blood at her, he used the moment to break free of her grip. In his brief respite, he begun mending the craters in his wounded body. He shifted the hammer to his non-dominant hand and unsheathed his katana in a fluid motion. ¡°You¡¯re quite the trainer, springing all of this on me.¡±

    ¡°Compared to the hell awaiting you, think of this as no more than child¡¯s play. I put out a hit on your head that¡¯s gonna be up for a month, which means assassins all over the Abyzz are gonna keep coming after you daily, for the first half of your day. Once you¡¯ve had your fill of assassins, you¡¯ll need to survive combat practice, till you win against me in a fight.¡± Shaking off Azrael¡¯s bloodstains, she clasped her hands together, producing a pair of miasma-infused sabres.

    Bounding off the ground, he swung hammer and katana with all his might. In turn, Lilith swung her sabres, clashing cerise miasma against steel. ¡°Can I put in a request for downtime?¡±

    ¡°You think?¡± Lilith arched an eyebrow, weaving a smug smile. ¡°Oh, and from tomorrow onwards, let¡¯s make it a rule to have the fights outside my stronghold.¡±

    Azrael reflected her raised eyebrow, omitting the smile. ¡°Whose idea was it to put a hit on my head again?¡±

    ¡°Point taken.¡± The cerise blade dissipated from view, alongside its wielder. Releasing her knees, she aligned her frame parallel to the ground. Channelling the miasma through her legs, she lashed out with a foot, planting her heel in his abdomen.

    A cerise wave simultaneously shot out of her sole, pummelling Azrael through brick, plaster and window, out the second storey and onto matted grass. Tumbling over the verdure, he struck the earth with his katana and erected his fallen frame.

    ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± she asked, appearing an inch away from the redhead, driving a miasma infused fist through his jaw, cleaving the lower half of his face off the philtrum. ¡°My bad, cat caught your tongue?¡±

    Agony ruptured through his face, like a thousand hammered nails pried free from flesh. But he couldn¡¯t stop. Not when he had endured worse.

    Swinging hammer and katana voraciously, he could feel the fatigue set in, as he pushed his body past its limits, and beyond.

    ¡°Now, now, what¡¯re you aiming for?¡± Lilith swung the back of her hand, brushing aside his attacks, as easily as swatting aside a fly. ¡°If you think the swordsmanship you picked up from Juke is enough against me, think again.¡± Swinging a miasma encased fist in a wide arc, flesh touched metal.

    His katana was shattered into a thousand shards and the hand wielding the hammer, was cleaved off bone.

    Azrael froze in place, wisps of miasma slinging flesh along his shattered jaw and weaving a bloody mesh over his stump of a left hand. ¡°You¡¯re something else,¡± he gurgled, a fleeting whisper of a voice clinging to the frayed tapestry of his fading consciousness.

    ¡°You should value that grey line of existence more than you give it credit, otherwise all that awaits you are splashes of colour, more irksome than a spectrum you can handle.¡±

    Azrael gritted his teeth.

    Desperately, his only fist was clenched. His fingers gripped a sword that only he could see.

    Persist. At least a moment longer.

    But the rug was pulled out from underneath, sinking his consciousness into the depths of an inescapable abyss.

 Raw

    Dragging the unconscious redhead back to the mansion, Lilith deposited him on the sofa, resting the fallen hammer beside his limp form.

    With nimble fingers, she plucked a wayward clump of grass off dishevelled magenta strands, casting it aside like an old memory. Climbing the stairs, she rushed past the tomes, overlooking the paintings adorning the hallway, making her way towards her office.

    Slamming the door shut behind her, the heavy thud reverberated throughout the near-vacant stronghold, as if sealing her determination within the confines of her safe space.

    ¡°Dammit,¡± she muttered, her voice a tremor laced with vulnerability.

    Moisture pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Her cheeks were awash with a fiery flush. She balled her hand into a seething fist, unleashing a vengeful strike against the unforgiving wall. A nagging gush of warmth shot up her arm, but she paid it no heed.

    ¡°No,¡± she insisted, her voice spiked with unyielding conviction. ¡°This is where it ends, I can¡¯t falter now, not when I have come so far.¡±

    On the Silhouette¡¯s order, she had been assigned to take out Mol¡¯okh and wipe out his base. During the mission, she had found Azrael lying next to her dead target, which turned the gears of an idea, one she was willing to wager her life on.

    The redhead¡¯s journey from whence she¡¯d first met him, followed by his training, and all the months spent in between, was her patiently awaiting the moment he would unveil the power he had vanquished Mol¡¯okh with. When he had shown no promise of revealing his true strength, doubt began to consume her, one that grew to despair till the time he had embarked on his first mission involving the Yang.

    Luckily, she had managed to extract the circumstances which catalysed his evolution from a survivor of the Yang slaughter, revealing a pattern wherein each brush with death propelled him towards manifesting the beacon of her hopes.

    That was all she could surmise presently, and yet there seemed to be a missing component. Or was it a matter of timing? She had no plausible answer.

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    For the moment, all she could do was kill her emotions, steel her resolve and break Azrael till he evolved. She had no other alternative. Not when he had caught the Silhouette¡¯s fancy.

    The wheels were set in motion. The ploy was in play.

    Even then, she refused to accept a future where Azrael would become a mere sacrificial pawn, a means to escape the shackles that had bound her.

    But what choice do I have?

    What the hell was that woman on about? Value a grey existence? Return to those days of nothingness? Screw that! After everything I had endured, you want me to ease myself back into that appalling way of life!?

    Azrael curled up in the sofa, hugging his knees, gripping his head in his hands. The wounds he¡¯d been endowed had healed up, and yet the scars ran deep, long after flesh and skin were whole.

    ¡°If Briar had survived that night, he might¡¯ve used whatever¡¯s buried in me a lot better.¡± He rested his hand over his chest, shaking with contempt. ¡°Why did it end up this way? I-I-I¡­¡±

    Is that the extent of your conviction? spoke an ancient rumble, a voice long forgotten. You desired power to stand on equal footing with demons, and yet all you see is despair, despite the potential you hold.

    ¡°Shut it!¡± seethed Azrael, clambering to his feet. ¡°What do you know of the hell I have been wrung through!?¡±

    Nothing like front row seats to watch it all first-hand.

    ¡°Wha¨C¡± He faltered in his outburst, scratching his head. Spinning around, he took note of his surroundings, realising he was alone. A faint realisation filled the gaps of his ignorance. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me, Requiem?¡±

    Miss me? I need more time to awaken fully, so listen well. You haven¡¯t made full use of my abilities. Think back to when you had first used my power. There¡¯s your hint.

    ¡°Could you be more specific?¡± asked Azrael.

    A volley of bullets answered his plea, interrupting his heated morning. A dozen assassins materialised from the shadows, closing in on him.

    ¡°Great, more of these bozos.¡±

    *

    Standing atop a pile of eviscerated cannon fodder assassins, the redhead panted agitatedly, his blood boiling over. ¡°Is that all you chumps got?¡±

    Heaving a sigh, he steadied his breath. His sore buttocks were eased back into the couch he had slept at. He winced, his heart racing at a thousand leagues an hour, agitating his brief respite before the next training bout.

    ¡°What do I do to improve?¡± Miffed, Azrael rolled over the fallen corpses, prodding a foot at a rib that stuck out one of the assassins like a flagpole. Lulling his head, back and forth, his gaze lingered on a sheathed katana beside a torso-less assassin. ¡°Come to think of it, when did I first use this power? At the mansion? No, wait.¡± He sat up, cradling his chin atop steepled fingers. ¡°My limbs were cut off by that bastard Mol¡¯okh. They had regenerated when I¨C¡±

    Eyes widening, he sprang to his feet, an evident smugness curving the corners of his lips.

    ¡°That could work.¡±

 Centurial

    A lavish hall adorned by chandeliers and tapestry depicting wars of ages long forgotten, hung from the ceiling. Platters of sauteed and braised game alongside finely carved out legumes lay at the centre, polishing a banquet fit for a king.

    Bordering the gourmet platter were a band of fourteen masked demons flitting back and forth, sipping aperitifs and partaking in the fine delicacies of the night. Despite the glamourous nature of the occasion, hostility hung heavy in the air, thick with tension murkier than the depths of a swamp. The fourteen were armed to the teeth, their fingers within reach of their steels. So far, not a drop of blood had been shed. Yet.

    Unbeknownst to the gathered assassins at the hall, a glass panel hid a vigilant set of eyes, watching the night unfold.

    ¡°What a delightful bunch.¡± Clucking her tongue, she poised an extended finger at the glass pane, her features hidden beneath a pale flat owl mask, fringed by a length of magenta fluttering against a breezeless wind. A flash of cerise shattered the screen, hailing shards of glass, garnering the attention of the deadliest elite fourteen under the Sins of the Abyzz. ¡°A bunch of entitled clowns, aren¡¯t y¡¯all?¡±

    From the heavens above, cerise flickers cascaded down, shooting forth like ethereal arrows propelled by a pair of poised index fingers. In a single breath, two out of the fourteen assailants were felled.

    Landing amidst a plate of untouched legumes, Lilith made her presence known. All of a sudden, unfurled linen ensnared her arm. She was pulled in towards a formidable mass of iron, which was simultaneously hurtling towards her, sweeping the sauteed and braised platters off the table in its wake. ¡°Damn halfwits.¡±

    Dual cerise sabres materialized in her hands. With seamless grace, she severed the bonds of linen and shattered the iron mound as effortlessly as broken glass.

    In front of her stood a gaping maw adorned with pearly white, each molar dwarfing her head in size. Narrowing her path, the enamel closed in around her throat.

    A cerise bolt erupted from Lilith¡¯s sabre, slicing through teeth and maw alike, leaving behind a carnal tableau of four other assassins in a bloody tangle.

    ¡°What are you?¡± asked the demon, his features concealed behind a steel helm, conjuring up an iron slab of a sword.

    ¡°Death,¡± Lilith retorted, her voice laced with a chilling certainty. Merging the hilts of her sabres, she forged a colossal cerise scythe nearly double her size. In a wide arc, she swung her blade of vibrant lethality, claiming the heads of seven assassins. Their severed necks erupted in crimson geysers, tainting her slacks. ¡°You¡¯re the last one standing, aren¡¯t you?

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    The upper half of the iron slab slid off the assassin¡¯s once formidable blade, severing his left hand off bone, till gnarly sinew remained. Gritting his teeth, he sank to his knees, cradling an armless shoulder. ¡°That hurts, you goddamn monster!¡±

    A hint of a smirk tugged at her lips as she towered over him. ¡°What do you know? You¡¯re the last one kneeling now.¡±

    ¡°Curs¨C¡±

    A cerise flash melted through the insides of the steel helmed assassin¡¯s cranium, splaying him like a rag doll.

    ¡°How unpleasant,¡± spat Lilith, turning her back to the distasteful massacre of a banquet.

    Thunderous clapping enveloped the freshly besmirched hall, earning a cerise flash. Smouldering embers of vermillion were wrought into existence, snuffing out the cerise shot till a pall of vapours, fizzled.

    The clash of colours unveiled horns, furling off a spry humanoid visage. A pair of furry hooves adorned his feet, resounding with each clomp as he made his way towards Lilith. Beneath his regal attire, he flexed his immense strength with the muscles he wore. His outstretched arms were wrapped in a warm embrace, accompanied by a playful smile that betrayed not a trace of malice. There was an aura surrounding him, an air of grandeur radiating from his gargantuan frame.

    ¡°Well, well, if it isn¡¯t the tsar of the Abyzz himself, lord Zarovar, the wrathful Sin.¡± Begrudging respect crept into her voice as she knelt down, beside a bloodied length of linen.

    ¡°The pleasure is all my mine sweet, sweet Lilith,¡± resounded Zarovar¡¯s voice. He motioned with a finger for her to rise. He tilted his head, painting a smile curling off the corners of his lips which cut into his nasolabial folds. ¡°Someone has been a naughty lass.¡± Knuckles cracked and flickers of vermillion licked his fingers, as he extended his hand.

    Drenched in a pool of perspiration, Lilith arouse from a restless slumber. Gasping for breath, she reached out, clutching at an invisible presence. Her sudden writhing threatened the stability of her chair, nearly toppling over.

    ¡°Dammit,¡± she muttered, biting her lip. ¡°Why must an old memory resurface at a time like this?¡± She kneaded her fingers into her temples, alleviating the throb pulsating through her head.

    She stretched her legs and rose to her feet, pacing about within the caged confines of her office. Biting into the frayed edge of her cuticle, her gaze shifted towards a dark scroll scribbled ¨CFrom Zar, resting ominously at the centre of her desk, escalating her nibbling.

    *

    Dragging the dead, body after body, some legless torsos and armless cadavers, the redhead got to work.

