THE FORGOTTEN ONE

Azrail had seen monsters before. She had fought the infected—once-human creatures twisted into grotesque forms that defied nature. But this?

This was something else entirely.

The creature loomed before her, an aberration of shadow and sinew, its form shifting between the tangible and the unreal. Black veins pulsed beneath its translucent skin, writhing like parasites trapped in flesh. The air around it crackled, charged with an oppressive energy that made her bones ache. With every step, the ground beneath it fractured, as if reality itself resisted its presence.

But it was the eyes that rooted her in place—hollow sockets filled with ember-lit malevolence, burning with an intelligence that felt ancient. Knowing.

And then it spoke.

"You are not supposed to exist."

The voice didn't pass through the air—it bypassed her ears entirely, burrowing straight into her skull. A distorted whisper, crawling like a sickness into her thoughts. Malice laced every syllable, cold and clinical, yet carrying a weight that made her stomach turn.

A sudden, suffocating pressure settled over her, the creature's gaze feeling less like observation and more like dissection. It wasn't just looking at her—it was unraveling her, peeling back unseen layers, searching for something it knew she had forgotten.

Azrail's breath hitched. Instinct demanded she move, fight, run—but her limbs felt like lead. Her fingers twitched toward her hip, seeking the comforting weight of her dagger—

Nothing.

Her weapons were gone.

"Asmodeus," she rasped, forcing her voice past the tightness in her throat. "What the hell is that thing?"

The Demon King remained still. Too still. His crimson eyes, usually laced with an effortless arrogance, had narrowed into something far more unsettling—calculated silence. His shadows, once fluid and unshakable, flickered erratically around him, betraying the strain he never allowed himself to show.

That wasn't good.

Azrail's pulse quickened. He wasn't attacking. He wasn't speaking.

He was analyzing.

"Asmodeus!" she hissed, louder this time, her rising panic making it harder to breathe. "Say something!"

When he finally did, his voice was unnervingly calm—but there was an edge to it, a blade honed from something far more dangerous than fear.

"It should not be here."

A sharp laugh, bitter and tight, escaped her lips. "Yeah, no kidding. Care to elaborate?"

Asmodeus didn't answer. His focus remained locked on the creature, his jaw clenched in rare tension.

The creature tilted its head, ember-like eyes boring into her. The temperature in the room dropped, the air thickening into an unnatural stillness.

And then, it spoke again.

"You do not remember, do you?"

The whisper carried weight—a vibration that settled in her bones, a pressure that coiled around her lungs like a vice.

Azrail stiffened.

Her blood ran cold.

"What… are you talking about?" she demanded, though her voice had lost some of its bite.

The creature took a step forward. Or rather—it rippled.

The movement defied logic, as if it wasn't bound by the rules of space. One moment, it was distant. The next, it was closer, the shift so unnatural it made her skin crawl.

"Your blood remembers. Your body remembers. But you… you have forgotten."

Azrail's fists clenched, nails biting into her palms. No. It was playing with her mind, spinning riddles like a spider weaving a web. She wasn't about to let it snare her.

She forced a smirk, masking her unease with defiance. "Great. Another cryptic nightmare. Just what I needed."

The creature did not smile. It simply watched her. Studied her.

And then, with no warning—

It moved.

It wasn't a lunge. It wasn't a strike.

One moment, it was several feet away. The next—its hand plunged straight through her chest.

Cold.

A blistering, agonizing cold tore through her, unlike anything she had ever felt. Her lungs locked, her vision blurred, her thoughts fractured.

But the pain wasn't just physical.

The creature's touch reached deeper—beneath her flesh, beneath her soul. It wasn't just an attack. It was a violation, a force clawing at something hidden inside her, something buried.

And then—

Her blood burned.

A searing heat ignited in her veins, clashing violently against the icy pain. Fragments of memory—not hers, yet undeniably familiar—rushed through her mind in erratic flashes.

A lab.

Shadows.

Screams.

And a voice—a voice calling her by a name she didn't recognize.

Azrail gasped, her body convulsing as the pain reached its peak—

And then—

Everything exploded.

When she opened her eyes, the world spun.

She was on the ground, her chest heaving. The pain was gone, but the ghost of it lingered in her nerves.

She looked up—Asmodeus stood before her.

His shadows coiled around him, denser than before, moving like a living thing.

The creature had staggered back, its form flickering like static.

"You cannot kill what is already forgotten," it whispered, its voice fractured yet still laced with that same terrible certainty.

Asmodeus didn't hesitate. His shadows surged forward, crashing into the creature with enough force to fracture reality itself.

The walls trembled. Debris rained down. A deafening shriek split the air.

But still, the creature did not fall.

Azrail forced herself up, ignoring the tremble in her limbs. "Oh, fantastic," she muttered hoarsely. "An invincible nightmare. Just what we needed."

Asmodeus didn't spare her a glance. "Stay back."

Azrail scowled. "And let you handle this alone? Not happening."

"You can barely stand," he snapped, his tone sharper than usual.

She hated that he was right.

The creature shifted again, appearing inches away from Asmodeus. This time, its voice was softer—almost amused.

"You cannot protect her."

The Demon King's shadows lashed out, but the creature barely flinched.

"You cannot protect what was never yours to save."

Azrail's chest tightened.

There was something too deliberate about those words.

For the first time, she realized how fragile her place in this world was.

She had always believed herself to be a survivor, someone who could weather any storm.

But now?

Now she stood on the sidelines of a battle beyond her comprehension—weaponless, powerless—watching Asmodeus fight like he had something to lose.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the creature stepped back.

Its ember-like eyes flickered.

"This is not over," it murmured.

And then—it vanished.

Silence crashed over them like a tidal wave.

Azrail let out a shaky breath, her knees buckling as she collapsed.

Asmodeus turned to her, his crimson gaze softer than before. "Are you hurt?"

Azrail managed a weak laugh. "Nothing a nap and some alcohol won't fix."

His frown deepened. "You shouldn't joke about this."

"And you shouldn't fight nightmares like that alone," she shot back.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of everything unspoken settling between them.

Finally, Asmodeus sighed. "Rest. We'll talk later."

Azrail nodded, exhaustion pulling at her.

But as she closed her eyes, one thought clung to her mind—

What had that creature meant?

And why, deep down, did some part of her fear that it was telling the truth?