Azael watched the bombs go off on tall structures, turning buildings to mesh, the floor crumbling from the impact—using his mind's eye through one of the bats he sent out.
Humans were at it again. The smell of death lingered in the air. At least the peace had lasted longer before chaos began, as usual.
The war had been going on for at least two years.
He smiled. After all, he was beginning to get bored.
"Master," one of his minions called.
"What?" he replied, irritated. He didn't want any disturbances.
"We caught trespassers."
Azael raised an eyebrow. Trespassers? How was that possible, considering he'd hidden his castle within a spiritual cast?
Must be one of those witch doctors—modern sorcerers who call themselves scientists.
He had handled a couple in the past, killing most of them and letting one go to tell the story—to warn the rest of the filthy human race to avoid his territory.
Smiling, he said, "I guess we should be preparing for a feast, then."
After all, it'd been a while since he'd tasted human blood.
He turned to the minion. The Red—lean and elongated creature stood with a staff, his stature subordinate, eyes downturned, trembling before him.
The look and smell of fear…just the way Azael liked it.
"Bring them to me," he commanded.
The minion left.
Azael wasn't exactly hungry for blood; he figured he might simply entertain himself with a bit of torture and leave the rest to his minions.
Two minions returned. They held the trespassers—two females and a male.
The older female had striking ginger hair and delicate features, wearing a teal dress. The younger, dark-haired, and less striking one wore a pale pink dress, her hair adorned with bows.
The boy, under ten, had blonde hair, a simple, patterned, cozy shirt, brown bottoms, white stockings, and a single brown shoe.
The ginger-haired woman held him in her arms.
His nose caught a whiff of innocent blood, probably from the younger boy. It was going to be an interesting feast.
"Kill them."
The ginger-haired woman pulled the other girl behind her, held the boy tighter, and screamed—positioning defensively.
"You'll have to get through me first."
Azael laughed menacingly, genuinely intrigued by her boldness.
"Silly little human. What do you hope to do with such fragile strength of yours?"
"Try me and find out, you heartless bastard."
He was taken aback. Couldn't Elana see that she was surrounded?
He focused more intently on her — beautiful facial features contorted—naturally reddish lip, a straight nose, and exaggerated almond eyes.
She held a little dagger, swiping it toward his minions.
Her eyes were cold grey, unlike the blue of the black-haired girl or the brown of the little boy. Her skin was caramel.
He was sure she wasn't related to either of the children she protected. So why was she willing to fight for them?
Most humans would've left the kids to fend for themselves. Her shapely figure, in a cream top and jean shorts, did a poor job of hiding the black-haired girl behind her.
Pathetic. A pathetic hero.
Unimpressed by whatever she thought she was doing.
He decided to go closer—to give her a reality check before killing her and her team of trespassers.
Azael stepped from the shadows, appearing abruptly beside the ginger-haired woman. The black-haired girl gasped, and the ginger immediately turned toward him with the knife, her hand swaying.
Couldn't she see him? He wondered, puzzled.
He leaned in to meet her cold, grey eyes. Her lavender scent teased his sensitive nostrils; the little boy in her arms clung tighter, his expression one of terror.
Her pupils shook from side to side—unstable.
"Are you blind?" Azael asked, genuinely puzzled.
"I'm not," she said, her voice trembling but determined, pupils still shaking, her knife pointed toward him.
He teleported behind her, grabbing the black-haired girl, who screamed.
"Elana!"
"No," The ginger swiped her hands aggressively through the air, searching. "Let her go! Naina!"
Azael's grin widened. Blind. Heroic. Foolish. He tossed the girl to his minions.
Such an interesting twist in his boring world.
"Take them to Moza," he commanded.
"No, no," Elana cried. " We just lost our way. We're heading to the refuge mountains."
"Refuge?" Azael's voice was soft, mocking. "Do you genuinely think the mountains will save you?
"They're waiting," she said, lowering her gaze. "My master and Mistress."
An enslaved person bound by loyalty.
Azael leaned close. Her breath brushed his face, lavender and soft. Her fiery hair whispered across his robes. For a fleeting second, he wondered why.
"Master, should we proceed?" a minion asked.