    He knew Lilith won¡¯t be happy with what he was going to do. He knew it was just an idea, one he would have no choice but to dedicate his entirety to. There was nothing else he could do. No other alternative he could look for.

    With circumstances being what they were.

    With the inspiration he¡¯d garnered.

    He knew he had to try. Give it his best shot. And see what came of it.

    Worst case scenario, it was going back to the drawing board. He had nothing much to lose. But he wasn¡¯t going to sit back and relish a grey existence.

    Tossing the bodies he had dragged over the stairs into a chamber, he ran his eyes over the number he had collected in the past weeks. The stench was unbearable. But he knew it was nothing compared to life back at the ¡®Carnage Room.¡¯

    A mellifluous fragrance wafting from rotting bones and flesh.

    The result of hard work. Strenuous, tedious work.

    Arranging the pieces would be vital, since he had one shot to pull it off.

 Anvil

    He stumbled over, yet again. A cerise arc flashed through the air, spilling liquid crimson, freely as a fountain would spill water.

    Another loss, another wound spilling the price.

    Tattered clothes were piled in the corner, outweighing the freshly pressed shirts, devoid of cuts or holes in them, a raining rarity amongst his collection. But it didn¡¯t matter. Not if he was going to be felled once again, at the hands of a merciless mentor.

    He could feel his gullet fill up, with a gurgling spill, as the puckered patch over his throat closed up, but the liquid tumbled over, searing his gullet. He had to cough out the rusting stench, dark globs dribbling down in droves, as he gathered himself, his sword in hand. Slashes rushed forth, returned with a multitude of cavities in turn, running holes through his bones, sending palls of singed flesh, up in smoke.

    More holes in old shirts.

    He gritted his teeth.

    A day that would bring an end to defeat.

    That was all he could look forward to. But for the time, he had to get to collecting all the fallen bodies. Rotting bodies. Gathering up spilt guts and knackered corpses, getting around to the only kind of work he knew how to do. A mindless activity. But one that needed doing.

    Akin to how he fell to Lilith¡¯s miasma and her ferocity, spilling blood, cold as ice. Walking off death, as nothing more than a walk in a park. And rising from the grave, ready for another bout of brawls.

    At the end of his toils, he could sight a faint glimmer. One of hope. One he had to test out. One he had to see for himself would work out. Worst he had to offer in severance, was a sentence carved in red, one that he spilled in droves on the daily. Nothing new. Perhaps a slim permanence in the way of matters, drawing his end to a close. A merciless and peaceful close.

    If it ever came to be.

    But he couldn¡¯t rest easy, knowing he hadn¡¯t tried his hardest to survive, to thrive. To return to dust, was far easier, than resisting the urge. To stay as he was. To sway not to the whims, beguiling him. Seducing him. Urging him. Begging him.

    And yet, his routine continued. Gathering up the corpses. Piling up the dead. Shaping up his shrine. To build and build, till he carved from flesh, bone and blood. To erect a homage to the life he¡¯d led, from the ingredients he¡¯d gathered. A true hunter-gatherer lifestyle that brought him back to the roots of life. An honest life. One where killing and surviving were the only metrics of worth, measured. The scales of life and death, weighed by a slim difference in skill, derived from evading one or the other, depending on the time of day, and swing of mood.

    A dark path, he¡¯d never expected to tread. A path furthest from grey.

    Dyed black.

    Or red.

    Depending on the freshness of the blood spilled. Or the light it was spilled under. Whether it be moonlight or sunlight.

    Exhaling a sigh, he plopped down on his makeshift cot, in an exhausted mound. He cared little for the fleshy titbits hanging over the plush seat, or the strands of fallen hair. All that mattered was a place he could rest. Rest till the next bout started. Till he was called in for his part in the act. Churning out his toil, as the cog in the ploy. A questionably never-ending chore, dragging on till who knew when. Perhaps a swifter end was in need.

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    It didn¡¯t take long, till his lids dipped, tipping his world over to darkness.

    A rhythmic pounding sounded. A melodic thumping that sent sparks with each beat, working away at a red-hot piece of molten metal. A known world. One he had forgotten of, with the passing of time.

    He stood at the entryway, at the precipice of an exit he could sling out of, in a hurry.

    The cloud brewed an angry swirl above, flashing white, and competing against the rhythmic pounding, with a vengeful roar, beckoning a wet fall from the heavens.

    The first drops of foreboding fell, wetting his nose, prickling his scalp.

    Heaving a heavy sigh, he weighed the odds. He could run now. Or he could run later. Running was an option he could always fall back to. It didn¡¯t matter if he did it now or later. Better to know what he had decided to abscond from, than flee without knowing. A fool¡¯s errand to reach a journey¡¯s end and receive no reward for the drudgery. Worse than a slave forced to work with no recompense.

    Working as a cog in a wheel, didn¡¯t mean he had to adhere to the mindset of one. It was time to break free.

    Forging on, he ducked under the wooden frame, wading his way through. The darkness clung to him, his surroundings nothing but an unknown expanse, darker than an unenlightened mind. The pounding of metal continued, beckoning him towards a flame lit at the centre, far away. And yet close by. Reeling him towards the hearth, a figure ignited by the orange embers, sat hunched over a slab.

    The pitter patter of rain thundered outside, a steady hum, competing against the forge¡¯s melody. A sizzling coolness washed over, as he made his way over, standing before the forge.

    The hammer clanged against red hot bone, flattening and kneading it, into a sharpened edge. He couldn¡¯t help but raise an eyebrow at how the bone hadn¡¯t shattered yet, under the pounding by the smith, who shaped the blade into a katana¡¯s thin edge.

    His gaze switched over to the weaponsmith, pounding away. Donning an armour of iridescent scales, sweat clambered over his hairless forehead, spilling droves of perspiration, unreserved.

    ¡°Juke?¡± uttered Azrael, a deep melancholy gripping at his heart.

    He watched his mentor, pounding away, forging a blade, devoid of a hilt. The red-hot bone sent up flickering yellow sparks, the slab of stone that held the molten blade for pounding, thrown into an orange tongue of conflagrations, from the hearth hosting the fire.

    The pounding of metal ceased, replaced by the ever-present pitter-pattering of rain, with a coarse rumble that roiled past.

    Picking up a large set of pincers, the molten bone was dropped into liquid crimson, sizzling and boiling as blood would.

    ¡°It is time,¡± came a voice, as expansive as the very skies themselves, dribbling past Juke¡¯s lips. And yet it sounded nothing like Juke. More of a scaly reptile¡¯s words, parting the heavens in waxing and waning waves, at moments least expected.

    The scales of armour over Juke shimmered, iridescent and blinding. Glowing with a radiance that nearly blinded Azrael. Instinctively, he held up a hand, streaming rays of light past the space between his fingers. He peered past the gaps and met a warm gaze. It held him in place, with a vice-like grip, clamping his feet. The thought of running, was nothing but a fleeting memory, fleeing his mind.

    A pair of pincers brought the cooled length of bone back to the forge, laid out over the slab of stone.

    The glow transmuted into a white, blinding beam, throwing the chamber awash in its brilliance. In a blink, the light vanished, fading to nothing but petals of fleeting cherry blossoms that turned to dust, upon touching the dark ground.

    Azrael looked about, expectant of more guests.

    He spun around, but met nothing but rampant darkness, skulking about the corners. Clenching his fists, he steeled his resolve. Walking up to the forge, he found the cooled down bone, beckoning him. A cool length of blade, bound by no hilt.

    Reaching down, Azrael traced the edge, curving under his fingertips, as he brought his hand over to the base. In a firm tug, his fingers closed around the bare blade, where the hilt was meant to be. His clutched it firmly in his hand, till his palm loosened a wet warmth. He could feel the bone blade settle in, becoming one with his hand, as an extension of himself.

    Swinging the freshly forged blade, the weight felt just right, as though he was born to wield the weapon.

    A smile touched his lips, as jagged bones jutted out his wrist, clambering over his fingers, sheathing the base of the blade and fingers in a pommel wrought from his own bones.

    It was time. No more planning. No more bodies to drag over.

    It was time he acted out his plan. Whether it failed or succeeded, mattered little. He had no choice but to follow through. Death had been on his heels since he was born, nothing had changed. Except, he had a chance to turn the tides of demise, with his own two hands.

 Dead End

    As the final days of the month unfurled with unexpected haste, the redhead was being chased down by assassins hot on his trail. Rounding a pillar, he swung his blade, felling fleshy gristle with one stroke after another.

    He went after the fallen foes, patting them down, rummaging through the corpses. It was something that had caught her eye, increasing in frequency.

    She mulled over the savagery, wondering what purpose it served.

    Apart from embellishing his swordsmanship, he had not shown anything that would prove to be a catalyst for her ideals to be furthered. She found it to be nothing more than time he had wasted. Time he could spend bettering himself than carving up cadavers.

    She nibbled on a stray length of flesh, beside her cuticle. A finger that had turned into a knackered wreck, raw and bruised.

    Lilith stood beside the railings over the top, eyeing the fallen bodies, red and fresh. She wished there was a panel that hid her, as she took in the sights. But then again, she wasn¡¯t as keen on peppering glass over her furniture.

    Lost in thought, she realised, her protege had slid out of sight. ¡°Show me what you¡¯ve got lad,¡± she whispered. ¡°Reveal the fruits of your labour, or else it¡¯ll all be for naught.¡±

    A wince resonated, earning her attention. She peered over the railing, in search of the perturbance.

    She began climbing down the stairs towards the training grounds, relieving a sigh caught in her throat.

    The Selection will be upon us. Soon.

    Shifting her focus, a flicker of crimson popped up in the corner of her vision, alongside a metallic sheen.

    Releasing the weight of her knees, Lilith dropped parallel to the stairs, eyeing a bony blade slide a hair¡¯s breadth over her nose. Supporting the weight of her descent with a hand, she launched herself off the stairs to the bottom, clutched by a fanning intrigue. Whipping up dual miasma infused cerise sabres from thin air, she instinctively sliced off the bony blade hounding her, halting the crimson haired assailant in his ambush.

    Her lips curled into a sly grin, a twinkle of amusement dancing in her eyes as she bore witness to her protege¡¯s improvised weaponry. A broken blade, its jagged edges fused with the remnants of shattered bone, extending from his ulna and radius. In his other hand, a claw hammer, gleaming with a thirst for battle, was poised.

    ¡°Well, well,¡± said Lilith, her voice laced with surprise. ¡°Starting already? I thought you would want to catch your breath, after finishing up those cannon fodder assassins.¡±

    Azrael launched his attack without warning. The fused ends of the broken blade dislodged from flesh, hurtling through the space dividing them.

    Caught off guard by the audacity of his assault, Lilith¡¯s smug demeanour faltered. Her instincts kicked in, parrying away the shard with a flick of her wrist. In that instant, she inverted her grip on the sabres and launched a frontal assault with the blades, gunning for the redhead¡¯s exposed throat.

    Sliding under the sweeping cerise blade, Azrael made his way up the stairs, reverting his gnarly flesh, from blade back to hand.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter? Is that all you have to show?¡±

    Wordlessly, he turned tail and clambered up the rest of the stairs, leaving Lilith and jagged blade behind.

    ¡°What!? At least take it outside.¡± She exhaled exasperatedly, chasing after the fleeing Azrael. What¡¯s he up to? Once the rush wore off, she couldn¡¯t help but drown in disappointment. Is that bony blade all that he¡¯s got? Maybe a month was too short a period or maybe I should push him harder, stab him with abject brutality and hasten his evolution!

    Without her realising, Azrael had slipped in, past an open door. A stench more pungent than rotting vomit, stung her nares. It harboured a grotesque carpet of decay littered with a labyrinth of rotting corpses. Biting on her lower lip, she followed after him, past the frame.

    The chamber was a haunting remnant of a massacre, the air heavy with the putrid scent of decomposing flesh. Dismembered limbs and tattered remains bore witness to the savage aftermath, scattered haphazardly across the desolate floor like a tribute to the gods of death and savagery.

    She scaled the macabre mound, each step bringing her closer to her protege, who stood as a sentinel within the confines of a four-meter-wide ring, cast from the remains of the dead.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been awfully quiet. What¡¯s with all the hide-and-seek routine? Do you want me to praise your crop circle?¡± And someone better clean up this mess afterwards!

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    Azrael wordlessly motioned with an index finger, taunting her.

    ¡°If this is what you have been working on in your spare time, then I must say, it looks less promising than a haunted house.¡± Lilith tightened the grip on her sabres, stringing the cerise blades along her frame, vanishing from sight.

