"So… today's the day, huh?" Olivia whispered, her voice barely rising above the steady drip of water echoing through the stone corridor.
She leaned against the dungeon wall like it owed her a favor, arms crossed, one pale brow arched.
Her creamy-white hair fell over one eye, catching what little light the flickering manastones offered. "We're finally doing this."
Azrael didn't look at her. His amber eyes stared straight ahead, sharp and feral in the dark. "Are you sure about the route?"
"I've been mapping it for weeks," she said, brushing dust from her torn, dirty sleeve. "If we time it right, we slip through while Scarface and the others are upstairs changing shifts."
"And if we're wrong?"
Her smirk didn't waver. "Then we die in the dark like legends."
Azrael snorted. "Dramatic."
"I've got flair. Sue me."
He looked her way then. "Are you always this calm before throwing yourself into suicidal plans?"
Olivia shrugged. "Only when I'm absolutely certain they'll work."
He shook his head, half-smiling despite himself. "And here I thought I was the reckless one."
"I'm calculated," she said, stepping in close. "You're just angry; you don't really think before you do something."
That quiet truth settled between them like a blade.
Azrael's jaw clenched, eyes flicking to the iron gate at the far end of the corridor where he heard.
Footsteps.
They both froze.
Torchlight flickered against the wall as a guard rounded the corner, boots heavy, keys jingling lazily on his belt.
His eyes met Olivia's first, narrowed in suspicion. "What are you two whispering about? Get back to work now? He said, his voice laced with contempt.
Azrael stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "We were whispering about Freedom."
The guard's hand moved toward his sword. "What the hell did you just"
Too late.
Azrael surged forward like a loaded spring, claws erupting from his hands mid-stride. One swipe, wet crunch. The man's throat opened in a crimson spray, dyeing his claws red.
He fell gurgling, fingers twitching.
Olivia exhaled softly. "Well. That escalated."
"Still think it's anger?" Azrael asked, wiping his hand on the guard's tunic.
More voices echoed up the corridor—shouts, shouts, boots pounding. The alarm was spreading fast.
Olivia turned to him, eyes gleaming. "Ready to make a scene?"
Azrael's grin was all teeth. "Born for it."
They moved like demons unleashed.
Another guard stormed into view, blade drawn, face pale with panic. "You bastards are dead. How dare you kill a guard!"
Azrael ducked his first swing, caught the second with his forearm, and drove his knee into the man's gut.
The guard doubled over. Azrael brought his elbow down, hard. The skull cracked. He didn't get up.
"Two down," Azrael muttered. "Where's Scarface?"
"I can find him," Olivia said, eyes narrowing.
The next second, she melted into the shadows, literally. Her body became shadows, slipping across the wall and vanishing down the hall.
Azrael stayed still, every muscle humming, waiting for the storm to arrive.
It didn't take long.
Four guards rounded the corner at once swords drawn, magic flaring, panic in their eyes. Azrael was already moving. No hesitation. No mercy.
Steel flashed.
Flesh tore.
He tore through them like paper dolls, feral, fluid, unstoppable. One tried to run throwing down his sword and pushing through the others that were runing into danger from behind him.
He had to save his own fragile life.
Azrael caught him by the back of the neck and slammed him into the wall hard enough to leave a dent.
Suddenly remembering someone As he was ripping the guards apart Azrael shouted.
"Jeffrey!" Azrael roared into the blood-slick hallway. "Come out, you coward! You still owe me screams!"
He turned the corner and froze.
The stench hit first. Smoke. Alcohol. Burnt skin.
Then came the voice. Gravel soaked in fire.
"You should've stayed in your kennel, beast."
Scarface The head Guard for floor 40 stepped from the shadows, fists wrapped in flame.
That signature scar still cut down his cheek like a jagged canyon. And his smirk? It hadn't changed at all.
"I've been waiting for this," Scarface said. "You think claws make you a predator? Let me show you what real power looks like."
He lunged.
Fire met flesh. Azrael snarled as a burning fist smashed into his ribs, but he didn't fall.
He caught Scarface's wrist mid-swing, steam rising between their locked arms.
"You talk too much."
Azrael slammed his forehead into Scarface's nose, crack!, then drove his claws toward the man's gut.
Fire flared, knocking him back.
They clashed again, blow for blow. Scarface had fire, but Azrael had fury.
He didn't block.
He absorbed every punch fed his rage. Every burn lit him up from the inside.
"Still breathing?" Scarface hissed.
Azrael spat blood. "Barely warmed up."
Scarface raised his fist one last time, magic coiling. "Die."
Azrael lunged
Splat.
Scarface's head hit the ground before Azrael's claws did.
His body swayed then collapsed in a heap.
Behind him stood Olivia, calm and radiant in the blood and smoke, holding Scarface's head by the hair.
"Took you long enough," she said.
Azrael blinked. "You... decapitated him?"
"Was I not supposed to?"
"I mean... I was winning."
"Debatable," she said, tossing the head aside. "Come on. I found the door. It goes deeper. We move now, or we die here."
Azrael wiped blood from his mouth. "Are you sure about this plan?"
Olivia smirked. "Not at all."
He grinned, following her toward the passageway she'd found.
"Wait," he said, stopping.
Olivia turned, impatient. "What?"
"Where's Jeffrey?"
His voice echoed, hungry and low.
"Jeffrey!" Azrael shouted. "You're still breathing, aren't you? I've got something special for you!"
Hiding in the pile of bodies he left behind, was one body that was shaking from fear it wasn't dead, hearing.
His name he got up and did the only thing it could in that moment
Fight to the bitter end like a man, die in a blaze of glory?
HELL NO, HE RAN, like any respectable coward would.