THE DEMON'S DILEMMA

Azrail's lungs burned as she gasped for air. The vision had faded, but its weight still clung to her mind like thick smoke.

A throne. A battlefield. A woman with her face.

It didn't make sense.

None of this made sense.

Her breaths came in shallow bursts, her chest tight with a mixture of fear and confusion. Every inch of her body ached as she lay on the cold stone floor, the chill sinking deep into her skin, grounding her back into the present. Azrail gritted her teeth and pushed herself up on shaky arms, her palms scraping against the rough surface beneath her. The pain was sharp, but it was real. It reminded her that she was still here, still alive. The vision—no, the nightmare—had felt too real. Too intense.

And then, just as the weight of the vision started to lift, the stark reality hit her. She wasn't alone.

Azrail lifted her gaze, and immediately, she regretted it.

Asmodeus was watching her.

Not smirking. Not taunting.

Just watching.

And that was somehow so much worse.

For the first time, the usual mask of amusement was gone. The look in his eyes was devoid of mockery. There was only something else—something far more dangerous. Something she couldn't quite place. His usual arrogance was replaced by a cold, calculating silence. And the way he looked at her, like she was an enigma, sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn't just the weight of his gaze. It was the intent behind it.

His burning crimson eyes studied her with an intensity that made her feel like she was being stripped bare, her every thought, every feeling, laid open for him to see. It unsettled her. More than anything, it terrified her.

Azrail swallowed, her throat dry as she fought to control the sudden surge of panic that threatened to swallow her whole. She forced herself to sound more in control than she felt, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart in her chest.

"What?" she snapped, the challenge in her tone louder than the tremble beneath her words. She didn't care that he could probably feel the fear coursing through her. She wouldn't let him see it. Not now. Not ever.

Asmodeus didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step forward, his dark silhouette looming over her like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon. Azrail's body tensed. Every instinct screamed at her to move back, to retreat, to get away from him.

But she wouldn't. She couldn't. Not in front of him.

Azrail refused to show weakness. To let him know that her mind was spiraling out of control, that she was still reeling from the vision, from the confusion, from the fear of not knowing what any of it meant. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Not when he stood there with the cold, calculating presence of a predator circling its prey.

Asmodeus stopped just a breath away from her, his towering form blocking the light from the room. The air around them thickened, oppressive. His presence suffocated her, filling the space between them with a palpable tension.

Then, in a voice that was far too calm for her liking, too measured, too chilling, he spoke.

"What are you?"

Azrail's pulse spiked. Her blood went cold at the question, though she tried to remain composed. The question shouldn't have rattled her. She should've rolled her eyes, thrown some sarcastic remark back in his face, maybe even mocked him for asking something so ridiculous.

But she couldn't. Not this time.

Because for the first time in her life—

She didn't know the answer.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

It was as if the very foundation of her being had cracked. She didn't have an answer for him. She didn't even know who—or what—she was anymore. She had spent her entire life thinking she knew herself. She had thought she understood her purpose, her place in the world. But now, standing here in front of Asmodeus, everything she thought she knew felt like a lie.

Something flickered across Asmodeus' expression. A fleeting moment of something—something cold, something dark—that made her shiver. He studied her, his gaze sharp and unwavering. As if trying to find the truth in her eyes.

"You were never meant to exist," he murmured, his voice low, as if speaking more to himself than to her.

Azrail's stomach twisted. The words stung, sharper than any blade. She wanted to lash out, to deny it, to scream that he didn't know her. He couldn't know her. But she couldn't find her voice. The words wouldn't come. His words had struck a chord deep within her—one she wasn't ready to face.

"You don't know that," she finally managed to shoot back, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. "You think you know everything, but you're just—"

Her breath hitched as Asmodeus moved faster than she could react. One moment, he was standing just a breath away, and the next—his fingers were gripping her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Azrail's blood ran cold. The world around her seemed to tilt, everything spinning in slow motion. His touch wasn't painful, but it was unyielding. Unchallenged. And that was what terrified her. The sheer force of his presence.

