"Who's in with me?"
The words echoed off the cold stone walls of the prison cell.
They didn't just sound like a question, but they carried the weight of a challenge.
It was a promise.
The room went quiet this time.
Too quiet.
No one dared to mock him this time.
No chuckles.
No sarcastic comments.
No side-eyes.
They had seen what he did. They had seen what he was capable of. The body on the floor was more than proof to describe his abilities.
Azael stood still as he watched them, waiting for their response, but no one dared to say a word.
He let out a sigh, deep and slow, the kind that carried disappointment.
His gaze dropped for a second, 'So this is how it is, ' he thought.
'Looks like I'll have to push their morals a little more.'
He turned and walked towards the woman. The same woman he had given his jacket.
Her body was trembling, small and fragile. Her eyes were swollen with skin pale as she turned into ghost.
She looked like a dying flame in the dark.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear, reaching the woman's ear softly.
It carried the concern for her, and she also sensed it. Abd to respond to that, she nodded weakly, almost like her neck refused to move more than that.
"I'm sorry… for what happened to you," he said. "But I tried. That…" —he pointed at the corpse of the guard— "…that was the best I could do."
She didn't say anything. But looked grateful from the outside, that's what Azael believed.
Azael turned back to the group, taking a few steps forward.
"See… I know it's hard. I know it's not easy to believe someone like me. A stranger. A nobody. But I promise you—if you cooperate with me, I will get you out of this place in one piece."
His eyes scanned the faces
Of the individual he was speaking to.
One was Blank.
Two were Tired.
And the last one was hollow.
'What type of depressed group is this?! I am sure if they moved into the group, they can easily traumatize a happy family just from their presence.'
How annoying.
"I'm not forcing you. It's your choice. You want in or not, that's up to you. But let me be clear—"
His voice dropped low. His tone is sharper now.
"If your mind has even the slightest chance of leaking this plan..."
His eyes turned cold. Icy. The grey in them now dull steel.
"I will kill you."
The words didn't come as a scream. They came quietly. And that made them even scarier.
For a moment, the air stood still.
But inside, Azael knew. He was bluffing.
Not entirely, but enough.
He wouldn't kill just for leaking information. Not if they weren't with him. He had already prepared a backup for that. Plans layered beneath plans, a mind sharpened by loss and honed by necessity, knew better than to trust in people so easily.
But for those who joined him? For them, the warning was real. It wasn't just a threat—it was a line drawn in blood. If they stood beside him, they would share his risks, his burdens, and his silence. Any betrayal from them would be a dagger, not just to his escape, but to everything he was willing to become for survival. He didn't want to kill, not again, not unless he had to.
But he had learned, even in this short time, that wanting and needing were never the same.
A typical quote from his past life.
As for why he even needs them?
They weren't strong. They weren't trained. Most of them were just... broken and mentally crushed.
But what they had was information. And in a place like this, that was more valuable than strength.
He must come up with a plan. A foolproof plan with no cracks. And for that, their help was necessary.
"I'm asking one last time," he said, his voice louder now. "Do you want to risk your life and take this one chance to escape… or do you want to live the rest of your life here, as a rotten dirt patch on the bottom of someone's boot?"
He poured every word into it. All the speeches he had read in books. All the scenes he remembered from the games and stories, hoping to reach them.
The room was silent.
Then—
"I'm with you. Sir… sorry, I forgot your name. By the way, name's Nill."
A voice. Quiet but firm.
Azael blinked.
The boy who had been silent the entire time. The one who looked too scared to even speak. He had spoken first.
Azael smiled. Just a small one.
"Oh, sure, Nill. And my name's Azael. You don't need to call me, sir. Just Azael is fine."
Nill nodded and stepped closer to him.
"Count me in also. Name's Wood."
This time, it was the man beside Nill. Azael turned to him and gave a nod.
"Oh sure."
Then came Tarek and Milo.
"We are also with you, Azael," Tarek said, his voice carrying strength this time. "It's better to die escaping this place than to live in this shit hole."
Azael nodded again. Slowly. Taking it in.
He turned toward the woman.
"I know it's hard," he said gently. "And if you don't want to join… It's fine. I understand."
But deep inside, he wanted her to say yes. Not for his plan. Not for leverage. But because she deserved better. Because he had seen her pain and knew this place was hell for her.
She raised her head slowly. Her gaze locked into his.
Not trembling.
Not weak, but steady.
"If I join…" she said quietly, her voice just a whisper, "can you help me kill someone?"
Her words cut through the silence.
And Azael didn't blink.
"Ohh…"
Azael immediately understood. Her voice, the weight behind that simple word, the burning that hadn't left her eyes even once—he knew who she meant. It wasn't hard to guess. There was only one man who could carve such hatred into someone's soul.
The cell supervisor.
Tarek and Milo had spoken about him on Azael's very first day, their tones heavy with resentment, their words hinting at unspeakable things. That kind of power, that kind of cruelty—it stayed etched into people. And now, Azael could see the scars that monster had left behind, not on her skin, but deep within her gaze.
He didn't need her to explain. He already knew.
And he understood.
He understood her rage. Her pain. The longing for vengeance that simmered quietly behind the calm mask she wore. She wanted revenge. Not out of pride. Not out of ego. But it was the only thing keeping her upright.
But even with that, Azael couldn't let himself be swayed by emotion. Not now.
"You know," he said, voice calm, grounded, stripped of hope but filled with truth, "I can't promise that. You do know he might be a powerful Mystic—strong enough to crush us without lifting a finger. That's why I'm aiming to escape. Not fight him. Not yet."
His words were cold, but honest. He wasn't here to feed false dreams.
"It'd be foolish for me to confront him now, with the little power I have. I'd be throwing not just my life away, but yours too. But…" he paused, taking a step closer, his eyes steady, unwavering, "I can promise you this."
She looked at him, a hint of hesitation flickering.
"If I escape this place safely… I'll come back. And I'll kill him with my own hands. After I've gained the strength to do it right."
He didn't flinch. He didn't blink. His words weren't a bluff this time. They were a vow.
Emma stayed silent, her breath caught between the past and the future. The rawness in her expression softened, as if someone had finally reached in and eased the pressure crushing her chest. She looked at him, her lips trembling, then steadied.
And smiled.
A smile that still held bruises, but also the faintest shimmer of hope.
"I'll help you, Azael," she said softly, her voice a whisper filled with quiet resolve.
"The pleasure's mine, umm… miss—?"
"Emma," she said.
Azael's lips curled into a smile. "Okay, Miss Emma."
Then he turned to the others once again, the sharpness returning to his tone.
"Alright everyone," he said, standing tall, voice ringing with command. "Let's make a plan to escape this hell."