Azrael gritted his teeth. His shoulders shook as another divine spear slid out of the glowing runes around him. The spears didn't stab like physical weapons. They phased in and out—light, pressure, pain—like his nerves were being peeled apart.
He didn't scream this time.
Instead, he glared ahead, breath heavy.
Azzy stood a few steps away. Hands behind his back. Calm eyes. "Don't move again," he said softly. "If you move, the spears will react."
Azrael laughed bitterly. "Hard not to move when speaking about… them."
"The death clan?" Azzy asked.
Azrael's jaw tightening was answer enough.
He inhaled sharply. "They—" His voice cracked. He steadied it. "They killed my entire family. Every single one of them." His fists clenched so hard his nails dug into his palms. "In the name of protection. Protection. What a joke…"
The air around him hummed. A spear of divine energy shot through his waist. Azrael flinched and growled, but he didn't step back.
