Disappear: Into Shadow

- CHAPTER FOURTEEN -

Azazel was bored. He had been waiting for news of any intruders to the Hells for what felt like an age. After lounging here in his banishment for thousands of years now, he had grown used to the waiting game. It was the possibility of escape and a return to the world that made this current wait seem so interminable. He had become tired of tormenting the souls of the dead. He wanted to sink his fangs into the living. The prospect of real live flesh and pain to enjoy made him tremble.

Strung up like a rabbit ready to be skinned, a soul hung from the nearest slime coated wall. What the soul believed to be its flesh was flayed open. Large barbed hooks attached to thin steel chains held the sectioned flesh off his back. Every once in a while Azazel would rattle those chains causing the flesh to be peeled further away from the bone. The soul moaned in its pain.

Azazel scoffed. "That's not even real pain. What would you know fool?"

The soul moaned again. Azazel kicked at a chain to silence him.

"I'm so bored." He said.

Leaning back into the plush throne sitting near the wall, there was nothing to do but wait. Soon one of Azreal's agents will use a backdoor and he would pounce. There would be no escape for the intruder. Excited at the prospect of having an immortal to torture, he hoped it would be someone he knew or someone who wronged him before. That would be so satisfying. For now, he only had this pitiful soul for entertainment. He decided this was a sad state of affairs indeed.

He yawned, stretching out his long arms. Idle hands were the devil's work. Wasn't that a favoured saying of the living? As far as Azazel was concerned, idle hands doing the devil's work were bored hands. That was the truth of it. He stood, pacing the wide torture chamber he had called home for far too long.

Pensive, he passed the iron maidens, the racks and the other weapons and inventions he had sent to the world over the years. Usually his creations helped soothe his lust for the pleasures of the world. He had taught mankind how to make weapons. The pain they had caused since had been an inspiration for his creativity. As of late, that creativity had been stifled.

He gazed at the guillotine. Not so much a torture device, it was a machine for the swift resolution of problems. Staring at its heavy pristine blade, he didn't notice the smoking figure of a wisp float out from the shadows.

"Master," the wisp called to Azazel.

"I'm so very terribly bored. Tell me you have news."

"One of the doors has been opened."

"Where?" Azazel snapped.

"In Gehenna."

"That figures!" He said. Azazel sprung into action. He grabbed a long black cloak hanging on the back of the gilt throne. He draped it over his arm along with two worn leather satchels. Next to the dungeon's blackened oak doorway, a wide bladed machete hung from the wall. Dripping with blood and gore, Azazel fastened the glistening black scabbard around his waist. Pulling the satchels' straps over his head, he gave the waiting shade its orders.

"Find Haroth and Maroth and have them meet me there. We'll pick up their scent soon enough. Now go!"

The shadow slunk back from whence it came with a swift hiss. Pulling the cloak over his shoulders, Azazel drew the hood up over his face. His outline began blending in with the blackened stone walls of the chamber. Walking towards his decorative soul, he slowly pulled one chain. A long flap of skin peeled back like a grape. The wet, tearing sound was immensely satisfying to Azazel. The soul screamed in torment.

"Don't go anywhere." Azazel's cruel voice whispered in the tortured soul's ear. "I'll be back soon and then you won't be alone anymore."

Looking into the scarred face of his torturer, the soul whimpered. Azazel almost felt alive for the first time in recent memory. He was hunting again and this was only the beginning. Soon his walls would be adorned with all manner of subjects for him to punish. Dreaming of watchers, angels and outcasts, he was practically giddy.

"Oh my! What a happy day."

With a swish of his cloak Azazel vanished entirely from sight. He was on the trail and it began in Gehenna.