    Azrael looked about with a raised eyebrow, instinctively sliding his katana out the sheath. He parried away a cerise blade, gunning for his left shoulder. Simultaneously, he swung his claw hammer to deflect a secondary stab at his throat, barely keeping up with her lightning quick strikes.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, slowpoke? Feel like caving in?¡± Lilith channelled a surge of miasma through her cerise sabre, producing an offshoot from her blade that cut into Azrael¡¯s wrist, severing his left hand and claw hammer off his grip, in one fell swoop.

    He staggered back, paying no heed to the lost hand. He aimed his exposed forearm bones, sharpened to jagged edges, lengthening under the sway of miasma, towards Lilith¡¯s sternum.

    In a swift move, she propelled herself upward, leveraging the very blade dashing towards her, as a platform. Her boot swept across the edge, her heel cracking into Azrael¡¯s chin.

    The redhead flew back, before he had time to process what had happened. He surrendered to a rotting bed, carved from the dead. He groaned and shifted about, his jaw hanging loosely off of fleshy gristle.

    A self-satisfied smirk tugged at Lilith¡¯s lips, as she landed on her feet, relishing her triumph in drunken self-indulgence. ¡°Another point in my favour,¡± she taunted. Her eyes were fixed on Azrael¡¯s fallen form which urged a sudden rush of solemnity to overtake her coyness. Her teeth sank into her lower lip.

    Dispersing the vibrant cerise sabres adorning her grip, she extended a single index finger aimed at Azrael¡¯s heart.

    ¡°Is that the extent of your abilities, lad?¡±

    She had no choice but to concede. It was the end of his creativity. The only tricks he had up his sleeve. It was time she took drastic measures. Even if it could result in his end.

    A cerise flash erupted from her finger, unleashing a decisive blow reverberating through the disquieted chamber. The acrid scent of cauterized flesh singed her nostrils, mingling with the swirling tendrils of aromatic smoke curling off Azrael¡¯s lifeless form.

    Lowering her finger, she brushed aside the dissipating pall of smoke, while reaching for his throat.

    I hate goodbyes.

    Agony ruptured through her extended palm. She found a protruding, blood-stained bone, peaking out a hole in her hand. A yowl parted her lips, prompting her to recoil, ripping the unorthodox protrusion out her gash. In a swift motion, she summoned her cerise sabre, its vibrant hue contrastive against the scattered death.

    From the shadows, past the fallen redhead, a half-torso emerged. Fashioning tousled, matted brown hair, it had an empty socket for an eye and a missing nose. Crawling towards Lilith, the intent in its glazed pupil was as clear as murky water. Her face twisted, as she murmured a bewildered, ¡°huh?¡±

    Suddenly, piercing fingers, cold as ice, seized her from behind. Instinctually, she swung her cerise blade in a sweeping arc. She severed a rotting, emaciated hand from a shambling corpse within the throng of the two dozen other corpses that had begun encircling her.

    At some point, the stench would have been her primary concern. Or rather, the scattered mess tarnishing the room¡¯s cleanliness. But in that moment, something shook her from the depths of her being. An innate tenderness, crawling over her skin, bursting into gooseflesh.

    A sharp pain ruptured her thoughts, erupting through her leg, as moulding teeth sunk into her right calf. Without hesitation, she channelled her power, infusing her legs with miasma. With a surge of strength, she drove her left foot through the half-torso, obliterating skull and decaying matter with a resounding crunch.

    ¡°Oh fuck! What the hell is this!?¡± Lilith¡¯s voice quivered with disbelief, past clenched teeth.

    Mouldy, skeletal fingers reached for her arms while gaping, toothless gums gnawed at her flanks.

    ¡°No, no, no, NOOOOO!¡± A cerise arc cut through the air. Dismembered heads spilled liquid brains down throats, and emaciated bones from hips. Gasping with a set of wide eyes, Lilith¡¯s sanity began slipping. She desperately weaved a flurry of malleable cerise sabres till she culled their numbers in half.

    The dismembered corpses remained motionless, while a rapid rush of ragged breaths escaped Lilith.

    ¡°Did that do it?¡±

    The strewn bodies rattled, flesh rustling over flesh, bones clicking back together, snapping joints in place, albeit into a haphazard tangle past gnawed flesh. The cadavers began intertwining their fragmented forms, bursting her bubble. The carcasses rose from the dead once again, mindlessly advancing towards her.

    ¡°Give me a break, you fucking pests!¡±

    ¡°Not until you yield,¡± a voice hissed, accompanied by a glimmer of metal. A claw hammer emerged, its sinister contours coiled around her throat, threatening to leave its mark upon tender flesh.

    Gasping heavy, heaving breaths, and tingling from head to toe with a wide-eyed sense of disquiet, Lilith exclaimed, ¡°I give up!¡± She tapped her hand against the arm ensnaring her neck.

    ¡°Very well,¡± said the voice. With a snap of his fingers, the walking dead came to an abrupt halt, frozen once more in a grotesque, statue-like state.

    A tuft of crimson fell from the periphery of her vision, producing a countenance adorned with a smug smile. ¡°You never saw that coming, did you?¡± he taunted.

    Crumbling to her knees, she buried her face in her palms.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to catch you so off-guard,¡± continued the redhead, sheathing his katana and securing the claw hammer at his side. Extending his fingers, he offered a helping hand.

    She took his hand, exhaling a relieved sigh.

    Looking up at him, she tightened her grasp.

    With a firm tug, she reeled him in and promptly threw him to the ground. Twisting her body, she mounted him, restraining his hand behind his back.

    ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± she asked in a quivering snivel.

    ¡°Ow, oww, ow,¡± he said. ¡°If you didn¡¯t like my new ability, you could¡¯ve just said so.¡±

    Exhaling a breath, she loosened her hold on him, easing herself off him.

    ¡°Dammit,¡± she muttered, straightening her posture, and running her uninjured hand through her hair. ¡°You scared the shit out of me.¡±

    With a sudden shift in her demeanour, she wrapped her arm around Azrael, pulling him in close.

    ¡°You¡¯ve become one hell of a monster.¡±

    The redhead raised an eyebrow. He shifted his eyes in a confused flit, opening and closing his mouth in a wordless flap.

 Revelry

    Nabbing a plastic roll, he tore off a section, widening out the base. Bent over in an awkward position, he grabbed bloodied flesh and other gristle, stuffing them into the bag. The plastic ruffled around him, as three other moulding bodies picked up their brethren, or the pieces that remained of them, and threw the remains into the bags.

    ¡°Can¡¯t deny how creepy those half dead creatures look. It would give anyone a run for their money.¡± Lilith had her arms crossed, as she stood by the doorway. Her face was drawn in disgust, but her words were beaming with salient satisfaction. ¡°And you don¡¯t have to go in there yourself, either. Pray tell, why not leave it to them cleaners of yours?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a routine I was used to. Living the high life in prison, you come to expect a certain way to things.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like your life prepared you to wield your miasma.¡±

    The redhead tilted his head, flinching. I am not thanking Mol¡¯okh for what he wrung me through. Shaking his head, he continued with his task at hand. ¡°Yeah, I have a lot to thank prison life for. Without the torture I¡¯d endured, I doubt I could fight as recklessly.¡± His eyes narrowed, his heart pounded in his ears. Vague slivers of hair, from chocolate tangles to silvering grey, and corpses scattered about, from the headless to bodiless, were nothing new. All a part of a system he was used to.

    Rummaging through the dead, he averted his face away from a bubbling vessel that fizzled over. Grunting, he grabbed the limb whole and shoved the squirting artery into the plastic.

    ¡°Real hard work there. Take a shower, and when you¡¯re done, meet me by the entrance.¡±

    Lilith waved at him, as she let him be, tearing down what remained of the altar he had built.

    Wiping the red off his face, Azrael exhaled a breath. You never know where life takes you. But avoiding all that grey, is a damn pain.

    Throwing on an untattered shirt, pulling up his trousers, and stuffing his socked feet in a snug set of loafers, Azrael rushed out his room. Kneading his fingers through his hair, he worked through the tangled mess. ¡°That oughta do, before I hit the shower again. Never know what Lilith¡¯s planned for a surprise.¡± Knowing her it¡¯s most likely another ambush.

    Stowing away the thought, his hands slid over his waist, as he began descending the stairway.

    Flashing by the tomes, there was a sinking sensation worse than guilt weighing his heart down. The same feeling he¡¯d had when he was whisked away from his orphanage.

    ¡°Those damn books just keep collecting dust.¡± He exhaled a sigh, frantically patting about his waist.

    The emotional pang riddling him, turned to unreserved panic.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me¨C¡±

    ¡°Took you long enough,¡± cut in Lilith. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, a wide smile painted across her face.

    Azrael almost stumbled backwards, realising he was unarmed.

    ¡°My bad Lilith. Seems like I need to head back and grab¨C¡±

    ¡°Nonsense. You won¡¯t need nothing else than yourself. Come along, before we risk running late.¡±

    ¡°Uhhh. Shouldn¡¯t I be armed in some capacity?¡±

    Lilith waved her hand in dismissal. ¡°Nonsense. Don¡¯t you trust me?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s reasonable.¡± She rubbed her temples, a roll of bandage swinging over her face.

    Despite all that had happened, the redhead couldn¡¯t help but swallow, at the sight of the wound. A guilty pang weighed him down, for all he¡¯d gotten in return. Even if most of it was in tatters. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, I am sorry about your hand.¡±

    ¡°Oh that¡­¡± Lilith froze, her smile returning. ¡°You know what, as recompense for it, I¡¯ll have you follow me. No questions asked.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± Azrael bit back a flash of anger, his triumph over his mentor morphing into annoyance. ¡°You know, I am starting to see why your other proteges ran away!¡±

    ¡°Too late for that now.¡± Lilith beckoned at him to get down, with a finger. A finger that could shoot miasma rounds or mould a miasma blade, on a whim.

    Rolling his eyes, Azrael tossed his hands into the air, descending the stairs.

    He had no way of trusting his eyes. His jaw ached, as a finger slid under his chin and forced his mouth shut.

    ¡°No way! A place like this exists here?¡± Azrael could do naught else but blink in bewilderment.

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s seasonal. And you need the right pass for entry.¡± Lilith gestured to a horde of demons, shaking fists and bearing arms. The angry mob was held back by a set of bison and ram headed patrol guards, waving their weapons at the high strung, zealous members, tempted to cross the line.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Azrael couldn¡¯t help but raise an eyebrow, wondering if there was a pre-requisite for specific posts to be filled in the Abyzz.

    ¡°With the right connections, it¡¯s more a stroll in the park,¡± continued Lilith. He wasn¡¯t sure whether it was in continuation of his thoughts or some other matter, but he shook his head and followed along.

    The entrance they were headed to, was marked with a VIP signboard. Underneath the board, a set of guards were posted, who were less intimidating by appearance, unlike their gargantuan colleagues. They had human faces and yet, held a certain poise, like a readied pair of shears set on nipping an awry bud, which he hoped he wasn¡¯t.

    His hand reached for his flank. A finger slid over an unfamiliar emptiness, reminding him of his unarmed status.

    ¡°Try and relax,¡± whispered Lilith, pulling up their passes.

    The guards nodded, allowing them to walk past.

    No doors fended off against their entry, lax compared to how heavily guarded the other entrance was.

    ¡°You need to brighten up and slacken a bit more. It¡¯s gonna be fun.¡± She draped her hand over his back, reeling him past the entryway.

    Azrael raised an eyebrow at his mentor, as though she played no part in festering his paranoia.

    Prying his raised-eyebrow-glazed-gaze off her, he looked on ahead. The merriment rained on, dazzling and strewn about in strings of changing lights and bright shows. Merry-go-arounds and rides spun in all their glory, wheedling out screams of terror and merriment.

    ¡°All these people came from the same city as us? I can¡¯t imagine as many people if I put ten of my villages together, where I came from.¡±

    ¡°The cities here have a lot more occupants. Though it¡¯s hard to say who¡¯d live to see the day, depending on if they¡¯re an assassin or about to be assassinated.¡±

    ¡°Is it that popular to be a killer here?¡±

    ¡°Money dictates the rules. Demons would kill for less, if pushed around. But in turn if you¡¯re wealthy and well-reputed, there¡¯s nothing stopping you from standing at the apex of it all.¡±

    ¡°Like a king.¡±

    ¡°Aye. We have one of those too.¡± Lilith¡¯s expression flitted to the side, her focus trained on other matters.

