Azrael's vision blurred as he felt his body being dragged by Alwin and Isaac. His limbs felt numb, and he could no longer feel his legs. He was only half-conscious now, awakened only by the unbearable pain.
The next thing Azrael knew, he was lying helplessly on the cold floor of the basement, the ground stained with the blood seeping from his own body.
That damp and filthy room was where Azrael would spend what he believed were the last moments of his life. Only now, as his awareness flickered back, did he feel the pain truly settle across every inch of his battered body.
"Why do I have to live such a miserable life?! What did I do to deserve this?!" Azrael roared in fury, his eyes glinting with vengeful fire.
"All I ever wanted was to leave this cursed family. So why… why did it have to turn out like this?" The next moment, tears began streaming from the corners of his eyes.
Right now, Azrael couldn't even move. Every breath sent fresh agony pulsing through him. Alwin and Isaac had truly meant to kill him, throwing him down here only so he could rot away slowly, alone.
Azrael screamed in desperation. He no longer cared about the pain. He was dying anyway.
And that was when he felt a sudden sharp pain in his chest—his heart pounding faster than it should. Azrael found it increasingly difficult to breathe. Panic began to rise.
Even though Azrael had long accepted that he might die, the moment he actually felt it happening, terror took hold. His pupils shifted restlessly as his breathing shortened and his consciousness began to fade.
"N-no! I-I don't… want to d-die… like th-this!" In the middle of his panic, Azrael suddenly noticed a black mist rising from his body.
And that was the last memory Azrael had before he lost consciousness altogether.
. . .
When Azrael opened his eyes, he immediately noticed something strange, he was floating in an empty space that felt stifling and grim.
"W-where… is this?" Azrael furrowed his brows, confused, as he looked around.
All he could see was an endless white void, filled with drifting clouds. When he turned around, he found a dark, swirling mist hovering behind him.
Startled, Azrael stumbled backwards three steps to distance himself from the dark fog. Before he could speak, a voice echoed from within the black mist.
"Azrael, at last, we meet face to face," said the voice from within the swirling darkness.
"Y-you know my name?" Azrael flinched at the sound, shocked that this thing knew who he was.
The black mist chuckled softly before speaking again. "Your name? I know everything about you. No one knows you better than I do."
"Nonsense! Do you know anything about me?" Azrael stepped back again, feeling threatened by the ominous presence.
"I am you, Azrael. And soon, we'll become one. My power will be your power. Don't you want to take revenge on everyone who's wronged you?" Slowly but surely, the black mist drifted closer to Azrael.
Azrael fell silent. His mind screamed not to believe but his heart, broken and desperate for strength, trembled at the offer.
"I know deep inside you crave the power to make them pay for everything they've done to you. Aren't you curious why they call you the devil's child?" the black mist whispered as it circled his body.
"You know who I really am?" That was the question that had haunted Azrael his whole life why people called him the devil's child.
He was tired of hearing that title, tired of the rumours that he had killed his own parents. But the truth? He never really knew it. All his life, he had only known his uncle's version of the story.
"I'll tell you everything. But from now on, you must become my vessel in your world," said the black mist, brushing Azrael's cheek with a strangely gentle touch.
"As long as you give me power, I don't care what I have to become. I've begged. I've bled. Now it's their turn to suffer." Azrael answered sharply.
Now, Azrael was even more curious about where he came from. All this time, he had simply accepted everything Christopher told him, never daring to question it.
Azrael was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the black mist laughing. A moment later, he realised the fog was entering his body, and with it came an unimaginable pain.
Once again, Azrael fell unconscious.
. . .
In the basement—its stone floor stained with both dried and fresh blood, Azrael's limp body began to emit a thick black mist.
His body slowly rose off the ground, floating midair as the mist wrapped around him tightly. It grew denser with every second, until finally, it began to sink into Azrael's skin.
The black mist swirled tighter around him, like a predator tasting its prey. It seeped into his skin, his mouth, his eyes—burning like fire and ice. Azrael screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the void. Then everything went dark.
Once the black mist had fully entered his body, Azrael's form slowly dropped back onto the floor. But something had visibly changed—his legs were no longer limp.
. . .
Five days after that night, Isaac was ordered by his father to check on Azrael in the basement. They wanted to make sure the boy had already rotted to death down there.
"Why doesn't it smell like decay at all?" Isaac frowned in confusion as he opened the basement door.
"He should've been dead by day two or three." Suspicious, Isaac stepped down into the basement.
For some reason, the room felt heavier than before. The air was thicker, colder. Isaac could feel goosebumps rising on the back of his neck.
And there it was Azrael's body still lying in the exact same spot they had left him five days ago. But his skin… still looked fresh. Not a single sign of death.
Irritated by what he was seeing, Isaac kicked Azrael's stomach. Still no response.
He crouched down and started slapping Azrael's face. At first, it was gentle, but his annoyance grew, and the slaps became harder.
"Damn it! This bastard just won't die and be done with it! Even in death, he's a nuisance!" Frustrated, Isaac prepared to leave.
But then, he felt it—a hand gripping his wrist.
Startled, Isaac turned around… and saw Azrael staring back at him.
Gone was the blank, submissive gaze he knew.
The eyes staring into his eyes… were crimson like blood.
There was no fear. No pain. Nothing but one thing burned in those eyes – Death… smiling at him.
The boy they buried in the dark had died. What rose in his place… was something else entirely.