Chapter 15: The Boy named Azrael

She was beautiful—a woman with no mortal or immortal parallel. Her midnight hair and cold-blooded rose quartz eyes both frightened and aroused the men she involved herself with. When these prideful, bear-like men held her down, they felt powerful—like they'd tamed a wild beast. And as those thoughts crossed their minds, they did not see her as human. She was a beast they tamed. So, they treated her like one. They ravaged her past the point of human tolerance. They did not have pleasurable sex. No, what occurred was paramount to torture and rape. After the men finished, she was unidentifiable. Her face was bashed in like she was repeatedly hit over the face with a hammer, her body was covered in bite marks, blue-black bruises and shallow and deep cuts, her arms were broken and her legs stretched further than they could, ripping her vaginal area further to accompany the men's virile members. The men left satisfied and she was left half-dead.

What happened to her was intolerable for humans. But this mattered not to her, for she was not human. She was a succubus—a female sex demon. Sleeping with men was her only sustenance and the only men she attracted were the sadistic alpha males. And despite leaving her half-dead, these men would always find her the next day in perfect shape. The wounds they inflicted disappeared without bruising, cuts or tears. When they examined the inns they stayed in; however, they found the room in a ravaged state, with blood, sweat, sperm, and tears smothered all over. They found the room in such a state but she was perfectly fine, basking in the sun's light as if nothing happened. They were not reported to the police for nearly murdering her because the law did not protect her. Not only was she non-human but she was also a prostitute. These two aspects made the law turn a blind eye to her existence.

Her life of prostitution continued with no end in sight. Her miserable life continued with no hope for salvation. And her sadistic partners continued to appear with no sign of ever disappearing. That was, until she met him—a Duke of the Garnet Kingdom. A noble man in a knight's armour. A knight in shining armour. Her knight in shining armour. Like her, he was unparalleled among the kingdom's gentry. A handsome man whom women fawned over. An alpha male whom they would hire to protect them. A single man with cold, lifeless eyes that juxtaposed the fairy tale stories of 'Prince Charming'. To her, he was yet another man with a lustful gaze. But his gaze was slightly different to those sadistic beasts she encountered. There was something about his gaze that attracted her. Those cold and lifeless eyes reflected the harsh realities of life. Those eyes were her prince charming—a fairy tale gaze she could only dream of basking in.

The woman was; however, mistaken. This Duke did not look at her with a lustful gaze. He saw her, not as an animal but as yet another ornament decorating his house. A house dressed from roof to basement in similar ornaments. He did not desire her, only the moment of ecstasy he would experience from laying with her—which he did. But this time, it was different. He bruised her during the act but never with violence. Her bruises were love bites. He was gentle with her every night. She'd never experienced such intimacy before.

It wasn't long before she fell pregnant. When she did, the man took care of all her needs. His actions were gentlemanly but his eyes were still cold. The woman knew he did not love her. He had children with his previous wives. These children looked at her with scorn and disgust. She was a prostitute and yet she was treated as a queen. This made the children livid. But as long as she was pregnant they were barred from harming her mentally or physically—only for as long as she was pregnant. And she was soon done with her pregnancy. When that day arrived, she truly realised how little love the Duke had for her.

She was tortured not by the Duke but by his livid children. The pent-up rage they accumulated released all at once. The woman, despite her regenerative abilities, did not survive a day after her gestation period ended. She died with no funeral, no mourners, no love, and no warmth. She was tossed onto the cold, hard ground to rot away. The law could not protect her. The law did not protect her. And thus was this the end of the nameless woman. A woman who'd found love in a loveless being, only to be denied love due to his lack thereof.

As for her child, he was named Azrael—after the God of Death. It was an uncommon name for children in the Mortal Realm but it was the only thing she asked of the Duke. He never loved her but this was the one thing he allowed her to ask selfishly. And it was the only selfish request of hers he granted. But like his mother, the child did not receive any love from the Duke. He was seen as a nuisance due to his weak, pale body and inability to use mana. He was a failure. And with this conclusion, started the boy's seventeen years of hellish torture.

The boy, Azrael, was tortured like his mother was. They poured acid into his mouth to watch him writhe in pain. They starved him and threw him in a cage of starving rats to see whose survival instinct was stronger. They poisoned his eyes to see if he would go blind. They used heated rods and branded him 'Son of a Prostitute'. But he survived—not because his will allowed him to, no, that was shattered many years ago. Rather, they allowed him to survive. They healed him after every torture they inflicted on him. And though he was half-human, he was also half-succubus. Though he had none of the sexual cravings his mother was plagued by, his self-regenerating abilities were powerful—even more so than his mother's. Maybe the lack of a sexual drive stimulated his other succubus abilities, who knows? But his wondrous regenerative ability, which rivalled a vampire's, did not matter because his body could not handle the constant abuse he suffered.

For years, he was locked inside the darkest corner of his father's manor, never witnessing the light of day. But on his seventeenth birthday, after his father beat him in blind rage because a woman he made advances on rejected him, he was drugged and tossed into a carriage. That would be the last he would see of his father and siblings as Azrael, the demi-human. After waking, he spewed blood like a waterfall and was beaten by a bear-like man for spoiling his carriage. Azrael felt no pain as the man shoved his boot into his solar plexus and kicked him around like a ball. He felt no pain when the man used metal chains as a whip to beat him. Azrael was immune to pain like this because pain to him was like breathing, it came involuntarily. Every day, suffering under the abuse of his siblings and father. Every day, suffering under professional torturers. Every single day he lived was another day he prayed for death. And Azrael could sense that this day was his last. When he realised this, he smiled for the first time in his life. Finally, he thought, my time has come.

The man, after blowing his fuse, chained Azrael with the bloodied chain and dragged him into the freezing forest. He was not allowed to walk as his father ordered the man to make Azrael suffer a fate worse than death in his final moments. After thirty minutes of the man dragging him, they finally reached the mansion deep within the forest. Azrael's knees were bloodied and the open wound was covered in mud. For a short while, whether it was out of pity, or for entertainment, the man allowed Azrael to say his final prayers before they entered the mansion. Azrael took this time to pray that he parts from the Mortal Realm. He dug his head into the ground, crying his final tears and screaming until he lost his voice. The man laughed at first, then his face drooped into boredom.

As the rain started pouring and the winds picked up, the man chose to finish his assignment. He dragged Azrael into the empty mansion, through the dusty halls, down the hazardous stairs, and into a dark basement where he spent twenty-four hours torturing Azrael before the boy succumbed to the fatal wounds he'd received throughout the day and died feverishly with no tears and a bright, relieved smile.

Tears roll down Alora's face and Chari covers her eyes, afraid of watching any further. "This is..." she says, unable to conjure the words to describe the scenes they witnessed.

"This is Azrael's nightmare. The boy named Azrael's unfortunate past."