    ¡°He should have some semblance of control, no? Considering all the chaos?¡±

    ¡°Our culture doesn¡¯t work the same as mortals. You have laws and regulations in place. Putting the guilty on trial and executing them. Here, power is all that matters. You could challenge him and call yourself a king, if you want. Then all would fall into place, as you wish.¡±

    Azrael mulled over the notion. ¡°Tempting. But I¡¯d barely managed to catch you off-guard. And that came from a month of preparation and the element of surprise.¡±

    ¡°Smart.¡± She swallowed back some spit, before ruffling his hair. Her fingers quivered but she retracted them quick enough. ¡°If it were Nakta in your place, his head would have swollen to bursting.¡±

    ¡°But he doesn¡¯t have an ability like mine. Even if he¡¯s unstoppable with his blade and miasma.¡±

    ¡°You admire him, despite all that¡¯s happened?¡±

    ¡°I can respect him. Or rather his abilities,¡± admitted a sheepish Azrael. ¡°Though I¡¯d think twice before assigning him a mentor role.¡±

    ¡°Guilty.¡± Lilith stuck her tongue out, flashing him a smile. ¡°Now then, let¡¯s get some carnival grub and enjoy some rides.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to have fun at one. Never had the money nor managed to sneak in, unnoticed, back home.¡±

    ¡°What!? And yet you managed to outwit the great Lilith?¡± Stopping in her tracks, she pulled him to the side. ¡°Then what about some costumes?¡±

    Azrael blinked at his mentor, dumbfounded.

    ¡°Oh, come now. You need to live out a lot more, for your age.¡± Lilith pried a hanged piece off the kiosk, blackening the redhead¡¯s vision.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening!¡± He gulped, his hand reaching for his empty waist.

    ¡°Relax,¡± prompted Lilith, adjusting the darkness over his face.

    Light flooded into his world, once again. Looking at a mirror, he blinked twice.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t suit you as well.¡±

    Peering up at the mirror, he couldn¡¯t shake off the dread he felt from a vulture staring back. Its beak was a half inch away from hitting the glass and mimicked his every move.

    ¡°No, let¡¯s try a couple of others.¡± Lilith sounded giddy, as a pale mask was stuck on, to the side of her head.

    ¡°I think you might be wearing yours wrong.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t enjoy covering myself up. You could go for something more casual like mine too.¡± Lilith pulled the mask off his face, chatting away with the shopkeeper, asking for more options.

    *

    She couldn¡¯t stray her eyes far from Azrael.

    The last of her proteges.

    The only one she could bring here.

    They grow up so fast. It felt like just yesterday since I had those four rascals here. A little reward after a grim task I had taken them on.

    ¡°Did you ever take the others here?¡± asked Azrael nibbling on a candied apple.

    Lilith nearly raised an eyebrow, taken aback. ¡°A long while ago. Back when kids enjoy this sort of thing.¡±

    ¡°Do they come to hate all this when they grow up?¡± asked a questioning Azrael.

    ¡°You prioritize other matters.¡± Lilith drew her lips up to a thin line. You run after ambition, felling a target or two, chasing after clout. But in his case¡­ Her eyes were trained on Azrael. He¡¯s got enough of what it takes. Far more under his belt than he knows. ¡°Want to try out the giant wheel?¡±

    ¡°Never been on one before.¡± He brightened up, devouring the rest of his snack.

    ¡°It might be less exciting compared to your last several months of training and missions.¡±

    ¡°Maybe. But I¡¯ve always wanted to go on one!¡±

    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s grab ourselves a seat then.¡± She watched him go, reminded of someone younger. Someone taken away from her. The things I have to do, to become whole, once again.

    Roiling through the dark, the redhead watched the world shrink. It was an open cabin, the cold air snapping at his face, as the steel and plastic cabin clambered over to the top. At the zenith of the ride, he¡¯d realised he could twist the cabin, swirling sideways with the wheel¡¯s churn.

    When the cabin dropped, he could feel the rush. His body swirling, as he plummeted. Lilith was on the other end, watching him. She held a certain calm, a melancholic melody, unlike her usual teasing or strict self.

    It was strange to have her treat him. It was strange in all sorts of ways.

    But he realised, as much as he enjoyed his current reality, it felt like a world severed from what he was used to. The thrill of falling from the skies. The shock of hitting cold water. The pain from a hundred mutilations. It all felt different. And yet, the world marched on. Set on moving the cogs of the wheel forward.

    I wonder what my younger self from those tedious days at the orphanage would say. Is this what it takes to evade a grey existence?

    Azrael pondered over the notion. The fact he was still alive itself was a miracle. The rest of it, almost felt like a dream playing out. Despite it all, despite everything he¡¯d gone through, he knew what his younger self would insist on.

    This is just the beginning.

    The continuous churning of the wheel, from top to bottom and over to the side, prolonged an eternity longer, severing him from the binds of reality for the span of a heartbeat.

    A moment that would vanish if he had blinked. But it was his reality, nonetheless.

 Cowl

    Eyeing a container at the edge of her polished table, Lilith played with the frayed edge of her cuticle. She was plumped down in her swivel, leaning back. She took in the collective calm, rubbing her wounded hand. It barely throbbed but the cut beneath, scarred her beyond the puckered flesh. It was proof enough she was headed in the right direction.

    Strange to think it hurt less when I was out with Azrael last night.

    Exhaling, a rap of knuckles broke through her line of thought. Her fidgeting ceased. She went from her laidback posture to sitting up straight. With the push of a button, she slid the door open and invited Azrael inside.

    ¡°Thanks again, for last night,¡± he managed, wearing a smile. ¡°And sorry, once again, about the hand.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± She rose to her feet. ¡°I had pushed you. Hard. And it¡¯s nothing more than a simple flesh wound. It¡¯ll heal in time. Now, I would say you¡¯re ready for the next stage.¡±

    Raising an eyebrow, he folded his arms over his chest, loosening a sigh. ¡°That sounds more troubling than comforting.¡±

    A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She pulled up a sealed package, resting by the edge of her desk. ¡°I got you something.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s nice. I hope another batch of assassins isn¡¯t stuffed in it.¡±

    ¡°Nah, it won¡¯t bite.¡± Mulling over her words, she added, ¡°hopefully.¡± Lilith bequeathed the dubious redhead with a mischievous wink, igniting his curiosity with a sprinkle of caution.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Shaking free of his doubts, he gave in to eager anticipation, tearing away the wrapper enveloping the package. Beneath the lining, a glossy silver box adorned with a tightly secured latch was revealed. Unlocking the seal, he threw open the top cover, unveiling the sumptuous velvet lining within. Nestled upon its bed of opulence rested a mask, fashioned in the likeness of an ethereal creature¡¯s skull. Its vacant eyes peered into the depths of his soul.

    ¡°For real?¡± Azrael gently slid the mask out the protective casing.

    ¡°It¡¯s your official mark of becoming an assassin. A mask and a codename are essential for any true assassin.¡±

    ¡°Oh, sweet!¡± He held the mask up to the light, his fingers caressing the fabric with reverence. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to be an assassin with a name, like the masked ones. Good thing you didn¡¯t settle on the bird mask.¡±

    Lilith scoffed, loosening a peal of laughter. ¡°That would have been something to see. The dark scavenger wouldn¡¯t be bad.¡±

    Azrael parted a smirk, unable to hide his mirth.

    ¡°While the mask itself is not a necessity,¡± she continued, catching her breath. ¡°A codename is crucial, especially for higher-profile missions.¡±

    ¡°Do I get to choose my own?¡±

    Lilith inched towards a shelf by the door. She reached for a of bottle stashed amongst sheaves of paper and stationary. A harmless object, barely garnering notice. Meanwhile, Azrael fumbled with the mask, pulling it over his face and adjusting the slits over his eyes.

    ¡°How about Death?¡± he managed in a muffled voice.

    Her lips curled into a knowing smile, in spite of herself. ¡°Suits you perfectly.¡±

    Azrael turned towards her, with a pair of beaming eyes. ¡°And what about yours?¡±

    ¡°Lilith.¡± Her voice was a scant whisper, nearly lost in the rustle of motion, as she flashed the bottle over his face. The silent hiss of compressed gas smothered the redheaded assassin, weakening his balance with a kiss that struck his temple against the ground.

 Fast Paced

    Head pounding. Ears ringing. He woke up oscillating side to side.

    Shakily grabbing onto the railings, he hoisted his frame upright. The drop in pressure lulled him forwards and back, his world nothing but a stuffy blot of murkiness. Yawning expressively, he could feel the stretch of fabric over his face, stifle his mouth.

    Pulling the constrictive piece of cloth off his face, Azrael inhaled a mouthful, liberated from the confines of his mask. A sudden twinge of pain over his temple, urged him to clutch the edge of his head. Stabs of bleary lines were accentuated by magenta strands. ¡°Not very nice of her.¡±

    He remembered a while back, someone had told him, the women at the stronghold were brutish. And now he knew why.

    Concealing the mask in his back pocket, he surveyed his surroundings, seeking to ascertain his position within the steel confines ensnaring him. The windows offered a view into a bottomless chasm of nothingness, the darkness swallowing the world outside. Shifting his gaze to the opposite window, he observed six sleek metal constructs resembling gigantic caterpillars, their polished bodies hurtling along the monorails. An engine at the forefront led the procession, pulling thirteen carriages arranged at a lower angle than the one he was riding.

    ¡°Are those trains?¡± Azrael mused, his hand absentmindedly rubbing his chin. A different beast from the giant wheel.

    The view rekindled his intrigue, tugging at his thoughts. He was reeled in by the moving metal parts, lost in a reverie.

    All of sudden, his air was cut off.

    Whisking his attention over to his throat, a jangle of linked metal encircled his neck, tipping his balance. The sudden shift sent the redhead stumbling backwards, his body colliding against shattered glass. Agonizing shards pierced his skin, peppering his back with a newfound hell.

    ¡°Looks like I got paired with an idiot who doesn¡¯t even know what a train is.¡± A gruff voice garnered his attention to a mountain of a woman, clad in polished leather from mask till boot, her glowering rubies for eyes trained on him. The chain around his throat came from a pair of manacles around her colossal wrists, tightening till his breath was ragged.

    ¡°Lady, that¡¯s one hell of a grip you¡¯ve got.¡± A struggling Azrael desperately tugged at his bonds.

    Draping a second set of chains around him, the woman grabbed the metal closest to the manacles, and swung them towards the opposite window, wringing him out the carriage, past a second shower of shards.

    Was it all over before it had even begun?

    Despair clutched him, tightening around his throat like a noose, threatening to plunge him into the depths of the abyss. His senses were corroded by an undeniable overture, one that would put an end to it all.

    The darkness besieged him, tempting him, offering him the freedom he so desired. He could be free of it all and plunge into oblivion.

    All he had to do was, let go. Give in. Allow himself to drop dead.

    Limp and powerless, Azrael crashed headfirst into a cacophony of glass and metal, bending a plastic seat that partially cushioned his fall. He landed beside a lifeless body with blurry vision and broken humeri jutting out at odd angles. The pain stirred him up from the despair bound trance he was lost in.

    ¡°Are they hurling meat cannons at us?¡± grunted a short-tempered stout gnome, brandishing a hammer nearly twice his own size. Peering out the window, he pointed an accusatory finger at the adjacent monorail.

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    Reeling from the impact of his crash landing, Azrael unwound his mangled form, a dab of miasma mending his broken body. Rising to his feet, he noted the gnome¡¯s spellbound countenance, marvelling at his regenerative ascent.

    ¡°That¡¯s freaky,¡± the diminutive demon muttered, shaking off his initial stupor. He swung his hammer at the redhead.

    Azrael wrapped his arms around the incoming hammer, dissipating the brunt of its force through his newly mended ribs. A wince escaped his lips as he extended his arm around the handle, and with a sly glint in his eye, he whispered, ¡°enjoy the ride.¡±

    He lashed out with a kick to the demon¡¯s torso, releasing his grip on the weighted hammer simultaneously. With a wave of his hand, he watched the gnome hurtle into the yawning abyss below, bidding him farewell.

    ¡°Lucky I was cast from a level above rather than one below. Though, I should have asked him what all of this was about. Lilith really is heartless, knocking me out and shipping me off to some deathmatch with no heads up.¡± He reached towards his flank, instinctively searching for the familiar weight of his trusty katana, only to find empty air. That is, if Lilith is even your name.

    He gritted his teeth, his frustration clawing away at his unarmed conundrum, urging his gaze to shift towards the lifeless body lying in the vicinity, its features bludgeoned beyond recognition. Clucking his tongue, he decided to rummage through the corpse, seeking a replacement weapon amidst the aftermath. It wasn¡¯t long before his fingers found solace in a pair of dual sheathed daggers hanging from the corpse¡¯s waist.

    Just as he belted the purloined blades, the doors leading to the adjacent carriage was swung open, revealing a chaotic mess. A quintet of demons, drenched in blood and surrounded by an oppressive miasma, were engaged in a fierce clash. Azrael pressed himself flat against the wall, his eyes fixed on the riotous demon quintet, consumed by their own brutal skirmish. Lucky for him, they were oblivious to his presence as they rushed past, in a frenzy.

