Azazel sauntered down the street cloaked in a biting aura of confident swagger and uncaring irreverence.

His green eyes were hidden behind a pair of small, circular-lensed red sunglasses. A lit cigarette adorned his lips, a dark, twisted necklace dangled around his neck, and his wavy, coppery hair danced in the somewhat intense wind. The rest of him was wrapped by a long, slick wool trench coat that made him seem slightly bigger than he was. He walked with a determined gait, and his eyes pierced through those in front of him. It was enough to make them turn aside and let him pass through.

After turning a few corners past some raggedy blocks and crossing down a few empty, quiet streets he paused. Azazel looked down at the pocket-watch he had just pulled from his coat and checked the time. It was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, a device made from immaculate, polished silver, with a matching chain that connected it to his belt. It was etched with black onyx lines as highlights and seemed to glow even in the dim sunlight. On the back of the case a symbol was embellished, one that matched the necklace he wore: an incomplete pentagram where the points and edges of the star never quite met. He clicked it open, and the clock within revealed itself. An impossibly complicated, near endless array of black gears linked to different clock hands. Each hand was telling its own time from seconds or minutes up to, days, months and even years.

“Spare some change, stranger?” A shrill, tired voice came from nearby. Azazel looked up from his watch, over his glasses, and spotted a homeless person tucked away behind some inner fold of the building’s wall. He walked closer, seeing him wrapped in ripped out, filthy blankets and sitting on a piece of cardboard that had long been worn down to only a single paper-thin layer. Azazel squatted down, bringing himself down to his level and getting an even closer look.

“I don’t hand out money to strangers.” He began, taking a deep puff, and blowing all the smoke off to the side. “So, let’s work on that. What's your name, ol’ timer?”

“They used to call me Jamir. Now they just call me hobo.” The old man said.

“So, Jamir, how’d you wind up in this shithole of a street begging for every tomorrow in your life?” He asked calmly.

The old man took a deep breath. “Work. Decades ago I got canned out after I broke my leg.” He confessed.

“Then what? Didn’t you get another job?” Azazel’s calm, soothing voice pressed on, compelling the old man to answer. Strangely, Jamir answered, perhaps even against his better desires. The words just flowed out of his mouth, as if tugged by a string wrapped around his very soul.

“Much later… first I started drinking. I was devastated, losing my job, my only income. I’ve never been much of a smart man you know? Never even finished school. No work, no life. I thought it was over, started drinking to cope.” Jamir coughed.

“Go on.” Azazel commanded.

”The stain of drink ruined me. Even when I thought I got back on my feet, it followed me. I lost everything to it, my house, my mind… my wife… I don’t even remember her name.” The man began crying softly. “I don’t even remember her face. Its been so long.”

“So you’re just a worthless piece of shit aintcha?” Azazel smirked. “Deplorable, waste of skin, waiting for sweet death to maybe give you a chance again?”

“C-come on man… fuck you…” Jamir tried speaking but his quivering lips made it hard.

“She won’t come, Jamir. It is not yet your time unfortunately. You’re doomed to wander this earth for another few good years at least, rotting away on a street corner, away from love, warmth, companionship.” Azazel smiled, chuckling to himself. “But, I can change that for you.”

Jamir stopped sobbing, and wiped away his tears, confused. “Y-you can?”

Azazel flicked his wrist up in the air with graceful, elegant movements and firmly between his index and middle finger was a rolled up five-hundred gal bill. “If I gave you these five big ones right here, what are you gonna do with them?”

“Sir, I-I’ll go buy some clothes, or clean up these ones, go hire myself washing dishes or anything plea-”

“No-no.” Azazel said, shaking his head slightly. “You’ve had your chance for all that. No, here’s what you’re gonna do if you take this cash. You’re gonna go buy yourself at least three different bottles of whiskey, liquor, whatever the fuck you liked to drink. And don’t buy that cheap shit, I’m giving you a lot so you can party, so party, I don’t want a penny wasted. Then, you’re gonna buy yourself a cheap whore, you know, make it two, I’m feeling fancy. Some degenerates worse off than you who won’t mind your…” Azazel coughed.

