Chapter 112: _The Evil He’s Hidden
Azrael’s POV
*****
England, 1105 AD.
Europe in those days smelled of smoke and damp earth.
Villages huddled together like frightened animals, their wooden homes bowing beneath thatched roofs.
And fear? It was abundant.
People feared the forest, feared illness, feared anything they could not name. And they feared God almost as much as they feared the dark.
One fateful night, Azrael knew that fear. Embraced it. Felt it in a way he would no longer feel for centuries.
"Argh." He groaned into the night, clutching his chest where a dagger was buried. His head raised slowly, meeting the cruel eyes of his assaulter.
Standing in front of him was a random crook who ambushed him on one of his night travels. There had been a brief struggle before the man plunged a dagger into Azrael’s chest.
Suddenly, the man pushed him down with a kick, watching with scorn when Azrael fell to the muddy earth. "You should’ve complied, lad. Now you’re going to hell for your stubbornness."
Azrael struggled to breathe, blood gurgling in his throat. He stared at the faint moonlight scattering past the thick branches above. Clinging desperately to his sight even as his consciousness slipped.
As the man walked away after pulling out his dagger, leaving him for dead—Azrael could only think of one person.
One soul who was his reason to keep waking up every day.
Jasmine
"My heart," he muttered, referring to her even though she wasn’t present. "I... I wish I were able to see your face just one more time. Hold you in my hands before bidding farewell."
Darkness has never scared him as much as it did now.
He laughed. A dry, fading sound that sapped more of the energy from his veins.
"G–God..." He stuttered, unable to believe he was about to pray. His father named him after the angel of death. A blessing and a curse since his mother died during his birth. Now he called upon the god who presided over said angel. "... If you’re out there. Anywhere. I know I’ve been an unbeliever. Fickle in my faith..."
More and more air left his lungs, never to return.
He was dying. He knew it.
"Please," he begged, every last shred of his pride dissipating. "Let me see her one last time. Let my spirit linger so it can kiss her lips once more. Even if the veil of death separates our union—my love should suffice. P–please—"
That last plea broke, his eyes fluttering shut.
But when the world faded into nothing but a cold darkness... No god or goddess answered him. They might’ve heard. Or maybe didn’t—Azrael would never know.
Because his "saviour" that night was no Divine being.
She was a woman.
.
.
TWO DAYS LATER.
"Azrael, stop." The sharp cry of his betrothed pulled him back to reality.
They were making love, his length deep in her and his naked body hovering over her with strength and vigour he’s never felt. But he got carried away—
"What is it?" He rolled over when she shoved him forcefully, clutching her neck with a wince. Then he noticed it. Bite marks. And a metallic taste of blood on his lips. "Did... Did I—"
"Azrael, that was too much." Jasmine grabbed a cloth immediately, covering her bosom and legs. "What has gotten into you recently? Since you came back that night you’ve... You’ve been different."
He couldn’t answer that.
How could he?
Yet, memories from that night came flooding back. He died. He was certain he had slipped out of his mortal coil—until SHE showed up.
Not a goddess—not quite. A witch.
A very powerful one if he must add.
"You poor thing." Her fingers around his jaw and her figure towering over his were the first things he noticed when his eyes opened again that night.
He could only describe her as ethereal. He would’ve believed she was an actual goddess if she hadn’t denied it herself.
Tall. Dressed in a black silk gown. Skin almost as black as night but glimmering against moonlight like it was carved out of a gemstone. And lush black hair that blew across her heart-shaped face.
"Humanity has been cruel to you." She had told him that night. "But now—reborn—they will cower before you. My child of the night..."
Everything changed since that night. His whole world changed. He’s been noticing changes in himself that he couldn’t begin to name.
Including this. An almost uncontrollable hunger for blood. And his emotions spiking more intensely than ever before.
"Azrael?" Jasmine snapped her fingers in front of his face, a heavy sigh leaving her mouth. "I’m worried about you. You only come around at night and even then, you don’t let me look into your eyes."
Ah—his eyes.
Another change he’s noticed. A drastic one if he must add.
Once dark brown and simple, his eyes were now red like burning coal. A man whose blood he drained the other night called them pits into hell itself...
A sudden, violent bang against the wooden door made Jasmine flinch.
Azrael’s head snapped up instantly, senses sharpening. He heard it then—boots on dirt. Too many. Harsh whispers bleeding into raised voices.
Torches crackling.
Then another bang followed.
"Open this door!"
Jasmine’s breath hitched. "Azrael...?" She clutched the cloth tighter around herself, eyes darting to the small window as orange light flickered across the walls.
"They followed me," he realised quietly.
Not the crook. Not the witch.
The village.
A third bang shook the hinges.
"We know what you are!" someone yelled. "You consort with darkness! You drink blood like the Devil’s spawn!"
Azrael moved without thinking, stepping in front of Jasmine as though his body could still shield her from the world.
Outside, fear curdled into frenzy.
"Burn them!" a woman screamed.
"Cleanse the house!" another voice echoed.
"For God!"
The door rattled as fists, boots, and wood slammed against it in unison.
Jasmine’s fingers dug into his arm, trembling. "They’ll kill us," she whispered. "What do they speak of?"
Azrael stared at the door—at the shadows dancing beneath it, at the firelight licking the cracks—and felt something inside him finally snap into clarity.
Slowly, his lips parted, fangs sliding free as the roar of the crowd swelled.
No.
They won’t kill them. They’ll awaken the evil he’s hidden since that night.