His touch sent a jolt of power coursing through her body, freezing her in place. Azrail couldn't move. Couldn't think. All she could do was stare into those burning crimson eyes, those eyes that seemed to see through her, to pierce the very core of her being.

"You," he said softly, his voice barely a whisper, "are something even I do not understand."

The words echoed in her mind, reverberating in the hollow spaces of her soul. His words were like a riddle she couldn't solve, a puzzle that refused to be pieced together.

Azrail's mind raced, trying to find a way to break free from his grip, to push him away. But there was nothing she could do. She was paralyzed, frozen in place by the overwhelming weight of his presence. And yet, she hated that part of her—the part that wanted to stay frozen, that wanted to give in to the sensation of being controlled by him. It disgusted her, but it was also undeniable.

Asmodeus studied her for what felt like an eternity, his fingers tightening just slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. The air around them crackled with tension, thick with the unspoken understanding that something had shifted between them.

"But I will," he finally added, his voice low, dangerous.

Azrail's heart slammed against her ribs, a cold warning settling deep in her chest. She knew exactly what he meant. He wasn't just speaking in riddles anymore. He was making a promise. A promise that he would discover who—or what—she truly was. And worse, he would do whatever it took to uncover the truth.

Azrail swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic in her chest. She had to get away from him. Had to break free from the strange hold he had on her. But she couldn't. Not yet. Not while he stood over her like a storm, waiting to unravel her every secret.

She couldn't allow him to control her. She couldn't let him win.

"What's your plan, Asmodeus?" she spat, her voice hoarse from the effort. "You think you can just figure me out? You think I'll let you control me?"

His lips curled into a slow, amused smile, but the amusement didn't reach his eyes. His gaze remained cold, calculating. As if he was enjoying the challenge, enjoying watching her squirm.

"I think," he said, his voice silky smooth, "that you don't have much of a choice."

He released her, his fingers slipping from her jaw like a vice being loosened. Azrail blinked, shaking herself from the fog of his touch, the overwhelming presence that still lingered in the air. She wanted to shout at him. To scream that she wasn't afraid of him. That she would never let him have that kind of control.

But she couldn't. Not yet. She needed to think. Needed to find a way to regain control.

"You saw something, didn't you?" Asmodeus's voice broke through her thoughts, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You saw the truth, Azrail. I know it."

Azrail froze. Her stomach twisted again. The vision—the throne, the battlefield, the woman who looked like her. It had felt so real, so vivid. But what did it mean? Who was that woman? What was her connection to Azrail?

She wanted to lie. Wanted to tell him it was nothing. That she hadn't seen anything that mattered. But she couldn't. Not when she was standing in front of him, facing the truth that she herself didn't fully understand.

But she couldn't reveal everything—not yet. Not to him.

"Nothing important," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, her lips trembling with the lie. She wasn't sure if he believed her, but she didn't care. Not yet.

For a moment, Asmodeus just stared at her, his eyes searching for any sign of weakness. But he didn't press her. Not yet.

He stepped back, his long cloak swirling around him as he turned away. The shadows that clung to him seemed to shift, alive and restless, like they were waiting for something. For him. For her. For both of them.

He didn't say another word. He didn't need to.

Azrail felt the weight of his presence still hanging in the air, like a storm on the horizon, ready to strike.

Asmodeus might have left her for now, but this was far from over. He wouldn't give up. He wouldn't let her go. And neither would she.

Not without answers.

Azrail clenched her fists, her body still trembling from the encounter, but she forced herself to stand tall. To stand strong.

She would figure out who she was. She would face whatever was coming, no matter how terrifying. She wasn't going to let Asmodeus control her. Not now. Not ever.

She turned, walking away from the chamber with determination in her step, the shadows at her back whispering of things to come.

And though she didn't know what the future held, one thing was clear—she wouldn't go down without a fight.