“My… what?” Jamir said, entranced.

“Stench.” He continued with a chuckle. “Then, and this is the most important part, you’re gonna party with them as if its your last day on earth. Cause it is. At the end of the night, after you’ve drank yourself half to death and fucked them both ten times for a combined thirty minutes, you’re gonna kill them both. Strangle them, stab them, beat them against the walls, I don’t care. If you wanna make the six p.m. top news tomorrow, make it flashy, bloody, tie them up and split them open from neck to pussy. Be creative, I don’t really give a shit. Once they’re dead or dying, you’re gonna walk your ass out to Fanio’s bridge, climb out on the top balustrade…” Azazel paused, taking another breath from his cigarette. “... and throw yourself headfirst into the traffic below. How about it, do you accept my deal?”

“T-thats… you’re… sick in the head.” Jamir gasped, horrified but not condoning. He bit his lip as his clouded, hazy mind began to consider.

“Maybe. But ask yourself, is this the life you want, wasting away like a corpse, or do you just want to go out in a blaze of glory?” Azazel’s green eyes stared unblinking behind his sunglasses, but the old man felt their gaze nonetheless. “Come on, take it.” He whispered, taking another puff of smoke in his lungs.

“W-who are you?”

“You know who I am.” Azazel said with a plain yet devilish smile. “Take it.”

Jamir looked at him, then at the bill in his fingers, then back at him. When his eyes turned back to the bill, he rushed as if possessed, intent on snatching it from his hands. But somehow, Azazel was faster, his hand whipped like a serpent, grabbing the old man’s foul glove. His hand soon tightly gripped Jamir’s in a vice-like handshake, and he pressed the bill inside his palm.

“Fuck you, mad cunt!” Jamir said as he quickly got up and ran away, cackling like a madman all the while.

Azazel lingered, finishing his cigarette before throwing it on the cardboard, not bothering to put it out. A twisted grin crawled on his lips as he got up, dusted himself off and continued his walk. “See ya in hell ol’ timer.” He said.

Azazel soon found himself before a worn down police station, whose lettering had long nearly faded down to nothing. It was a somewhat tall, but inconspicuous building that didn’t betray the foul deeds that took place within. He stepped inside, and walked past an agitated secretary on the way. She was a tall, intimidating woman with aggressively sharp cheekbones and dark hair, like the feathers of a raven. She wore glasses, and had a viper tattooed on her neck.

“Where’ve you been?” She shouted.

“Busy. Is Mephy here?” He asked back.

“He's waiting for you, fifth floor.”

“Could you bring the tools over, Laverna?” Azazel continued asking while he took off his glasses, put them in his coat, then took that off too. He began rolling up the sleeves of the shirt underneath, and a sly grin crept on his lips.

“Already in the suitcase.” She said, handing it to him as he whizzed past her.

“You’re a sweet. Make sure no one interrupts us, I don’t care if Lucifer himself shows up, got it?” Azazel winked and gave her a finger-gun as he stepped inside the elevator at the end of the hall.

Ding

The demon walked through the doors once he reached the fifth floor. He then almost immediately ran into and was startled by a very annoyed-looking Mephistopheles.

“Jesus, don’t scare me like that.” Azazel said, nearly tripping back inside the elevator.

“You told me the meeting was to start… three hours ago.” Mephisto said, bewildered.

“Yeah? And? You thought I was gonna show up at that time too?” He smirked. “I need to know if you can follow orders.” He added, walking past him and towards the interrogation room. “Come, bring that binder, did you study it well?”

“I had nothing better to fucking do!” Mephisto sighed, and followed. Indeed, in his hand was a massive black binder, full of important documents like birth certificates, job contracts and police and hospital records.

“So tell me, what’s the deal with this kid?” Azazel asked.

“You testing me?”

“Yes, I’m always testing you, don’t forget that.” The demon answered, his voice suddenly very cold and emotionless.

