“Voices? Who’s they?”
He shakes his head drawing in a shuddering breath as he begins pacing. “My people.”
Violette and I exchange a nervous look. She’s hunched over and rubbing her eyes as she sits on the edge of the bed. She looks tired, but otherwise ok, outside of this nerve-wracking news. Azrael on the other hand, normally so unperturbed, wears an expression that has my cortisol kicking into high gear.
His handsome features are set in grim lines, one hand gripping the hilt of his matte black and gold rune-covered sword like he’s waiting for assassins to burst into the room. My mind recalls the way Azrael was hiding his face. The demons craning their necks to look at Azrael as we entered the inn.
My M-16 is already in my hand by the time Iwillmy borrowed fighting leathers to replace the towel around my hips.
“You think someone recognized you?”
He nods as Violette’s face scrunches up with confusion mid-yawn. “So? What the hell is going on? Why are we suddenly armed and panicking? Surely, we can at least bathe and sleep?”
Azrael slides his sword into the holster at his back, shaking his head as he kneels at her feet, collects her hands, and looks up into her face.
“How much do you know about gods and their domains?”
Her brows knit closer as she frowns in a silent but clear reply. Azrael continues, words swift and urgent.
“You’re aware that a god’s soul is tied to their domain? And its people?”
She nods. He continues.
“Imagine a tiny fragment of my soul scattered upon the cosmos of my realm and each one of those fragments burst into life—each one, a precious soul... Yes?”
She gradually nods. “Go on…”
“Our souls are inextricably... one. It’s a rather reductive way of putting it, but it is no less true. In any case, it also means that I can intuitively feel them. Like a distant limb. I can also feel their intent.”
“Okay?”
“You might recall hearing about Mareina, this realm’s goddess, tearing open the fabric of Vassileo, my Hell realm?”
Violette nods. My mind reels, feeling like I’m listening to something that should be written as a parable in a religious text.
“Well, as you might have heard, a tremendous portion of Vassileo’s population flooded Bellorum. Atratus, more specifically. I assumed that because Selcarim was so well protected from the rest of the continent, the likelihood of us running into any of my people was slim-to-none.” He pauses, full lips pressing into a thin line. “I was wrong.”
Fuck, I was really looking forward to a nap.
Violette groans, falling back onto the bed; her hands slip free from his, and he hangs his head. My chest squeezes. I step beside him, keeping my voice calm.
“What kind of intent are you sensing from them? What do you think they’re going to do?”
His back and shoulders expand as he draws in a long, deep breath before expelling it and rising to stand. When he faces me, the guilt and anguish in his bright eyes is palpable.
“The closer they are, the more clearly I can feel their thoughts, their emotions, their desires. I was sound asleep moments before you walked in, awoken by their collective hunger for vengeance.”
“Vengeance?”
“As I said, Vassileo is a Hell realm. They know me as their oppressor.”
“Were you?”
Azrael’s eyes glisten, becoming a juxtaposition of water and flame.
“It was their karma that led them there. To put it in human terms, if you were to consider Vassileo a prison, I would be the warden.”
Fuck.