    His foot fell against the chunk shorn off a broken seat, prompting an audible crunch.

    The cacophony of battle abruptly ceased, and the five demons turned from each other and fixated their attention on the loitering redhead. With a wave and a nonchalant shrug, he acknowledged their newfound focus, taking a cautious step back, his grip tightening around the purloined daggers.

    ¡°Oi, looks like we got ourselves fresh meat,¡± said a demon with a horse¡¯s head, waving a pickaxe at Azrael. Setting aside the differences the five had had, they all charged at him, garnering comradery over newfound enmity.

    Assuming a fighting stance, he unsheathed his daggers, ready for battle. The horse-headed demon¡¯s strike clashed against his unsheathed blades, detonating sparks. Meanwhile, the remaining members of the quintet sprouted grotesque outgrowths from their limbs, a deluge of twisted fingers, arms, and razor-sharp claws aimed at Azrael.

    He instinctively took a step back, gritting his teeth. Clenching his daggers, he readied himself. It¡¯s going to be a long day. Drawing up a fighting stance, he launched off, swinging his daggers.

    All of a sudden, the fabric of reality itself shifted.

    Gravity¡¯s pull was reversed.

    Weightlessness washed over him.

    Instinctively, he bared his blades, like a viper¡¯s fangs. The knives clamoured against the roof, lighting up sparks.

    His stolen weaponry slid off, barely leaving a dent in the hull.

    As he slid onwards, losing his grip, he willed forth a rush of miasma. With all his might, he drove the stolen daggers once more through the steel belly of the carriage¡¯s roof, puncturing its armour.

    He held on for dear life, as he watched the chaos unfold.

    The quintet of demons found themselves entangled in a grotesque dance of their own appendages, limbs tearing and shredding, as flesh got intimate with the pickaxe, as passionate lovers over linen.

    As the furore raged on, Azrael felt his grip on the dagger weakening. The train tumbled over, hurtling through space. In an instant, blade and redhead were expelled out a shattered window, plunging once more into the murky abyss.

    Despair sank its teeth into every fibre of his being, plummeting into the darkness.

    ¡°Why can¡¯t it all come to an end?¡± he lamented.

    He reached the peak of his fall, his trajectory reaching the end of its arc. No matter how far he stretched his hands, protracted his fingers, he couldn¡¯t reach the rails, as the oncoming train sped faster and further away, while he plunged into the darkness.

    He eyed the train past the rail¡¯s gaps, as he trailed behind.

    The inevitable abyss yawned with a seductive touch, its depths beckoning him with a merciless certainty.

    There is no hope.

    In that moment, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder if the gnome he had brusquely cast into darkness felt the same way, spiralling into the depths of despair.

    I¡¯ll find out soon enough.

    He closed his eyes, his waning resolve sinking.

    Fuck. Karma really is a bitch.

 Cutting Edge

    Lilith sank into the plush embrace of a worn-out beige leather swivel, slumping her shoulders. Arching her neck over the back of the chair, she let out a weary sigh. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, her fingers tapping nervously against the armrests.

    Doubling over in her chair, her innards were twisted in a chaotic mangle. ¡°Despite his resources, Zarovar didn¡¯t even organize a viewing chamber for the Selection!? Damn cheapskate!¡± Her brow was wrinkled, teeth gnawing away savagely at her lip. Her fingers tapped against the desk, her nerves, a wreck. She knew deep down Azrael had ascended to heights most assassins could only dream of.

    She had meticulously shaped him into a force to be reckoned with, while ensuring none of her other proteges had signed up for the Selection. The thought brought a flicker of hope, smoothening the crinkles plaguing her brow.

    Though there¡¯s no telling when a dark horse candidate pops up and tips the scales unfavourably.

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    Tugging at her hair, she tapped her head against the mahogany desk.

    Dammit, now I¡¯m just losing it.

    Her lips quivered.

    Even if he¡¯s the key to my goals, I hope he¡¯s alright.

    Amid the tensed silence hanging over the listless office, Lilith sensed a sudden perturbance approaching. Footfalls tread its way to her office followed by the crunch of a door blown off its hinges, caving inwards.

    She was up on her feet before a splinter fell off the frame, pointing a steady finger out a bandaged hand. ¡°If you¡¯re here for the hit I put out, you¡¯re late. If you leave without trouble, I¡¯m willing to overlook the price of a new door.¡±

    The dust cleared.

    A steady set of footsteps spilled out into the light, wielding a weapon poised at her, unveiling a familiar face.

    Eyes widening, she lowered her extended finger. She dropped down into her beige leather swivel, biting her lip.

    ¡°All that black and not a dash of white,¡± said Lilith. ¡°If only I could¡¯ve dyed my existence grey.¡± A lone tear moistened her vision, slithering down her cheekbones, trickling off curled lips.

 Executioner

    Beneath the obscurity of his hood, the figure known as Executioner widened his eyes, perched atop the cabin of his train. A thin sheathe of miasma licked at his frame, enveloping him in its embrace. It was scant consolation against the weight of the abyss, threatening to devour him, but it would do for now.

    ¡°What moron wrecks an entire monorail!?¡± A large axe nearly half his size rested against his shoulder, drenching his cloak in liquid crimson. ¡°Idiot did a sloppy job finishing off fellow rivals in a rush.¡± He shook his head disapprovingly.

    Within the periphery of his vision, his keen eyes caught sight of a splattered mass eroding a worn-out membranous extension, plastered against the end of the carriage. Drawn in by the eerie magnetism of the newfound disturbance, he tilted his head as he made his way towards the spectacle.

    He approached with his grip over his axe, taut as a tightened noose. His gaze crept over the hints of bloodred stains etched onto the splattered mess, tracing the contours of a humanoid visage.

    All of a sudden, a surge of miasma rippled and coalesced, melding the fleshy mass into the grotesque semblance of a male. A quick glance over the groin, confirmed his suspicion.

    His lips were upturned with fascination, his muscles tensed. ¡°Are you part of the next trial, awaiting the Executioner¡¯s touch?¡± he asked, cutting through the clamour of wheels on rails.

    The humanoid contour inched towards Executioner, as he sheathed his muscles and vessels over firmly woven skin. He wobbled sideways, barely holding onto the dagger in his hand.

    ¡°Did you lose your clothes before your will, in the depths of the Abyzz? That damn tsar¡¯s got a screw lose for using this hellhole for a trial.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯re you yammering on about?¡± asked the humanoid contour, running a hand through his ruffled plumes for hair atop an immaculate scalp.

    ¡°That damned Zarovar and his poor taste in selecting his elite guard. Is your brain lagging in real time too? Damn vile dipshit.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been train-hopping ever since I fucking got here, and the murkiness has put a damper on my mood. I could use a fresh set of clothes at least, before we have a go at each other.¡±

    Executioner sensed no immediate threat. He chose to lower his guard. In a fluid motion, he extended a tentacle off his back, which snaked about his feet, delving into the carriage beneath. He retrieved a lifeless body, its head severed from its shoulders and without hesitation, he flung the corpse towards the humanoid contour.

    A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he spoke with an air of casual indifference, hidden beneath a mask of excited fervour. ¡°You have quite the interesting ability, Mr. Zombie.¡±

    *

    Azrael¡¯s heart sank, hurtling through the abyss, engulfed by the formless murkiness threatening to consume him. An impending sense of doom loomed over him, casting a despair bound shadow.

    With trembling hands, he reached out, desperately grasping at the straws of hope, slipping through his fingers. There was nothing there, nothing anymore. His digits came to a standstill. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the whims of fate, weighing him down with whispers of sweet nothing. It was a spell that had cast the end of his journey into fruition, sung by a beseeching siren.

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    In his final moments, a familiar voice shattered the void. ¡°You don¡¯t get to join us so easily.¡± The words echoed with undeniable authority, cutting through the wretchedness threatening to engulf him.

    In that moment, his eyes widened. Before him stood figures from a different era. Granny, Briar, Stella, Mol¡¯okh, the eyepatch demon and Juke ¨Ceach bearing a gaze filled with a kaleidoscope of emotions, ranging from compassion to resentment, brewing a conflict-laced whirlwind from the depths of his being.

    Amidst the chaos, he caught sight of a darkness ¨Cone that bore iridescent scales ¨Cdevouring their very forms till the sight pried his eyes open, nearly off the sockets.

    ¡°A grey existence is tantamount to death. I can¡¯t slip into greyness, not right now. I¡¯m weaving my own path, a tale which I need to see the end of, right here, right now.¡± Clenching the dagger in his left hand, he drove the blade through his right shoulder, tracing a clean arc across his torso, under his heart. Before his consciousness slipped, he positioned his body towards the train on the lower monorail, disappearing into the horizon. He left his right arm with one last command, as his vision went black: throw with all you¡¯ve got!

    Pulling up his trousers over the last leg, Azrael firmly clasped the buckle tautly over his waist. At first, he could feel the weight of despair bite into his consciousness, but the moment Executioner had tossed him the corpse, his senses became sharpened.

    Picking up his dagger, he kept an eye on the hooded assassin. Despite his menacing aura and the grim axe, he shouldered, the redhead blinked in surprise at his hospitality.

    ¡°Quite the gentleman, aren¡¯t you? Almost brings a tear to my eye.¡±

    ¡°I have time to spare. Everyone aboard my train was slain. I¡¯m killing time till the next bit starts up.¡± Executioner rested his hands atop the base of his weapon¡¯s shaft, the blade firmly planted between his feet. ¡°Now that you¡¯re whole again, do you see why Zarovar¡¯s got poor taste in his choices?¡±

    ¡°No, not really,¡± said Azrael, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Why don¡¯t you enlighten me.¡±

    Executioner shook his head. ¡°This is why I can¡¯t stand kids these days. Those Sins need to learn their lesson and tighten up their colanders. Otherwise, they¡¯ll have a repeat of the same incident from a century ago.¡±

    ¡°A century ago? Something happened back then?¡±

    ¡°Back when your parents were still in their diapers, a legendary assassin who went by the alias Lilith, had slain the entire elite guard of the Sins by herself. Legend has it, she couldn¡¯t leave the fate of the Succession in the hands of a bunch of dipshits, after surviving the previous one. Though I haven¡¯t heard much about her since. I doubt the Sins would pardon something so heinous with nothing less than a death sentence.¡±

    ¡°Lilith¡­ she never mentioned any of it.¡± A notion began gnawing at Azrael. He realised he had never tried figuring his mentor out, it was always about being dragged into one calamitous absurdity after another. Clenching his fists, he had enough reason to hurry back to the stronghold. He decided to have a much-needed chat with her, starting with her real name.

    ¡°You make it sound like you know her, somewhat of a surprise, since Zarovar sounded foreign.¡± Executioner scoffed, sweeping the axe over to his shoulder. ¡°I can¡¯t tell if you¡¯re feigning ignorance or some sheltered, delusional brat. But one thing¡¯s certain. My gut tells me, your skills as an assassin are the real deal.¡±

    In a seamless motion, Executioner dissolved the distance dividing them. In a lethal curve, his axe sliced the air, crosswise.

    Falling with gravity, Azrael dropped to the roof, his knees bending over till his torso slid under Executioner¡¯s sweeping swing. Swiftly grabbing his dagger, he aimed for Executioner¡¯s wrists.

    The hooded assassin deftly manoeuvred the shaft of his axe, deflecting his opponent¡¯s dagger away from its intended target. Simultaneously, he channelled his miasma, summoning a girthy extension sheathed in slime and brandished its suckers. Out its orifice, a cloud of inky aerosol was expelled, engulfing the redhead in a shroud of darkness.

    Taking advantage of the obscured chaos, Executioner dug his feet into the murky surface of the roof, drawing in a breath to anchor himself. Extending his right leg upward, he positioned his heel for a decisive strike against his opponent.

    You¡¯re mine!

    With a sudden searing pain, a bloodstained blade emerged out his foot, eliciting a guttural roar off his lips, fumbling his balance.

    The redhead emerged from the chaotic tumult with a torn-out eyeball. His bloodstained eye batting matted lashes confusedly, extruded from the orbit. Recovering in a blink, he threw himself at Executioner, wrapping his arms around the assassin¡¯s waist and pinning him down on the carriage¡¯s roof, their bodies intertwined in a desperate clash.

    ¡°Damned brat.¡± Extending his tentacle over the edge of the train, he grasped the girdle and flung himself and the enemy over, into the murky abyss below.

    ¡°Fuck. Not again,¡± groaned the redhead.

 Reversal

    Following the sound of shattered glass, two entangled bodies rolled about in a frenzied dance, their momentum killed by plastic seats. Kneeling over the glass strewn floor, they held their breaths in anticipation, poised for battle.

