Chapter 113: _Didn’t Deserve To Be Loved
Azrael’s POV
*****
"There they are!" The moment he opened the door and showed his face, a hand grabbed him, attempting to pull him out.
He didn’t budge, chin raised as he fixed his eyes on the angry mob gathered before his house. Their flaming torches illuminated the fire in his gaze, making many shift back in fear.
"L–Look!" A woman screamed. "His eyes!"
"By the hosts of heaven—he..."
Within seconds, he watched as the once organised crowd went into a frenzy. Some looked away. Others cried out, falling to their knees and begging their God to save them.
As for Azrael? He stood there, mostly confused about what was happening.
Unaware of the chaos his now coal-red eyes could cause.
"He must be the devil!" A man roared, managing to get a hold of his sanity. "T–Then that woman under his roof must be the witch who brought him upon us!"
"I say we burn them both!"
Hearing them mention harming Jasmine flipped something in his mind. Feral instincts he’s been holding back these past couple of days exploded.
Then—his hand shot forward, fingers going straight through the skull of the man who called her a witch. Blood and brain matter sprayed, one of the bastard’s eyeballs landing on Azrael’s bare chest.
As he pulled out his fingers from the bloody, hollow hole left on the man’s head—silence settled in the night.
No one moved. No one spoke, merely watching with horror and disbelief as the man’s lifeless body fell backwards to the ground.
Only when the thud of his corpse cut through the silence did the crowd come back to their senses.
By then it was too late.
"AHH—!" A woman’s blood-curdling scream was ended by Azrael darting to her. He grabbed her neck, vampire instincts driving him.
Her neck snapped to an unnatural angle, her body hanging in his grip before falling to the ground.
"You wished to burn me?!" He boomed, voice carrying through the night like a god’s wrath given speech. "To take the life of the woman I love?"
Thrilled by the power, he went on, chopping off the head of a man too shaken to run. He licked the blood off his fingers, feeling the same rejuvenation one would get from food.
But it wasn’t enough.
More screams and bodies gathered on top of each other in seconds as Azrael persisted, their blood painting his curved lips.
His fangs sprouted, ready to sink into the neck of another man he caught—
"AZRAEL!" Jasmine’s horrified scream behind him made him freeze, the man dropping from his grip.
He turned sharply, spine straightening as he locked his eyes on her. She stood just a few steps away from the door, one hand clutching it. The other arm was still inside.
She was dressed up now, her scent of spice and the jasmine she was named after whiffing past all the blood and death. Fragile. Weak.
Instantly, his instincts to kill faded, giving way to something arguably stronger.
Shame.
"J–Jasmine..." He tried walking to her through all the commotion but something strong hit the back of his head, making him double over.
"Demon!" A man barked as another club struck his waist. "Help me out. He can’t face us all!"
Each hit brought a painful realisation to Azrael.
He might’ve changed into something beyond a man overnight. But he wasn’t invincible. Not yet.
"Burn!" A woman shrieked, piercing the side of his stomach with a flaming torch. "Crawl back to hell!"
Despite swinging an arm at her, all he managed to do was swat the flaming stick out of her hands. A searing pain throbbed where she hit, making him gnash his teeth.
"Wait!" Jasmine’s pleading cry as the strikes and hits doubled forced him to look through the haze.
She squeezed past the crowd, trying to get to him. "He’s... You’ll kill him! Please, don’t—"
A burly man grabbed her by the hair before she could get any closer, pulling her back until she yelped.
"Jasmine!" Azrael roared, a dull ache making his undead heart stutter. "Leave her! I’m the one you want—don’t—"
His world spun when a club struck his face until his neck snapped to the side. He fell to his knees, eyes fluttering as he struggled to keep his consciousness.
No.
Not again.
"You don’t decide what we do!" A man drew out a sword, spitting on his face before plunging it deep into Azrael’s stomach. "She’ll burn with you. But first... She’ll watch the evil she brought into this world die."
Blood gurgled out of Azrael’s mouth, his vision blurring. He watched them forcing Jasmine to her knees, someone bringing a rope to tie her.
Her black hair fell over her face. And her eyes—they flicked up, meeting his. For the first time since he turned.
Just like everyone else, she blinked once with disbelief and confusion. Then... She shook her head, looking away in terror even though she was being held back.
"No!" She shouted uncontrollably, dragging her legs through the muddy ground just to bring them to her chest. "Release me! I beg of you... I’ve never looked upon so much evil!"
In an instant, the woman who was ready to face an angry mob just to meet him was reduced to just another fear-stricken mortal.
Azrael didn’t know which hurt more. The sword wound through his stomach. Or the way she desperately wanted to flee from his presence.
Like he truly was nothing but pure evil and darkness.
Everything escalated the moment she began screaming.
"Her witchcraft has made her mad." A man behind her already pulled out a dagger. "We can’t wait for the church to pass judgment. Before she curses us all."
Wait—
Before Azrael could gather any strength to move, he placed the dagger in front of her neck.
Just like that, he slit her throat, blood spraying out like a fountain. She stiffened, life leaving her alongside her blood.
"No..." Azrael refused to believe it. Refused to accept a world where he was still breathing while she was no more.
But as she plopped to the ground, body twitching as more blood pooled under her—it became clear. She was dying.
Her head lifted one last time. Eyes searching for him as tears spilt from them.
For a fleeting second—Azrael didn’t see overwhelming terror anymore. He saw the same love and care he’s known from her before tonight.
"NO!" Heat swelled in his chest, white-hot and blazing.
Fire.
The flames burst without him choosing to unleash them.
People around him didn’t have the chance to even react as a wave of scorching red flames exploded out of him. It consumed the mob, their cries cutting off as they were reduced to nothing but ash and charred corpses in a heartbeat.
Once it was over... Azrael stayed on his knees. His head moved, eyes sweeping over the desolation he brought. Not even Jasmine’s body was spared, her corpse lying there—blackened and unrecognisable.
He didn’t know when the first few tear drops fell down his cheeks.
Reality’s cold slap pierced past the hot flames and suffocating smoke.
"You’ve learnt your first lesson, my child of the night." The familiar silvery voice of the witch who turned him, echoed from every corner around him. "You do not... Keep mortals close. They’ll always fear you. And they’re far too weak."
His head lowered.
From that night—he believed it. Accepted it.
He didn’t deserve to be loved.
Little would he know millennia later, he’d meet a girl who challenged that perspective. Over and over again.