The silence lingered between them, until Azazel reached a door. Inside was an interrogation room, and behind the one-way mirror was a terrified young man. As Mephisto locked the door behind him, Azazel took out a cigarette and started smoking it as if it was his last. He drifted closer to the glass window, staring at the person inside with his piercing green eyes.

“Andrew Sinveer.” Mephisto began, eyes on the documents in the binder, although he wasn’t reading them, but reciting what he’d memorized. “Age twenty-two, homeless, motherless. Run-of-the-mill drifter. Police found him some months ago in front of a building crying for help. He was bleeding from his chest and hands. Deep cuts and lacerations all over his body, especially on his right hand as if he defended himself.”

“Very good Mephisto!” Azazel applauded, in a very mocking fashion. “You sure know how to read.”

“Bite me.”

“Please, continue.”

Mephisto sighed. “According to the police files, they assumed Andrew was attacked by some sort of rabid mutt. His declaration was considered incoherent and disconnected from reality, so they presumed him to be high or drunk at the time.”

“Heh, can’t trust dogs am I right, never know when they’ll mistake your face for some tasty bacon.”

“According to the hospital records, the wounds were somewhat serious, but not life-threatening. After a month or so on watch, he was let back out.” Mephisto said, closing the binder. “You know, I still find it crazy that nowadays there’s a dedicated branch of society that deals with just helping, and curing people. Back in my day if you didn’t know a soothsayer or a priest and you got wounded, you were fucked.”

Azazel spun around, confused. “Really? There weren’t like, any hospitals and shit back then?”

“Well, there were but, they were mainly for important people, nobles and emperor’s men. Random peasants like this guy…” Mephisto tossed the binder on a nearby desk, and it fell with a thud. “...Were pretty much fucked. Now tell me Azazel, what do you want from me?”

Azazel breathed in a deep puff of smoke straight into his lungs. “You know, as soon as I got word from ol’ Bapho that you’d be coming back I started asking around, seeing if any of my connections heard anything about your missing angel. If Baphomet had heard of her downstairs, then she had to have been around upstairs for a decent while right?”

“Yeah… the date of this guy’s attack was almost a whole month before I arrived.”

“That’s what I thought as well. I had my boys keep an eye on him until enough time passed, and you got up to speed with how we do things. I had them apprehend him the other day. I thought I’d do you a solid and we could see if the wounds on him were made by a rabid bitch, or a rabid angel bitch.”

“No offense Azazel, but you don’t strike me as the kind of guy that just does favors for people unless there is some benefit.” he chuckled.

Azazel opened his jaw wide and cracked it, creating a loud pop that echoed around them. ”Ah Mephisto, you saw right through me.” He said, raising his arms as if he was surrendering. The demon finally turned to look at his partner with a smirk that quickly died when he saw Mephisto was more interested in a stain on his shirt than his antics. “Nah, my benefit is getting you off my ass faster. I just thought as long as I'm stuck with you I’ll help you with what you need, specifically with this business of yours...” He said waving his hands in the air as he spoke.

“You are truly too kind.” Mephisto said sarcastically. “So what exactly do I need to do with him?”

“Simple, we go in there and ask this pleasant fellow what happened that day, hmm?”

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Azazel motioned with his hand and a nod towards the door. Mephisto hopped on his feet and walked inside. The door screeched with the weight of rust on its hinges. The buzz of the neon lights overhead was accompanied by the sounds of their footsteps. Azazel went ahead and sat down on a chair in the corner of the room, finishing his cigarette as he eagerly awaited his partner’s next moves. Mephisto sat down across from Andrew and observed him for a little bit. He had messy hair, a patchy, dirty face. His clothes were torn and he still had some bandages on his arms. Most striking were his eyes, or how he was completely unable to meet their gaze given how he was staring into the table.

“Arghem.” Azazel coughed loudly, hacking up some saliva that he spat to the side, wiping his chin with his tie. “Sorry, continue.”