    ¡°Nearly gave me a heart attack there,¡± said Azrael, a mix of relief and adrenaline coursing through his veins as he propelled himself off the shard-strewn ground. His gaze fell upon the sight of his dagger still firmly lodged in Executioner¡¯s foot.

    ¡°Oops,¡± said the hooded assassin, with an almost nonchalant tone, swinging his axe. The steel edge sliced through the backs of plastic seats, grazing Azrael¡¯s breastbone, nearly splitting him in two.

    Panting heavily, Executioner clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the handle of the dagger lodged in his foot. With a firm shrug, he pulled it free and flung the blade away. The weapon clattered into a corner, under the possession of a lifeless corpse nestled in the passageway separating the compartments.

    Wincing against the searing pain, he extended a tentacle from his back and plugged his wound, biting back the agonizing howl threatening his quaking lips.

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t you toss it here?¡± asked Azrael, running off the shredded seats, making his way past Executioner¡¯s wide swings. Mid-air, he extended his miasma towards the corpse at the corner, urging it to pass him the blade. In a blink, he was banished from existence.

    ¡°Where¡¯d he go?¡± grunted Executioner.

    Confusion clouded Azrael¡¯s mind. He blinked in disbelief. A hard lump from beneath, bit into his rear, urging a wince he had to stifle.

    Patting about the ground, his eyes fumbled over the corpse from earlier. He decided to make the most of his sudden stroke of luck, retrieving his dagger. He reached out with his other hand and seized the limp corpse. With a heavy heave, he hurled the body at Executioner, simultaneously sprinting towards his opponent.

    Without skipping a beat, the hooded assassin swung his axe on instinct, cleaving the corpse through the torso.

    In that instant, Azrael channelled a wave of miasma, setting his gaze on the halved corpse. He could feel his weight shift, flinging him out the cleanly-cut torso. He leapt off the axe¡¯s handle and wrapped his frame around his hooded foe, sliding his dagger over his opponent¡¯s throat.

    Howling in a second bout of agony, Executioner held a hand up defensively, allowing the blade to be driven through his palm and out the back of his hand. In the same vein, he seized hold of Azrael through his blade, sliding a grin through a grimace-stricken facade. Past a choking chuckle, he tossed the redhead, swinging him through rows of seats and steel poles, breaking plastic and bending metal.

    Azrael¡¯s consciousness dipped in and out of the void. Bashed against steel and peppered with shards, he finally found himself hung above the glass splayed ground, while Executioner raised the axe over his head. ¡°Any last words?¡±

    The redhead groaned, shaking his head.

    The hooded assassin gripped his weapon¡¯s handle with renewed vigour. He dropped the redhead on the ground as he felled his blade. ¡°It¡¯s been fun.¡±

    Despite his lulled consciousness, Azrael could feel a thin thread of crimson trickle down the sides of his throat, around his Adam¡¯s apple. The edge of the axe garnered momentum, as the blade dug into the layers of his throat, exiting out his spine.

    Executioner exhaled a relieved sigh, collapsing opposite his guillotined adversary, bleeding out the palm of his hand. ¡°Damn. Whatever challenge awaits me at the end of this ride isn¡¯t gonna end well.¡± His miasma faded, leaving him vulnerable if he chose to give in to the seductive overtures of the abyss. Not good.

    Coughing up a mouthful of blood, he turned to his left, wincing in a bout of agony. Wiping frothy pink off the corner of his mouth, he tried sitting up. A second bout of torment washed over the side of his thigh. A sign that all was not what it seemed.

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    Instinctively, he grabbed his axe and swung the blade.

    A cloud of dust was kicked up, alongside a fresh surge of pain. He could feel a heel planted firmly in his face, slipping his visage out the hood and onto the shattered shards. A tassel of crimson fell over the edge of his vision, widening his eyes at the looming threat, closing in around him, like the venomous fangs of a viper.

    ¡°Miss me?¡± asked an obstinate annoyance.

    *

    The axe descended, its trajectory aimed at severing Azrael¡¯s head from his body. A haze of grogginess clouded his senses. I¡¯m screwed! Summoning his remaining strength, he realised his fate was inevitable. He pleaded with his body, a desperate command through his spine, compelling his body to attach, to hold on, with an iron grip.

    A searing stab of pain lanced through his consciousness, threatening to devour him. For a fleeting breath, Azrael succumbed to the void, his awareness swallowed by a chasm of unconsciousness.

    There was nothingness. Peaceful nothingness.

    Solace gripped his chaotic existence, turning his vision darker than the lingering murkiness of the abyss beneath. He could be put to rest, at last.

    After a brief eternity of darkness, a pinprick of light seeded his vision, lighting up his consciousness. He regained awareness of his surroundings and the use of his limbs, emerging once more, stirring awake.

    He clambered to his feet, standing tall over the fallen Executioner. Without a moment¡¯s hesitation, he unleashed a swift kick to the hooded assassin¡¯s thigh. Reeling his knees in to his chest, he leapt, evading the oncoming axe. In a supple swirl, he stuck the landing with the grace of a ballet dancer, over his opponent¡¯s face.

    A grin played at the corner of Azrael¡¯s lips as he surveyed the figure beneath him. ¡°Miss me?¡±

    ¡°How the hell did you¨C¡± Executioner faltered, in a wincing scowl.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be taking that.¡± The redhead grabbed the dagger stuck in the hooded assassin¡¯s hand, inversing the grip.

    Executioner whimpered. His resolve was as taut as the grip over his blade, as he swung the axe through the air. Unlike the previous swings, Azrael could sense the ebbing strength from his opponent. Nonchalantly, he stabbed his dagger into the enemy¡¯s forearm, culling the axe¡¯s momentum.

    A guttural cry parted Executioner¡¯s lips. Loosening his grip on the shaft, the axe slipped from his grip, hurtling out a shattered window and disappeared into the yawning abyss below.

    Azrael discarded the embedded dagger in Executioner¡¯s forearm, harnessing the impetus of his attack. He knelt over his fallen opponent, unleashing a storm of pent-up wrath. Blow after blow, the redhead¡¯s fists rained down upon the hooded assassin. Unlike the unbridled madness he was once consumed by, he tempered the flames of his rage, harnessing the strength of his emotions.

    His knuckles rained down in quick succession, the skin peeling off and exposing the pale bones underneath, crunching and splattering blood, from his hands and his fallen opponent. Perhaps he wasn¡¯t in as much control of his fire as he¡¯d expected.

    The relentless barrage continued on, pounding into the insentient Executioner, his battered form lying motionless beneath the onslaught. Nothing more than a battle worn casualty, leaking black out the plugged wounds, and bruised and bloody, from the flurry of blows pummelled into him.

    Perspiration streamed down the redhead¡¯s face, mingling with the blood on his knuckles. He loosened his breath in shallow gasps, as he rose to his feet. A tremor besieged him, toppling his balance. In a desperate bid for stability, he clutched the edge of a broken seat, using it as a crutch to steady his shaky frame. In his moment of respite, Azrael surveyed the scene, the remnants of their clash scattered around him, savouring the taste of victory paired with the bitter tang of exhaustion.

    ¡°I¡¯ll question him when he wakes up. From the looks of it, seems like Lilith¡¯s pitting me against the assassins gunning for Zarovar¡¯s elite guard. Why the fuck on earth¡­ or the Abyzz, would she do that?¡± He shrugged his shoulders.

    Crackles ruptured through space, powering a screen that materialised from thin air. The oblong screen unveiled a chamber with an all too familiar desk and leather swivel, awash in monochrome.

    ¡°What now?¡± Azrael tossed his hands in the air, rolling his eyes.

    Lilith stood in front of her beige leather swivel, her back towards the screen, her finger poised at the doorway.

    A hazy figure entered her office, taking a few steps forward, hidden from his field of view, but exposed well enough for Lilith to see, dropping her into the leather swivel.

    She quivered in her seat, lowering her hand, and tipped her head. The grind of metallic wheels against rails forced Azrael to strain his ears, vaguely latching onto the words rolling off Lilith¡¯s tongue. ¡°All that black and not a dash of white. If only I could¡¯ve dyed my existence grey.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± uttered Azrael, clenching his teeth and fists.

    An explosion resonated, temporarily whitening out the screen, rumpling waves of interference through the transmission.

    ¡°Show the rest of it!¡± The redhead howled, his hands running through the illusory screen, waiting with bated breath. ¡°What the hell! LILITH!?¡±

    The screen flashed back to life, but the hazy figure was nowhere in sight. Lilith was still in the swivel, which tilted back and forth, listlessly. A clump of her hair fell to the ground, alongside a weight rolling off her shoulders, tumbling over.

    ¡°It is all your fault, my dear Azrael,¡± said a fleeting androgynous voice, right when the screen burst into plumes of smoke, dissolving into oblivion. A motionless redhead was left behind, gazing into the abyss looming beyond the fumes.

 Anarchy

    Flames smouldered atop his head, fashioning all kinds of headwear, from caps to hats. Clucking his tongue in disapproval, the fiery curls eventually settled on a bowler¡¯s hat, precariously balancing over sparse hair. Clad in a ginger suit, the bronze skinned man curled the tips of his lusciously gelled moustache into a fine twirl, framed by a clean-shaven visage.

    ¡°What¡¯s taking this accursed train so long?¡± Tapping his foot incessantly at the forefront of the engine, he eyed the looming glade ahead, nestled in the middle of the abyss. It was dimly lit by the trains stationed by the edge, training the headlights at the centre, where four other figures were gathered.

    Before the train came to a stop, the fiery figure scorched a hole through the windshield, leaping out onto the edge of the clearing. He winced from the negativity weighing him down in the midst of the abyss, spewing a disapproving grunt. Weaving a thin sheath of miasma over his frame, he shielded his mind from the oppressive surge.

    ¡°Well gentlemen and women, thank you for your patience. I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ve all run out of luck, if you¡¯re to fight me for a place amongst the tsar¡¯s elite guard.¡±

    ¡°Oh please! Can it Salamander!¡± said a woman with a pair of ruby orbs for eyes. ¡°You¡¯re nothing but a matchstick lighting up the darkness about to be stomped on by the mighty Dominatrix.¡±

    ¡°We can stand around bickering all day long or we can test our words¡¯ worth,¡± perked up a woman clad in shadows. ¡°Now that you¡¯re here, we just need the sulking wimp and the last train to get here.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that was the last train, sweetie,¡± said Dominatrix, her voice laced with amusement. ¡°I derailed one of them at the start. An elusive target chose to persist than succumb to the abyss¡¯ depths. He dared to escape, struggling against the inevitability, that is me!¡±

    The metal door flung loosely off the third train, cutting into Dominatrix¡¯s grandiose declaration. From the gaping entrance emerged a crimson haired male. He carried a dagger by his side, as he walked towards the gathered assassins.

    ¡°No way!¡± said both Dominatrix and the shadow clad woman, simultaneously.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t I take you out with a derailed train!?¡± asked Dominatrix.

    ¡°You destroyed my family!?¡± roared the shadow clad woman.

    ¡°Seems like there¡¯s history here,¡± said Salamander, taking a step back.

    The crimson haired male wore a scowl. Violent licks of miasma sheathed his existence, like a rampant inferno ready to devour a kerosene-soaked field.

    ¡°It is said that miasma intensifies in proportion to the emotions fuelling us. If you have a low capacity for it, you could devour your reserves before the fight even begins. Conversely, if you have an endless pit of miasma in stock, you could fight eternally.¡±

    ¡°Quit spouting bull-crap Salamander, I have a date with the stubborn redhead!¡± Dominatrix and the shadow clad assassin ignored the others, gunning for the newcomer.

    Salamander wrapped his hands in flames, shifting his gaze towards the two remaining assassins, one of who went after the shadow clad woman, clashing with her before she could make it to the crimson haired male. The last remaining assassin met Salamander¡¯s gaze, issuing a nod for a showdown.

    Sucking on his pinkie, a gush of miasma sheathed his frame. He grew three times his size, till he was a giant wall of muscle that surged forth, propelled by his gargantuan size.

    ¡°Really, that¡¯s your miasma?¡± Salamander calmly extended his hand till flames flickered at the very tips of his fingers. With a forceful exhale, he blew over his outstretched hand, igniting a torrential wave consuming everything in his path.

    After several thudding heartbeats, the inferno abated. All that remained was a blackened structure ¨Ca charred reminder of the muscle-bound demon.

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    ¡°All in a day¡¯s work.¡±

    Glancing over to where the crimson haired male had been, Salamander was met with a confused head scratch from Dominatrix.

    ¡°Where¡¯d that redhead go?¡±

    A sharp, throbbing ache shot up Salamander¡¯s spine, causing him to spin on his heels and face the charred wall of muscle, once more. From the remnants of the smouldering mass, the crimson haired male had emerged, his dagger stained with a liquid paralleling his hair.

