THE FAILED ESCAPE

The moment the chains fell away, Azrail made her move.

She didn't hesitate. She couldn't afford to.

The second Asmodeus unshackled her wrists, she lunged with the ferocity of a cornered animal. Every muscle in her body coiled for the attack.

Her hand shot forward, reaching for the dagger at his belt—the only weapon in the room she could use to escape. But he was faster, his reflexes honed by centuries of battle and bloodshed.

Before her fingers could even brush the cold metal, shadows erupted from the ground. They coiled like serpents, wrapping around her limbs with suffocating force. The darkness constricted, dragging her to her knees.

Azrail snarled, her body fighting against the pressure, muscles straining as she attempted to break free. But the shadows were unyielding—like iron chains, tight and unforgiving.

Her breath came in harsh gasps, her pulse thrumming in her ears.

Asmodeus stood unmoved.

He watched her struggle with an eerie calmness, his crimson eyes gleaming with something close to amusement. He had expected this. No, he had known this would happen.

Azrail bared her teeth. Bastard.

"Predictable," Asmodeus murmured, voice smooth as silk, yet sharp as a blade. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing with intrigue. "Did you truly believe I wouldn't anticipate your first move?"

The ease in his tone made her blood boil. Every second that passed only stoked the fire of her fury.

She yanked against the shadows, her limbs screaming in protest. Nothing.

Fine. If brute strength wouldn't work, she'd have to be smarter.

Azrail forced her body to go still, her shoulders slumping in an exaggerated show of submission. She let out a slow breath, releasing the tension in her muscles.

Her posture shifted—not resisting, but seemingly broken. Weak.

Asmodeus noticed immediately. His brows lifted, his expression darkly curious.

Interesting.

Azrail raised her gaze, letting her eyes soften just enough to appear vulnerable.

A trick she had mastered long ago—when the world was still human. When men were still fools.

Playing weak. Acting helpless.

And when they least expected it—striking.

Asmodeus took a step closer, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Clever," he murmured, studying her with far too much interest.

Azrail tilted her chin up, locking eyes with him. "You don't scare me," she said, her voice low but laced with defiance.

He chuckled. A slow, dark sound that sent a chill up her spine. "You should be terrified."

His gaze flickered downward—just for a second. Barely a moment.

But it was enough.

Azrail moved.

Twisting her entire body, she shifted her weight in a fluid motion.

The shadows around her wavered, loosening just slightly. That was all she needed.

With sheer force, she tore free.

She surged forward, her fingers wrapping around a dagger that had been carelessly left on the stone table. Without hesitation, she swung it in a deadly arc—fast, precise, calculated—straight for his throat.

But just before the blade could make contact.

It stopped.

The air around the dagger froze. It hung suspended in midair, just inches from his skin.

Azrail's breath hitched. Her mind screamed in disbelief.

The dagger didn't fall. It didn't move.

It just… stayed there.

Then, in an instant, it shattered.

Fragments of metal rained to the floor, scattering like dust.

Azrail's stomach twisted. A slow, creeping sense of helplessness clawed its way through her chest.

No.

This couldn't be happening.

Asmodeus sighed, his tone almost bored. "I'm getting tired of this."

With a flick of his wrist, an unseen force slammed into Azrail's chest.

She flew backward, crashing into the cold stone wall.

Pain exploded through her spine. The impact stole the air from her lungs, leaving her gasping.

Her body hit the ground hard, like a discarded doll. She barely had a second to recover before he was there—

Kneeling in front of her.

His tall frame cast a long shadow over her crumpled form. The amusement in his eyes had vanished, replaced by something colder.

His fingers wrapped around her throat—not squeezing, just holding. Controlling.

Her pulse pounded beneath his grip, each beat like a countdown.

Azrail glared up at him, her body trembling but her defiance burning just as fiercely.

Asmodeus leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. "If you try that again," he murmured, "I will not be so generous."

Azrail's fingers curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms. "Then kill me."

For the first time, he hesitated.

Something flickered behind his crimson eyes. Something unfamiliar.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

Not cruel. Not kind.

But knowing.

"You don't want to die," he said softly.

Azrail gritted her teeth. She hated that he was right.

She hated how easily he could read her.

Asmodeus released her, standing up with unnerving grace. Azrail coughed, rubbing her sore throat, her breath unsteady.

"You are not a prisoner, Azrail," he said, voice as cold as ever.

She shot him a venomous glare. "Really? Because it sure as hell feels like it."

He chuckled. A dark, unsettling sound. "You are here because I need answers."

Azrail narrowed her eyes. "And what if I don't have any?"

His smirk deepened. "Then we will find them together."

A chill ran down her spine.

That didn't sound like an offer. It sounded like a promise. A threat.

Asmodeus turned away, pacing slowly. "The infection that plagues your world was never meant to spread like this," he mused, his tone distant. "It was a controlled experiment."

Azrail's breath caught.

Experiment.

Her blood ran cold.

Thousands of people—dead, twisted, lost forever—

All for some sick demon's experiment?

Rage burned through her veins, white-hot and blinding.

She shot to her feet, fists clenched. "You son of a—"

"Careful," Asmodeus cut in, his voice dangerously soft. "I have been patient with you thus far."

Azrail swallowed down her fury. Not because she was afraid.

But because she needed information.

She needed to understand why she was immune. Why she had survived when so many others hadn't.

And Asmodeus—cruel, calculating Asmodeus—was the only one with answers.

She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay in control. "What do you want from me?"

He stopped pacing. His crimson gaze locked onto hers.

"A deal."

Azrail stiffened.

She hated making deals with demons.

Deals never ended well.

"And if I refuse?" she challenged, raising her chin.

Asmodeus smirked. "You won't."

Azrail's hands curled into fists.

God, I hate him.

He turned toward the massive doors, his voice a dark promise. "Walk with me."

Azrail hesitated. "You're not going to chain me again?"

His smirk didn't fade. "Would it make a difference?"

Her teeth clenched. No. It wouldn't.

But she followed him anyway.

She had failed to escape. Again.

But now—now she had a chance.

A chance to get real answers.

Even if it meant walking deeper into the demon's lair.

Even if it meant making a deal with the devil himself.