“Who are you people? What do you want from me? Please I’ve done nothing wrong, I beg you let me go.” Andrew started wailing at Mephisto, his cuffs jiggling around as he tried to put his hands on the table.

“Easy, easy.” Mephisto said quickly, putting his elbows on the desk and straightening his back. He shot Azazel a quick glance, as if to ask if that was the right posture. “We're just going to ask you a few questions, and then you’re free to go, now be a good lad and don’t try to lie to me and try to tell me as much as you can remember. First off, do you recall the events that took place five months ago?”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Andrew sat up, confused and afraid, but somewhat more assured by Mephisto. “F-five months ago? When I got attacked?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, okay, its a bit fuzzy. I hit my head on a garbage bin as I ran, but yeah I remember that night like my dad’s face, bless his heart...”

“Would you mind elaborating? What exactly caused you to run? What happened? Did you run into an angel? Is that who attacked you?” Mephisto asked, spitting out rapidfire questions.

Azazel choked on his cigarette smoke, coughing and gagging loudly. “Too sudden Mephy.” He said with a wheezy voice.

“I y-what?” Andrew mumbled, confused. “How’d you…? Anyway I already told the police and they didn't believe me, they just thought I was a junkie who just had a bad trip.”

“Just tell us what you saw.” Azazel said, bolting from his chair and waving a hand in front of Mephisto, to stop him from continuing. As Andrew began revealing the events of that fateful night, Azazel leaned on the table, pulling Mephisto’s attention away. “What are you doing? You don’t just ask stupid shit like that right away!” He angrily whispered.

“W-what do you mean?” Mephisto whispered back.

“Just, leave it for now.”

“Well uh… I was sleeping in my cardboard box I call a home in an old park on Galeforth Av.” Andrew said. “I managed to steal a loaf of bread from a vendor so I finally had something to eat after a few nights of going to sleep on an empty stomach. After that, I went exploring.”

“Exploring?” Mephisto asked. “What do you mean by that?”

“Yeah, urban exploration. I like to scavenge abandoned buildings, old construction sites, and run down closed places forgotten by the world. I find good stuff, metal, copper wires, random bullshit, I sell it, make a buck for food.” The terrified lad continued. “You know there’s like, miles and miles of old closed off subway routes and tunnels from the old city? Its like they built a whole city on top with all the shit down there. Shit goes so far down…”

“And so… you were exploring?” Mephisto continued again.

“Yeah, I was wandering through the tunnels below Starfall park. I heard some friends talk about this big loud crash that occurred in the area, and wondered if some pocket collapsed.” Andrew paused for a second, readjusting himself. “C-can I get some water?”

“No.” Mephisto said bluntly. ”You’ll get a break when we finish.”

“Are you fuckin- Don’t listen to him.” Azazel said, leaning over him and smiling. "Look, you’ve been great help, let me and my colleague get you something to drink real quick.” He said, slyly motioning to Mephisto behind his back, pointing towards the door.

Kkh-CHK

“What the fuck are you doing Mephisto?” Azazel shouted, exasperated.

Mephisto shrugged, confused. “What, I’m interrogating him! Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

“You’re on the verge of pummeling him for no reason!” Azazel shouted. “He’s LITERALLY telling us everything!”

“So?”

“SO!” Azazel jumped in his face, but stepped back and took another deep puff of his cigarette. He started speaking very slowly. “When the prisoner is telling us everything without being pushed at all, there is no reason to push him. That will only make him scared, defensive, aggressive. When they’re being cooperative, it means two things. Either they’re lying their ass off, or they’re scared and have nothing to hide. Which category do you think this guy fits?”

Mephisto pondered for a second, rubbing his hairy chin. “This twerp doesn’t seem like the lying type. So when do I get aggressive?”

“In an interrogation, control is everything. We, we are always the ones in control.” Azazel said, tossing away his finished cigarette, and immediately lighting another. “Aggression, scare tactics, torture intimidation, all that is necessary to reaffirm control. To break the prisoner, to the point where their facade and defenses aren’t enough. If you lose control first for no reason, attack an enemy with no defenses for no reason, you’ve lost control. Once they see that you’ve cracked first, you ain’t getting anything out of them.”