    Did it ever matter? Why does it always end up this way? Screw it, screw it all.

    Somewhere along his journey, Executioner had slipped away when Azrael wasn¡¯t looking.

    It doesn¡¯t matter. To be honest, nothing really mattered. Ever!

    ¡°It is all your fault, my dear Azrael.¡± The words left behind by the androgynous voice resounded in his head, nagging him with a familiarity he just couldn¡¯t shake off. Knitting his eyebrows, he was lost in a throbbing headache that began unravelling a flood of images, like a dam burst open.

    A distorted montage of a past encounter with Lilith flashed through his mind, reeling him back to the moment he had faced off against her. It wasn¡¯t the time he had spent fighting her at the stronghold, but a time he had forgotten, or rather one wherein his memories felt¡­ missing.

    It was a Lilith he was unfamiliar with, one that had mercilessly claimed Juke¡¯s life and felled the Yang assassins with uncanny ease.

    Gripping his head, he knelt over, his throbbing headache morphing into a raging migraine. The lines connecting what he had known and what he had believed became blurred, urging him to question the nature of his last Yang mission.

    ¡°No. I¡¯m sick of all those heads on wooden tables! If this stupid Selection or whatever it is, will grant me an audience with the tsar of this hellhole, he¡¯ll know what¡¯s behind all this madness!¡±

    *

    Hollowed out from the storm of emotions consuming him, Azrael felt detached from the weight of negativity he was once burdened by. His opponents held little sway over his resolve, untethering his rage.

    Gripping his dagger tightly, in a swift and decisive motion, the redhead thrust the blade into the fiery demon¡¯s back, and then grabbed his opponent by the face, sliding out the dagger and driving it through his throat.

    The flames abated.

    He pried the dagger free from his fallen foe, his gaze holding the dead assassin¡¯s stare for a moment longer than intended, eyeing the embers of a faded flame past its end.

    A surge of vitality coursed through him, infusing a rush of raw power.

    His revelling reverie was shattered by an onslaught of linked metal. Instinctively, he sidestepped the clamour of chains.

    And yet, he sputtered bloodstained bile out his lips. Retching out his throat, his breathing became heavy. His eyes slid over his body, yawning wounds pried open flesh, riddled with a multitude of shadows.

    ¡°Remember me from the mansion slaughter?¡± billowed the shadow clad assassin.

    ¡°W-who are you, even?¡± managed Azrael as he hung from a dark stalactite.

    Unveiling the shadows masking her identity, the woman revealed seared, gnarly flesh welded to her face. Despite the burn, her glare was a piercing set of daggers, trained on him. ¡°You did this to me, REMEMBER!? Where did you take lady Airi!?¡±

    Raising an eyebrow, he felt his miasma work its magic. ¡°Woman, you need to brighten the fuck up.¡± With a snap of his fingers, a wall of flames surged towards the shadow-clad assassin, engulfing her in its scorching embrace.

    She was forced to relinquish her hold over the oppressive shadows, setting the redhead free.

    Nursing his gushing holes with a string of miasma over his open gut, he watched the fire subside.

    A voice cut through the dying flames, emanating from Dominatrix. ¡°What happened to Salamander?¡±

    Azrael met her gaze, a flicker of defiance dancing in his eyes. ¡°He¡¯s dead. But now he¡¯s under new management.¡±

    In sync with his declaration, he snapped his fingers once more, willing Salamander¡¯s corpse to spill torrential flames, surging towards Dominatrix.

    Swinging her chains in spirals, she whipped up a gale. Keeping the fiery onslaught at bay, she extended the chains off her left arm, breaking it away from the spiral and directing it towards the redhead.

    Waves swathe in darkness lapped at the brink of his vision, inching towards him from behind. Gritting his teeth, he willed Salamander to shoot a second volley of flames at the shadow clad assassin, while he headed out to meet Dominatrix in battle.

    Chains swung about vigorously, snaking its way towards Azrael, closing in around his throat. With a single touch he knew he would be caught in her clutches. Lengthening the distance he held with Dominatrix, he retreated towards the scorched, muscle-bound corpse. Eyeing Salamander, he was put at ease that his pawn held the shadow clad assassin at bay.

    ¡°Dammit.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter redhead!? Run out of creative ideas?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    Sheathing his dagger, Azrael knelt, grabbing the remains of the scorched muscle-bound corpse. He dragged it along, building momentum with a running start before hurling it at her.

    ¡°Real creative.¡± She scoffed at Azrael¡¯s weak attempt, wrapping her chains around the seared cadaver. With a tug of her chains, she tore it in half.

    The redhead allowed a smile to touch his lips, as he vanished from sight.

 Linked Metal

    "Where¡¯d he go?¡± Dominatrix spun about, eyes scanning for her opponent.

    ¡°Look out.¡± Turning towards the source of the voice. She whipped around, chains flashing. The redhead emerged from the shattered remains of the burnt corpse, lunging at her with dagger in hand.

    Clucking her tongue, she swept her chains to the side. She caught his wrists in her hands, which were large enough to crush a pair of skulls. With a squeeze, she snapped his bones in half, freeing the dagger of his grip.

    Wincing in a bout of agony, the redhead¡¯s smile remained, even as his wrists hung loosely off his hands.

    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±

    ¡°This.¡± A quartet of jagged bones erupted out the broken wrists, extending towards Dominatrix.

    ¡°What the¨C¡± She deftly evaded three of the bones branching towards her, but the fourth one vanished from sight.

    All of a sudden, a searing pain tore through her head. Wet warmth spread across the left of her face.

    Suppressing a guttural howl threatening to dribble past her lips, Dominatrix instinctively clutched her injured eye, dropping the redhead. The agony radiated through the entirety of her being.

    Fighting against the pain, she snapped her chains into actions, fending off the redhead.

    Through the haze of her one good eye, she saw the bony ends of the redhead¡¯s wrists, once shattered and broken, were back to normal.

    Azrael lurked around the Dominatrix¡¯s blind side, slipping out of her field of view, as he closed in on the distance separating them. Deprived of a blade, he felt naked.

    Linked metal rattled, a sharp clamour of warning that kept the redhead at bay. She swung the chains off her right hand in a swirling tornado, as though unscathed.

    At this rate, I can¡¯t beat her.

    Eyeing a struggling Salamander, Azrael decided it was time he switched up his plan. Running at the fiery corpse he nodded, relaying his command with his mind. Linking arms with Salamander, he swung about, swathe in a fiery maelstrom that held back Dominatrix and the shadow clad assassin. The heat bore down on him, steaming him from the inside out, but he knew he had to keep at it. He pressed on, trickles of sweat and the pungent scent of cooked meat seared his charred nares, in the midst of the fiery hell that had been spun.

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    Linked metal tore through the blazing wall, hounding the elusive redhead. The chains wrapped around his waist and tore him off from his flaming pawn.

    ¡°Clingy aren¡¯t ya?¡± Azrael could feel the rawness of his skin, peeled back by the flames. The burning itch wore on, as time flew past, stinging worse than maggots crawling across puckered flesh.

    ¡°This fucking tactic again!? You can¡¯t be serious.¡± The shadow clad assassin grimaced in the background, engaging Salamander in battle once more.

    ¡°Huh?¡± Dominatrix draped her chains around her free hand, reeling Azrael towards her makeshift armoured fist.

    ¡°Oh wait, wait, wait, time out!¡± The redhead pummelled into the enchained fist, abdomen first, lurching out a mouthful of bile. He retched from the acidic aftertaste searing the roof of his mouth.

    ¡°That was your plan?¡± She grabbed him by the throat, hoisting him off the spew. She looked him up and then down, tightening her hold on him. ¡°Adios.¡±

    Seizing the chained hand constricting his throat, Azrael swung his fiery legs over, ensnaring Dominatrix¡¯s throat between his thighs. He flexed his muscles till his legs tightened like a noose around her throat, squeezing her breath out in a coughing retch, transmuting into a searing howl dribbling past her lips. Her grip around his neck loosened, trying to pry free from her continued agony.

    The chains binding him fell away. He was free. Seizing the moment, he untangled himself and flew backwards. He landed on his feet, with the grace of a feline, omitting a throaty purr.

    Without missing a beat, he propelled himself forward, his sight locked in on Dominatrix. Bereft of his arsenal, or at least a dagger, he pushed on, determined to make do with what he had at his disposal. Bearing the pearly whites of his maw he buried his teeth into burnt flesh, flooding his mouth with a ferrous tang.

    Desperately tugging at Azrael, Dominatrix¡¯s screams abated, gurgling liquid crimson out her torn vocal cords. Staggering backwards, a length of linked metal wrapped around her ankle, slipping up her stance and dowsing her in a pool of bile.

    He pried his teeth off Dominatrix¡¯s throat, inhaling a heaping mouthful. Holding his hand up, he lined up his fingers till he made a crude spade. In a lungful, he drove the makeshift weapon through her torn vocal cords and out the nape of her neck, tainting his hands in steaming gore.

    Heart racing within the confines of his tightening chest, Azrael dug into Dominatrix¡¯s gushing wound, pouring her blood over his body, extinguishing the flames clinging onto his physique. The singed skin began weaving itself into gnawed flesh, mending the burns to slivering scars, before reverting back to a spotless gleam.

    Exhaling a breath, he stood tall over his opponent¡¯s remains. On reflex, his fingers plucked an object out the air, hurtling towards him.

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±

    Raising an eyebrow, he turned the projectile over, realising he had been handed¡­ a hand. He turned the meat, running his gaze over scorch marks lighting up the fingertips. Shifting his attention over to the battle between Salamander and the shadow clad assassin, he exhaled a sigh.

    ¡°Looks like he could use a hand.¡±

    A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as he made his way over.

 Gasping Exhalation

    The memory of that fateful moment was forever etched into my mind. A haunting reminder of the insidious inferno consuming our very lives.

    In the midst of that devastating hell, I thought I had lost lady Airi, along with the rest of my brethren. Somehow, I alone had survived, my shadows shielding me from the worst of the fire. Now, my body is engraved with the grim reminder of that harrowing ordeal. The memory of those nameless assailants who had unleashed such destruction upon the Yang, fill me with seething rage, a burning desire for revenge. In spite of my luck, lady Airi had disappeared from the remains, replaced by a mechanical contraption masquerading as her, amid scorched machinery. What had happened to her? Where had those fiends taken her!?

    Luckily, I had earned the fancy of a patron who had secured me a place in Zarovar¡¯s Selection trial. It was a chance, a glimmer of hope, to not only prove myself but also to seek retribution against the very individual who had set our lives aflame. Fate had brought us together once more, and now, the time for revenge was nigh.

    The weight of the abyss urged Remy to wrap up her fight, swathe in what remained of her pool of darkness. She rode the shadowy waves, undulating with the uncertain tide, rising and falling till they carried her to Salamander. Her shadows swished around, curving her body away from the fiery rounds hounding her, slathering her forehead in heaping mounds of shining sweat.

    Her hips felt sore, her legs nearly numb, despite the waiting period she had gotten for a break, before the next round of fighting had begun. Perhaps her earlier battles had siphoned more of her reserves than she had expected.

    She remembered the patron who had promised her vengeance and given her the chance to rise through the ranks, cement her position amongst the higher echelons, in hopes of rebuilding Yang. Or at least of finding lady Airi. She found it an impossible coincidence her patron was more trustworthy than anticipated. Then again, there are not even a handful of acquaintances you could trust, a stone¡¯s throw away.

    A fiery shot swerved past her head, whipping her attention, back into the game. All the evading she did, ate through her reserves, eluding and manoeuvring around the hounding fiery rounds. She willed the waves lapping against Salamander¡¯s feet to rise and expand, till they formed nine-foot-long spikes.

    The spiky darkness clashed against a fiery wall, locked in combat, vying for dominance. She clenched her teeth, pushing her miasma output to the max.

    No point in keeping reserves if I don¡¯t survive my current fight.

    Beads of sweat rolled down scorched skin. A drop fell off a burned lash of hair, timed in sync with a shot of darkness that broke past the flaming barricade. The dark tip was thrust into Salamander¡¯s left thigh, drawing blood out a deep gash.

    She watched the fiery assassin pry the spike out flesh, searing the wound without concern, till a red length of a scorched scar shone bright, keeping the blood from dribbling over.

    Does he feel no pain?

    She shifted her gaze to his lost hand, which was nothing more than a charred stump. He had no regrets losing flesh nor bone, branding wounds without a second thought.

    She bit her upper lip, chewing away at what remained. She worked her brow in angry swirls, realising she needed a push to finish matters. And then, she could fight the redhead all she wanted. Just one step away. One itsy bitsy step away!

    Coughing up a dry spell, she doubled over, gasping for breath.

    Screw that redheaded freak! Does he have an endless supply of miasma!?