Azael's hand shot out, squeezing the minion, its cries ringing out as it vanished. "How dare you interrupt me?" he growled, voice vibrating the room.
He watched the terror in her eyes overshadow her bravery, her pupils darting frantically. The little boy buried his face deeper into her neck.
Her clean breath washed over his face, her voice soft despite the edge. "Naina!"
"The minute you trespassed. You became mine." His voice started her; she hadn't even realized he was standing right in front of her.
Another minion materialized from thin air, replacing the one Azael had just obliterated.
"Obey my every command, and I may resist the urge of making a meal of all of you," he said, each word menacing, each breath carrying weight she could feel against her skin.
Azael stepped away, moving toward his throne, shrouded in darkness. "Defy me, and I will fill my belly with the child in your arms."
The minions then escorted them deeper into the fortress, toward Moza.
**
"Elana," the little boy in her arms murmured, sniffing, his voice drowsy. "I'm scared."
He was finally drifting to sleep in her arms.
The truth was, she was just as scared.
Hating the fact that she couldn't see what was happening. Perhaps they wouldn't have ended up in such a situation if her eyes worked.
Elana expected a harsh, unwelcoming place—a cell with no hint of softness—but the bed beneath them was clean with the scent of wisteria, the same fragrance that clung to the man who held them captive.
After laying Israel—the little boy in her arms— down on the bed. She heard Naina's scoff,
"This is all your fault. You incompetent servant."
Elana bowed her head, "I'm sorry. Madam Naina."
She apologized, despite knowing Naina herself was at fault, after being so confident in the directions they'd taken—directions that ultimately led them here.
Naina and Israel were the children of her Master and Mistress—the people who had cared for her since her birth.
Even if she had never been treated as tenderly as the children, she had belonged somewhere, and for that, she was grateful.
Elana and the children had been separated from them during the war, a cruel necessity that prioritized the lives of children over adults.
Tragedy struck on the train they had boarded—an ambush that left many dead.
They had barely escaped, guarded by a lone soldier through the forest toward a refuge in the mountains.
But Naina's confidence in her directions, dismissing Elana's cautious suggestions, had led them to this point.
"Go prepare my bath," Naina commanded dismissively. "At least that man had the sense to recognize I'm an aristocrat and gave us a befitting room."
Elana hesitated, rubbing one arm. "Please, Madam Naina…could you show me the way to the bathroom?"
"How dare you?" Naina snapped, dripping with pride and condescension. Elana flinched.
"You forget your place, you peasant." Naina continued, "I'll report your insolence to mother when we eventually return to them."
"I'm sorry, Madam Naina. It will never happen again." Elana said quietly, bowing her head.
Using her hands to navigate, she traced the objects around her—the drawer, the walls. Without her walking stick, she relied entirely on touch and sound.
She found the door leading to the bathroom. It's smooth, cool wood confirmed its quality. Pushing it open, she carefully filled the tub for Naina.
The room was a level of luxury she hadn't expected for prisoners.
When she returned to announce the bath was ready, Naina's sharp, ungrateful scoff greeted her.
"About time. You're slow and stupid, even now."
Elana felt Naina's scent as she walked past her into the bathroom, the sound of the door banging shut behind her.
Elana exhaled and continued exploring the room with her hands, mapping the space, in case Israel or Naina needed her.
Her fingers traced the edge of the walls until she reached a sudden space.
The floor extended outward — a balcony. Her hands brushed against flowers, their delicate petals sending a sweet wisteria scent into Elana's nose.
She spread her arms and twirled, testing the space of the balcony, feeling the wind tug at her hair as she explored the balcony.
Slowly, she reached the end wall, retracing the railing, enjoying the flowers through touch.
This wasn't a prison—not in the way regular prisons were described to her.
She enjoyed the cool air on her face, even if she wasn't exactly sure about their safety at the moment.
And for a fleeting second, her heart dared to whisper that maybe, just maybe, the man had not intended them harm.
Perhaps she could plead with him, appeal to some part of his strange sense of mercy.
Absent-mindedly, she let her fingers dance along the railings, playing with the flowers, enjoying their beauty in the only way she could.
Meanwhile….
From a distance, Azael watched her through his mind's eye—through a bat perched on the highest point of his castle.