“I see… I think I understand.” Mephisto said, nodding and rearranging his shirt.

“Now get him that glass of water, I’ll see you inside.” The demon barked his order, and rushed back towards the door. “Sorry about that Andy, can I call you Andy? My friend is a bit of a newbie, he’s still learning the ropes.”

“New hire?” Andrew said.

“Sort of, more like, well, what the fuck do you care?” He answered, leaning against the wall and puffing his cigarette again.

“You’re right man, I really don't. Look, I'll tell you everything, just let me go.”

Azazel smiled. It was not a real smile, but Andrew would never know that. Not only was he not looking at the demon entirely, but he also lacked the ability to tell just how utterly false of a smile that truly was. A smile that had been practiced a thousand times, and then a thousand times again. It was crafted, expertly so, over many, many years into a perfect replica of the most basic act of humanity. A smile so devoid of any warmth, sympathy, even the slightest glimpse of any kind emotion, but somehow able to display such sentiments nonetheless. No, this was a malefic, empty smile, accompanied by the dark stare of his equally empty emerald stare. “Sure, you’ll be out of here by the end of this, mark my word.”

“Sorry about that, here’s a glass of water for you.” Mephisto said, crossing the threshold inside the room once more. The inanimaliat sat down, giving Azazel a quick look before he motioned Andrew to continue.

“Right…” He began after finishing his drink. “The park. I took a tunnel from the old subway on Dowa street and followed a map. I went deeper and deeper down, and I came across the collapsed floor. You know how usually there's some tape or warning signs around when something breaks? Yeah, none of that here. This was just pure rubble. So I went inside. Followed these old ass tunnels-”

“And then what, tell us what you found?” Mephisto said, impatient about the entire retelling.

“I traveled for what felt like hours. I don’t know how I didnt feel tired, hungry, scared. I was just so driven by curiosity, and it was like the earth itself was calling to me.” Andrew took a deep breath. “Then, I found a large enclosed room, bathed in light. This was it. It was round like a cupola, and the walls were decorated with these… paintings? Runes? Symbols drawn in black blood. And at the center of it all, was a coffin made of glass with someone inside.” He said with a sigh.

The flash of a distant memory passed across Mephisto’s eyes and Azazel noticed it clear as day. Both demons were now listening closely, intently.

“Did you see what they looked like? Anything at all?” Mephisto asked with trembling intensity in his voice.

“I saw the glass was slightly cracked, but as soon as I stepped closer, I was attacked. Something jumped me from behind. It came up from the dark tunnels,I didn’t… I didn’t see anything. It was some sort of towering insect thing. It sliced me up, fucked my arms right up.” Andrew shook his head as if he was ashamed. “I ran, but then I tripped and fell. Everything was so blurry. But I didn’t pass out. I endured and ran until I felt my lungs and heart explode. But I made it out. I ran to the people and collapsed. I remember…”

“Remember what?”

“While I was out, I… just remember seeing something beautiful. A face I can still see in my dreams. I think I saw the face of the one in the coffin. It was a girl, extremely pretty, with pale white skin and long blue hair.” He nodded. “Later I woke up in the hospital, and then the police and everything. Told them what happened… You know the rest.”

Silence fell over the room like a black curtain. Mephisto was trying to decipher the maelstrom of thoughts, memories and information raging in his mind, but Azazel was just quiet. A sly grin crawled over his lips. “Ohhhhhhh-ohohoho boy Mephisto I knew I hit a goddamn goldmine when I found this guy.”

“We can't be sure its her, maybe its another person, another angel. There's no way it can be her, not her..” Mephisto responded, sliding deeper in his chair, rubbing his forehead with his left arm.

Azazel grinned. “We’ll discuss everything later. Get up Mephisto, stop sulking, we’re not done yet.” He said, walking forward and nudging Mephistopheles. The demon seemed weirdly excited all of a sudden, and not because of the successful interrogation.

