"AAAAAGGGGHHH! Please! Please!" Myla shrieked, begging.
Azrael's smile widened into a cruel grin as he approached Myla, each step deliberate and menacing. He toyed with the pitchfork in his hand, the metal glinting ominously in the flickering light of the flames.
Myla's pleas fell on deaf ears as she begged for mercy, her voice filled with desperation and fear. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood and dirt that stained her skin.
"Please! Please! I beg of you, Witch. Please don't kill me," Myla sobbed, her voice trembling with terror.
Azrael's grin widened into a sadistic smirk as he raised the pitchfork, the metal glinting in the firelight. He leaned in close and seized Myla by the hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck, her cries echoing in the night air.