    Salamander showed no signs of slowing down, either. A fiery blaze made its way towards her, intensifying the downpour raining over her slathered forehead.

    Grunting, she could see a flaming redhead approach her, as she stood guard, beside her lady Airi. That fouling smelling liquid, searing her nares as her world was enveloped in flames.

    Clutching her head, she blinked a few times, steadying her gaze. She then willed more of her miasma forth, cutting off the weight of the abyss, preying off her emotions. Her gaze flitted towards the lone crimson smudge past Salamander¡¯s fiery frame.

    ¡°What¡¯s he up to now?¡±

    Linked metal shot past her fiery foe¡¯s shoulder, narrowly brushing past the side of her face. The shadows lapped at her feet, as she slid over the rough terrain, surfing along the dark waves. She ducked and twirled about a mix of chains and fiery rounds.

    ¡°Weren¡¯t you keeping the redhead occupied, damned dominating bitch!?¡± Remy nibbled on her upper lip, rippling doubt through the waves she rode over.

    ¡°She¡¯s under new management too,¡± said a vaguely masculine voice, huddled between Salamander and Dominatrix. ¡°You¡¯re one tough cookie, keeping up with these two. You sure we¡¯ve met before?¡±

    The currents rippling through the darkness, turned to cold sheens, like glossy ice over a glacier, transforming the ripples to dark stalactites. The darkness pierced through the soles of her opponents¡¯ feet, as she heard a disgruntled bellow from the redhead nestled between the walking dead.

    Holding out a hand, he commanded Salamander and Dominatrix to advance, despite the wounds parading their soles. Prying his feet free from the spikes, he closed up the gaping hole with a trickle of miasma, slinking behind the pair of corpses.

    ¡°Hold still, DAMMIT!¡± Remy¡¯s rage surged into a steaming fervour, every ounce of miasma she possessed converging into a dark and ominous form. With a wave of her hand, she unleashed a colossal flood of darkness, turning the glossy sheen to a raging torrent stretching ten feet tall, crashing upon her huddled enemies. The sheer force of her miasma left them immobilized, trapped in the suffocating clutches of her power.

    She cast her gaze over the ensnared foes, a faint smile touching her lips. She could not do much less than heave and wheeze, her eyes running a headcount over her freshy ensnared prey.

    ¡°He¡¯s gone!¡± The glaring absence amongst their ranks, had her pace about, in caution. The redhead she had sought after, was nowhere to be found. Frustration and confusion swirled within her, demanding an answer as her voice echoed throughout the abyss: ¡°Where the hell did you go!?¡±

    Shedding fat drops of sweat, she spun about, high on alert. She swallowed against a parched throat, her sweat kneading its way over her throat, wetting her garb.

    Despite all the precautions she had exercised, her foot got entangled with a soft surface, tripping her up. She shifted her gaze, to ascertain she had not fallen into a trap, as her eyes widened.

    ¡°Right here.¡± A red tuft popped up from the corpse she had bungled over, alongside a jumble of arms coiling around her. With a sweeping blow to the ankles, the ground vanished. She choked on a feeble plea that was stuck in her throat, as she tumbled over the rough battleground, like a barrel downhill. An arm wrapped around her neck, tightening till it liberated the choking plea stuck in her dry throat, stabbing pinpricks of darkness into her visual field. Her miasma dissipated and the abyss sank its venomous fangs into her battle-battered body, breaking her hold on consciousness.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Wrapped in chains, Azrael deposited the newly acquired shadow clad assassin beside the burnt cadaver he had teleported through, undoing his corpse manipulation. Exhaustion clasped him in a tight embrace, dropping him on his rear.

    Exhaling a sigh, the weight of the abyss cut through his moment of weakness. Magenta strands flickered past a gleeful wind. Cerise miasma wisps beckoned him, enticing him. He could take her hand, bid his current reality farewell, and fall into a warm embrace.

    All that black and not a dash of white. If only I could¡¯ve dyed my existence grey.

    Blinking in rapid succession, a fresh surge of panic jostled him awake.

    ¡°I need to find a way out of this hellhole.¡± Squatting in front of the bound shadow clad assassin, he swept her swirling mask aside. Observing her face, he raised an eyebrow. ¡°Nope, I have no idea who this is.¡±

    Tapping his fingers against the side of her face, he watched his opponent stir and grunt. Clucking his tongue, he increased the intensity of his taps, till she shifted about her bonds, snapping her eyes wide open.

    ¡°Arghh, what happened?¡±

    ¡°You lost,¡± said Azrael, dryly. ¡°Seems like I¡¯m the last one standing. Did the rules say I had to kill you, or just incapacitate you?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯re you on about, you idiot?¡± The shadow clad assassin rolled her eyes, noticing the limp Salamander and Dominatrix. ¡°You control corpses to do your bidding, so what¡¯re you waiting for? Do it! Killing me should be easy for the likes of you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, no shit. Killing a bound, half-baked assassin won¡¯t get me anywhere. What I need is information.¡±

    ¡°I have nothing to say to you!? Die in a ditch, you rotten scum! Because of you I lost everyone I cared about in that fire. I came here to find out what you did with lady Airi, but clearly that¡¯s not going to happen.¡± She bit her upper lip, tears trickling down the sides of her face.

    Words faltered Azrael. His innards churned and tightened in response to a blow, deeper than any he had ever regenerated from. In that moment, the weight of the abyss came crashing down, nearly flattening him against the ground.

    Is this what it means to be whole again? If I can take pleasure in the atrocity you revelled in, perhaps the two of us aren¡¯t so different. He could hear his own words clamour within the confines of his head, resonating, detonating an innate understanding deep within the pith of his existence, cutting through the cornerstones of his beliefs. Damn you, Mol¡¯okh!

    His heart thundered with an intensity that drowned out the fiercest crackle of lightning, hammering against his eardrums, deafening and dulling his senses. He could tongue the acidic aftertaste of bile against the roof of his throat, his hand tightening around his chest, as he doubled over.

    ¡°Did the weight of your sins break you?¡± seethed the bound assassin. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I lost my comrades to a brat like you!¡± Her scorched face lit up brighter than the sun. ¡°Now it all makes sense. My androgynous patron sent me here, to get under your skin. To break you!¡±

    ¡°Androgynous?¡± Azrael looked up, cutting through his dread.

    The images from the night he had fought Lilith, or rather, her look alike, flickered through his mind. Apart from her mannerisms, she had one glaring difference setting her apart from the Lilith he had known.

    ¡°Her voice... it was the same one that echoed from the screen as it dissolved.¡± Gritting his teeth, he was seized by an uncontrollable wave of chills. That bastard! ¡°We¡¯ve been played.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean ¡®we¡¯?¡± asked the bound assassin.

    ¡°You, me, Lilith, everyone. It was all a setup. Do you know who that androgynous bastard is?¡±

    ¡°No, but¨C¡± She bit her lip, stirring uneasily. ¡°Do you think that scum¡¯s got lady Airi? All I had found out was the wreckage you left behind of some smouldering machinery.¡±

    ¡°Like lady Rock,¡± said Azrael. ¡°She was a machine left behind after that fight.¡± Swallowing against a lump in his throat, he could sense his world swirling, realising he was caught in a web spun by a devious mastermind. The question is: what¡¯s she or he after?

    ¡°No matter the ulterior motive, ultimately you caused our downfall. You¡¯re the root cause of everything wrong in my life!¡± The darkness violently shot out from the bound assassin, taking the shape of a spike.

    Before Azrael could react, he was speared through the heart. Lurching a shot of crimson up his gullet and out his lips, blackspots blurred his sight, stripping off his verve.

    Is this it?

    Slipping free from the chains wrapped about, Remy cast her bonds aside. Doubling over in an exhausted mound, she inhaled heaping mouthfuls, soothing out the throbbing ache in her head and wiping the perspiration off her forehead.

    ¡°That was cutting it a little too close. Close to when I was about to run out of steam.¡± Nudging the redhead with the tip of her toes, she watched him ooze out a pool of blood. Wary of the possum she had slain, she shifted her gaze towards Salamander¡¯s and Dominatrix¡¯s corpses, cautious of any signs of movement. ¡°Well, that¡¯s that.¡±

    The corners of her lips curved into a knowing smile, loosening unhinged mirth. Tears gathered around the edge of her lids, as she grasped her flanks.

    ¡°Finally, FINALLYYYY!! After an eternity of torment, I finally killed that flaming redheaded bastard. What was his name again? Ass-wreck or something?¡± Jumping about in peerless joy, a sudden wave of doubt beseeched her. ¡°What the redhead said, does sound fishy. I need to get through the rest of this Selection if I am to find the androgynous bastard. But first¡­¡± Spinning about, she decided to take one last look at her fallen adversary, grinning from ear to ear.

    Caught in the clutches of an unyielding grip, she was stopped mid-spin. A confused crease of her brow parted her charred forehead. A sharp jab churned her surroundings into a blur of swirls, shadows seeding her vision.

    She could feel the soreness in her hips and legs vanish. Her body limper and lighter, than it ever had been.

    A shove cast her aside, like a lifeless ragdoll, as she crumpled to the ground. An icy shiver crept up her spine, numbing her senses.

    Her vision felt like it was fading.

    The ground was cool to the touch. A wetness slapped against her body, a wetness that seeped out in flowing droves, drenching her dark garb in a blacker shade. The blackness spread out, darker than the shadows she had commanded, holding a certainty she couldn¡¯t refute. It held a chilling certainty, as it stretched out from her, plunging her into the depths of darkness.

    Azrael¡¯s mind had moved on from his latest kill, lingering on the androgynous figure, who had snagged his attention.

    Who the hell are you? Toying with our lives, manipulating us on a whim!

    Gasping, a surge of power fuelled his existence. The wound in his chest knit its way into a rough patchwork of clots, till gnawed flesh was sheathed beneath skin.

    He balled his fists, glaring into the abyss surrounding him. ¡°Until I find the bastard that played me, I¡¯ll keep moving forward! I can die afterwards when I¡¯m done!¡±

    Finally, you have gained some grit. How long have I waited for this moment.

    ¡°Huh?¡± Azrael spun about, sliding his eyes over the horizon in search of his next opponent.

    Here, here. Not out there, but within.

    Raising an eyebrow, Azrael slid a hand over his chest. ¡°Requiem?¡±

    Aye. Been a while.

    ¡°This better not be a trick!¡± He seethed, scattering spittle. ¡°I¡¯ve had it with all these assassins wearing me down!¡±

    You¡¯re in luck. Seems like that last thrust into the heart finally awoke me from my slumber.

    Rumbling machinery cut through their chatter, silencing the duo. The middle train lurched forward, making its way towards Azrael, flooding the dimly lit glade with its headlight. Averting his gaze, he rolled to the side, cautious of what trial awaited him next.

    The train lurched to an abrupt halt, training a projection of light onto a massive screen, weaving a grainy image into existence.

    Azrael gritted his teeth, the throb of his pulse echoing in his head, as he clutched his dagger tightly.

    ¡°CONGRATULATIONS!!!¡± boomed a deep, animated voice. The entirety of the screen¡¯s surface was filled by a gigantic visage, stroking a braided beard with an amused glint. A lustrous crown rested atop a set of horns furling off the apex of his head, with the words: Top of the Abyzz, engraved in the middle.

    A brewing fury stirred within the pith of his existence.

    Azrael raised an eyebrow, questioning the authenticity of the king-like personage talking to him through a questionable medium. ¡°Just for the record, you¡¯re Zarovar, yeah?¡±

    ¡°That is LORD Zarovar to you, pleb,¡± said the bearded visage, glowering. ¡°Wait! Did you enter the Selection without knowing WHO I AM!? Which rock did you crawl out from, you insect!?¡±

    ¡°So that means I have passed your trial, right?¡±

    ¡°FOOL!¡± Zarovar¡¯s voice boomed, dripping with disdain. ¡°Do you truly believe I would welcome an ignorant brat like you into my inner circle? Turn you into an elite guard under THE Sin of THE highest pedigree!?¡±

    ¡°I did win against the rest of the combatants¨C¡±

    ¡°They must have been incompetent as well for the likes of you to win. For your insolence, I will personally eradicate you!¡± With a cacophony of fiery outbursts, the screen disintegrated, obliterating the animated visage from the dark expanse.

    As if on cue, the door to the leading carriage swung open, inviting Azrael inside. He could feel the rising fury being culled, as the flames of hate abated.

    Nice going. Looks like we¡¯re fighting the last boss right off the bat. I should¡¯ve woken up some other day. Requiem loosened a sigh, but there was a giddiness to his spirits, as though he was on edge.

    Meanwhile, the redhead stepped into the foreboding carriage, ready to confront the ¡®welcoming¡¯ trial awaiting them.