“Wh-what do you mean? I told you everything! You said you’d let me go!” Andrew shouted in a panic.

“What the hell do you mean? He already told us all he knew.” Mephisto asked with a concerned look on his face, a look that dreaded the answer that it was about to receive.

Azazel was silent. He ignored them as he walked back to his chair in the corner and picked up his suitcase. Without a word, he placed it in front of Mephistopheles. He took another puff of his cigarette as he put the code on the lock and popped it open. Mephisto’s eyes shut tightly and his head fell to the side once he saw what was inside.

“No.” He said quietly, barely a whisper.

“What, what is it? WHAT IS IT?” Andrew screamed, fear starting to infest his body, crawling across his skin and seeping into his bones.

“Why? Why this? He told us everything, he’s no harm to us.”

“Why?” Azazel repeated Mephisto’s question. “No reason. This is supposed to be the thing you’re good at right? I want to see it, I want to see that you can obey.”

“You’re sick in the head, you know that?”

“What is it, DAMN IT?” Andrew screamed, thrashing in his chair and yanking his hand cuffs.

Azazel pulled out his silver watch, giving it a quick look. He walked towards the door but before opening it fully, he stopped and looked at Mephisto. “You have four hours. Hurt him all you want, but keep him alive. I want to kill him myself.” He said with a very cool and collected tone, as if he was talking about ordering some food, and not putting someone through heinous torture.

“P-please, please, PLEASE I BEG YOU PLEASE STOP NO!” Andrew shouted, yelling as loud as his lungs would allow.

Azazel turned to him, and gave him a pitiable look. “Shhh.” He said, finger over his lips. He left the room and heard Mephisto’s angry, disappointed voice apologize to the kid for what he was about to do. His dreadful, wild laughter echoed as he locked the interrogation room and walked away.

And don’t try to fool me, Mephy… This test isn’t one you can cheat on… He thought to himself.

True to his word, Azazel returned within four hours. In fact, he was actually early by ten minutes. A cup of lukewarm coffee was in his hand, and he occasionally sipped from it as he slowly strolled back to the interrogation room. He was in quite a pleasant mood. A distant radio buzz trickled into his ears from afar, and he took a minor detour, gripped by curiosity. He walked across the hall towards a room where some other demon underlings worked, stamping papers and yelling into phone-calls. They all noticed him, but he motioned them to continue without any interruptions, as he was more interested in the radio.

“-grizzly streak of murders continued as the old man went from door to door with a meat hook and a large butcher’s knife and began brutally disemboweling and slaughtering any unfortunate residents that happened to be in the motel at the time. Before police could arrive and put an end to the massacre, the man responsible stole a car and fled the scene. But, perhaps gripped by the last remnants of his consciousness, the criminal responsible drove straight off the railing of Fanio’s bridge, dying instantly against the busy streets below. By sheer bad luck, his final act claimed even more lives, a small family of two that drove straight into the burning wreckage at that exact moment. Neither could be saved before the flames engulfed them.” The voice eloquently detailed, before continuing to talk about the total statistics and how the investigation unfolded.

But Azazel stopped listening as he began cackling like a maniac. His knees nearly buckled under him as he belly laughed and wheezed loudly. “Holy fucking shit, Jamir, I told you to try and make tomorrow’s six p.m. news, not today’s.” He said to no one in particular as he wiped some tears from his eyes. “Shit man, wow. Twelve whole people, including you, huh? I knew you had it in you, bravo.” He added, clapping his hands a couple times to the confusion of the underlings that weren’t listening or paying attention.

With that, he turned and walked back to the interrogation room before the time was up. Screaming filled his ears with each step that brought him closer and closer. He finished his cup of coffee, not looking through the one-way glass so as to not be spoiled of what was awaiting inside. A truly barbaric sight lay before him, as the previously dull blueish walls of the chamber were sprayed with sparkling, wet blood. Mephisto was sitting in his chair, sleeves rolled up fully, covered from head to toe in blood. His gaze was distant, distraught, barely even acknowledging Azazel as he walked in. His hands trembled, and he was breathing softly.

