"Witch! He's a real witch!"
Someone shouted, and the mob turned toward Azrael with newfound fear and hatred. But he could hear his horse drawing nearer, its hooves pounding against the ground. He knew he didn't have much time.
With urgency coursing through his veins, Azrael snatched up his bag from the ground and whirled around to face the old man, a devilish smile curling his lips. The old man recoiled in fear, his eyes widening with terror as Azrael's gaze bore into him.
"You really are the Witch. You have come to kill us all, haven't you, Witch!" the old man shrieked, his voice trembling with fear and hatred.
Azrael's smile twisted into a malicious grin as he stepped closer.
"You're damn right I'm the Witch! And I'll damn well kill every last one of you!" he spat, his words dripping with venom.
The villagers recoiled in horror, their faces pale with terror as they realized the true extent of the danger they faced.