In this world, there are the Gods, the Abyss, the Cursed, and the Forgotten.
The gods are praised as kind and holy, worshipped by almost everyone.
Almost.
Those who refuse to kneel are cast out, erased from the world of the living. And anyone who speaks against the gods meets death in the most painful ways. So much for being "benevolent."
Every hundred years, the ritual of sacrifice begins. Maidens are gathered from across the empire, stripped bare, and put on display for the gods to choose. The empire calls it honor. They call it fate.
That year, Azrael's mother was chosen.
Dragged to the altar, her body humiliated before nobles, priests, and commoners alike. And before his very eyes, she was killed like an offering to beasts.
At thirteen, Azrael became an orphan.
It wasn't the first time the gods had taken from him.
Years before, his father was cut down by a noble for refusing to bend his knee to their name. Azrael was too young to understand then, but old enough to remember the lifeless body dragged through the dirt.
When the sacrifices were done, the people bowed as one, their voices echoing in blind praise:
"Hail the Gods!"
And Azrael bowed too. His body bent low like the rest, but his amethyst eyes burned with something else.
No one heard the whisper slip from his lips.
But the gods did.
"The gods shall know suffering."