“This gives the room so much more color don’t you think?” Azazel quipped, looking at the walls, rather than Mephisto’s handiwork.

“Just… get it over with.” Mephisto said, his voice trembling with fatigue and soreness.

Azazel rolled his eyes and walked over to Andrew, or the still breathing naked pile of bloody meat and cartilage that once was a man named Andrew. There were many tools and weapons scattered about the room. Some were on the table, some on the floor, and others were tossed on the pile of clothes that had been torn off. But while the last few were placed back in the suitcase, all were stained with blood and still dripping with the taste of flesh. Knives, hammers, scalpels, razors, pliers, tweezers, needles, even a small crowbar that was almost bent from how hard it had been used.

Andrew trembled and jittered, a tortured wheezing and quiet blubbering sob escaping his sliced lips and toothless mouth. Snot and blood dripped down his battered, broken face and chin, and his eyes were tightly shut, blood pouring under them. Azazel looked down at his hands, inspecting the rest of the damage. His elbows were broken and bent unnaturally, shards of bone piercing through his flesh and skin. His fingers were ripped off, sliced open, or completely degloved. As Azazel continued, he saw his legs were in a similar state, his knees were completely shattered, tibias fractured and his achilles tendon sliced open, and multiple precise puncture wounds and cuts making him bleed just enough to hurt but not enough to risk death.

It was a twisted miracle that he was still alive. In truth however, it was no accident. Mephisto knew exactly where to cut, where to smash and where to preserve. He had spent millenia in hell perfecting his technique, and this grotesque display was just a taste of all that he had learnt.

Still, Mephy… Azazel thought as he looked back at his underling. I didn’t expect you to look so soft and pitiful after this…

“Y…” A small, shrieky tone escaped from Andrew’s mouth, drawing Azazel’s attention and ire once again.

“What was that?” The demon said, leaning forward and turning his ear. “I’m amazed you can still talk. I guess he didn’t cut your tongue out, huh? Come on, speak up. What do you want?”

Andrew struggled greatly to open his mouth. All that came out were pools of vomit, blood and bile. But through great effort, a few tortured words managed to escape as well. “Y-y…you… p-pro… promised… w-why?” He managed to ask through the suffering and tears.

“I did promise, didn't I?” Azazel nodded. “The reason… is pretty simple actually. I am the violence. I am the sickness. I am… the still silence. Through my will, suffering is inflicted. You stumbled onto something you weren’t meant to see, which eventually led you to me. And you see, the problem with meeting me is, someone like you doesn’t get to walk away after that. You were just unlucky, kid.”

“Bh… bu… but y-you…”

“True, I did promise you’d be out of here at the end of this. You’re right.” Azazel responded, bringing his head lower. With ruthless cruelty he grabbed Andrew’s few remaining clumps of hair and scalped, and yanked his head back so he could stare at his messy ruined face. He then brought his head even lower and whispered in his right ear. It was a dreadful voice, a cold, merciless tone of death. “But I never said you were leaving alive.”

With a long needle in hand, he stabbed him in the throat. It was not an instant blow, but one delivered with agonizing slowness, and perfect precision. All so he could feel the steel tingling the inside of his neck, puncturing every vein and blood vessel in its way until it pierced out the other side. All so he’d choke to death on his own blood before exsanguination occurred. Azazel pulled out the blade and immediately a stream of blood began spurting out. Andrew began coughing and gurgling, gasping and hacking for breath. He thrashed for every breath as blood poured down his throat and began filling his lungs. He wheezed and cried for help, for salvation, but no one came.

“How beautiful the blood sings…” Azazel said as he stared at his victim with cold unblinking green eyes. He watched the last moments of his life as they slipped away. Crimson fluid dripped gently on the metallic floor, and a wicked smile crossed his face as Andrew gave his final suffocated breath. “Drip… drip… drip…”