THE DEMON'S DEAL

Azrail's breath was still uneven.

The vision had been too real.

She could still feel the heat of the burning city, the echo of the infected screeching in her ears. The searing flames devoured everything—stone, steel, flesh. But worst of all, she could still see herself. Her own red eyes, blackened veins creeping along her skin, something monstrous lurking beneath the surface, as though her body was merely a fragile shell.

She wasn't infected. She couldn't be.

And yet—

She looked up at Asmodeus.

He was watching her. Waiting.

His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze that told her one thing—he had expected this.

"You knew," Azrail whispered, her voice raw and trembling. "You knew this would happen."

Asmodeus's golden eyes flickered, betraying no surprise. He studied her like a sculptor scrutinizing marble—assessing her cracks, her flaws, the shape of what she could become.

"I suspected," he said finally.

Her blood boiled. She surged to her feet, fists clenched. "And you didn't think to warn me?"

His lips twitched, a smirk threatening to surface. "Would you have believed me?"

Damn him.

He was right. She wouldn't have. She would've assumed he was manipulating her, twisting her mind like he always did.

But the vision—what she had seen—wasn't a lie.

It had been too vivid, too visceral to dismiss.

It had been something buried deep inside her.

Something she hadn't wanted to face.

Azrail swallowed hard, forcing her emotions down like a rising tide. "What was that?"

"A memory," Asmodeus said simply.

Azrail stiffened, her breath catching in her throat. "That wasn't my memory."

He tilted his head slightly, gaze unrelenting. "Are you sure?"

Her stomach twisted.

No. She wasn't.

Because somewhere, deep inside her, something recognized what she had seen.

Something dark. Something terrifying.

Asmodeus stepped closer, his towering presence enveloping her like a storm cloud. "You want the truth, don't you?"

Azrail forced herself to meet his gaze. The air between them was heavy, electric. "I want to know what the hell is happening to me."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a mix of amusement and something darker. "Then we have an understanding."

Azrail narrowed her eyes. "You mean a deal."

Asmodeus inclined his head slightly, his smile deepening. "Semantics."

She let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Right. And what exactly does this 'deal' entail?"

"You cooperate," he said smoothly, as though it were the most reasonable thing in the world. "I give you the answers you seek."

Azrail scoffed, arms crossing. "And in return?"

Asmodeus's smirk was slow, deliberate—a predator savoring the moment before the kill. "You already know."

Her breath hitched.

Because she did.

He wanted her.

Not in the way men wanted women. Not in the way humans desired one another.

No—Asmodeus wanted her as a puzzle. A mystery. A thing to be solved.

She was the only human immune to the virus. The only one who had survived unscathed while the world around her crumbled.

And now, after that vision, even she was beginning to question whether she was human at all.

She clenched her fists so tightly her nails bit into her palms. "I won't be your test subject."

"I don't need a test subject," Asmodeus murmured, voice low, hypnotic. "I need an answer. And you are the key to it."

Azrail's mind raced, every instinct screaming at her to run. But where would she go? There was no escaping him.

She could refuse. She could fight. But the truth was—she needed answers as much as he did.

She needed to know what she was.

And Asmodeus was the only one who could tell her.

She exhaled sharply, steeling herself. "Fine. But I have conditions."

Amusement flickered in his eyes. For a moment, he almost looked impressed. "Do you?"

"I want my freedom," she said firmly. "No more chains. No more locking me up like a damn animal."

Asmodeus raised a brow, lips curling into a faint smirk. "You tried to kill me the moment I unchained you."

Azrail smirked back, defiant. "Then don't turn your back on me next time."

His low chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. "Very well."

"And I want the truth," she continued, voice steady. "No riddles. No cryptic bullshit. Just the truth."

Asmodeus's gaze darkened, amusement replaced by something colder. Then, finally, he said, "Agreed."

Azrail hesitated.

That was too easy.

She narrowed her eyes. "And what do you get?"

His smile returned, slow and knowing. "You."

Her heart slammed against her ribs, pulse pounding.

Not in fear.

Not in anger.

But in something far, far more dangerous.

Asmodeus turned smoothly, motioning toward the massive doors at the far end of the chamber. They loomed like the gates to another world, dark and foreboding.

"Let's begin, shall we?" he said.

Azrail exhaled slowly, her legs heavy, her steps reluctant. But she followed him.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt something she hadn't allowed herself to feel.

Dread.

Because she had a feeling that once she stepped through those doors—there would be no turning back.

The corridor beyond was dim, the air thick with an oppressive stillness. Symbols carved into the walls seemed to writhe and shift when she wasn't looking directly at them.

Azrail frowned. "What is this place?"

"A relic," Asmodeus replied. "From a time before your kind walked the earth."

Azrail stiffened. "My kind?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder, expression unreadable. "Humans."

Her stomach churned. "And what are you, then?"

Asmodeus smiled faintly. But he didn't answer.

The corridor opened into a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in darkness. In the center stood a circular platform, surrounded by glowing runes that pulsed with an eerie light.

Asmodeus gestured. "Step forward."

Azrail hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her to stop.

But she stepped onto the platform.

The runes flared, flooding the chamber with an otherworldly glow.

Asmodeus joined her, his presence a steady, imposing force beside her.

"This will hurt," he said simply.

The pain struck like fire, searing through her veins, tearing her apart from the inside out. She screamed, her knees buckling, but Asmodeus caught her, his grip unyielding.

"Look," he commanded.

Azrail forced her eyes open, vision swimming.

And then she saw it.

Her reflection.

But it wasn't her.

The creature staring back had red eyes, pupils slitted like a predator's. Black veins spidered across its pale skin, pulsing with dark energy.

It opened its mouth, revealing inhuman teeth.

And it was smiling.

"That," Asmodeus murmured, his voice low and resonant, "is what you are."

The creature tilted its head, grin widening.

Azrail felt it stir within her.

A darkness she had buried.

A truth she could no longer deny.

She wasn't human.

Not entirely.

Asmodeus leaned closer, lips brushing her ear.

"Welcome home."

Azrail's vision went dark, the world tilting.

Somewhere in the void, a voice whispered—smooth as silk, cold as death.

"You cannot run from what you are."

Her eyes snapped open.

But she wasn't in the chamber anymore.

She was somewhere else.

Somewhere wrong.