The heavy iron door groaned open with a metallic shriek that echoed like a scream through the cold stone walls of the cell.
The prisoners, worn and hollow-eyed, turned their heads instinctively. What they saw silenced even the stillness of the cell.
A cruel scene unfolded before them.
A woman stumbled in—no, she was dragged.
Her long hair which was tangled, clutched tightly in the fist of a tall, broad-shouldered guard. Her bare feet scraped across the floor, her body limp with exhaustion, but her hands still clawed at his wrist in weak defiance.
"Let me go! Please—stop!" she cried, her voice hoarse, choked with desperation and pain. "I said no!"
The guard spat on the ground beside her, yanking her back hard enough to make her spine arch unnaturally. "You said no? You stupid little bitch, you don't get to say no to me."
He slammed her into the ground just inside the cell, kicking the door shut behind him with a loud clang. The sound sealed her fate in the air like the toll of a death bell.
"You think you're special because the supervisor let you warm his bed once or twice?" he hissed, crouching beside her as she whimpered and clutched her stomach. "You think that makes you more than trash? More than a whore born from pig shit?"
"No..." she whispered, tears sliding down her dirt-streaked cheeks. "Please..."
He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. "Your body was made to be used. Owned. And I'm going to break it."
He removed his hood and mask, revealing a sneer twisted in cruelty. His face was scarred, with one eye permanently narrowed and yellowed teeth that flashed with sick amusement.
"You refused me once," he continued, leaning in close to her ear, "so now I'll make sure everyone watches. Every day, I'll lick your skin, bite it until you bleed, and laugh as you cry."
Her scream tore through the air, piercing and raw. "No! Stop! Please —"
Silence.
The others stared.
Dead eyes.
Empty expressions.
No one moved. Not even the boy with black hair in the corner, whose hands trembled in silent fury.
The guard laughed cruelly, reaching to unbuckle his belt.
But just as his hand moved—
A shadow twisted behind him.
He didn't notice. None of them did.
A low hum filled the room, almost like the air itself was holding its breath.
From the darkness behind the guard, a shape emerged.
Silent.
Precise.
A figure stepped out of the guard's own shadow, the darkness peeling off like water as it gave form to a boy with dark hair and cold, unreadable grey eyes.
Azael.
His footsteps made no sound.
He raised his hand and drove two fingers directly into the guard's eyes.
"ARGHHH!!" the guard howled, staggering backward, hands flailing to his face. "My eyes! Who—who the fuck—?!"
But before he could turn, Azael was behind him again.
A blur of motion.
A low crack as Azael kicked the inside of his knee, collapsing his stance.
The guard dropped, and in that single moment, Azael wrapped one arm around his neck, the other pressing against his chest, right above his heart.
"I don't know about her being filth but I know you are" Azael said calmly, his breath cold against the guard's ear. "I don't mind my hands getting dirty on being getting rid of filthy."
The guard screamed, his voice hoarse, flailing in panic. But Azael's grip was vice-tight, unrelenting.
"You want to use someone's body against their will? Let me show you what it's like to lose yours."
A slight glow sparked at Azael's fingertips.
Then—thunk.
A small pulse.
Almost unnoticeable, graced the guard's chest, and immediately, his body seized up.
And went limp.
He crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut—mouth open, eyes frozen wide in the last moment of terror.
Everyone stared.
Even the woman, now trembling against the wall, watched with wide eyes.
Azael stood tall above the corpse.
No tremble in his stance.
No hesitation in his gaze.
He looked across the cell at every prisoner, his voice echoing.
"I said I wanted to escape," he said. "None of you believed me."
He took a step forward.
"Now, do you understand?"
Silence.
Then a whisper.
"…Who… are you?"
Tarek asked his voice in disbelief.
Azael turned his head slightly.
"I'm the one who refuses to stay in a cage."
--------
Azael's eyes narrowed the moment the cell door opened. The guard stormed in with a woman in tow, yanking her by the hair like a ragdoll.
It was her.
The same woman he'd given his jacket to.
Her cries were faint at first—choked by pain, fear, and shame—but as the guard dragged her into the center of the room, her voice echoed.
Azael's hands clenched into fists.
The guard didn't even look at him as he passed. His rage was too focused on the woman as his grip became more merciless.
Azael's eyes flicked over the man, narrowing.
No core.
He felt it immediately—there was no flow of ezma within this man. Not even a flicker of Mystic energy. His body might have been strong, but he was nothing compared to a real Mystic.
Azael exhaled slowly, lowering his head as his instincts sharpened.
His heart pounded. There was no time to hesitate. This was his chance.
Channeling the Ezma around him, he activated Dark Veil for the first time. A shadow twisted beneath the guard's feet—and Azael melted into it.
His presence vanished completely, hidden within the silhouette cast by the man's own body.
He was still.
Focused.
Invisible.
It only worked because the man wasn't a Mystic. If he had been—if he had even a basic core—Azael's concealment would've failed.
He stayed there, cloaked in darkness, watching as the guard threw the woman to the floor. Her scream tore through the air as the man hovered over her, words filled with venom and depravity.
"You think you're special because the supervisor let you warm his bed once or twice?"
The guard spat such words at her.
Azael's stomach twisted. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
But still… he waited.
Not because he wanted to. But because he had to.
He needed to be sure.
His breath came slow and steady as the woman's cries echoed around him. His muscles tensed.
'If I do this... there's no going back.'
He wasn't in a game anymore. He wouldn't respawn. There were no second chances.
Taking a life… was final.
Was he ready?
His mother's voice echoed faintly in his head. Her warmth. Her kindness. The gentleness she had tried so hard to pass on to him.
—This isn't you, Azael. Don't become the monster they are.
His chest tightened.
This world had chains and blood and suffering. This world broke people and if he didn't fight back, it would break him too.
He couldn't protect his values if he couldn't protect himself.
That woman didn't deserve this. None of them did.
Azael moved.
He rose out of the shadow like a ghost, silent and swift, and drove two fingers straight into the guard's eyes.
"ARGHH!" the guard howled, stumbling back in agony. "Who—?! What the fuck—?!"
But Azael didn't stop.
He swept his leg out, kicking behind the guard's knee, sending him crashing to the floor.
Azael was on him in the same motion, wrapping one arm around his throat while planting his hand firmly against the guard's chest, just over his heart.
The man thrashed. Screamed.
Azael met the gazes of the others in the room. Cold. Focused.
He said things he had originally planned for others present in the room.
After that, Azael looked down.
The guard struggled beneath him.
His hand trembled.
'Can I do this? Kill someone? Not a bandit in a game. A real man in real life.'
He could feel the life inside this body. The thump of the heart. The rise of breath. The heat of it.
'He deserves it,' Azael reminded himself.
But still… that voice whispered in his head. That hesitation.
For a moment—just one—he paused.
Then he steeled himself.
"This is for survival," he muttered. "This is for freedom."
He gathered Ezma in his fingertips—just a spark. Enough for one cast. A lightning pulse flickered across his hand and surged into the guard's chest.
The body jerked once.
Then stilled.
The cell went silent.
Azael rose, stepping back as the man's body slumped to the floor.
His breathing was heavy. Not from exhaustion, but from the weight of what he'd just done.
He had taken a life.
His first.
And it wouldn't be the last.
He looked at the prisoners.
"Now, who's in with me?"
No fear in his voice.