| |
––––––––
AZAZEL SLUNK THROUGH the dark tunnels of the catacombs, making his way to the slave market. His night vision was exceptional even without his glowing scarlet eyes to light the way. His skin was so dark that he blended in with the shadows. A scout scurried out of a side tunnel and almost ran into him. He snarled and raked his talons across the minion’s ugly face. Squealing in pain and terror, the scout fled, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
Chuckling beneath his breath, Azazel’s foul mood lifted slightly. He’d been on edge ever since Raum had questioned him about why he’d been seen chasing a woman through the City Square. The stupid wench had leaped into the river in a pitiful attempt to escape from him. It had been a fitting death when the water elementals had torn her to pieces.
He’d been terrified when Raum had called him to his private chamber to explain what he’d been doing. Azazel had made up a lie that he’d seen the assassin who had killed Beleth attempting to infiltrate the Demon District again. His story had been inspired, if he did say so himself. He couldn’t exactly tell the truth; that the killer had been hiding in Onvier’s office during their secret meeting.
Running into the scout had reminded Azazel that the minions were everywhere. They were so insignificant that they were practically invisible, which made them such effective spies. A flash of movement from something small and hairy in another side tunnel had the demon baring his teeth. Rats were now living in the catacombs and it was impossible to get rid of them. Raum had his lackeys try to eradicate them, but more of them just turned up as soon as the others died. The rats in Nox seemed to be mutating, because most of them had pale green eyes.
Azazel heard the hubbub of the slave market long before he reached it. Citizens from all races and species were bound and gagged. They stood on large stone blocks, waiting to be auctioned off to the bidders. Bonfires had been lit to illuminate the gigantic chamber for the beings who couldn’t see in the dark. Money was rarely used in the City of Night, except among the Night Cursed when they gambled at Pirate Cove and in Tournament Town. Other means of currencies were used instead. Favors were valuable and there were spells that could extract demonic energy.
Sweeping his gaze over the captives, Azazel saw a tasty looking young witch. She was a thin little thing, with mousy brown hair and terrified eyes. She wore the badly made coarse clothing of the poor working class. Her hands were tied behind her back and she wept constantly. Her legs were shaking when she became the next slave to be auctioned off.
Azazel joined the throng and raised his hand to place a bid. The other hands that had been raised fell when the bidders saw that Raum’s second in command wanted the girl. “She’s all yours, my lord,” the slave master said in an ingratiating tone, ending the bidding immediately.
The young witch shook her head in horror and denial when she was pushed off the block. She tripped and fell to her knees and Azazel strode forward to claim her. “I’ll settle my payment with you later,” he said to the slave master. The demon bowed his head in acceptance, eyes gleaming with delight.
Screaming behind her gag, the witch tried to drag her feet when the eight foot tall black skinned demon pulled her after him. He doubted she’d ever been strong, but the annual Energy Tax had sapped her magic away to almost nothing. She lost her balance and fell, but he just dragged her along behind him. The rough stone ground tore her skin and the scent of blood filled the air. Hungry hell spawn converged on Azazel and his prize, hoping for scraps of meat when he was finished with her. He snarled at them and they fled back into the lightless tunnels.
Azazel jerked the woman to her feet and she had to trot to keep up with him. She’d learned her lesson about trying to slow him down. The witch kept up a stream of muffled pleas for him to let her go, but he ignored her. His quarters were a few tunnels away from Raum’s private chambers. He pushed the witch ahead of him, then closed the door. He was one of the few demons who actually had a door to close.
The witch stood there, blind in the darkness that was lit only by the red glow coming from her new master’s eyes. Azazel wanted her to see what he was about to do to her, so he lit the candles that stood on stands around the chamber. A bed lay over to the left, but his slave’s gaze skittered away from it. Chains with shackles on the ends were attached to the wall across from the door. A bucket sat nearby. She turned her head to the right and sucked in a breath. She let it out in a muffled shriek when she saw a table that held an array of torture implements. Clots of blood and strands of hair were still caught in some of them. The magic of Nox no longer cleaned the catacombs like it once had.
Chuckling in malevolent amusement, Azazel used a sharp talon to cut the ropes on her hands. Then he turned into mist and took possession of her body. A large mirror hung on the wall next to the torture table. It wasn’t there for him to admire himself. It served a very different purpose.
The witch’s screams cut off abruptly. Her eyes became red as the hell spawn settled inside her body. Raum had given Azazel a small amount of his power, which enabled him to possess uncursed beings. He’d been commanded not to use his ability on anyone except for those his master ordered him to. But what Raum didn’t know wouldn’t end up getting Azazel killed. No one could enter his private domain without his approval. He wouldn’t be disturbed while he had some alone time with his newest acquisition.
He reached up and removed the gag. “We’re going to have so much fun together,” he said. Her voice was feminine, but it now sounded gravelly and unpleasant.
The demon had control of her body, but her mind remained free. He wanted her to be aware, so she could feel every single thing he was about to make her do to herself. She screamed inside their combined minds when Azazel picked up a knife. He sauntered over to the mirror and stroked her cheek with the blade. When her fright reached a delicious peak, he cut her face from just below her eye all the way down to her jaw. It was just a shallow cut, but it bled profusely.
Shrieking in pain and terror, the witch passed out. Azazel rolled her eyes and waited for her to come around. “You’re a pathetic little thing, aren’t you?” he asked in contempt. She babbled inside her head, promising she’d do anything he wanted if he stopped hurting her. “You’ll do everything I want because you have no choice,” he said with a smirk, then put the blade to her other cheek. Her shrieks began again and he grinned as he scored another long cut on her face.
Everyone had their way of coping with stress and his method was to use torture. It soothed Azazel to bring pain to others. The more helpless and terrorized they were, the happier it made him feel. As he worked, he mused about his alliance with Onvier. The elf couldn’t be trusted, yet he was Azazel’s best bet at gaining power.
If Raum found out about his betrayal, he would make what Azazel was doing to the witch look like child’s play. He grimaced at the memory of what his master’s demonic power felt like when it was used against him. He’d pledged his loyalty to Raum because he’d had no choice, but that didn’t stop him from plotting against his master. Soon, Onvier would choose a third person to join their triumvirate. Once that happened, all three of them would become far more powerful. The elf didn’t trust Azazel enough to give him a say about who their third would be, but he didn’t really care. Power was what he wanted and he would do whatever he had to in order to get it.
By the time the witch passed out for the fifth time, Azazel felt much calmer and he was in a far better mood. He crossed to the chains and sat down with his back to the wall, then left the unconscious slave’s body. The witch slumped onto her side and he secured the shackles around her wrists. She had just enough chain to reach the bucket to do her business.
It was always a pleasure when he acquired a new toy. If he was careful, he could draw this out for a week before the witch would finally expire from blood loss.
