Chapter 05: AMERICA 2008
(New York)
"Who are you, kid?"
Azreal spat blood at the blonde woman, grinning through split lips.
Her face froze—disbelief curdling into rage. Then her palm cracked across his cheek.
Smack.
Another blow. Louder.
Smack.
"You bastard," she hissed, striking again.
"Stop."
The command cut through the air. One of the shadowed figures had spoken—deep, absolute.
She froze mid-swing.
The second shadow stepped forward, voice low, almost gentle. "Let's start simple. What's your name?"
The kid tilted his head, blood dripping down his chin. "Azerial."
"Strange name," the woman muttered, almost mocking. The blonde woman sneered. "Who gave it to you?"
A grin spread across Azerial's face, teeth red with blood.
"The man whose blood I bathed in. I guided his soul to hell… and I'll guide yours."
The woman's rage surged again. She wanted to swing a fist, cracking his jaw, but the shadows' silence weighed heavier than her rage.
Grabbing his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.
"You think that name makes you untouchable? Names mean nothing. Do you know what it does?"
Her finger traced the edge of his knife wound—not pressing, just grazing. His body tensed enough to remind him of the pain waiting to return.
"What matters," she breathed, lips at his ear, "is pain."
Plunging into the open knife wound at his side, she growled, twisting inside the wound. The shadows said nothing, only watched.
"I talk, I talk…" Azreal muttered, his words slurring, his throat raw.
After a long silence, she whispered, "Did you kill 7?"
"Yes, I killed him."
"And 6? You killed 6 too?"
"No." His voice trembled as he shook his head slowly, blood dripping down his chin. "The old man raised me."
The blonde woman's anger flickered into confusion. "He… raised you?" she asked, her voice strangely fragile.
Azreal's gaze drifted, his words spilling out ragged and unbidden. "The white-eyed man came for me. The old man—he stood in his way. He protected me. He gave his life so I could keep mine."
A silence settled, thick and suffocating.
A tear slipped down the woman's cheek before she turned her face away.
The commanding shadow spoke again. "Did he tell you about us?"
Azreal's head dropped. "No. Ten years by his side, and I never knew who he was. A day before he died… he told me one thing." His eyes burned.
"That he killed my parents."
The room went still. The two shadows shifted without sound. Then, wordlessly, the three figures—shadows and woman—left the chamber.
Azreal sat alone. His thoughts circled like vultures. Escape? Where would I even go? I have no one. Nothing. I'm tired. Darkness thickened. His head fell, and at last, his body gave way. Darkness swallowed him.
When he woke, his throat was so sharp it burned. His lips cracked. "I… feel thirsty," he croaked. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, but the dark was absolute—no cracks of light, no sky, no hope.
Then: screeeak. The steel door groaned open.
A small figure slipped inside. Bare feet, light steps. A girl—young, with brown hair falling across her face. Her eyes glowed in the dark, angry and unnatural.
"It's your time," she said, her voice quiet, sharp as glass. "You will die."
Azreal… Spook…" He rasped, desperate, his throat tearing. "Water. Before… before you kill me.
The girl tilted her head, brown hair falling across her face. Her lips curled into something colder than hate.
"You'll quench your thirst with your own blood."